The Fortune-Teller Fills Out a Job Application

Park Songhwa had visited the casino on a whim five months ago.

Which meant that by the time she appeared on God's Touch, the casino trip was already behind her.

Photos taken on-site surfaced to the world only later, and it was now — months after the fact — that the controversy finally exploded.

Of course, to the public, the details didn't matter.

When she went. How many times she went. None of it mattered.

Only one thing did.

That Park Songhwa — the woman once called the Nation's Little Sister — had gambled overseas.

The next day.

Park Songhwa stood before the press conference podium.

Under the relentless barrage of camera flashes, she bowed deeply at the waist.

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

Yes.

It was exactly the future Lee Mishin had seen.

Overnight, that video became a place of pilgrimage.

And as its view count exploded, the other three panelists found themselves thrust into the spotlight.

The people who had spent the entire broadcast doing nothing but spouting flattery.

Cheonji Shinnyeo was the first to make a move.

Baekun Dosa, the one who had promised her overseas luck this year, uploaded a clarification video to YouTube.

It was a video arguing that, technically, "overseas" had been right all along.

Sambeot Teacher, meanwhile, gave a phone interview emphasizing the profundity of physiognomy.

A person's face, he explained, changes from moment to moment — and that day, the studio lighting had simply been too harsh.

Set against that circus of excuses, Lee Mishin's market value was climbing straight into the stratosphere.

Meanwhile, at the company headquarters in Nonhyeon-dong, Seoul.

O2 Entertainment was in mourning.

"Park Songhwa's penalty fees · · · from what's been tallied so far, twelve billion won."

The Head of Strategic Planning pressed a hand to his forehead.

"For the record, three months ago we sent MBS a formal letter of protest claiming the rumors were fabricated · · · and, well, that's become rather embarrassing in hindsight."

The Head of Public Relations cautiously held out a tablet.

"CEO, I think you need to see this too."

On the screen, a clip with eight million views was playing.

A long-haired shaman who had foreseen Park Songhwa's downfall.

"A shaman, in this day and age. Honestly · · · ."

The Head of Strategic Planning gave an awkward chuckle — and then a heavy voice dropped from the head of the table.

Cha Eunseong, CEO of O2 Entertainment.

"Before this blew up, how many people knew Songhwa had been to an overseas casino?"

"She went alone that day, so aside from Songhwa herself · · · nobody but the News Patch people who broke the story. In this industry, the moment even one person finds out, tabloid tips start circulating. There was none of that. Nothing."

Even the company hadn't known.

Had they known, they could have at least taken measures in advance.

"· · · · · ·."

Cha Eunseong stared intently at the long-haired young man on the screen.

"Then we arrive at the conclusion that this young man is connected to News Patch."

"That's what I assumed too, but when we looked into it, he has zero points of contact with this industry. Whether he really came out of the mountains or not, there's not a scrap of information on him. And above all · · · it doesn't add ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up for him to be a News Patch man. There'd be no reason to leak the scoop in advance on an entertainment show. If the information had slipped out, they'd be the ones losing the exclusive."

Cha Eunseong's brow furrowed sharply.

Then how on earth did this long-haired shaman know?

He didn't believe in the supernatural.

Fortune-telling, tarot, shamans, energies, past lives.

He considered them all venerable, time-tested business models that preyed on the wallets of anxious people.

So the notion that this long-haired shaman had seen the future he dismissed absolutely; there had to be some channel, he reasoned. Some insider, someone, anyone.

"I need to look into that long-haired shaman personally. Get his contact information. Tear through every broadcast station connection if you have to."

When the call from O2 Entertainment came, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the first thing Lee Mishin did was search.

He looked at the retainer fees and quietly closed the window.

With the money he had, it wasn't even remotely possible.

So he changed strategy.

Walk in there with my head held high.

The moment he hesitated, he'd be branded a fraud.

He knew nothing about the law and couldn't guess what charge he'd face, but he knew one thing for certain — being summoned separately was never going to be for anything good.

Right. The whole world's already calling me a gifted shaman anyway. Why not just actually play the part?

A shaman saw the future, and that future simply came true. That was all.

And strangely enough, the moment he swapped his business card from "con man" to "shaman," a spine of steel grew where none had been before.

And so Lee Mishin finalized his strategy.

Which means: expression management. Expression management is everything.

Thankfully, that was his specialty.

Three years a hikikomori.

His facial muscles had long since atrophied.

And then, two days later.

The CEO's office at O2 Entertainment.

When the door opened, the Head of Strategic Planning straightened his posture without even realizing it.

Whoa · · · .

Shoulder-length hair, a perfectly blank face, an unhurried gait.

They said he was a gifted shaman, and his presence certainly lived up to the billing.

"I'm Cha Eunseong."

"I'm Lee Mishin."

The handshake was brief.

Cha Eunseong cut straight to the point.

"I'll ask you directly. How did you know?"

"I saw it."

"I'm asking who told you. Reveal your source, and I'll pay handsomely for it."

"I merely saw it."

The corner of Cha Eunseong's eye twitched.

Utterly expressionless, start to finish — and thoroughly unapologetic about it.

"We've been told you're from Gimcheon, a full discharge from your military service. And after that, a long blank period."

"· · · · · · I lived quietly."

"Seclusion training?"

He said it glancing at the long hair of a man who seemed to have severed all ties with the mundane world for years.

"· · · · · · A high place, certainly."

A rooftop apartment, that is.

"Then since you've done your training, let me ask one more thing. Think of it as an exam."

Cha Eunseong set down his teacup.

"Our company. What becomes of it from here?"

"· · · · · ·."

And then it happened.

Ring—

A bell tolled inside his ears, and his vision spread and blurred like paint dissolving in water.

The CEO's office appeared before his eyes.

This very room — the one he was sitting in right now.

But the nameplate on the desk was different.

· · · Huh? Chief Executive Officer?

Sitting in that seat was himself — hair neatly trimmed, though it took him a moment to realize it.

Late thirties, maybe.

Between the shorter hair and the face weathered by passing years, everything felt awkwardly unfamiliar · · · .

· · · That's me?

The voice speaking was a deep, resonant bass, and the aura was no joke.

Perhaps the position really did make the man — the complete opposite of his current self.

And on the desk sat a towering stack of approval documents, while the tablet displayed a single article.

Insane.

Every scene he'd witnessed so far had come true.

The press conference. The casino.

So did that mean what he was seeing right now would become reality too?

I'm · · · going to become the CEO of a trillion-won company? While the current CEO is sitting right in front of me?

Back in the real world.

"· · · · · ·."

"· · · · · ·."

To the department head and the CEO, Lee Mishin appeared to be staring blankly into empty space.

Don't tell me · · · that being has come again?

While the department head swallowed hard, the long-haired shaman's gaze returned.

"I'd like to work here."

"· · ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠· ?"

The department head's eyes went wide.

"Wait — work? Here? Out of nowhere?"

"Yes."

Cha Eunseong pressed his hands together and thought.

What on earth is his reason?

This was the long-haired shaman who was the talk of the town right now. Booking him for a fortune-telling would cost a fortune — and out of nowhere, he wants to get a job here.

By this point, Cha Eunseong couldn't help but be curious.

This kind of thing doesn't come along every day.

Of course, that was Cha Eunseong's reasoning. Lee Mishin's circumstances were entirely different.

Open a shrine? The moment a customer sat down and Mishin saw nothing, he'd be out of business that very day.

And he certainly wasn't silver-tongued enough to dazzle and deceive people.

That would just make me a fraud.

So he'd tried other things. He'd stared down the news, stared down passing strangers, gotten into debates with people asking "do you believe in destiny?", and even stood in desperate vigil before a lottery kiosk.

The bell had not rung. Not once.

Then today, of all places — in an entertainment agency's executive office — the bell rang for the second time.

It might have been the last time it ever rang, and he wanted to seize this opportunity to get a job.

The first vision was a top star's future, the second an entertainment agency's future. Both tied to the entertainment industry.

Perhaps the one who sent these visions had spent their life as a devoted fan, or maybe they carried the lingering regrets of a trainee who never made it.

But one thing was certain.

He couldn't stake his livelihood on a superpower that might or might not activate.

Really, look how unstable my life has been up to now.

Office worker was the way to go.

A stable life. A steady paycheck.

And the fact that I become the CEO of this company · · · means the path to that future runs through somewhere in this building.

So for now, he simply had to get inside this building.

Not that he could say that out loud.

He couldn't exactly tell the sitting CEO to his face, "Because I'm going to be the CEO here someday."

Setting that aside, one thing remained.

"I saw this company's future."

"· · · · · ·."

"A future where it does very, very well."

"So you're telling me you want to work here because you've seen this company's future?"

"Yes."

Cha Eunseong curled one corner of his mouth in a meaningful smirk.

"As it happens, the management division was planning to post a job opening next month. Road manager. If that suits you, let's do this together."

"Excellent."

And so the meeting ended.

After the long-haired shaman left, the department head asked, still dazed, "Sir, you're the one who never believed in any of this. What if that man turns out to be a con artist · · · ?"

"Then he's one bad road manager hire. It ends as a labor cost."

Cha Eunseong walked to the window and looked down at the front of the building.

The long-haired man was walking out of the headquarters, silent and unhurried.

"Besides — thirty million won a year to verify whether that claim of his is true or not? Hardly a losing trade."

The following month arrived as scheduled.

The morning of Lee Mishin's first day at work — the office of Management Division 2, O2 Entertainment.

Team Leader Gu Wonho let out a long, long sigh.

Why me, of all people?

When he'd been summoned to the CEO's office recently, he'd assumed it was a promotion hint. About time I made department head, he'd thought, walking up those stairs — and then:

Whispers had spread through every corner of the company.

The most flustered of all, naturally, was Gu Wonho — the man assigned as his mentor.

What if I lock eyes with him and he sees something?

Last Friday flashed through his mind.

The team dinner where the corporate card expenses had been, let's say, mildly creative.

He wouldn't actually see THAT, would he?

At nine o'clock sharp, the office door opened.

The whispers cut off abruptly.

The long-haired man stepped in and bowed politely.

"I'm Lee Mishin, starting today. I look forward to working with you all."

The room fell into solemn silence.

Gu Wonho rubbed his palms against his trousers and approached.

"Uh, welcome? I'm Gu Wonho, team leader of Division 2, and I'll be your, uh · · · mentor, I suppose. Anyway — what should I even call you? Mishin-ssi? Teacher Lee? Or maybe, uh, Dosa-nim · · · ?"

"Just call me Mishin."

"· · · Can I really? Am I not going to get punished for that?"

"Yes."

"Yes," he says. Yes to which part?

He found himself patting the man's shoulder, then froze. Oh no.

Is this how you offend a spirit vessel?

The first task of the day was the vehicle handover.

In the underground parking garage, as he handed over the Carnival's keys, Gu Wonho talked nonstop.

"For a manager, the car is your office and your home. Gas goes on the corporate card, and it's washed once a week."

Which celebrity he'd be road-managing hadn't been decided yet, but he needed to learn the fundamentals first.

Today's curriculum had been planned accordingly.

"Pickups — you arrive thirty minutes early, no exceptions. A manager being late is basically a death sentence."

In the afternoon they crossed over to Sangam-dong.

Learning the broadcast station layout.

The most fundamental of road manager fundamentals.

"This is the underground parking entrance. Always take the elevator over there — it's faster."

Every person they passed in the hallway, Gu Wonho bowed to, and Lee Mishin bowed along with him.

"Greeting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠people is half a manager's job. Face stamps. Got it?"

"Yes."

The staff who received the greetings slowed their steps and turned to look back.

The man himself never once glanced sideways, walking straight ahead with his eyes fixed forward.

Gu Wonho stole glances at him and thought:

He's supposed to be chauffeuring celebrities, and he draws attention like one himself. What's that about?

Just then, a familiar face came walking down the far end of the corridor.

Gu Wonho hastily lowered his voice.

"That person there. That's PD Choi, MBS's flagship variety show, Our Hospital. Our company's pushed him a dozen times, but he's a wall. A wall. All he ever says is 'we'll review it,' and then nothing."

"· · · · · ·."

"Anyway, when he's looking at something like that, you absolutely never interrupt with a greet—"

The words hadn't even finished leaving his mouth.

The footsteps walking beside him had vanished.

"· · · ?"

He turned to find Lee Mishin standing rooted in place, staring into empty air.

"· · · Mishin?"

No answer.

What is it? Why is he like that? It's creepy.

Just as a chill ran down his spine, the gaze wandering through the empty air snapped back into focus.

And then the long-haired rookie began striding, briskly and decisively, straight toward PD Choi.

Wh-where is he going! You don't talk to someone when they're staring at something like that!

Gu Wonho reached out a hand — too late.

Lee Mishin was already standing squarely in PD Choi's path.

· · · What the hell is he doing right now?

Author's Note

Thank you for reading!