I Was a Stranger to Gangnam
I'd never had any real connection to Gangnam. I'd never lived there, after all.
"If everyone could just eat well and live well together, how great would that be? But people don't know the joy of sharing happiness."
When you think of South Korea, the first thing that comes to mind is its biggest city, Seoul. And if you're looking for the pinnacle of luxury in Seoul, it's the sacred domain of the ultra-rich: Gangnam.
I was a total outsider in the middle of this flashy street, all sleek and refined. Walking aimlessly toward the address I'd gotten via text, I could already taste the metallic tang in my mouth. Blame it on the goddamn fine dust and pollution. My non-smoker's lungs and throat felt like they were rotting in real time as I finally reached the place listed on the address.
I could've just called S-man and had him pick me up—no need to battle the morning rush-hour subway crush to get here. But I deliberately didn't. The guy's from Gangnam anyway; making him go back and forth would've felt like training a damn dog.
"No office takes better care of its employees than ours. Fuckin' A."
It was late September now, and even daytime carried a chill. In this concrete jungle, where the faint traces of late summer were fading away, everything was irritating as hell. That's why I hole up in the office all day when there's nothing to do.
"What brings you here today, sir?"
"I've been requested by the couple residing here, Mr. Choi Sangjun and Mrs. Imi Jin in XX Building, XXX Unit. Could you verify that?"
High-end apartments in Gangnam come standard with CCTV and security guards. They strictly separate residents from visitors, issuing temporary keys to guests. It's a silent warning not to forget your place as a mere visitor—and a subtle pressure reminding you this isn't a spot for the likes of you.
I ignored all that, grabbed the temp key after the guard's check, and headed inside.
This was a place where you needed personal assets well over a billion won just to qualify. Folks with ten billion wouldn't be hard to spot.
I brushed past a delivery guy coming down in the freight elevator and hopped straight into the residents' one. Freight elevators are too slow, smell like dust, and—honestly—waste electricity for just one or two people. Right? I'm a model citizen saving power, a full-fledged environmentalist.
But whenever someone makes an effort or sacrifices, there's always some asshole to nitpick. Like right now.
"Hey! Visitors are supposed to use the other elevator. Why are you riding the residents' one?!"
"There's an elevator made for people and one for cargo. I just took the one made for people."
"What?! Who the hell do you think you are? One word from me and you're outta here! You filthy bum, who do you think you are, slinking into a place like this...!"
"Must've done a lot of stealing as a kid, huh? Living like a bum must fucking suck."
"!"
"Snatching MP3s or PMPs from rich kids at school, even smartphones if you were bold, then flipping them on the secondhand market. As an adult, stealing from coworkers. Not enough? Breaking up a rookie's hot romance and stealing her well-off boyfriend too. A modern-day Arsène Lupin. Teach me your ways."
"N-no! What the hell are you...!"
"Shut your trap and go ride the freight elevator. This one's made for people, remember?"
I shoved the awkward ajumma blocking the elevator door and hit the close button again. This time, nothing stopped us, and we reached the destination smoothly. At the hallway entrance, I authenticated with the temp key and entered the residential area.
I rang the doorbell cautiously, and the door opened right away.
In the spacious entryway stood a petite woman and a towering man who were obviously a couple. Short woman, tall man—not common, but a romantic combo in couple land. Realistically, though, 69 would be a bitch.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Han Daeri, president of the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office. No need for formalities—just call me Han Daeri or boss."
"Come on in, boss!"
The wife lit up once I revealed who I was and ushered me inside.
Where a normal shoe cabinet should've been was a glass-door display case for shoes—all adult sizes, by the look of them. One spot empty, so as expected, their daughter had already headed to school.
"Thank you for coming so early as promised. You can't imagine the agony we went through last night—we didn't sleep a wink."
Saying that, wife Imi Jin bustled about preparing a tea set. Soon, a teacup and a plate of tempting upscale cookies sat before me.
I sat on the guest sofa, savored the aroma of the black tea lightly, then set the cup down.
Back in my office drone days, schmoozing higher-ups taught me a few things. One was this niche, high-class tea time culture known only to insiders. Kinda like wine tasting: don't blow on the tea right away—appreciate the scent first. And when deep-talking with people, avoid the cookies or jelly if possible. Chowing down mid-convo ain't classy or polite in upper-crust circles.
But even if you're not eating, compliment how appetizing it looks or thank them for the thought. It's respect for their effort—an upscale ass-kiss. Wait, that sounded gay. Let's call it a polite rimjob.
"Thank you for such lavish hospitality on a first meeting. I don't know where to put myself."
"Oh, this is nothing. You're here for our family crisis, after all. Right, honey?"
"Absolutely. I'm Choi Sangjun, head of the household. I'm a director at H Heavy Industries under the H Group."
I shook his proffered hand, then pulled out my briefcase like it was no big deal.
"Before we dive in, know that I'm a complete pro at resolving or proving supernatural phenomena. Never failed a case, even cleared the nastiest backlog jobs others couldn't touch."
The elite cream themselves over "expertise." It strokes their egos, matching their level. Introduce yourself as a doctor, lawyer, judge, PhD—they eat it up. Chairman, CEO, bank president, police chief? Instant god-mode.
But sometimes, showing the goods beats name-dropping. Normies don't dive deep into this shit unless they're nuts, so whipping out EMF meters or motion detectors? No way they peg me as a con.
That's where ignorance meets the unknown.
"Straight to the point: sounds like a demon's possessed your home—specifically, your daughter."
"Yes! This morning, that bitch raided my safe in the study and took off with the cash!"
"Your personal safe? Did you give her the code?"
"Never. She never even enters my private study, so no way she knows it."
"Safes can be cracked with enough time on the combo or dial. Any chance she picked it while you two were out?"
"Now that you mention it, it's suspicious. Even as a housewife, I'm not home 24/7. And her dad's a director—super busy."
I nodded, flipping on the recorder. Best to chime in lightly, let them spill. Poke sensitive spots as an outsider? Instant walls up. Zero suspicion vs. max? Night and day.
"Got it. Sounds like your daughter's demon used powers to crack the safe and loot it. Mind if I scan the study with my supernatural gear?"
Choi Sangjun's face twisted briefly, but he okayed it—insisting they watch. Imi Jin backed him hard, so I agreed.
Guided to the second-floor study, we faced an antique solid-wood desk, a bed-like lounge chair, towering bookshelves stuffed with tomes.
Behind the shelves, as he said: the safe. Minus junk docs and ledgers, it was empty. Anything valuable—real cash, checks—gone.
"No need to answer, but any idea on the damage?"
"Why ask?"
"Kids with sudden big bucks? Predictable. Steal a 10K from mom's purse? PC bang. Hits a mil or ten? Clubs, bars. Bigger? Worse trouble."
"Roughly 20 million won. Good thing I called the bank to freeze the checks."
"So 20 mil cash gone. Did your daughter crave nightlife, luxuries, brands?"
"Never. We buy her stuff age-appropriate, right on time."
"Allowance?"
"Her dad gave her a card with spending limits. Transactions show up—we'd know if she blew it wrong."
I nodded sagely, waving the EMF meter. It beeped wildly, 3-4 of its 5 LEDs flashing steady.
If I were a haunted house YouTuber, I'd be hyping "insane vibes!" already.
"Hmm... as expected, bad energy clustered here. Proof the demon in your daughter did dirty deeds—like theft."
"Knew it!"
"Need deeper scans, maybe live cams. Okay to install in her room?"
They whispered, then surprisingly greenlit it.
Choi Jiyun's room was barren as fuck for a high school girl's. One wall crammed with textbooks, the other just bed and desk. Window had bars—high floor, fall-proof. No vanity (girl essential), just a small closet patching the sparse decor.
EMF on: all 5 LEDs blazed, shrieking.
I turned to the stone-faced couple, voice firm with conviction.
"Definitely a demon."