TFN C96

Chapter 96 

The coarse language was one thing, but the shrill, high pitch—impossible for the voice of a man who had gone through puberty—made even Team 1’s members widen their eyes.

“What? Hey! What did you just say?”

As Prosecutor Bae, flushed with fury, tried to lunge forward, Wonhyo lifted his head and laughed.

“Did I say anything untrue? From the first semester of our freshman year, I took your money and helped you cheat on exams. Don’t remember? You couldn’t finish a single assignment, so I did all the research and wrote every report for you. Ten thousand won per page. When you think about it, I practically built your future for you. If anything, I charged far too little, didn’t I?”

His entire body trembled with wild laughter.

“And even after you came back from the military—pathetic. Always slinking around. But in front of your juniors, you had to pretend you had pride, so you insisted on doing everything yourself. But you couldn’t do a damned thing, so you ended up freeloading again. I cleaned up after you then, too. I even wrote your thesis for you.”

As the voice spilling out of Wonhyo’s mouth continued, Prosecutor Bae’s face drained of color—he had recognized who the speaker was.

Wonhyo smiled sweetly at him.

“Yongpyo, Yongpyo. I told you I didn’t want to marry you. And when you said you wouldn’t expose the account logs from all the money you transferred me—that’s why you begged me to marry you, right? Because you didn’t trust me? So why did you behave so pathetically?”

The gentle nagging tone suddenly sharpened.

“If you wanted a divorce, you could’ve just said so! Instead, you went to such lengths—sending a man to seduce me, trying to manufacture leverage. Were you really that brainless? You caused a mess and were terrified of the consequences, so on the day I came asking for a divorce… you ran me over with your car?”

“That’s not true!”

Bae shouted back reflexively.

Wonhyo’s eyes curved in a crescent.

“Not true? You really are terrible at lying. I saw you that day. My neck and leg were broken—I could barely walk. And when I finally got to you, you were drinking wine with your lover. Talking about how I died.”

He spread his arms.

“I strangled you from sheer rage, but you just wouldn’t die. So I tried… something else. Even when I said you’d be dead in a few hours, you didn’t listen. I was so offended. Still… I’m glad I got a chance to say this before you die. You think so too, don’t you?”

Wonhyo tilted his head.

“So here’s what I’m saying. Yongpyo, stop causing a scene and go write a will. I’ll be coming to get you in a few hours whether you want to see me or not. Don’t miss me too much.”

He waved his hand lightly.

…Thank you… for helping me…

Wonhyo rolled his stiff neck, loosening the muscles, and exhaled sharply.

He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them again into the suddenly quiet air.

His whole body felt rigid—he wanted to rub life back into his hands and feet, but he couldn’t.

Still, the vengeful spirit, satisfied with borrowing his voice for a moment, had returned to its place. That was enough.

The ex-wife’s spirit, who had clung to Prosecutor Bae, stepped back—raising a hand as if to say she had no intention of entering further inside.

Wonhyo skimmed over the frozen crowd, then looked at Cheongmun.

Cheongmun let out a short breath and finally moved, breaking the silence.

He opened his inventory, took out his wallet, and pulled out a 50,000 won bill.

Wonhyo tilted his head in confusion.

Administrator Kim, standing beside them, took the bill with gloved hands, sealed it into an evidence bag, and handed it back.

Holding the envelope, Cheongmun walked toward Prosecutor Bae.

“A condolence offering.”

“…What?”

Bae blinked—finally realizing what he’d heard—then exploded.

“You insane bastard!”

Cheongmun flicked his fingers.

“Augh!”

Attempting to attack had caused Bae to rebound hard off the cube and clutch his hand in agony.

Cheongmun looked down at him, then shifted his gaze to the people behind him.

“As of this moment, this site falls under Special Affairs’ jurisdiction. All unrelated personnel are ordered to withdraw. Any unauthorized intrusion will result in arrest under the relevant statutes.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Are you serious?!”

Someone protested, and Cheongmun’s lips twisted.

“If you wanted to object, perhaps you should have tried restraining Prosecutor Bae when he barged in without authority. And ignoring the fact that the Special Judicial Police’s legal jurisdiction is guaranteed by statute makes me wonder—how did you even pass the police entrance exam? Should we have Internal Affairs investigate for recruitment fraud?”

The officer who had complained turned beet red.

Cheongmun tilted his head and looked down at Prosecutor Bae.

“Prosecutor Bae. I’ll be filing a formal complaint with the District Prosecutor’s Office.

Special Affairs may be categorized under judicial police, but we are not under prosecutorial audit. And yet you barge into someone else’s investigative jurisdiction and demand we withdraw?

I’ll be filing for disciplinary measures—

Well, although you’ll be dead in a few hours, so you won’t get to receive them.

As for your ex-wife’s matter—handle it as you will.

For now, follow the spiritual consultant’s advice and go write your will.”

As he waved his hand dismissively, Unit 1 rushed forward and pushed the protesters out the door.

“Um… should we leave too?”

Wonhyo turned toward the voice—coming not from outside but inside.

The forensic team members, who had been silently waiting, awkwardly raised their hands in greeting.

Recognizing a familiar face among them, Wonhyo quickly bowed.

The forensics team leader smiled back, then looked at Cheongmun.

Having just rid the place of unwelcome guests, Cheongmun sighed and rolled his shoulders.

“What are you talking about? You’re relevant personnel. Go on with your work.”

The forensics team chuckled softly.

“Relevant personnel, huh? Guess we are.

And since the Team Leader is here… this must be connected to that incident, right?

Is the consultant giving out salt again today?”

Their perceptiveness made Wonhyo open his inventory.

Someone lightly applauded when they saw the one-kilogram bag of salt he pulled out.

Once the chaotic scene settled, Wonhyo crouched inside the cube.

He had only lent his voice briefly, but the backlash left chills running through his body.

He wouldn’t fall ill exactly, but it would feel like the onset of a fever for hours.

Still, he had not been directly touched, and someone had helped shield him so the malevolent energy didn’t spike too far—so the damage wasn’t severe.

“Are you in pain?”

Wonhyo turned his head, meeting Cheongmun’s eyes.

“No, not exactly. Just…”

“Just?”

“I’m… a little worried.”

“About what?”

Cheongmun spoke as calmly as if nothing at all had happened.

Because of that, Wonhyo found himself confessing the first thought that had hit him after the possession ended.

“I’m afraid I’ll get sued for stating facts.”

Because he lacked a patron spirit, he didn’t blurt prophecies or speak without control the way a true spirit medium did.

But his older sister had—

Her spiritual awakening was so intense she began making terrifying predictions.

She ended up at the police station twice.

She’d been threatened with lawsuits over ten times.

She’d cried so hard in their mother’s arms back then.

But at his worry, Cheongmun simply gave a small laugh.

“You didn’t lie.”

“That’s true.”

The spirit had spoken through his mouth, but nothing said felt false.

Still, Wonhyo found it strange that Cheongmun trusted his words so readily.

“But you’re not bothered that I let the spirit lash out at him?”

“If a ghost used mana to inflict physical harm, that would fall under our jurisdiction.

Otherwise, it’s outside our authority.

What surprised me more was that you chose to help the spirit.”

Wonhyo remembered the things clinging to Prosecutor Bae.

“It wasn’t just the ex-wife attached to him, you know?”

The ones trying to kill Bae weren’t even proper spirits.

They were scraps of malice—childlike fragments of taejagwi, stuck beneath his feet, twitching like tiny hands.

Not true ghosts, not lawful beings—unable to be judged by the afterlife, but still punishable under earthly law.

“And you believe all that?”

“With the level of detail you just revealed—far more than anyone present could know—why wouldn’t I?”

Wonhyo squinted slightly.

He appreciated the trust, but also wondered if it was wise for anyone to place faith in a shaman so carelessly in this dangerous world.

Cheongmun shrugged lightly.

“And returning to what you asked—defamation through factual statements about the deceased only becomes a crime if the statements are false. Truth is exempt.”

“…The deceased… oh.”

Wonhyo tapped his mouth with his palm.

He remembered then—

The spirit had told the prosecutor they would meet again in a few hours.

“Ah, hell.”

He pulled out purified water from his inventory, poured it into a paper cup, and rinsed his mouth thoroughly.

Even if it was the spirit speaking, this bordered dangerously close to a curse.

He didn’t have a patron spirit, so he wouldn’t be punished directly—but misfortune could cling to those around him instead.

And he couldn’t allow harm to reach his sister or mother.

He wiped his mouth clean and packed everything neatly away—then resolved to cleanse himself the moment this investigation ended.

Seeing the lifespans of others—especially when he didn’t want to—was a curse of its own.

“Good grief.”

Bracing himself on his knees, Wonhyo rose to his feet.

Since things had gone this far, he would at least finish the job properly.