I Received a Revelation About Park Songhwa

I'd barely opened my eyes before grabbing my phone, and this was the notification sitting at the very top of the screen.

My monthly royalty settlement.

Income from the 47 tracks I had uploaded to a stock music site.

Let's do the math...

Roughly 9,300 won per track, give or take.

Money my babies had worked their tails off to earn, all month long. I was so proud I nearly cried.

"Ahh..."

I'd dragged a single suitcase up to Seoul the day after my military discharge, and I was now in my third year living in a rooftop apartment on the edge of the city. If you wanted to put a label on it, I was a composer. Sort of.

Whoa, it's touching my shoulders now.

At some point my hair had grown out into shoulder-length locks. The cost of a haircut felt like a waste of money, and eventually just sweeping it behind my ears became easier anyway.

I'm an artist. And at least I'm not starving.

That was my life's slogan these days. The bird that flies low never gets shot.

Right then, my phone rang.

It was Mom.

"Son, have you eaten?"

"Yeah."

"What did you eat?"

"Just... rice."

"Oh, and when are you getting a haircut? My friend says companies won't hire men who go around looking like that."

"......"

I almost said that artists can wear their hair any way they like, but I swallowed it back down. I had a conscience too.

I'll give this one more year... if it doesn't work out, I'll call it quits.

After hanging up, I let out a long sigh. My parents, growing apples back in Gimcheon, believed their son was job hunting in Seoul.

Technically, that's not a lie.

If they ever saw my income level, they'd both keel over.

Which is exactly why I need to make it as a composer fast and repay them. I wonder what happened to that demo I sent out. Ugh, this is giving me a headache...

And then, starting that Thursday... my head really did start to hurt.

At first I thought it was just a cold. Rooftop apartments are naturally freezing in winter, sweltering in summer, and generally a pain in the ass.

But when night fell, the fever kicked in to an alarming degree.

I was sick like that for three days.

All three nights, something strange happened. With every light off, from somewhere came the sound of a bell ringing. Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling.

Sweat kept soaking my pillow, my throat was raw from who knows what kind of rambling delirium, and on the fourth morning, the fever broke as if it had all been a lie.

Huh?

My body felt light. Lighter, in fact, than before I'd gotten sick.

Fully recovered.

To celebrate my resurrection, I decided to make ramyeon. I filled a pot with water, turned on the burner, and stood there staring blankly while I waited for it to boil...

"!"

The scenery changed.

Where my kitchen should have been, I saw the backs of reporters' heads.

Camera flashes exploding like madfire. A woman bowing her head low.

...Park Songhwa?

Her face was a permanent fixture on every list of Korea's most beautiful celebrities. There was no way I wouldn't recognize it.

"I sincerely apologize for the controversy I have caused."

Along with Park Songhwa's voice, the scene snapped off.

"......"

My kitchen was in front of me again. I checked the clock. About two minutes had passed.

...What was that?

It couldn't have been a dream—I was standing up with both eyes open. And it had been far too vivid. The perceived image quality was 8K, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠complete with sound and even smell.

Then what the hell was that just now?

First things first, I turned off the stove. Then I sat down on the floor and started searching.

As I scrolled, frightening words leapt out at me. Delirium. Encephalitis. Schizophrenia.

The symptoms don't quite match, though.

I changed the search terms.

"......"

A chill ran down my spine.

No way.

Spirit possession? Me?

My family had been non-religious for three generations. We even kept our ancestral rites minimal. I'd lived my life believing the only inheritance I'd receive was my father's M-shaped receding hairline—and now the thing being passed down had to be a shamanic calling?

Yeah, right. Ridiculous.

If anything, a god should be choosing a more promising candidate in the first place. Or do gods look at real estate too? A rooftop apartment being close to heaven and all?

Ah, come to think of it, my late grandmother used to say something cryptic now and then.

"Aigoo, what'll happen when I'm gone?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your grandma went through it when she was young, too. It comes down the family line, skipping generations. You'll understand once I'm gone. When the time comes, the time will have come."

"......"

I opened my phone gallery, stared at her photo on the screen for a moment... then searched for Park Songhwa.

Gambling was the furthest thing from her image. Just recently she'd been beaming brightly in a behind-the-scenes ad shoot, and with a scandal-free career, she was practically the sterile clean room of the entertainment industry.

Right, Park Songhwa gambling? It was a hallucination after all.

I lay down on my bed, convinced my fever had scrambled my brain... and then the YouTube algorithm served up something odd.

The thumbnail had special guest Park Songhwa's face splashed across it in giant letters. Apparently she was appearing as promo ahead of her comeback.

A few years back, there had been an incident where a fortune-teller said on live TV that a certain—ahem, unnamed—celebrity was fated for a major fall, and that celebrity really did plummet into the abyss. This seemed to be a variety format cut from the same cloth, and pinned beneath the video was a single comment.

An appearance fee?

My bank balance flickered involuntarily through my mind.

To be honest, there was one other reason besides the money. If I saw Park Songhwa in the flesh... wouldn't I see something again? If I did, then the possession was real. If not, it was just a fever dream.

In the end, I filled out an application.

Name: Lee Mishin

Speaking of this name—it's my father's handiwork. Mi as in beautiful, shin as in faith. He said it meant, "Live carrying beautiful faith in your heart." The meaning is lovely.

It's also perfect for teasing.

My nickname was decided on the first day of elementary school: Shaman.

Every time my seatmate lost his eraser, he'd ask me:

"Mishin, where's my eraser?"

"......"

Had I been a sociable kid, that could have been a chance to bond. Unfortunately, I'd been introverted since childhood. I smacked my lips at the bitter memory of my school days and kept writing.

Age: 25

Shamanic experience: 2 weeks

Specialty: Future Viewing

For the record, the two weeks was calculated from the date I'd hypothetically appear on air. ...Admitting "day five" would have looked pathetically weak.

Click!

I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no ID photo, so I attached a selfie instead. Long hair hanging loose, expression blank—a shot ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that made me look like someone freshly descended from a mountain retreat.

Visually speaking, I do look a bit like a shaman, I guess.

In the self-introduction section, I wrote exactly one line.

Eh, whatever. Time to sleep.

Three days later, a call came from an unknown number.

"Hello! This is Kim Bora, writer on MBS's Touch of the Gods. Would you happen to be... Teacher Lee Mishin?"

...Teacher?

"Your application made a huge impression on us. The photo especially! That long hair, those eyes! You're the very picture of the MZ-generation shaman we've been looking for!"

Live long enough and you'll hear it all, I suppose.

Huh. Something tells me I'm being recruited as a punching bag.

The process moved quickly. Age verified, no broadcast experience, no criminal record.

"Oh, and the appearance fee is fifty!"

"......! I will do my absolute best."

And so, two weeks after gaining my "gift," I became a debuted shaman. No spirit mother, no spirit father, no tutelary mountain. Fitting, for an MZ-generation shaman.

Wow, damn...

The MBS Sangam New Headquarters was enormous for a first-timer like me. I hung my guest badge around my neck in the lobby, rode the elevator up, and found a single sheet of A4 paper taped to the waiting room door.

As I sat in the waiting room, the makeup artist came in. She picked through my long hair this way and that, then let out a gasp of admiration.

"Wow, that hairstyle suits you perfectly. You've got such a vibe."

"......"

"And your skin is so pale and clear—do you get treatments done? They say this is the era where even shamans get skincare these days."

Treatments, my ass. I was this pale because I stayed cooped up at home and never saw a ray of sunlight.

Before long, I stepped into the studio, and the lights came pouring down. The audience seats were already packed, and four divination tables stood on stage. At the placard reading Heaven-Earth Divine Woman sat a small table with bells and rice; at Taoist Baekun's place, a tablet loaded with fortune calendars; at Master Sambeot's, a magnifying glass.

...Kind of embarrassing, honestly.

And at my spot, there was nothing at all. I had no need to perform any ritual—I was just there to talk about what I'd seen two weeks ago.

Then the studio's atmosphere shifted. A murmur rippled through the room, and the staff abandoned their tasks and turned their heads.

...Park Songhwa had walked in.

Wow... incredible.

It was my first time seeing her in person, and I learned that a human being could actually radiate light. I watched her bow her head to each staff member in turn as she passed. A woman this polite was playing baccarat in a back room?

...Yeah, my brain really was broken.

"All right, rolling in five, four, three—"

The MC took center stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Who is the person in Korea whose future you're dying to know right now? It's none other than this woman! The Nation's Little Sister—Park Songhwa!"

"Oh, come on, I'm hardly a little sister anymore."

Park Songhwa waved her hands in shy denial. She'd debuted in her teens and had been active ever since—which was probably why the title embarrassed her now that she'd turned twenty-seven.

"Honestly, I love this kind of thing. The second they called me about the show, I said yes."

"Ha ha, what an honor! But surely even you have things you're curious about, Ms. Songhwa? Your life is already riding one great wave of fortune."

"Oh, I have plenty of worries~ My comeback is next month, and I lie awake every night wondering if it'll do well."

"Worrying about whether Ms. Songhwa's comeback will succeed is like worrying whether the sun will rise tomorrow, am I right, folks?"

Wahaha! Laughter erupted. Park Songhwa covered her mouth and giggled.

"And now, let's begin—"

Once the talk segment wrapped, the divinations began in earnest.

First up was Master Sambeot.

"Mm... your forehead is magnificent. The Palace of Glory is wide open. The face of one whose fame will pierce the heavens."

"Really?"

"And the nose wings—a storehouse where wealth accumulates, a storehouse. This year, money is moving in a very big way in your life."

Applause broke out. Park Songhwa clasped her hands together in delight.

Next was Taoist Baekun. He flipped through the fortune calendar on his tablet, then slapped his knee.

"Oh-ho! Look at this!"

"What is it, Taoist! What do you see!"

"A massive travel star this year! In this day and age, the travel star means international fame! Ms. Songhwa, you are destined to make a huge name for yourself overseas!"

Park Songhwa's eyes went wide. "Oh? Actually, there has been talk of expanding overseas lately!"

The MC ran a hand down his arm with a dramatic shiver.

Something's strange here. Everyone's only saying good things.

Third, the Heaven-Earth Divine Woman. She picked up her bells, closed her eyes, and began to shake them.

Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling—

...!

My shoulders stiffened on their own. That sound. The exact sound that had rung in my ears during those feverish nights.

The Divine Woman scooped up a handful of rice and scattered it across her small table. Shhh—

Her eyes, fixed on the grains, snapped wide open.

"Your grandmother is speaking."

"What does the grandmother say!"

"Everything you undertake this year will go splendidly. Year-end is well worth looking forward to, in particular."

"Incredible—has she just reserved a year-end Grand Prize!"

The audience seats surged with excitement. Park Songhwa, face radiant with gratitude, rocked up and down on her heels over and over.

"Oh my gosh... I'm so glad I came to this recording today. I'll work even harder from here on out!"

By this point, I was genuinely curious. Were those three actually seeing something?

Ah, damn. If I'm the only one with bad news, the whole mood's going to turn sour.

"And now! The grand finale! Teacher Lee Mishin!"

The MC met my eyes.

"Teacher, let's start with your name. Is that your real one?"

"Yes, my father gave it to me."

"'Already a god'—that's what it says! Did your father know something when he named you?"

Wahaha!

The audience burst out laughing. Me, I'd been hearing that name joke so long it didn't faze me anymore; I just stood there expressionless.

"Teacher Mishin, looking forward to your reading."

Park Songhwa's smiling face.

The instant my eyes met that smile—

Ting—

Bells.

The Divine Woman's table was silent. The sound was ringing inside my own ears.

And then my vision widened again.

Chandeliers. Green felt. Chips piling up and being swept away.

"Aha-ha! Banker wins! It's banker!"

The shy smile was gone—replaced by a Park Songhwa laughing herself half to death.

"......"

I came back. By my sense of it, I'd watched ten minutes' worth, yet the studio felt like barely a few seconds had passed. I shook my head and pulled myself together to find the MC staring at me.

"Teacher? What do you see for Ms. Songhwa!"

Cold sweat ran down my back.

Hah. Do I really have to say this out loud?

Soften it. Ease into it. Gently.

"Do you... happen to like card games?"

The MC cut in. "Teacher, you're supposed to be divining, divining! What kind of question is that—asking out of fangirl curiosity!"

Laughter rippled out. Park Songhwa laughed along with a puzzled look on her face.

"Oh, that's right, Teacher Mishin. In your self-introduction you wrote that you received a revelation about Ms. Park Songhwa? Could you tell us about—"

Screw it. I'd come to earn that fee, as planned.

"Gambling."

"...Excuse me?"

The MC froze solid.

"Overseas gambling trips... I see her falling into ruin."

Dead silence.

Behind the camera, Writer Kim Bora clapped her hands over her mouth. A man who looked like her manager shot to his feet and glared daggers at me. Murmurs leaked out from the audience.

"What did he just say..."

"Who is that guy..."

"There's no way Park Songhwa gambles..."

And then there was Park Songhwa herself.

Her smile was still stuck to her face. The corners of her mouth were turned up exactly as before—but the laughter had drained out of her eyes.

"Ha ha... I've never even been near a casino."

After that, the Divine Woman flew into a fury.

"Well ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I never! Look at this child!"

She smacked the table with her fan.

"A wet-behind-the-ears boy with no spiritual power to speak of—why on earth would you go splashing ash all over someone's future on national television?"

Taoist Baekun pounded his tablet in support. "Hehe, my boy, I just combed through her entire birth chart! There's not a single gambling star in Ms. Songhwa's destiny! Fortune sits as straight and proper as can be!"

Master Sambeot delivered the finishing blow. "Let me put it in physiognomy terms. The face of a gambler shows a glint of greed in the eyes. But look—Ms. Songhwa's eyes. Where on earth would you find eyes this clear?"

The Divine Woman turned toward Park Songhwa and cooed at her gently.

"Ms. Songhwa, let words like that go in one ear and out the other. Just because someone's on TV doesn't make it true."

"Ahaha... yes, ma'am."

The MC rushed to smooth things over. "Now, now—this was all in good fun! Please, don't take any of it to heart!"

"......"

"Let's freshen up the mood and move right along to our next segment!"

Applause washed over the studio, and the show rolled smoothly onward as if nothing had happened.

...And just like that, I was the only weirdo in the building.

Then, three months later.

"......"

There she went. Straight into the abyss.