Arita and Fukuoka (1)

Number 1 hadn't been able to possess a person and follow me all the way onto the plane.

'Secretary Yoon who came to see me off wasn't possessed, after all.'

And during the drive to the airport, Number 1's presence hadn't felt anywhere near me, just like now.

No way!

I stared at Abe standing in the aisle.

'Abe, can Number 1 possess objects? Because I'm pretty sure he got on the plane with me.'

Abe smoothly lifted his head and pointed at the overhead compartment above me.

So Number 1 had possessed my carry-on suitcase and smuggled himself aboard. The suitcase had been in the trunk all the way from my house in Ugok-ri to the airport, and with the crowds at the terminal, I simply hadn't had a chance to sense his presence.

'Ha, unbelievable! That evil spirit through and through.'

You know how it goes. Someone travels to Europe, buys a mirror at a flea market, and from then on keeps seeing a Western ghost. Or someone picks up a coin off the street and misfortune starts piling up, one disaster after another — those viral internet horror stories. Half of them probably come from picking up an object an evil spirit has taken up residence in.

'Number 1 used to only possess cats and people, but it seems he's expanded his range to objects now.'

As I grew stronger, Number 1 — bound to me by contract — was growing stronger along with me.

"Well, this is going to be a hassle."

Now I'd be hauling an evil spirit around everywhere I went.

I clicked my tongue and turned my head this way and that. No trace of a presence came from the carry-on the flight attendant had stowed on the shelf. Being cooped up inside a compartment must have felt stifling.

'Where did he run off to?'

I was sitting in business class. The aisle was wide and the seats were few, and partitions had been set up between them, so you could barely tell who was sitting where.

Just then, someone whisked past me — a flight attendant heading to the seat behind mine, where she bent down and whispered. The voice was far too quiet for any other passenger to catch, but my sharpened hearing didn't miss a word.

"Yes, sir. What can I get for you?"

"Cake, please. A big one. Looks like someone's drinking wine too — bring me some of that."

Beneath the adult male voice I could feel Number 1's unmistakable babyish lilt.

'So he possessed that man back there.'

Not that I could march back there right now, grab a strange man by the collar, and shake him around while scolding Number 1. I'd have to wait until the flight attendant finished taking the order and returned to the galley.

"Shall I prepare the wine? And what kind of cake would you like?"

"One loaded with whipped cream. I like strawberries."

"We don't have whipped cream cake available, but we can offer cheese, chocolate, or sweet potato cake."

I could hear the attendant patiently producing a menu.

"I'll take them all. Can't you give me all of them, pwease?"

"All of them... yes, that's possible. But the flight to Fukuoka Airport is quite short. Will you be able to finish it all?"

"I'll eat it all. Not a crumb left. Nom nom nom."

He'd apparently even mimed the act of stuffing his face.

The flustered attendant hurriedly said she'd bring the wine and cakes right away and retreated from the seat. A moment later, she drew the galley curtain aside and muttered under her breath.

"Lee Jeong-hoo, talking in that baby voice — 'give me all of them.' What a sick pervert."

"After luring underage fans to his house for a drinking game, he can't work in Korea anymore, so he's running off to Japan?"

"And get this — he claims he's the victim. Says the high schooler stalked him."

"Lee Jeong-hoo? That's the guy who touches flight attendants' legs and hands out his number to every woman he sees. He's done it to way more than one or two of us."

Lee Jeong-hoo?

The trash who'd recently invited a minor fan — a student heading home after academy classes — to his house for drinking games?

The student never came home, and the parents reported it to the police. They were people of some means, so the case even got escalated with kidnapping allegations and a serious crimes unit dispatched to the scene. CCTV footage confirmed the student had gone into the apartment directly across from Lee Jeong-hoo's building, and when officers stormed in, they caught him trying to get the minor to drink alcohol.

Once that came out, his past misdeeds all resurfaced, and his image cratered overnight.

The problem was that Lee Jeong-hoo was now claiming the high school fan had been stalking him.

With the two sides telling completely different stories, the case had gone to trial, and his fans who supported him were locked in an even standoff against the chorus of voices demanding his exile from the industry.

'Seo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jinwoo did mention in passing that Lee Jeong-hoo was garbage.'

Of all the people he could have picked, Number 1 had to go possess trash. Then again, maybe the malice and rage, the resentment and hatred festering inside Lee Jeong-hoo felt familiar and comfortable to an evil spirit like Number 1.

"Hey, Number 1."

I tilted my head slightly and spoke toward the seat behind me.

"Eat in moderation. And stop with the aegyo. Keep making trouble here and I'm leaving you in Japan. I'll terminate our contract."

"No! Master! Please, please never abandon me!"

Number 1 shot Lee Jeong-hoo's body upright and came toward me.

Thud. He dropped to both knees, and the business class cabin — already hushed — went quieter still.

[I'll do anything you ask, Master. I love you, Master.]

Number 1 groveled flat on the floor at my feet. To anyone else, it would look like Lee Jeong-hoo down on his knees.

Mr. Lee Jeong-hoo, you should've just apologized and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stayed in Korea. Why on earth did you board a flight to Fukuoka?

I slid my foot casually inward and said coldly:

"Go back to your seat and sit still. And keep your mouth shut."

"Yes, Master."

It felt like passengers were poking cameras through the gaps in the partitions, so I quickly pulled my own partition shut.

A short while later, the moment the plane touched down at Fukuoka Airport, I ordered Number 1 to return to the suitcase.

[Yes, Master!]

Number 1 slipped out of Lee Jeong-hoo's body and seeped smoothly into the carry-on.

"Huh? What... did I fall asleep or something?"

Lee Jeong-hoo apparently had no memory of sampling every kind of cake on board and washing them down with wine. When he made eye contact with the flight attendant, cream still smeared all over his mouth, he moved in for the kill.

"I dozed off and didn't even get to introduce myself. You're exactly my type — if your schedule allows, how about a glass of wine with me sometime..."

"Goodbye, sir. Have a pleasant trip."

Before Lee Jeong-hoo could even finish his line, the flight attendant cut him off cold.

I picked up my suitcase, closed in right behind Lee Jeong-hoo, and whispered.

"Cream. On your mouth. And you're welcome."

"What did you say? What the... Huh?! What is this? Why is there so much stuff all over my mouth?"

What would be on it, I wonder? Filth — loads of it.

Luring in a minor. Trash like that deserves to have his soul eaten by Number 1.

[Can I really eat him?]

'No.'

I shot a glare at Number 1 as he tried to ooze back out of the suitcase, then stepped through the jet bridge.

But why did I feel so refreshed? Wasn't getting off a plane supposed to leave you completely wrung out?

I kept up my light stride until a very, very important realization struck me.

'I don't have to stand in line in the jet bridge!'

Every time I'd gone abroad before, I'd always taken budget flights that departed at night and landed in the wee hours just to save money. Sitting thirteen hours unable to even stretch out my legs had been pure misery.

'The flight was short, sure — but is it really possible to feel zero fatigue like this?'

Only a handful of business class passengers, and being among the first off the plane meant no waiting in line at immigration.

That alone was worth every won.

Humming to myself, I asked Abe:

'Abe, how does it feel to be back in Japan after so long?'

[It feels strange, yet strangely familiar.]

'I think I know what you mean.'

Abe had been abandoned in a baby box, so he never knew where ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his hometown was or where he'd come from. Anywhere he went in Japan would feel foreign — and yet he had been Japanese, so it would feel warm to him all the same.

'Now that you're in Japan, more of your erased memories will start coming back. Once my business trip is over, I'll take you wherever you want to live.'

[Yes, Master.]

The ancient book that had been sealed inside the Imari porcelain. The man who unearthed it, Professor Sato Genji, had lost his granddaughter and was now in self-imposed confinement in a shrine, hiding from the vengeful spirit's attacks.

Since the vengeful ghost had begun targeting Lee Ho-young as well, Ho-young had walked straight into the room next to Sato Genji's of his own accord.

Ho-young had been terribly sorry he couldn't come greet me at the airport himself, and had promised to send someone in his place.

As I came out through arrivals and glanced around, a man holding a sheet of paper with my name on it caught my eye.

Tanaka wore a polo shirt, cotton slacks, and thick horn-rimmed glasses. The very picture of a graduate teaching assistant — calm and diligent, yet endlessly curious, the type to get so absorbed researching materials his professor never asked for that he'd forget an important appointment.

"Mr. Tanaka? I'm Kim Yunho."

When I approached and spoke in Japanese, Tanaka lit up and answered — in Korean.

"Korean. I studied it. Nice to meet you. Welcome."

"Ah, I see. I heard Professor Sato Genji speaks fluent Korean as well."

At the mention of Sato Genji, the smile drained from Tanaka's face.

"Professor... he is not well. It is a very difficult situation. The hospital says nothing can be done. They want to lock him in a solitary room in the psychiatric ward."

"Yes, I heard about it. I understand he lost his granddaughter, too."

"It is so sad. It is all my fault. I excavated the site near Agata with the Professor. But it was I who discovered the porcelain with the ancient book inside. That is why it hurts so much."

Tanaka was the one who'd found the Imari porcelain in the first place. Inside it was an ancient Korean manuscript written in Hunminjeongeum, so he'd handed it over to his supervising professor, Sato Genji.

"I wanted to impress the Professor. The Professor was so pleased. He always took great pride in his Korean heritage."

Sato Genji was a descendant of Yi Sam-pyeong. A professor at Kyoto University with a deep love for Korea — he'd even been proud that Korean blood flowed in his veins.

There was still a porcelain village in the Arita region, and a shrine honoring Yi Sam-pyeong.

"The Professor said it was a tremendous discovery and that he wanted to research it further, so he took it home."

"Shouldn't an Imari porcelain like that be reported to the government?"

"The Professor said no."

In Japan, anyone who discovers an artifact is supposed to report it to the Agency for Cultural Affairs.

But Sato Genji had sworn Tanaka to secrecy.

"He said porcelain made by Joseon hands, a Joseon artifact, should be returned to Korea. I felt the same way."

Joseon white porcelain, fired by Joseon potters abducted and carried off during the Imjin War. Sato Genji and Tanaka both believed such things could never honestly be called Japanese cultural heritage.

"But then the Professor's granddaughter died, and the Professor lost his mind. It is agony."

"Neither you nor Professor Sato Genji did anything wrong."

"Do you truly believe that?"

"I do. You were simply unlucky."

"Thank you! Thank you so much for understanding."

Tanaka said he'd brought a car and guided me out to the parking lot, where a silver Toyota sedan was waiting.

"Mr. Lee told me to bring this for you."

"I see."

Apparently Lee Ho-young had sent all of his own people back to Korea. If the vengeful spirit possessed a secretary or a bodyguard, it would only do more damage, so he'd cut his staff to a minimum.

The car pulled out of the airport and merged onto a broad road. Once we left downtown Fukuoka behind, the buildings shrank and residential neighborhoods appeared — those distinctly Japanese two-story wooden houses packed tightly together.

The car kept driving west, and the scenery transformed completely. Green rice paddies began spreading out on either side of us. Compared to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the fields back in Korea, the ridges were lower and the plots smaller and more irregular. Wooden farmhouses dotted the gaps between the paddies, and beyond them, gentle ridgelines rolled along the horizon.

"From here on, this is Saga Prefecture."

The proportion of rice paddies only grew — a green plain stretching all the way to the horizon. Faint mountains shimmered in the distance. Perhaps because the rainy season had just ended and midsummer was setting in, every bit of greenery gleamed as though soaked in moisture.

"Saga is the smallest prefecture in Kyushu, but the most famous for ceramics."

The car passed through a small village — a narrow shopping street, a post office, a few old men sitting in the shade.

"Arita is just ahead."

The foothills were drawing near. The outline of a town came into view, chimneys rising between the low buildings. White smoke drifted up from kilns firing pottery inside.

The car wound through the town of Arita — narrow alleys, old porcelain shops, the traces of ancient kiln sites sliding past the windows.

"Imari Port is just a little farther."

Over a small pass, the sea came into view.

"That's Imari Port. Long ago, porcelain was shipped out of this very harbor — all the way to Europe."

The blue sea unfolded before us. Calm waves, a handful of small fishing boats, islands hazy on the horizon. The car ran along the coastline. Imari Port was smaller than I'd imagined.

Then the car turned back toward the foothills, climbing a narrow road until a dense forest closed in around us. Leaving the national highway, we wound upward, the overgrown trees on both sides shutting out the sunlight.

"Here we are."

The car stopped in a small clearing.

A single old wooden building stood there. Red cloth hung from its eaves, and something was written in kanji on the pillars at the entrance. A breeze stirred from within the building, carrying the thick, rich scent of incense.

[Master, this place —!]

"Ha. Of course. Of course it is."

I'd hired a capable shaman to keep the vengeful spirit's attacks at bay — only to find the place crawling with ghosts.