Why the Hell Are You Taking Off Your Pants?!
“Why the hell are you taking off your pants, you crazy woman?!”
Chapter 47
Winter and I stepped into the orphanage, the stage for our bubble-shower performance. “Is anyone here?”
“….”
Something about the atmosphere felt off from what I had expected. Given that this was a place where a chaebol heiress was supposedly doing volunteer work, I had pictured decent facilities. Instead, the orphanage looked remarkably run-down. Did that mean they allowed her to volunteer for the image but refused to provide any actual funding? Or had they deliberately chosen the most dilapidated location? If she was already living off volunteer work to improve her public image, why not throw in some money while they were at it? It wasn’t like they were short on cash. The minds of the wealthy were hard to understand.
The inner grounds were poorly maintained, with rusted swings whose chains had snapped. No matter how many times I called out, no one answered, so we headed toward the main gate. Peering through the slightly open door, I spotted a bulletin board decorated with colorful paper and non-woven fabric. It, too, looked neglected—faded to the point of turning white. The place felt less merely shabby and more outright eerie.
“…Taeyang-nim, can I hold your hand?”
Winter’s eyes trembled as she reached out, clearly unsettled by the strange mood.
“Scared?”
“No! Not scared, exactly. It just feels a little… chilly.”
She looked like the type of delinquent who would scoff at ghost stories, yet she seemed surprisingly timid. The way she tried to act tough while clearly spooked was oddly amusing. A mischievous impulse stirred in me.
“Wah!”
“Hiiik!”
I suddenly shouted and startled her. Winter’s hands shook violently as she squeezed her eyes shut.
“You said you weren’t scared.”
“….”
She couldn’t answer, only making a pitiful face—while still holding her hand out. I chuckled softly and took it.
“This isn’t some haunted spot. What’s there to be afraid of? It’s just a place where people live—”
“Who are you?”
A woman appeared behind us. She had long black hair and a pale, ghostly face.
“Hiiiiik! A ghost!”
Winter screamed and toppled backward as if fainting. The hand I was holding trembled like it had been shocked.
“Winter, calm down! She’s human! Human!”
…If you keep acting like that, even I’m getting scared.
“…Oh, you’re human. I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding.”
Winter wiped away the tears that had welled up and the cold sweat on her face. The ghostly woman stared at us in silence. Worried she might have taken offense at Winter’s reaction, I apologized as well.
“I’m sorry for our rude behavior. We’re both rather easily frightened.”
The woman spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. “Who are you?”
Combined with the orphanage’s gloomy atmosphere, she looked positively sinister. I kept my composure and answered.
“My apologies for the late introduction. I’m Seon Taeyang. We were told to come for volunteer work today.”
Winter bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “I’m Han Gyeowool.”
She was still holding my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re the two people the director mentioned. This way, please.”
The woman turned and began walking down the corridor. Winter watched her with shaking shoulders, then whispered into my ear.
“Taeyang-nim! She doesn’t make any footsteps! She’s really a ghost, isn’t she?”
“It’s just a skill. She’s not a ghost.”
“A skill that lets you walk without making sound? Then… is she a ninja?”
Winter’s fear flipped into sudden excitement; her eyes sparkled as she stared at the woman. I mercilessly crushed that hope.
“In twenty-first-century Korea? Probably not a ninja. Maybe a dancer? There are steps in certain dances that minimize foot noise.”
“…So she was a dancer.”
“Now that you’re reassured, can you let go of my hand?”
How long were you planning to hold it, Winter? Think about how this looks to others.
“…Can’t I hold it just a little longer?”
“No.”
“Ah…”
I pried her hand off with my free one. Winter gazed at her empty left hand with a hollow expression, then glanced at me and grabbed the sleeve of my shirt instead. It seemed too pitiful to shake her off, so I pretended not to notice.
The woman led us into a small but neatly organized room. The nameplate on the desk suggested it was the director’s office.
“Please have a seat on the guest sofa.”
We sat carefully on the worn sofa as instructed. The woman remained standing in front of us. From this angle, I finally noticed details about her appearance that the eerie atmosphere had overshadowed before. Her long, silky black hair radiated an elegant refinement that came from meticulous care. Her sharply defined face, paired with pale skin, gave off a chilling impression, yet its perfect proportions made it feel graceful instead. If someone modeled the most beautiful East Asian face in computer graphics, it would probably look like hers. Opinions might differ on what counted as an attractive face, but if asked for the most perfect one, I would point to her. Considering the lingering traces of youth, that was the highest praise I could give.
The white dress, reminiscent of a mourning robe, was cheap ready-made clothing that could be bought online for fifty thousand won. Judging by the finishing, it definitely cost less than a hundred thousand. But the accessories she wore told a different story. Every single one was an ultra-expensive luxury item. That metal-and-black-velvet headband alone was from Chanel—probably worth around two million won. Yet these luxury pieces blended naturally into her overall presence without seeming flashy. If I hadn’t been studying fashion brands for sponsorship deals, I wouldn’t have recognized even a tenth of them. They would have just looked like tasteful accessories. This was nothing like the nouveau-riche style of flaunting expensive bags. She didn’t look luxurious because of the brands; she made the brands look luxurious by wearing them. A fashion reporter describing her would probably use the word “elegance.” She could have been chosen as an ambassador for any luxury brand and no one would have questioned it.
She definitely had idol potential. And a very unique one at that. What would it be like if Gaeul and Gyeowool stood beside her?
“Is there something you wish to say?”
Only then did I realize I had been staring at her while lost in thought. It was an occupational habit—whenever I saw someone attractive, I automatically assessed their potential as an idol.
“Ah, I’m sorry.”
I apologized as politely as possible. “Your fashion sense seemed so outstanding that I couldn’t help but look. If I made you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
“…Fashion? If that was your intention, it’s fine.”
I changed the subject to ease the awkward atmosphere. “Where is the director?”
“The director is currently out securing funding.”
“What about the other staff?”
“No other employees came in today. We’ve minimized the workforce because we lack the funds to pay salaries.”
“…?”
So the only people in this large orphanage were the director and this ghostly woman? It was bizarre, yet strangely familiar in its staffing structure.
“But that’s not something the volunteers need to worry about. Whether the director is here or not, the work remains the same.”
“What work?”
The woman’s lips curved slightly. “Cleaning the bathrooms.”
***
I scrubbed the bathroom tiles with a brush soaked in detergent. With around fifty children living here, the place was filthy. The stench of urine lingered everywhere, making the task genuinely unpleasant. Still, I didn’t give up and kept scrubbing. Ever since I started living alone with my sister, cleaning had always been my responsibility. By experience alone, I could call myself a veteran. That gave me a certain pride in my cleaning skills.
After a long struggle, the urinals that had seemed so repulsive regained their original white color.
“There we go.”
No joke—if someone offered decent money and asked me to lick one, I would have tried. That was how clean I had made them. The problem was that the bathrooms were enormous to match the number of residents, so more than half still needed cleaning. Would I even make it home before midnight…?
“…I didn’t expect you to go this far.”
While steeling myself to tackle the next urinal, I heard the woman’s voice behind me.
“It looks clean, doesn’t it? When I take on a task, I tend to give it my all.”
I turned to face her with confidence—only to be met with a sight I never could have predicted. Her current outfit was unique in an entirely different way from before. All the elegant accessories that had added to her grace were gone. Instead, she wore pink rubber gloves, navy rubber boots, baggy pants covered in messy floral patterns, a discolored apron, and a mask that covered half her small face. She looked exactly like a typical cleaning lady.
Stunned by the drastic image change, I asked, “What’s with the outfit?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“…It’s not strange, but where did the white dress you were wearing earlier go?”
“The dress?”
The woman tilted her head—and without giving me time to stop her, she took off her pants.
…No, why the hell are you suddenly taking off your pants, you crazy woman?!