The Son Who Brought Home a Ghost
The blue tiger was a gift from someone worried that, upon witnessing my abilities, it might harbor ill intentions and touch my reverse scale. It carried the meaning of "keep a close eye on her," along with a layer of surveillance arranged by whoever sent it. The one who dispatched it here was a goddess, so naturally, there must be gods on Earth too—she vaguely thought. She wasn't a sage, but with little greed for money or power, Seo-ah figured she might just live out her days like this and die peacefully.
-Whine.
Without even riding it separately, the blue tiger suddenly appeared in the spacious office and sprawled out comfortably. After nothing but errands every time, this seemed like a long-overdue rest; its face radiated deep satisfaction. Our little dog Baek-gu stared at it with pure curiosity. The proverb "a day-old pup fears no tiger" fit perfectly. Sneaking closer, he poked at the soft fur with his nose, then wriggled his way under the warm underbelly.
-Grrowl.
The tiger made no move, as if to say, "Go ahead, do whatever," which only emboldened the pup further.
"Heh, look at them getting along."
Resting her chin in her hand, she watched the pair quietly and recalled what Shaman Grandmother had said. For the mountain spirit to send such a mighty spirit beast was blessing enough, but to witness it with her own eyes? That was true greatness for a shaman, a monumental boon. But where good fortune walks, impurity often follows. As spiritual energy blooms, malevolent spirits take notice—be wary, she'd warned.
"Hmm... but I'm eviler than any malicious spirit..."
In a world that divides good and evil from a purely human perspective, judging who leans closer to which side, she was unadulterated evil. Human experimentation wasn't enough; she extracted people's memories and implanted them into others for her own ends. And the worst part? She could kill without a shred of hesitation.
"Eh, whatever. It'll sort itself out."
Truth be told, after smashing demons and their collective hordes, she wasn't scared anyway. Leaning back in her chair, Manager Woo—Hyeon-a's brother—entered the agency with a female client in tow.
"You're here."
"Good day, President. Since it's a holiday, I brought her straight here, but maybe the café outside would've been better."
"It's fine. If the client prefers to come in and talk directly, that's okay."
When they'd merged offices, she'd wondered why he never brought clients over, but it turned out he was just being considerate of her. Early-20s president hearing all those messy affair stories? Yeah, probably awkward. The middle-aged woman trailing behind startled slightly at the sight of the youthful woman in the prime seat, then bowed her head.
"Hello."
"Hello. Coffee?"
"Yes, please. Something cold, if possible? My chest feels tight."
"Of course."
This place was steeped in all sorts of filthy tales and imaginations; no one's innards stayed pure. For such folks, chilled drinks beat warm coffee or tea that needed slow sipping. They preferred it anyway—and ordered more of it.
"Have a seat here."
The plush sofa where Hyeon-a usually napped finally found its purpose. Sighing deeply with worries brimming over, the woman bowed in thanks and sipped the iced coffee Seo-ah brought.
The manager couldn't ignore it like it was mere employee work, so he asked permission and sat too—slightly apart, like mere decoration, ears open. Knowing her intent, he took the lead.
"What brings you here, if I may ask?"
"...Yes."
Spotting the dog lounging in the sunlight by the window, legs stretched out, seemed to ease her; lips that looked sealed forever parted.
"Please investigate my son. His background."
"Your son's background?"
"Yes."
Unusual from typical requests, the manager scratched his cheek with a low, awkward hum. Usually, it was wives or mothers-in-law checking sons-in-law; rarely did a parent investigate their own child. Especially after years together—how could they not know?
She eyed the middle-aged client again. Dressed decently, voice steady—not rich aristocracy, but comfortable. A worn ring etched with life's traces suggested a stable marriage.
"Hmm... what specifically are you looking for?"
"Every place he's been in the last month."
"Places. May I ask why? Depending on if it's woman trouble or something else, the info changes."
"Just the places he visited, please... My son came home with a ghost attached!"
"...Pardon?"
"He won't say where he's been, just holes up in his room. Aigoo."
Her face deadly serious despite the words, full of pity. The ex-cop, who believed people scarier than ghosts after years on the force, tilted his head in confusion. Not exorcism—just places visited. Easy enough.
"Understood. Just locations, we can do that."
"Here..."
Desperate, she pulled her son's info from her bag first: ID photo, resident number, cards—all neatly compiled on a few sheets. Looked like an ordinary high schooler, maybe early college.
"Freshman? Lots of part-time gigs."
"I offered plenty of allowance, but he insisted on earning his own—ran around everywhere."
"Good kid."
"He was... sob..."
Tears welled, cutting her off. Even if he didn't buy ghosts, he wasn't the type for taboo acts, so no prying. Not one to kick stone pagodas or rip shrine portraits.
"Got it. We'll check fast and call. Transparent trail like his? Piece of cake."
In a world tracking debt-dodgers and runaways, past movements were simple. As he wrapped up, Seo-ah leaned forward. Unrelated, she'd stayed quiet—but the lounging tiger suddenly lifted its head, staring at the woman. That nagging itch of "annoying, but gotta do it."
"Did a shaman say your son was possessed by an evil spirit, by chance?"
"Yes. Some mischief somewhere; find the spot, appease the spirit. Hospitals say nothing's wrong, so..."
"Mind if I see him myself? Nothing beats talking to the source."
"Well... not sure he can talk..."
Thoroughly entranced, barely human anymore, she explained. They set afternoon visit; he gave address, told her to prep home, sent her off. They stayed on the sofa, sipping remaining coffee.
"Manager brought a weird one."
"Tell me about it. Rare for me too. Handled one as detective, avoided since."
"What kind?"
"Cult family claiming demons possessed each other—self-stabbing with kitchen knives. Husband came home from outstation, utterly deflated."
"Earned cash, but home a wreck."
"Yeah."
He'd seen murders attempted over shamans' curses—vowed to steer clear. Took the job reluctantly; still uneasy.
"You know shamans and ghosts? Heard you and sis did a ritual once."
"Acquaintance is one; familiar with it. Might wrap quick."
Ghost consults ran hundreds of thousands for a candle; small rite started at five million. Her cut? Better uses: meals, sides, trips.
"Fee?"
"Referral, priced above affairs. Wants it fast."
"Could pocket it all."
"Even better."
Tough for that shaman, but hey, they earned to live. Quick resolve best—no dragging.
"Prep to head there. I'll step out briefly."
"Calling sis? I'm no videographer."
"Nah. Can't upload shaman antics from agency—association flips."
No license anyway; turf wars were a hassle. Ghosts danced happily, but money scared more.