Shadows Over Wakayama
I picked up Shaman Grandmother's apprentice at the airport right after she landed. Since she was the one asking for the favor, I'd handled everything perfectly on my end—plane ticket, hotel for her to crash solo. A flight under two hours wouldn't leave her jet-lagged, so with her luggage in tow, we headed straight south from Osaka to Wakayama, the city down there.
The apprentice, who sat in the back staring out the window the whole time, finally turned to look at me for the first time. "Did you set up lodging around here?"
"Nah. Even if it's a hassle, we'll stay in Osaka every night and come early to scout around. Better to move only during the day."
"Only during the day...?"
"Night's when things scarier than ghosts start prowling. Best to avoid it."
She immediately pictured yakuza and nodded quick agreement. They generally steered clear of tourists, but no point risking a clash. Humans might bed down when ghosts wake, but wandering then was still dumber than getting offed by sketchy types.
"Smart thinking, sis. No good tangling with weird groups."
"No plans to stir up trouble and hassle anyone. You know those folks well, Tanaka?"
"Eh... got some old buddies, but they're not the friendly sort."
Even for an interview, dragging middle-aged guys along might work, but three young women in their early twenties? That was basically begging to get jumped. Guns had limited ammo, and firing one would draw bigger heat than a standard rape or disappearance—cops who hated each other's guts would swarm shoulder-to-shoulder.
"Better to play it by ear. Spot a face while we're out, then talk. They don't think ahead anyway."
"That bad...?"
"Monkeys. Whole pack of 'em."
His classic thug merchant face twisted in real disgust, marking them as the kind of crew to avoid. Some gangs made newbies prove themselves by offing a homeless guy—probably that type.
"They'll talk first, so no instant attacks, but your looks might turn heads, haha."
"Ugh, hate that."
Their chuckling chat switched to Japanese, laced with local dialect. The girls in back couldn't follow a word, busy with their own stuff—the staffer focused her camera out the window, filming away, while the shaman alternated uneasy glances between the scenery and her phone, like she sensed something off. Luckily, no one got carsick.
"We're in Wakayama city now—where to, ma'am?"
"Stuff ourselves in town first. You've been driving hard."
"High-class spot it is."
Mentioned lunch to the backseaters, and both lit up at meat—easy crowd. We grabbed a scent-free meal at the department store to spare our clothes, then hit the port hauling locals to the islands. From here, it was our show; Tanaka hung back, scoping the perimeter.
"Looks like the trail starts here..."
"Too many people around. Shamans get bad looks in Japan too?"
"Depends on the region. Casual spots hire part-timers for holidays; strict ones use pre-teen girls who aren't on their period. Not as lowbrow as in Korea, though."
"Really?"
"Dunno much myself. I'd need to hit a proper shrine and see a real miko."
Every village had a shrine, bigger spots a temple too, but I'd never dug into their dynamics—books or papers on it. Just figured closed-off communities bred ghost stories.
While the staffer filmed the surroundings, the shaman approached with a troubled look.
"Doesn't seem like much for me to do here. Can't do a proper gut, and possession might not even stick right."
"Makes sense with all the Japanese ghosts..."
What I could see myself offered only fragments in Korean—overwhelmingly Japanese chatter. Hitting the ground made it feel hopeless.
"Let's swing by her hotel first and poke around."
"Wandering like this feels straight outta Specialist 24 or some scoop show. Always wanted to film for a station like that."
"Good luck chatting up locals without the language."
"Pfft, Papago app's got it. What's the big deal?"
Tease her a bit, maybe she'll study on her own. Trick straight from my mom—works like a charm. Shoved me into a Seoul uni 'cause I hated studying.
"I'll scout around quick. Snap your shots, look around. Stick close to that guy."
"Got it."
Leaving the apprentice sniffing the missing person's clothes for familiar scents, I strolled along the seawall. Felt eyes on me from afar, but no rush to chase. Order mattered in everything.
I slipped into the passenger terminal building and casually opened the "Staff Only" office door. Crowded, but no one batted an eye.
"Hm? Who...?"
"Nice to meet you. Inspector from upstairs."
One hand wave froze everyone mid-motion. If I could shove a soul into a corpse, yanking one out was child's play. Routine.
Intel said they weren't cooperating on manifests. "Copy every record on this person. Korean, so easy to spot."
"Yesss..."
Glassy-eyed, sluggish—like classic possession tales. I ditched their work, brewed coffee while they rifled computers and drawers.
"Here..."
"Thanks for the help."
Clapped once; eyes cleared. Closest staffer approached.
"No entry here. Move along."
"Oh, wrong door. Sorry."
"Ahem, happens."
National little-sis vibes and a fresh smile melted awkwardness like magic. No need for mind tricks sometimes. Read once: PhD after 20 years study earned less than looks alone. Hit home.
"Where'd you go?"
"Terminal run. Let's hit a café, cross-check with what we got."
"Yes!"
Staffer buzzed to film the fresh docs; shaman and thug, sensing weird vibes, nodded quietly. Those watchers weren't ninjas—anyone sharp would clock it. Better to hunker and play coy than poke everywhere.
I sidled to sour-faced Tanaka. "First day—head back to Osaka before dark. Too many eyes, creepy."
"Right, sis."
My casual grin, zero worry, pegged me as "bro's girl" in his eyes. Whatever.
Back at the hotel, Hyeon-a slaved over document translations while Na-eun and I pored over CCTV of the missing woman. Boarding, she scanned the scenery, then ducked inside, fiddling with her phone. Blurry footage hid details, but sporadic typing meant no videos.
"Chatting friends? No mention of that."
"Usually end-of-day wrap-ups at night—'went here, did this' stuff."
"Maybe a forum."
"Doubt it. Nothing like that..."
Hyeon-a tilted her head, snapping pics. Parents and friends gave no hint. She posted rarely, not glued like this.
"Sketchiest bet's a dating app or random hookup. Face and friends scream wild child, not straight-A."
"Wrong catch there?"
"Probably. Folks see 'good son' at home—client might deny. Whatever."
Wrong or not, cash was cash. No time wasting convincing deniers.
"Who knows. Corpse turns up, we show it—done. Don't overthink."
Na-eun, glued to the footage, eavesdropped with a queasy frown. Her job meant finding the body, so death details mattered. Water ghost? Drown her. Cliff spirit? Off a drop. Possession needed care.