TFN C81

Chapter 81

At the suggestion that they just pick any nearby place, Wonhyo glanced out the window again. Beyond the tightly packed forest of apartment buildings, he felt it—a faint but unpleasant sensation.

“As long as it’s not somewhere around here, I think we’ll be fine,” he murmured.

Cheongmun followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes.

“Come to think of it, this is right behind the place, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

That very apartment complex had been where the vengeful spirit first appeared last month.

It wasn’t fear or avoidance that made him hesitate—it just didn’t seem right to eat dinner with that memory hanging in the air.

“Then I’m not sure where else to go,” said Cheongmun. “It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten anywhere outside Yongsan.”

Seoul wasn’t a particularly vast city, but its density made it feel like a maze—most people rarely ventured outside their own neighborhoods. Leaving one’s usual area could feel like stepping into darkness.

Wonhyo tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before hesitantly suggesting,

“Well, um… do you eat marinated crab?”

“Marinated crab?”

Cheongmun tilted his head slightly, then smiled faintly.

“I do.”

The dry sound of Wonhyo’s swallow was almost audible. He quickly averted his eyes.

“Then… would you like to eat at my place? I brought some back from Jindo—still have plenty left.”

He hadn’t bought it himself—Granny Park had gifted it to him.

Even though his mother and sister usually stuck to vegetarian meals, they didn’t entirely avoid seafood. Since he’d been in the middle of spiritual work, most of it had ended up being his share.

Granny Park had insisted on buying it for him as a token of thanks, asking him to check in with the police once he returned to Seoul. So, in a way, Cheongmun had earned the right to share it, too.

Besides, it seemed wiser for them to stay somewhere safe and calm than to wander around, not knowing where they might encounter restless spirits.

If Cheongmun refused, they could always find another place.

Wonhyo shifted uneasily, waiting for his answer.

“Let’s do that,” Cheongmun said easily.

Wonhyo exhaled a small sigh of relief.

Wonhyo carefully cut through the soy-marinated crab with scissors, placing the pieces in a large bowl. Then, pulling on gloves, he extracted the plump flesh from the shell and pressed it out until it formed glistening strands.

He piled the crab meat on freshly steamed rice, added chopped vegetables, and finished with a generous drizzle of sesame oil and a sprinkle of toasted seeds. The result looked exactly like the crab bibimbap he’d once eaten during a trip to Mokpo for work.

“All done,” he called out.

Cheongmun, who had been setting the table in the living room, straightened up. He strode over, took the heavy dish without hesitation, and set it on the low table. Then, without asking, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out some side dishes.

Watching that, a strange, ticklish feeling bloomed in Wonhyo’s chest.

It wasn’t discomfort—just the odd realization that someone else knew exactly where things were in his home. It wasn’t like watching a thief… more like wondering when exactly they’d grown this familiar.

Once the table was set—with kimchi from Jindo and the marinated crab from Granny Park—Wonhyo fetched water and sat down.

The sight of Cheongmun sitting cross-legged on the floor at a low dining table, so far from his usual poised image, felt surreal. When he opened a small container of side dishes like it was second nature, the sense of reality all but evaporated.

“Thank you for the meal,” Cheongmun said, lifting his spoon with a polite bow.

Wonhyo blinked, then awkwardly replied,

“Uh, yeah. Enjoy.”

He wasn’t used to having guests, much less serving them food, so he wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say—but it made Cheongmun smile nonetheless.

They each mixed rice with crab meat in their bowls, wrapped bites in seaweed or leafy greens, and began to eat. It turned out perfectly.

Wonhyo took a perilla leaf, placed a spoonful of rice on it, and took a bite. The familiar seasoning exploded across his tongue, as vivid as the first time he’d tasted it.

“This might be the best crab I’ve had in recent memory,” said Cheongmun.

“Right? If it weren’t so far, I’d go all the time.”

Unfortunately, the restaurant was deep in the southernmost tip of the peninsula.

They used to take online orders and ship, but apparently it had become too much work for the elderly owners.

“By the way, have you been well lately?” Wonhyo asked.

“Well…” Cheongmun mused. “Do you mean things like narrowly avoiding accidents? Nearly falling down stairs? Or a car cutting in suddenly and almost causing a crash?”

Wonhyo nodded, adding rice to his seaweed wrap.

“None of that,” Cheongmun replied lightly. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had many chances to leave my office floor.”

He gave a small shrug, as if to say he couldn’t get into trouble if he never went anywhere.

“Then you probably don’t need more protective charms,” Wonhyo said.

“I still have all seven you gave me last time.”

Hearing that, Wonhyo exhaled a quiet breath of relief. If they weren’t needed, that was a good thing. He could put the extras up for sale instead.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something,” said Cheongmun suddenly.

Wonhyo looked up mid-chew.

Smiling faintly, Cheongmun picked up a perilla leaf with his chopsticks, wrapping rice in it.

“Have you ever thought about opening a store in the Hunter Market?”

“…I already have one.”

“Not online,” said Cheongmun, shaking his head. “I mean a physical shop. Three spaces just opened up in one of our managed districts—they’re taking bids.”

“Oh…”

Wonhyo bit into a crab leg and chewed slowly.

“That’s… too expensive for me. Besides, my supply isn’t consistent enough.”

Running a physical shop meant maintaining inventory—and he simply couldn’t produce that steadily.

“Is that because your skill rank got locked again?”

“That’s part of it,” Wonhyo admitted.

When his penalty had briefly lifted, he could make charms freely, without procedure. But after failing that damned secondary job quest, he’d been forced back into a tedious process.

And one step in that process—“purity”—had become a major obstacle.

Because lately, every night, his dreams had been soaked in strange, indecent visions, leaving him feeling tainted when he woke. It affected the quality of his work.

For a craftsman whose creations had never once failed, suddenly having results vary between failure, success, and “great success” felt absurd.

At this point, it was less like making charms and more like pulling a gacha.

He wanted to laugh—if it was “handmade,” shouldn’t that mean no failure? But then again, maybe that’s why failure existed.

If he didn’t use divine energy, the quality dropped too low to be worth it.

Feeling disheartened, Wonhyo cracked another crab leg between his teeth.

“Anyway… it’s not possible right now,” he said.

“Understood,” said Cheongmun easily, letting the topic go.

That, at least, was a small mercy.

As they ate, the conversation meandered casually. Wonhyo mentioned that Jindo’s sea was breathtakingly beautiful, though plagued with restless water spirits, and explained the sahongut ritual. Cheongmun, in turn, said he had contacted the Haetae Guild to inquire about the “Moonlight Garden” that had appeared in Wonhyo’s quest log.

“The Haetae Guild?” Wonhyo echoed.

“I know someone there. It’s easier than searching manually. Guilds that clear higher tower floors tend to have the most accurate data.”

“Oh, right,” said Wonhyo, nodding.

It made sense. When he’d been looking for the Ghostslayer Valley, he’d also had to ask around until a major guild confirmed it was on the seventh floor of the Tower.

“But it is in the Tower, right?”

If it turned out to be a dungeon location instead, that would be a nightmare.

Cheongmun smiled faintly.

“Most job-related quests occur within the Tower, so that’s likely. Besides, I already checked—none of the registered dungeons nationwide have anything with that name.”

“You already searched, huh.”

Wonhyo let out a slow sigh.

He’d done some research himself, too. Since Ghostslayer Valley had been on the seventh floor, he figured this one would be higher. He’d even contacted the same guild for clues.

But there was still no trace—not even below the twentieth floor, where information should’ve been plentiful. If it was higher than that… he didn’t even want to think about how long it would take to reach.

“How much does Haetae Guild charge for intel?” he asked cautiously.

Private guilds never shared their findings for free. The Special Bureau distributed public data without cost, but Haetae was, after all, a business.

“I doubt they’ll charge,” said Cheongmun. “If they do, they’ll probably want an information exchange instead.”

“That’d be a loss for you, though.”

“Not really. You supply me with items regularly and don’t charge either. Consider it balanced.”

“But the charms are just for your safety—to protect against side effects from contact with me. Shouldn’t that be off the record?” Wonhyo muttered, looking down.

Cheongmun’s brow arched faintly.

“Do you remember the favor I mentioned before?”

“Favor?”

“I asked you to help me with something someday.”

The memory clicked.

“Oh—right. But isn’t that already tied to my life debt—?”

“Who knows,” said Cheongmun calmly. “You might end up helping me again anyway. Let’s just count it as another favor in advance.”

Wonhyo frowned, lifting a crab leg in protest.

“Use the first one first, at least.”

An open-ended promise couldn’t just hang around forever.

At that, Cheongmun looked into empty space for a moment, then nodded.

“Very well. I’ll use it soon. I was planning to contact you anyway, now that my current work has wrapped up.”

“Then I guess I’d better start preparing another one for next time,” Wonhyo sighed.

“Hopefully,” Cheongmun said with a quiet laugh, “you’ll finish your quest before a third favor becomes necessary.”

That cursed Moonlight Garden.

Wonhyo bit through the crab leg like he was gnawing on the enemy itself.