TFN C90

Chapter 90

“So, you’re saying several animals were tangled together—and the dog and cat spirits were all young?”

“Yes.”

“If this one had the strongest energy, then it was likely the leader. Still, it’s strange that it waited for the others to appear before attacking. Pigs are gluttonous by nature and very hierarchical—they don’t usually share or wait patiently for their inferiors.”

Wonhyo recalled the sight of the animal spirits entangled together and blinked, his eyes wide and square.

“It did stay quiet until it attacked… Could it have been bait?”

“That’s possible,” his mother replied. “From the way they were mixed, it seems this one devoured the spirits that were closest to it first, then slowly digested them. Since the other spirits looked intact, perhaps someone had been keeping them, feeding them deliberately until the time came to use them.”

A pig spirit of such small form seemed too cunning for that, but the age of a soul didn’t always match the body it occupied. It might have been older—far older—than its appearance suggested.

Maybe it hadn’t attacked blindly. Maybe it had hunted—methodically, like a predator.

“If we aren’t going to hold the soul-pacifying rite immediately, we should observe it carefully first,” his mother said. “Hyoryeong, bring me a cloth.”

“What rank?”

“…Bring a Cheon-il one. It’ll take that much merit to suppress it properly.”

His sister rose, her sleeves whispering as she crossed to the altar, where stacks of brightly colored cloth offerings lay. She returned with a bundle of five-colored silk.

His mother accepted it, quickly wrapping the pig doll and binding it once more with a golden cord.

“May I keep this for a few days to watch over it?” she asked calmly, only now seeking permission.

Cheongmun nodded immediately. “I’d be grateful. But may we take one of the dog or cat dolls for analysis?”

Wonhyo tilted his head upward from where he sat in Cheongmun’s arms. “Analysis?”

The man’s large hand slid beneath his chin, absently stroking the soft wool under his neck.

“There was a reaction in the system,” he explained. “I want to compare the mana patterns with registered skill data—to see if similar traces appear. We’ll need the data as evidence, in case this ever goes to an official investigation.”

“Ah… evidence.”

Wonhyo remembered what they’d told him at the research division when they’d opened a dungeon before—that they were trying to make shamanic phenomena explainable through formal methods. He hadn’t quite believed it then, but he couldn’t argue against preparation.

Better to have something ready.

Even if he recorded visions or spiritual manifestations with his divine power, they wouldn’t be accepted unless he could prove they weren’t just illusion-type skills. This would be the same.

“If the results are similar to the cursed artifact case, would that be enough to identify the culprit?”

“It’s possible,” Cheongmun said. “If it overlaps, it might allow us to approach the case from a different angle than the police.”

“That’d be best,” his mother murmured. “And if, after analysis, you plan to perform the memorial rite later, could you entrust it to me?”

Cheongmun inclined his head. “Once the case concludes, I’ll bring it back here.”

“Then take this one,” she said, picking up the small dog doll. “It’s the cleanest of the three.”

Her gaze flicked toward Wonhyo, and he nodded. The dog’s lingering aura was faint enough not to harm him in his current state.

Had he not been under penalty, he could’ve handled all of them himself—but for now, boundaries mattered.

Cheongmun, one arm still around Wonhyo, deftly placed the dog doll into an evidence bag and stored it in his inventory.

Evidence-grade bags were designed to block external mana interference. Even if the golden cords weakened, contamination was unlikely.

If he’d known things would go this way, he’d have prepared for direct contact.

Wonhyo drooped his head, chastising himself, until Cheongmun’s fingers gently scratched the back of his neck.

It tickled—but it was oddly comforting, and the tension in his chest slowly eased.

Sensing the shift, Cheongmun began to tidy up. “I should return to headquarters now.”

Wonhyo blinked up at him and wiggled his legs. But Cheongmun didn’t loosen his hold.

“Uh—”

The man lowered his head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re… heading home, right?”

“Yes? Oh—yes.”

Wonhyo glanced toward his mother and sister. His sister’s eyes glimmered knowingly.

“Trying to have another chat while you still can?” she teased.

The cookie’s effect usually lasted forty minutes to an hour, so there was still time before his speech failed again.

He wasn’t planning to talk about the animal spirits, but any excuse would do.

Cheongmun leaned closer. “Wouldn’t it be faster to go there and come back?”

Well, yes—but still.

Wonhyo was simply grateful that, out of all possible sheep breeds, he’d ended up a black-faced one. If sheep blushed, he didn’t want to imagine how that would look.

And honestly—he did not want to return home in Cheongmun’s arms and have to explain to his sister later how he’d turned human again.

He’d never managed to lie to her successfully, not once since the orphanage days. And telling her he’d… shared air with a man? Out of the question.

“Wonhyo,” his sister called softly.

Like a child asking to switch parents, he stretched toward her with both forelegs.

Cheongmun exhaled, then carefully transferred him into her arms.

He was heavier than a dog or cat, and he knew it, but he buried himself shamelessly against her chest anyway.

“Then I’ll come pick him up the day after tomorrow,” Cheongmun said.

“The day after tomorrow?”

“Oh! Right, yes!” Wonhyo remembered their earlier promise from the car ride and nodded quickly.

“I’ll contact you as soon as the penalty lifts.”

“Understood.”

Normally, his mother or sister would escort guests to the gate, but this time, she only bowed.

“Then until next time, Team Leader Lee.”

“Of course. We’ll look further into this and contact you through Wonhyo.”

Cheongmun bowed politely and left.

Wonhyo watched him silently cross the gravel courtyard, footsteps soundless, until the outer gate creaked open and shut again.

He let out a long sigh, and his sister did the same.

“My mouth was itching so bad to say something,” she confessed with a laugh.

Wonhyo found that understandable—after all, the Celestial Lady herself had descended to watch silently, and they’d had to pretend not to notice.

“Even if you can see, you shouldn’t always speak,” their mother scolded gently.

Her sister blushed, looking sheepish. “But you know how hard it is to hold it in. It’s like trying not to sneeze.”

His mother chuckled. “Even if you said it aloud, someone with energy like his would twist every omen out of shape. Any message would turn hollow.”

Her eyes turned toward Wonhyo. “Still, seeing it firsthand told me one thing.”

His sister smiled faintly. “The system, you mean? It’s remarkable. It chose someone solid—someone who can withstand that kind of power.”

“That’s true,” their mother agreed, stepping back toward the inner hall.

The weapons displayed in the courtyard trembled faintly, ringing like struck metal as she began the purification ritual she’d postponed.

“Do you want to nap while Mother works?” his sister asked.

Wonhyo yawned, nodding.

She fetched a soft, sun-scented blanket from inside.

Curling up in it—his old childhood blanket, worn and warm—he stretched his limbs and settled down. Sleeping on his belly had once felt strange, but after turning into cows, dogs, and horses more than once, it now felt natural.

He rested his head, his eyelids growing heavy.

From beyond the hall came the soft jingling of his mother’s bell as she prayed, a sound that lulled him quickly into sleep.

“Haa—”

Wonhyo exhaled as he spread a freshly dried comforter across the rack, the faint warmth of the dryer still clinging to it.

Even with two racks, he’d run out of space—he’d dragged over chairs, even unfolded the low dining table to use it. And still, there were more blankets waiting.

“Would it kill me to skip a day or two?” he muttered.

There had been times in his youth when long abstinence had left him aching, but never before had he lived such… active days of indulgence. It was honestly starting to worry him.

“This can’t be addiction, right?”

He’d read online that overdoing it could lead to long-term problems. And the thought made him grimace.

If only the person from his dreams would appear to help him fix this mess. But instead, even in sleep, he just kept enjoying the chaos.

As the saying went—a monk can’t shave his own head. And Wonhyo, despite everything, couldn’t bring himself to seek counsel about it, either.

📝 Notes

• 위령제 (Wiryeongje) – a Korean shamanic memorial rite to console and send off restless spirits. 
• 천일짜리 (Cheon-il jjari) – literally “a thousand-day level”; indicates a high-grade ritual cloth or offering requiring great effort or merit. 
• 오색천 / 오색포 (Osaekcheon / Osaekpo) – “five-colored cloth,” symbolic fabric in Korean rituals representing the five elements and directions. 
• 천도재 (Cheondojae) – a Buddhist and shamanic ceremony to help souls ascend peacefully to the afterlife. 
• 페널티 (Penalty) – a temporary debuff or negative status applied by the system (in this world’s semi-game mechanics). 
• 신내림 (Sinnaerim) – the initiation ritual in Korean shamanism where a new shaman formally receives the spirits they will serve. 
• 공수 (Gongsu) – divine message or prophecy received by a shaman during trance. 
• 선녀님 (Seonnyeo-nim) – “Celestial Lady,” a benevolent heavenly spirit that often guides female shamans.