TFN C24

Chapter 24

It wasn’t that it split the still-living Team 2 leader’s facial skin.

The finger moved smoothly as if pushing a body up from beneath the surface to above it.

Even those used to rough sights couldn’t hide their shock at the grotesque shape emerging from a colleague’s body.

“Come out.”

In a low voice, Wonhyo called to it.

A black, pointed hand with no distinction between nails and fingers rose steadily upward; what looked like an elbow appeared, then another hand.

Using the Team 2 leader’s face like a handle, twisting through the narrow gap, it wriggled free with grotesque movements—an one-eyed monster whose skin bristled with sharp spines.

One head, two arms. Two legs as well.

Its size wasn’t large, but beneath the head there was a neck, chest, and belly, making it humanoid in form.

Yet at the sulfur-yellow eye that took up half the face from brow to above the lip, everyone swallowed and summoned weapons.

Unruffled, as if forgetting he had no offensive skills, Wonhyo stood fanning himself before the creature.

Cheongmun snapped his fingers and summoned three cubes.

No mana could be sensed, so it didn’t seem classifiable as an ordinary monster lifeform, but precautions were needed.

Just as he moved to pull Wonhyo back now that the thing had fully emerged, a chill voice sounded.

“Cheon-ho-sin ja-gyu-sin, o-nae-bul-si-in… bae-cheong-yeol-lib-jung-byeong-jang-sang-un-lae, yong-cha-jwa-jwa-byeong-ma-do….”

The level, rapid chant struck the creature.

It turned that ominous eye’s focus toward Wonhyo.

Wonhyo closed the fan and, from behind it, raised a talisman he had drawn with the other hand.

“Suo-bu-ryeong, geup-geup-geo, chik-sok-geo. Obong-mansa-chik-ryeong.”

At first it seemed the paper would burn away as before, but this time it crackled with sparks.

Without blinking once, Wonhyo blew the thunder-lit talisman onto the monster’s eye. One would expect it to dodge, given how slowly the flimsy paper fluttered—but it couldn’t move at all.

And the talisman that stuck to its eye burned the creature as if electrocuting it.

A golden radiance burst forth.

Without even scattering ash, the thing seared away in an instant and vanished; only then did Wonhyo step back from the fallen Team 2 leader.

“Looks like he’s been harried by a wandering spirit for some time. Not sure of the religion, but have him go offer prayers for a few days. If he goes to a cathedral, get some holy water and wash his face with it; if to a temple, burn incense; if to a church, carry a Bible around.”

In the same flat tone, after stating what should be done, Wonhyo turned his head.

Cheongmun dismissed the summoned cubes and checked the office, which for some reason felt brighter than before.

“Is it over?”

“Well, yes.”

“That just now—is that common?”

Wonhyo blinked.

“Mm, something one might occasionally run into by water or in the mountains.”

“Does it have a specific name?”

“No. It’s just a mangryang. If one must label it, a lowly stray spirit. Things like that don’t get names.”

At the slightly displeased look on Wonhyo’s face, Cheongmun tipped his chin.

“I see.”

He exhaled, recalling that this wasn’t something to which one would attach a name.

“So this is the sort of thing for which you charge a higher fee.”

Wonhyo blinked.

What is he talking about?

“The clanging steel and ground-stamping—that’s the main service; what just happened was in the realm of value-added courtesy.”

Banishing the wraith had literally been a freebie.

He narrowed his eyes, looking at the now-quiet office.

It felt like walking into a garbage house to clean, bagging the foul trash to carry out, then being applauded as if he’d done a sacred deed just for opening the window to air out the place.

Ventilation is only ventilation; venting stale air and replacing it with fresh air doesn’t finish the cleaning of a house.

Trash must be removed for the stench to disappear; if opening a window made trash vanish, why would people pay for professional cleaners?

Moreover, trash disposal requires the right tools and labor to locate the proper destination and send it off correctly.

They were ignorant of this line of work, so they didn’t grasp the situation.

Still, he wouldn’t do any more for free; he pressed his lips together neatly.

Stowing the ritual implement back in his inventory, he steadied his breathing and exhaled.

The pungency remained, but compared to before, the air had cleared so much it was easier to breathe.

Even so, he had no desire to linger.

He hadn’t expected to handle so much within less than an hour.

Seeing his tired face, Cheongmun reached out, wrapped an arm around his back, and led him out of the office.

A model of a good superior—giving chatty staff, suddenly full of things to say after the handling of something nameless, time to talk.

Trudging down the corridor, Wonhyo muttered,

“…I should go.”

Thinking on it, he’d handed over the footage brought from the apartment, had meant only to hold hands but had even touched lips, and on top of that had purified the workplace.

Seemed he’d fully exercised the homebody’s habit of handling all errands once he was out.

“The drinks we bought—we haven’t even sipped them.”

At Cheongmun’s words, Wonhyo narrowed his eyes.

If it was lemonade, it would have melted long ago—

He frowned at the to-go cup that Cheongmun pulled from his inventory.

Back in the conference room, the tartness wetting his mouth made Wonhyo realize how tense he’d been.

Quenching his thirst, the strength drained from his lower back.

“I want to go home and lie down.”

With his body pressed to the electric mat, he wanted to peel and eat a whole basket of tangerines—two full boxes sent by the elder shimbang in Jeju, saying a delicious batch had come in.

If the elder saw that, he would scold him: would a mere basket do—if you’re going to eat, you need a container; but anyone would know such eating would burst a stomach; a basket would be the sensible portion.

Thinking of the crates of tangerines in a cool place waiting for him in lonely silence made him want to head home even faster.

He also felt uneasy, wondering when the quieted status window would throw up a warning again.

There was the fact he still couldn’t guess why the original grudge had followed an empty, soulless corpse.

A fellow ghost would have recognized it, no?

A body shed of its soul is merely a trace of life. And if one had killed, that resentment should have been resolved—so why circle the body of the dead again?

It wasn’t unheard of for a grudge-bearer to not realize the target had died and keep repeating actions; but if reason had blurred to that degree, it wouldn’t even recognize the enemy.

What remained would be only the thought of doing harm, spilling it indiscriminately without correctly recognizing and pursuing a specific person.

To figure out the misalignment, the parts that didn’t make sense, he should look more deeply.

Wonhyo decided to abandon his curiosity.

Even if those above pushed his back to resolve this, not today.

If he ran into another ghost by misfortune and accumulated ghostly energy—he couldn’t keep asking to borrow Cheongmun’s lips.

Once by accident through coincidence; knowing that and doing it would be willful negligence.

Even if the other offered, with care, to allow such closeness, he had no mind to accept.

If the price of all this was paid through contact with human warmth, he’d rather embrace loneliness and solitude.

Slurp.

He didn’t know when he’d emptied it—the straw sucked at the bottom with a sound.

“I’ll be going now, for real.”

Having drunk the lemonade and replenished sugars, the hollow drop in mood that followed the comedown from adrenaline—pumped by life-threatening stress—was filled.

He rattled the cup, ice remaining.

Across from him, Cheongmun nodded as he watched.

“Very well.”

Relieved, Wonhyo rose.

There was no baggage to gather; as long as he didn’t forget his phone, it would do. Yet as he rose, iced coffee in hand, Cheongmun stood as a matter of course.

Even without this, the office atmosphere would be unsettled; he must be going to go and manage things—so Wonhyo offered a glance of “I’ll get going first,” and reached for the conference room door.

But suddenly at his side, Cheongmun reached out first, opened the door, and held it for him.

Hm?

Bobbing his head, Wonhyo stepped into the corridor and turned his head, looking for the elevator they’d ridden up.

“This way.”

Cheongmun indicated the direction.

Wonhyo walked where he pointed; Cheongmun followed.

Tilting his head, he walked the long corridor, pressed the elevator button, and waited; quietly, so did Cheongmun.

Is he seeing me off?

When the elevator doors opened and Wonhyo stepped in, Cheongmun, as if it were natural, stepped in after him.

Enclosed together again in the small space, Wonhyo felt awkward for no reason, eyes rolling as he wished they’d reach the first floor quickly.

At last it stopped and the doors opened; he hurried out of the closed space.

Now, exchange visitor’s pass and ID, step out, call a taxi…

He turned his head.

Meeting his gaze, Cheongmun smiled.

Had he not left because there had been no farewell? Or was there still something left to do?

“Uh… see you next time?”

He offered a farewell first.

He didn’t want to indulge the self-centered thought that of course he had been followed—but something about it raised suspicion.

At a farewell that carried the intent “we go our separate ways now,” Cheongmun tilted his head.

“Ah, I’ll see you home.”

“Wait—why?”

The words popped out, bypassing the brain.