The Demon in the Bead
My younger sister, three years my junior, was beautiful enough that anyone who saw her would call her pretty.
In fact, she had received scouting offers from famous entertainment agencies more times than I could count, and her looks alone had earned her spotlights in any number of media outlets.
But my sister had no interest in becoming a celebrity, and for some reason she abhorred fame to an extreme degree.
Her personality was upright and decisive, and she was so warm-hearted that every person who met her sang her praises without reservation.
Kind.
A proper lady.
So dignified.
If angels exist in this world, that child must be one of them.
She's going to go far in life.
A person who will be loved by everyone.
Not a single human being who met my sister ever failed to praise her character.
In all my life, I had never once heard my sister use foul language, let alone swear—her voice was always soft, yet so clear it left a lingering echo in your ears.
My sister possessed not only beauty and character to a degree that bordered on perfection, but she was also brilliant and athletically gifted besides.
She never once failed to take first place in her entire grade through elementary, middle, and high school, and she was always the ace at swimming, ball sports, running—every athletic activity there was—so the offers from the sports world poured in endlessly as well.
And her popularity? Don't even get me started.
Countless people were drawn to the brilliant light my sister radiated and flocked to her side.
Her surroundings were always overflowing with other exceptional people, and even among them, my sister was always the center of attention.
I could state it with certainty: there existed no one in this world as perfect, as upright, as exceptional, and as beautiful as my sister.
Naturally, our parents took more pride in her than in anyone else in the world.
To be precise, only our mother—our father had passed away long ago.
And what about me?
As her blood-related older brother, what did I think of my sister?
To get straight to the conclusion.
I.
Despised.
My sister.
Deeply. I despised her then, I despise her now, and I will despise her for the rest of my life.
Because she hated me?
Or was there some dramatic twist, like in a drama or webtoon—some hidden, two-faced side of her that only I knew about?
As if.
That gentle, angel-like sister who seemed capable of embracing all of creation—hate me?
A hidden dark side? Not a chance.
On the contrary, my sister doted on me to the point of being overwhelming, and deferred to me in everything.
She tried to grant whatever I asked of her, and my sharp-witted sister had noticed my festering, murky emotions since we were children, yet still tried to understand them and embrace me anyway.
Then why did I hate my sister?
It was simple.
No twist, no hidden darkness.
It was for the simple reason that she was so much more exceptional than me—her own older brother.
No matter what I did, no matter what I accomplished, no matter what I tried, my existence was always buried beneath the brilliant light that was my sister.
Even when I took first place in my class, even when I won awards, even when someone praised me, it was my exceptional sister who got the spotlight, not me.
I had lived my entire life being measured against her.
Whether I wanted it or not.
Naturally, no good feelings toward my sister ever took root in me, but I never let it show.
Instead, I played the role of the doting, caring older brother for my family and everyone around us.
I wasn't so foolish as to think that baring such filthy emotions would change anything.
But as time passed and the days of being compared to my sister piled up, the black feelings festering inside me only grew.
And then, at some point, I found myself wishing.
My sister, Jia. Yoon Jia.
I wish you would just die.
I wish you would disappear from before my eyes.
The moment I wished for her death with all the intensity in my body, something inside me rose up in denial.
Still... she's still my sister, isn't she?
What has she ever done wrong?
Isn't she the one trying to understand and accept me—broken as I am, someone who loathes her?
And I harbor these feelings toward a sister like that—an angel...?
The contradictory emotions collided violently inside me, until at some point a hollow emptiness washed over me.
What difference would all this wishing and agonizing make anyway?
It wasn't as if I had the courage to kill her with my own hands...
I told myself that thinking it changed nothing.
That was the obvious, rational conclusion—but there was a saying in our country.
Words become seeds.
That day, alone in a dark room, I had wished for my sister's death.
And I learned that the bus my sister had been riding—she had just graduated high school and was heading to her university's freshman retreat—had been in a collision.
And then...
I learned the terrible news that my sister had gone missing in that accident.
Mom and I scoured every corner of the accident site, searching everywhere for my sister.
Many students had died in the collision, but the only person who had vanished without a trace was my sister, and because of that, our family's story made the news and became a national issue.
Perhaps because of that, for the first few months the police and everyone around us were diligent in the search for my missing sister.
But as time passed and not even a trace of her was found, the people around us gradually began to wear down.
As for me and Mom, I don't even need to say it.
By the time nearly a year had passed since my sister's disappearance, everyone who had once helped us search for her had left us.
Our story never appeared even as a small article on the internet again, and the police stopped their investigation as well.
Mom had quit her job long ago to search for my sister, and I had taken a leave of absence from university, so our lives had each ground to a halt.
Every day, Mom wept and wailed, calling Jia's name.
Every day, I had to listen to that crying from my room.
I understood.
She was the precious child Mom had carried for ten months.
A daughter she could have proudly shown off anywhere.
A child who had shone amid everyone's praise, blessings, and pride.
I understood... I understood.
I felt guilty.
It felt as though it had happened because I had wished for my sister's death that day.
Rationally, I knew it made no sense, but not a shred of the guilt clinging to my emotions would ease.
Mom's wailing continued.
My guilt continued as well.
When the wailing and the guilt bled into one another, my chest grew tight and nausea rose in my throat.
My head throbbed with a maddening ache, and I felt as though I was losing my mind.
I bolted from the house as if running away.
Without any destination in mind, I took buses and the subway, simply getting farther and farther from home.
By the time it was late and public transit had stopped running, I had no choice but to emerge outside, walking aimlessly under the black night sky.
Not knowing where this was, not knowing what I wanted to do, I simply walked—until my footsteps came to a halt in front of some shabby old building.
At first I thought it was a motel, and I went inside looking for a place to sleep, only to find the interior pitch dark, the surrounding objects visible only in faint silhouette.
"...Is anyone here?"
No answer came, no matter how I called.
Normally, this would be the moment to walk right back out, but something had a hold on me, and in a daze I wandered deeper into the building.
Inside, I could see all manner of antiques on display.
"What... is this?"
Pocket watches, a skull, beads, a model of a chicken—everything on display was utterly inconsistent and immeasurably eerie.
Sensing that something was wrong, I finally turned around and made to leave the building.
"Gah!"
Only then did I notice that a woman had drawn up right in front of me, and I shrieked and scrambled backward in a hurry.
Swoosh...
The woman, whose features had been lost in shadow, lifted the lantern she was holding, revealing her face.
Pitch-black hair like ink, falling to her waist, and eyes the color of rubies.
A sensual figure accentuated by the black dress she wore.
My first impression of the woman was—
beautiful.
Considering that I was so accustomed to my sister's face—more stunning than most celebrities—if I called someone beautiful, there was nothing more to be said.
She clearly bore a human shape, yet something about her presence and appearance refused to feel human—a mystical, otherworldly air.
She looked to be in her twenties, but the aura that wafted from her carried the weight of a being that had lived through eons.
"Interesting."
The woman said this as she looked at me, frozen in confusion, but contrary to her words, her expression was blank and languid.
Her voice was equally flat, and I realized that this expression and tone were simply her norm.
"I'm sorry, I, I was just..."
Struggling to gather the senses she had bewitched out of me, I bowed my head in apology and fumbled for words.
Clatter...
The woman stared at me in silence for a while with that beautiful face, and then something rattled on the display shelf right beside her; she glanced toward it.
Following her gaze, I saw a single bead the size of a fist sitting on the shelf, bobbing up and down on its own though no one had touched it.
"...I see."
The woman narrowed her eyes, regarding the bead through half-lowered lids, then picked it up and held it out to me.
"Take it."
"...Sorry?"
Her sudden words and actions only deepened my bewilderment.
"It chose you. Therefore, it is yours."
"What is that supposed to..."
I looked back and forth between the outstretched bead and the woman, demanding an answer with my eyes, but she simply continued holding the bead out to me in silence, letting that stand in place of a reply.
Unable to endure the strange silence that hung between the woman and me in the dim darkness for more than a few seconds, I had no choice but to accept the bead.
Clatter!
"Whoa—!"
The moment I took it, the bead in my palm began thrashing even harder, as though it were alive.
Just as I was at a complete loss, the bead's movement stopped—startling me all over again.
The woman regarded the bead with listless eyes, then shifted her gaze back to me and spoke.
"What lies inside that bead is a demon."
At that one low remark, I had to question my own ears.
"A demon that once brought humanity to the brink of annihilation. The worst of demons, barely sealed away through the combined strength of humans and demons alike. In the past, humans and demons alike called that demon the Demon of Existence."
I had no idea what she was talking about, and I frowned at her, but she paid my reaction no mind and kept speaking.
"If that demon has chosen you, it will grant one wish of yours."
As though she had more to say, the woman turned away to leave, her final words hanging in the air.
After an endless chain of incomprehensible events, I stared blankly at her retreating back for a moment, then asked, as if possessed.
"...And the price?"
"Price?"
The woman stopped in her tracks.
"You're... a demon, aren't you? And demons... usually demand something in exchange for granting a wish."
Perhaps my words had some merit, because the woman seemed to consider something before speaking to me.
"It will not demand a price as dreadful as you imagine. No... perhaps it is a dreadful price? If that being asks anything of you in return, it will be your love. For the Demon of Existence, that is the one thing it needs."
Before I could answer, the woman turned to leave again, and I called out desperately.
"W-wait a moment! You... who are you...?"
The woman fixed me with those ruby eyes that seemed capable of pulling me in whole, then gazed off into empty air for a moment.
As if something she had long been waiting for was there, she looked into the distance with a faraway expression, then turned back to me and—for the first time—showed the faintest of smiles.
"I am a monster. By this country's name... they call me Yoon Seongha. Though it is not my name in this world."
A monster?
Not her name in this world?
What on earth was she talking about...
"Ah..."
I saw it.
Within the woman's shadow, something like tentacles writhing.
"...Huh?"
Thinking my eyes must be playing tricks, I rubbed them once—and the woman had vanished from before me.
At the same time, the scenery around me had changed, and I realized I was somehow already outside the building.
I looked around quickly, but the building I had entered only moments before was gone entirely.
The whole thing felt like a dream, so absurd that I even pinched my own cheek, but nothing changed.
It was unmistakably real.
"Haha... what even is... ha..."
Clatter!
In the middle of my hollow laughter, a movement in my grip snapped me wide awake.
The bead kept shaking, wriggling as if begging me to look at it.
As I stared absently at the thing squirming in my hand, I felt myself being swept up in a strange, unsettling feeling.
And then an intuition began to rise in me—that this bead would transform me, and everything around me, and beyond that, this entire world.
And not for the better.
For the worse.
The next day.
The day I returned home carrying the bead the woman had said contained a demon.
My sister, who had been missing—came back home, alive.