The Grace of the Bug
The man considered his encounter with the shaman in the back alley a bizarre meeting.
“They did say shamans were full of eccentrics.”
Eccentrics—people who couldn’t be measured by ordinary common sense. That was why he accepted the strange figure’s bizarre attire, his appearance, and even the sudden streak of luck that had come his way. He explained it all with a single thought: Shamans are eccentrics, after all.
Because of that mindset, he was perhaps able to feel the power of the spell cast upon him more clearly than anyone. The ability of the “great sorcery” the odd being had spoken of.
“O-oh! Ooooooh!”
The first thing that changed was his mornings.
His life had always been one of endless drinking, being hounded by his boss and the big brother figures above him, and harassed by debtors. Chronic stress and an enlarged liver had gone hand in hand. The organ, pickled in alcohol and grease, could barely maintain itself, let alone relieve his fatigue. The excessive stress only made the exhaustion worse.
Insomnia. Hair loss. Chronic fatigue. Muscle pain. And on top of that, he couldn’t even get it up in the morning. He had heard that fatigue could sometimes cause erections, but whether his condition was beyond that or his body was simply too wrecked to function, it remained completely limp. The problem had grown so severe that even when he got home from work and tried to watch porn, it often refused to rise. He had started to feel genuine fear.
“It—it’s up! It’s standing!”
He had been seriously considering a trip to the urologist. And then it stood.
“Fuck, thank you! Shaman-nim, I’m so fucking grateful!”
Some might wonder why he was making such a fuss over something so minor. But that was the ignorance talking. For a man—especially the kind who lived and died by his pride—whether it stood or not was literally a matter of life and death.
‘No matter how strong your fists are, if it doesn’t stand, people look down on you!’
In the violent underworld ruled by gangsters and thugs, a man who couldn’t get it up would never be respected. Baldness could be solved by shaving your head clean. A bulging belly could be laughed off as a “money pouch” or “good fortune belly.” Being scrawny or overweight could be fixed at the gym. But impotence? That struck at the very core of a man’s identity.
Frankly, if it didn’t even work, what was the point of having the damn thing?
“Long live the shaman!”
That was why the man thanked the shaman with genuine sincerity. His fatigue had vanished and the dead had been resurrected. What could be better?
Perhaps that was why he felt as if his previously tangled life had suddenly burst into full bloom.
On his way to work, he overheard women whispering, “Huh? That guy’s actually kind of hot, isn’t he?” While collecting debts, he found a ten-thousand-won bill on the ground. The big brothers who had always treated him like thin air suddenly said, “Hey, your face looks a lot better lately,” and promised to take him to a room salon later. Even the delinquent who used to treat him like garbage handed over his quota without a word.
Luck. Yes. This was luck.
Only now did the man realize that his days could be this joyful, this full of happiness.
He went home from work without once wiping the smile from his face. On the way back, he used the ten-thousand-won bill he had found to buy a whole grilled chicken from a street truck, cracked open a can of beer, and ate like a king. It was a truly happy day.
And the next day.
“Ooh, it’s still standing.”
The day after that was the same. His body felt light enough to fly, and the part of him that had once caused him so much heartache was now lively and energetic. That wasn’t all.
When he brushed past women on his way to work, he could feel their eyes following him. When he went to collect debts face-to-face, the usual troublemakers acted as if they had forgotten their own misbehavior and meekly handed over the money. And when he caught a strange metallic scent and followed it, he found a single five-hundred-won coin on the ground.
“Whoa, this thing’s crazy effective. Money just keeps rolling in.”
The peak of happiness came after work when one of the big brothers actually took him to a room salon.
“Hey, there’s a girl I’m after. Just set the mood for me so I can get with her.”
He knew he was being used as a wingman and atmosphere maker, but the man was simply happy. He didn’t get a girl for himself, but just being able to enjoy the lively atmosphere of the room was enough. He was drunk on the future where someday he, too, might sit with a woman on each arm.
Grinning from ear to ear, the man returned home.
“Money luck, woman luck, career luck, health luck. Damn. Everything’s blooming wide open. No wonder people obsess over shamans!”
The man was happy. The clogged channels of his fortune had opened, and everything was going smoothly.
But as he was washing up and preparing for bed, a thought suddenly struck him.
How long can I stay this happy?
It was a reasonable question. No matter how powerful the “great sorcery” was, it couldn’t possibly last forever. Even flashlights needed new batteries. Even magic tools required constant maintenance. The man feared that the sudden luck that had come to him would vanish just as suddenly.
That was why, the very next day, he found himself returning to the back alley.
“Shaman-nim. Shaman-nim.”
He called out quietly, like someone secretly summoning a genie from a lamp. At the same time, his voice carried the desperate longing of a man begging a demon for a wish.
“Khh-hu. How is it? The power of the great sorcery.”
The strange being appeared silently from the darkness, just as he had during their first meeting. Like shadows coalescing into form, he emerged from the dampest, darkest corner of the alley and approached with impossibly light steps.
Gulp.
The man faced the grotesque figure that had flowed out of the darkness. An insect’s head staring back at him. A glossy, protruding lump. A scent similar to something familiar… yet far more repulsive and sticky.
“Shaman-nim. The power of the sorcery was incredible—no, it was more than satisfying. But…”
The man had no choice but to lower his gaze before the bizarre form that overwhelmed all five of his senses.
Tap. Tap.
The being brought its face close to the man’s, as if it understood everything.
“You want more.”
Khh-hu—hu.
The creature’s breathing sounded like laughter echoing from far away, like the cackling of a madman from the deepest part of a cave.
“You wish for this sorcery to be eternal, and for even greater happiness.”
The man jerked his head up at the being’s words, which reflected his desires like a mirror. What he saw was the same inorganic, hardened insectoid form as before.
“That is impossible. In this world, only transcendence is eternal. The luck that has settled upon you will eventually fade, and you will live the life appropriate to your original fate.”
“What?”
The man’s expression hardened. After being so happy, so joyful— it was all going to disappear? The luck would vanish and he would live a “fitting” life?
What was a fitting life? The life of a lowly errand boy? The life of an impotent man who couldn’t even touch a woman? No matter how many lottery tickets he scratched, no jackpot would ever come. The salary he earned each day was spent on alcohol and cigarettes. What would be left? It was the bottom-feeder life you could find anywhere. Was that what he deserved?
If this luck disappeared, would he be forced to live that kind of life again?
“Khh-hu. When I bestowed the great sorcery upon you, I told you something. Try to remember what it was.”
“Th-that… Ah! You said if I needed more luck, if I wanted more, I should tell you…”
The being nodded in confirmation.
“Indeed. And what else did I say?”
“Ah, a price! That there would be a price…”
Yes. That was what it had said.
The being murmured softly, whispering to him.
“Bring me what I desire. Then your luck will grow stronger, and the time you can enjoy it will lengthen.”
The man now knew that the luck that had come to him was not eternal. He knew he could return to his original state at any moment. He knew this happiness could vanish like a mirage.
That was why he had no choice but to accept the strange being’s deal.
It wasn’t that difficult. In fact, it was easy to understand.
He would bring the shaman what it wanted. In return, the shaman would extend the duration of the spell on his body and strengthen its effects. That was all.
Fortunately, the shaman did not make excessive demands.
“Khh-hu. A live squid. Yes. Bring me a live squid. The number should be one axis.”
Hearing the shaman’s request, the man went to the seafood market and asked for one axis of live squid. The owner handed him a box containing twenty squids, their legs still twitching and their eyes wide open. The man, who had been nervous thinking one axis might mean a whole box or hundreds of them, felt almost let down by how few there were.
“Here it is.”
When the man brought the squid, the being demonstrated its sorcery.
Riiiiip—!
The being clenched its plaster-white hand as if grabbing the empty air. The plastic bag he was holding tore apart as if being shredded by something invisible, and water poured onto the ground. The squids slipped out along with the leaking water, floating in midair as if caught by something, then flew toward the being.
“H-huk!”
What followed was truly horrifying.
With another clench of the being’s hand, all twenty squids floating in the air had their eyes ripped out at once. The once-glossy squid eyes floated in the air like separate creatures, drifting right up to the being. Then—
Crunch!
They entered the being’s mouth and were crushed.
“Ugh!”
The fishy smell that spread. The squids writhing in the air, now eyeless. The eyeballs continuously being pulverized inside the being’s mouth, which resembled a monster’s maw…
The man felt something rising from within. This wasn’t simply a matter of nausea. It was as if his instincts were desperately trying to reject the abhorrent sight before him. It was as if his very humanity was refusing the scene unfolding in front of him.
“Khh-hu. You… Your instincts are stronger than your mind. Not bad. No, not bad at all. This is truly a good thing…”
The being spoke words that could have been praise or something else entirely, then placed a finger against the man’s stomach.
“Kek!”
A faint pain bloomed where the finger touched. It wasn’t like being stabbed by something sharp. It wasn’t a burn, nor the touch of something cold… It was a kind of pain the man had never experienced before in his life. But it vanished as quickly as if he had been stung by a bug. The man stared blankly at the black dot that had appeared on his stomach until it disappeared, then asked the being.
“H-how effective is this one?”
It was the same question as before.
“You will experience it. Directly.”
And the answer was the same as before.