The Evil Price of Chicken, the Eviler Han Doyun, and the Evilest Organizer

And then, the next morning arrived.

"...Ugh, crap. I dozed off. Cheogwi, what happened with those two? Did they do it?"

I'd fallen asleep with the popcorn still in my hand.

Grabbing popcorn for the dopamine party had been a great call, but in hindsight, shoving two hopeless virgins into a room was never going to make the main event happen on schedule. They weren't even each other's type to begin with, and watching the two of them hem and haw anxiously like strangers on a first date...

...I yawned, and all that dopamine got detoxed right out of me.

So I sat there waiting for the show, and somewhere along the way, I drifted clean off into a deep sleep.

[Well, I couldn't get inside either because of the talisman... but from the sounds of it, they went about two rounds?]

"Oh... is that so?"

I casually undid the sealing cord and cracked the door open.

On the bed...

...lay the Wild Virgin Ghost, her face glowing with fresh radiance, and beside her, the client—thoroughly drained.

They did it. They actually did it.

"Whew... I feel like I've been reborn."

I gave the client a sidelong glance—he wore the expression of a man who'd just attained enlightenment—then turned to the Wild Virgin Ghost. Having feasted her fill on yang energy, her grudge apparently resolved, her body suddenly floated up off the bed and began to fade.

"Thank you for your service. Looks like the lady got her closure too. She's passing on peacefully."

[Thank you... even if he wasn't exactly the blond, tanned, drop-dead-gorgeous hunk I'd hoped for.]

...As the matchmaker, I felt a twinge of guilt, but the truth is, no blind date in history ever got off the ground without a little exaggeration and a fresh coat of polish. People these days won't even glance at anyone who isn't a step up, anyway.

"Haha... what a relief. And how is he doing?"

"...He says he's overjoyed to have met the woman of his dreams."

"Wow... that's wonderful. No wonder she's been appearing in my dreams for the past two days, seducing me—she must have fallen for me at first sight."

[...? Two days ago? What is that even supposed to mean? I only showed up yesterday.

...Don't tell me you were with some OTHER woman, you bastard?!

No, wait—Mr. Reaper, hold on! I just want to hear this bastard explain himself before I go, I swear!]

Since she was ascending anyway, I decided some petty misunderstandings were better left unresolved.

At any rate, the job was done, so I collected the fee we'd agreed on.

"Thank you so much, Exorcist! I'm really going to try living my life to the fullest!"

"Yes, yes. Fighting—to both our lives."

Basking in the client's gratitude, I left the apartment complex.

"Thanks for the meal~! URP."

[So how much did you make?]

Picking at my teeth with a starch toothpick, I answered Cheogwi's question.

"Two million won."

[Hmm... two million won for two days of work. Is that a lot? I'm out of touch with prices these days.]

Granted, the only money I'd actually spent was on printing the talismans. I'd even scored a hearty breakfast at the client's place before heading out.

"Not bad for a first job. Once word spreads like this, we'll be famous in no time. We might even get invited onto TV shows or horror YouTube channels. Anyway, since we've been paid, how about we treat ourselves to fried chicken for lunch?"

[Yeeesss!]

Since Cheogwi was a spiritual entity, serving her portion in a separate empty bowl let her enjoy the taste right along with me.

And so I stepped into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the chicken place.

"Welcome! Please place your order at the kiosk."

"Ah, right... the kiosk! The standard ordering method of 2026 South Korea. Hmm...?

Wh...what?! Twenty-six thousand won for ONE whole chicken?! And the drink and the pickled radish cost extra?!"

So in effect, that's thirty thousand won!

"CHICK-AAAAACK!!"

Sometime in the past ten years, South Korea had become a truly terrifying place.

But even murderous chicken prices couldn't slow the charge of our two-person human-ghost scam ring.

We went so far as to set up an actual office. Whenever Cheogwi marked a household, I would blanket the surrounding neighborhood with our business cards and herd the customers in.

"Oh dear, oh my—you say a terrifying ghost has been appearing in your dreams lately? Tell me, did that ghost happen to have a mole on her chest?"

"Gah—h-how could you possibly know that?!"

"How truly dreadful. However, with Plan A of our exorcism office—the Deluxe Exorcism Edition—we can resolve this problem for the low, low price of just 2.5 million won..."

"Deluxe Exorcism Edition? How could anyone resist that."

"I'm a high school senior, and this gorgeous older woman keeps showing up in my dreams, so I can't focus on studying..."

"Just put your trust in me. You must trust me with everything you have."

Each successful exorcism begat fresh rumors, and before long, word was spreading through the surrounding apartment complexes that a famous exorcist had hung up his shingle.

...And the result:

we were pulling in a bloodcurdling thirty million won a month!!!

"And not a single won of it taxed, mind you. We only accept our fees in cash."

[Kukuku... I frighten even myself... So this is what power feels like...?!]

Not listening to a word I said, Cheogwi struck a dramatic pose, drunk on her own strength. She'd absorbed so much energy lately that her spirit-power pouch had grown a size bigger.

Anyway... they say not even the dreaded Joker could beat the National Tax Service. But Survivor-Demon Han Doyun? Maybe I could. If things kept going like this, that is.

I can do this... I can!

Knock knock!

Just as I was thinking that, someone rapped on the office door yet again today.

"Ah... another ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠precious, precious guest graces us. Cheogwi, prepare some tea, would you?"

[Hmph... I'm only making it because there's nothing else to do anyway.]

Cheogwi had grown far stronger than before from making the rounds of all those households and harvesting people's fear, and now she could brew tea in broad daylight without straining herself. Considering an ordinary virgin ghost can't even manifest during the day, that was remarkable progress.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Hello there. I'm from the National Tax Service."

"...Huh?"

I froze solid on the spot, like a pillar of salt.

When Sodom and Gomorrah fell, didn't Lot's wife glance back at the destruction and turn into a pillar of salt? Which means, if you think about it, Sodom and Gomorrah might actually have been getting shaken down for taxes by angels. Some kind of deviant-urges levy, perhaps.

Taxes? That's a ghost story. That's a true anomaly.

I only ever took cash. How on earth did they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠track me down in a single month?

The strange man studied me—now fully petrified—then burst into hearty laughter and apologized.

"PUHAHAHA! Just a joke, just a joke. People in the exorcism business always turn to stone the moment you mention the tax office."

"...Haha. A joke. Right."

"Sorry for startling you. The truth is, I came here because I have something like a request for you...

Say, may I sit down for a moment?"

Pull that joke twice and I'd be following Cheogwi to the afterlife by way of cardiac arrest.

"Ah~haha! I see, I see. Please, please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable. We have adlay tea, roasted grain tea, and coffee."

"Adlay tea, please."

Anyway, prankster or not, the man was a cash cow, so with my professional smile plastered across my face, I carried the two cups of adlay tea Cheogwi had brewed in the pantry over to the table.

He accepted them with a smile and slurped them right down.

Hmm... but no matter how I look at it, this is no ordinary client.

I'd been quietly watching him drink, and how should I put it—the man radiated confident composure. Ordinary people who meet exorcists, or anyone else who deals in the unknown, usually carry at least a trace of wariness or fear toward those who handle what they cannot understand. This man gave off none of that.

From his slicked-back pomade hairstyle to his sharply tailored, razor-creased suit, everything about him projected a solid, unshakable aura—like a preemptive strike.

"Ahh~ that hit the spot. Well then, I suppose it's time I introduced myself. I'm a man who does this sort of work."

"Um... yes."

The client drew a hefty leather cardholder from his breast pocket, extracted one immaculately crisp business card, and handed it over. I took it and studied it closely.

From the cardstock itself to the intricate embossed logo at the top, the thing radiated a class of luxury on a completely different dimension from the 5,000-won cards I'd hastily run off at the print shop.

"...Para...normal science?"

"Yes. Paranormal science—if it helps you understand, think of us as a research institute specializing in phenomena that current science cannot verify."

Director Park Jincheol set his teacup lightly back on the tray, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a smooth, practiced arc.

What is this? Some kind of cult?

But from the perspective of a Survivor-Demon who'd spent ten years living inside the Death Game, this world was positively crawling with the supernatural. Look no further than Cheogwi floating right beside me, performing the deeply unnatural feat of physical interaction known as brewing adlay tea in broad daylight. Such things were simply hard for ordinary people to come across—whether supernatural phenomena actually existed hadn't been a debatable question for a long time.

Which meant I needed to find out whether this Park Jincheol was a genuine expert unraveling spiritual phenomena with cutting-edge scholarship, or just a new breed of silver-tongued cultist.

Resting my chin slyly on the table, I lobbed out a question.

"Oh-ho... so does Director Park Jincheol, in his capacity as head of an institute, happen to possess some manner of psychic powers?"

"Haha, well—it's called an institute, but it's a cover identity."

"...I'm sorry, what? If you're going to admit that so freely, why bother maintaining a cover at all?"

Unbelievable. The man's identity was already suspicious enough, and now it turned out even that was fake? Was he some kind of National Intelligence Service agent?

But why would people like that come looking for a small business owner like me?

"What would I have to hide? You and I are both... veterans, you see—long acquainted with the inexplicable things that roam this world.

Mr. Han Doyun, I know exactly who you are. To the human world, you're playing at being an ordinary exorcist... but in the world of unidentified entities and anomalies, you're quite the celebrity.

And no wonder... you are the sole champion who survived ten years inside that famous Death Game that ran for decades... and returned to reality."

"Huh?"

At those words, I turned into a pillar of salt for the second time.

Hold on—that Death Game I was on... it was a LIVE broadcast? And apparently a rather famous one at that. Which meant that, in the anomaly world, I might just be the Oprah of ghosts.

Then why, exactly, was I kicked out without receiving a single won, forced to play fake exorcist in a place like this?

"KYAAAAH! GIVE ME BACK MY APPEARANCE ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠FEE!!!!"

"My, my... you startled me!"