The Night Of The Untraced

Seungjoo muttered to himself as he recalled the goldfish he had just seen. More accurately, he remembered it as a Gwimae-catching goldfish. That would mean this guy in front of him was also someone who dealt with “those things.”

“Hey, did you see that weird goldfish in the lake earlier?”

“…So the thing you were watching was a goldfish?”

He looked as if he was asking,

Are goldfish really that fascinating?

For a moment, Seungjoo almost snapped but instead kept his composure as he explained.

“No, that’s not it… It was a black goldfish, and even when it jumped out of the water, there wasn’t a single splash. Later, it stuck its mouth above the surface and even started talking to me.”

In any case, it wasn’t a normal goldfish. Seungjoo wasn’t even certain it was a living thing. Given that it was black, fragrant, and somewhat animal-like, there was only one thing that came to mind.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a Gwimae.”

“A… Gwimae?”

The man asked with a confused look, blinking slowly and tilting his head slightly.

“That’s impossible. Gwimae don’t come out in places crowded with people.”

“…”

Is that so? Now that he thought about it, that made sense. As far as Seungjoo knew, Gwimae were vengeful spirits that were usually born in secluded areas. They weren’t something that would swim leisurely around the middle of a campus.

So then, what had that been earlier? While Seungjoo pondered, the man casually asked him, “So… didn’t Kim Muheun’s team… teach you at least the basics?”

“They taught me… No, why would Muheun teach me stuff like that?”

The question made him a little defensive. Maybe because it sounded like he was implying that Muheun hadn’t done his job. After all, teaching Seungjoo about exorcism knowledge wasn’t exactly Muheun’s duty.

“If it was like you said, then that was probably just a goldfish spirit.”

The man spoke in a flat tone, as if it didn’t matter to him at all. His voice was devoid of emotion, in contrast to the rather unsettling content of his words.

“Sometimes animals get lost too.”

“A… lost spirit.”

If it was something like that, then he could understand.

Just as human souls occasionally get lost on their way to the afterlife, sometimes animal spirits would wander too. According to Muryeong, animals never turn into evil spirits, so that would explain why he hadn’t sensed any malevolent energy from the goldfish.

“…”

Still, something didn’t quite add up. If it were merely a spirit, would it really go out of its way to talk? Seungjoo had never heard of a spirit becoming more intelligent after death.

* * *

While lost in thought, Seungjoo suddenly recalled something and spoke slowly. “Hey, by the way.” At his words, the man turned to look at him. Tilting his head slightly, Seungjoo narrowed one of his eyes.

“Didn’t Muheun tell you to stop coming to see me?”

Kim Muheun had said that he’d tell the Gwimae-hunter—whoever he was—to stay away if he knew who he was. When Seungjoo had asked if Muheun thought he’d listen, Muheun had answered confidently,

What if he doesn’t?

“…?”

The man blinked in confusion, as if wondering why Muheun would say something like that. Seungjoo shrugged, adding nonchalantly, “I told him about you.”

“…About me?”

“Yeah, I told him some weird person kept coming to see me.”

The man’s eyes widened. It was a funny thing to say right in front of the guy himself.

“I told him everything you’d said to me too.”

But what did it matter? Muheun hadn’t told him to keep it a secret, and even if he had, Seungjoo would’ve still told him.

“…Even that you think he’s the culprit?”

“Of course.”

Seungjoo responded readily, watching the man’s face. He was speechless, his mouth clamped shut with an almost betrayed expression. In response, Seungjoo couldn’t help but feel a bit amused.

“Hey, if you were going to say that to me, you should’ve at least considered that I might tell him.”

“…”

“What made you think I’d keep it a secret?”

Oddly, he looked a little hurt. Wasn’t it obvious that Seungjoo would side with the older brother he’d known forever over a mysterious exorcist? Apparently, he’d naively assumed Seungjoo would keep quiet.

“…Well, that explains it.”

The man muttered quietly, his brows knitting slightly. It was a faint change, but since he usually looked so expressionless, it seemed more pronounced. After hesitating for a while, he finally spoke in that same monotonous voice.

“I haven’t heard anything about staying away from you. Actually, he’s never even mentioned you to me.”

“…Really?”

“Who knows? He could be pretending to care about you just to put on a front, but maybe he’s not actually that concerned.”

“…”

Seungjoo let out a small laugh. It was blatant provocation. Was he trying to hurt him, or sow seeds of doubt toward Muheun? Either way, it had no real impact.

If Kim Muheun had said that, he must have had his reasons—Seungjoo thought no more of it than that. In reality, the exorcist hadn’t shown up recently. He didn’t know how he’d found him today, but Muheun had probably done something to keep him at bay for a while.

But perhaps interpreting Seungjoo’s silence differently, the man continued with a slightly more confident tone.

“Do you know why that guy is so rich?”

“…Rich?”

Seungjoo hadn’t known Muheun was rich, much less why. Although his family was wealthy, he wasn’t sure Muheun himself was especially well-off.

“He has tons of houses and cars, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, that…”

Recalling the occasional foreign car Muheun drove, Seungjoo narrowed his eyes. Probably some of those expensive things belonged to the association. His office space was provided by them too. Naturally, they would have compensated him accordingly, funded by Muheun’s work.

But the man’s assertion differed.

“He takes bribes from the association for doing their dirty work.”

“…”

That was surprising. Specifically, the part where he claimed Muheun took

bribes

.

“…Don’t you know anything about Muheun’s family?”

The neighboring family of promising exorcists was considerably wealthy—though not quite on Seungjoo’s family’s level, they still did well for themselves. They might not be able to buy an island for a birthday, but they could probably get him some land.

Because of that, the three siblings next door had grown up without lacking for anything, which meant they also rarely felt the need for material possessions. Why would someone like that go through the trouble of taking bribes?

“He wouldn’t do something like that even if you paid him millions.”

Besides, from a regular person’s perspective, exorcists were generally well-paid. As with most dangerous jobs, this one commanded a high income. It was demanding and strenuous, so where would he even find the time to run errands for extra cash?

“…Why do you trust Kim Muheun so much?”

The man seemed puzzled by Seungjoo’s unwavering belief in him, his curious gaze tinged with a hint of inexplicable irritation.

“Do you think he’s some kind of virtuous person?”

“…Hmm.”

If he had brought up morals or integrity, maybe Seungjoo would’ve backed him up, but since he mentioned “virtue,” it was hard to say. Muheun wasn’t necessarily someone who stood on the side of justice. He just preferred avoiding troublesome situations, unless they demanded minimal cleanup.

“I don’t know about virtue… but he does hate annoying things.”

“….”

Oddly enough, the man didn’t argue against that. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, reminding Seungjoo of that strange goldfish from earlier. It seemed he couldn’t deny it either.

This guy really does know Kim Muheun,

Seungjoo realized anew.

“Why do you dislike him so much? First, you said he’s a criminal, and now he’s a lackey?”

Muheun’s keeping busy,

Seungjoo thought to himself. If what this guy said were true, Muheun would need more than one body to handle it all. He’d be better off catching up on sleep if he had that much time.

At this point, he almost wished both claims were true, so Muheun could give up one of them and get some rest.

“…It’s not that I dislike him.”

“Yeah, I get it, you dislike—wait, what?”

Seungjoo paused mid-sentence, momentarily thrown by what he’d just heard. The man repeated himself with a tone of certainty.

“I don’t dislike him.”

“…”

Wait… if you don’t dislike him, then why go out of your way to think like that?

“…You’re a real weirdo.”

Muttering the words under his breath, Seungjoo watched the man glance sharply at him. He must have heard that, exorcist senses and all. He didn’t miss even a whisper, did he?

“Hey.”

Seungjoo sighed softly and looked up at the man. Behind him, the sky stretched vast and bright. It was a picturesque, sunny scene, but Seungjoo’s words were far from warm.

“No matter what you say, I’m not going to listen to you.”

“…”

“And everything we’ve just talked about? I’m going to tell Hyung all of it.”

Though he was avoiding Muheun at the moment, they weren’t out of touch. Even if they had been, he’d still have passed along what he learned here. Not out of pettiness, but because he didn’t want any unnecessary misunderstandings to pile up.

Besides, there was no loyalty in him to keep secrets from this guy in front of him.

“So just give up already.”

“…”

Maybe it was the cold way he put it, but the man stayed silent for a while. Still, it didn’t seem like he was giving up—he was clearly still working things out in his mind. For someone who didn’t seem too clever, he was oddly persistent. Seungjoo sighed and added,

“And as I’ve said a million times already, if you want me to do anything, start by telling me your name.”

Though he’d run into the man several times now, all Seungjoo knew was that he was the Gwimae hunter. The last time he’d asked, the guy had just brushed off the question.

“What’s your name?”

“…Why?”

“Oh, come on, I told you not to answer with a question.”

Why can’t he just answer straightforwardly?

Frustrated, Seungjoo scowled deeply. He wasn’t planning on going through another twenty questions with him like last time.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll just call you whatever I want.”

He hadn’t been that curious about it before, but his secrecy was starting to annoy Seungjoo. If he really wanted to, he could just ask Muheun.

“Fine by me. Call me whatever you like.”

The man nodded easily, probably assuming Seungjoo would just call him “hey” or “you.” That unbothered look on his face somehow sparked a mischievous urge in Seungjoo.

“Alright then, Gwangsik.”

“…”

“What?”

“…”

“You said I could call you whatever I wanted.”

He’d picked a name at random on purpose. If he didn’t want to be called something that ridiculous, he could go ahead and tell him his real name. Or maybe, he just wanted to see a crack in that cold expression.

“If it bothers you, just tell me your name.”

Seungjoo fleetingly thought he was being childish but didn’t mind much. When taking someone seriously brought no results, the only one who ended up looking foolish was the one with the straight face. It was better to respond without any pretense.

“Or would you prefer Manduk or Chunsik?”

“….”

At the brazen suggestion, the man’s eyebrows twitched. After a moment, he slowly moved his lips.

“…Gwangsik is fine. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Gwangsik’s “permission” was given, though he looked more affected by the name than he let on.

Stubborn as hell,

Seungjoo thought.

What’s so precious about a name, anyway? Clicking his tongue, Seungjoo shifted his gaze past Gwangsik.

He’d nearly fallen into the lake once, been helped to a bench by him another time, and now they’d been sitting there having this pointless conversation. Thanks to all this dawdling, the sky was beginning to dim, the sun already slipping below the horizon. It was about time to head to the main gate, where Muheun was waiting.

“…Hey, Gwangsik.”

Even as Seungjoo slowly called him by his new name, Gwangsik hesitated to respond. He raised an eyebrow, as if he was still getting used to the name. But that wasn’t Seungjoo’s problem.

“When’s your birthday?”

When the sunset began to paint the sky, even the same scenery would evoke different feelings. The campus, which he would wander through indifferently during the day, somehow looked a bit lonelier at dusk. Like a familiar figure leaving, now strangely lingering in his heart.

“Did you enjoy your class?”

Muheun, standing at the main gate, was once again the center of many people’s attention. Rumor had it that sightings of him were frequently posted on the university’s community boards, but he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Well, after living his whole life with that face, it’d be strange if he suddenly became self-conscious now.

“Hyung.”

“……”

Just a single syllable, yet Muheun’s eyes curved silently in response. He wondered why Muheun looked so pleased all of a sudden, and then remembered that he hadn’t even looked his way the past few days, instead heading straight home. As Seungjoo awkwardly averted his gaze, Muheun replied in an unbearably sweet voice.

“Yes, what is it?”

The seemingly ordinary response sounded so gentle, as if Muheun would listen to anything Seungjoo had to say. Momentarily at a loss for words, Seungjoo twitched his cheeks and narrowed his eyes.

It’s no wonder… I don’t worry about being rejected. I know he won’t refuse anything I say.

Even though he couldn’t be certain of the reason behind it.

“Can you check someone’s birth chart for me?”

“…A birth chart?”

Muheun tilted his head at Seungjoo’s words. It must have seemed strange for Seungjoo, who had never shown interest in such things, to suddenly make such a request. Seungjoo nodded instead of elaborating further.

“Yeah, will it take long?”

“No, reading it won’t take much time.”

Reading birth charts was one of Muheun’s many skills. By examining a person’s birth date and time, as well as reading spiritual influences in their surroundings, he possessed an uncanny ability to divine their fate. Although he simply called it “chart reading” for convenience, his insights went beyond the usual practice, allowing him to see an individual’s entire life in startling detail. This meant that even people born at the same date and time would yield different results if Muheun did the reading.

“What’s the birth date and time?”

As he asked this, Muheun reached for Seungjoo’s bag, and this time, Seungjoo willingly handed it over. Watching Muheun pull out a notebook and pen, Seungjoo recited the date he’d been repeating to himself on the way over.

“A man born in the year Gyeongshin, month Gihae, day Gimi, hour Yu.”

‘…Isn’t that my birthday?’

When Seungjoo asked earlier, Gwangsik had hesitated slightly, displaying a momentary hint of wariness. He seemed a bit reluctant, but Seungjoo had kept a neutral expression as he spoke.

‘I need to know at least one thing about you.’

He did it as a precautionary measure. Even though Muheun had said that Gwangsik wasn’t a bad guy, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that Gwangsik might double-cross him. The fact that Gwangsik kept trying to undermine Muheun was unsettling.

Perhaps Muheun’s assurance that he wasn’t a bad person was merely a white lie meant to comfort Seungjoo.

‘You won’t even tell me your name, so not telling me your birthday is a bit much, don’t you think?’

That’s why he’d decided to get his birth chart read. And by none other than Kim Muheun. Since Gwangsik worried so much about others yet seemed indifferent to his own affairs, Seungjoo figured he wouldn’t get around to it without a little push.

‘Knowing that much is the least I need to feel at ease. It’s just a birthday—it’s not a big deal.’

Gwangsik hadn’t answered right away, but Seungjoo was confident he’d eventually spill. Privacy might have been the issue, but revealing his birthday seemed less personal than revealing his name. Besides, his oddly naïve demeanor suggested it wouldn’t be hard to coax it out of him with words.

‘And, by the way, how old are you? Are we the same age? Hey, if you’re Korean, it’s basic etiquette to at least know each other’s age, even if we don’t know each other’s names.’

Seungjoo said it casually, throwing out random comments, but Gwangsik’s expression changed with each word. His doubtful eyes shifted to discomfort, then finally to resignation, as if he were thinking, “Is that so?” Seungjoo kept pushing, without pause.

‘I don’t know anything about you, but you know everything about me. Don’t you think that’s really impolite?’

“……”

The term “impolite” made him flinch noticeably, and he hesitated, visibly troubled. His reaction was so earnest that Seungjoo felt a little guilty, as though he were tricking a child. Easy to con, he thought, softening his tone for the final nudge.

‘So just tell me your birth date, and if possible, your birth hour too.’

In the end, Gwangsik gave in and provided the information Seungjoo had asked for. Year Gyeongshin, month Gihae, day Gimi, hour Yu. It was puzzling that he had recited the complete sexagenary cycle without being prompted, but considering he had once given directions by citing coordinates, Seungjoo let it pass. Actually, the detailed answer would make the reading even more accurate.

So, that’s what he’d thought.

“…Year Gyeongshin?”

Muheun, who was about to open his notebook, paused momentarily. Noticing Muheun’s puzzled reaction, Seungjoo mentally reviewed the date he’d given. There wasn’t a single error—so what was the issue?

“Are you reading a professor’s birth chart?”

“…Huh? No?”

Why would a professor even come up? Reading a professor’s birth chart would be useless. He didn’t even want to know their birthday in the first place.

But Muheun gently pointed out the problem with that date.

“Seungjoo, if they were born in the year Gyeongshin, they’d be sixty-one.”

“……”

“Or maybe one year old.”

Ah, that damn liar.

Seungjoo’s face crumpled. No wonder it had sounded familiar—this year was the year of Gyeongshin. He recalled the TV ads about the “Year of the White Monkey.”

“And there’s no Gimi day in this year’s Gihae month…”

Muheun’s eyes squinted playfully as his words trailed off. Seungjoo marveled at how he could remember such things, though that wasn’t the main point.

‘He must have known I’d try to read his chart.’

Why hadn’t he realized sooner? Gwangsik knew a lot about him, just as Seungjoo had said. Since he’d already announced to Muheun that he’d tell him everything, Gwangsik likely realized that sharing his birth date would inevitably reach Muheun. And if he was connected to Muheun, he would’ve known about Muheun’s particular skill.

“…Ha, he really got me.”

He’d thought Gwangsik was dense, but it turned out he had sharp instincts in unexpected ways. Now it seemed that deliberately giving the complete chart—the four pillars (year, month, day, and hour of birth)—had been a subtle dare to see if Seungjoo would take the bait.

As Seungjoo let out an exasperated laugh, Muheun asked quietly,

“So, whose birth chart is it?”

“Well, earlier…”

There was so much he wanted to say. Earlier, he’d seen a strange goldfish, and it had spoken to him. He’d tried to approach it and nearly fell into the lake. Luckily, someone caught him, so he wasn’t hurt, but it was the same person he’d encountered before who then said something strange again. And in Seungjoo’s opinion, that goldfish seemed like the Gwimae. What did Hyung think about that?

“…”

However, he hesitated to say it for several reasons. First, explaining would inevitably require admitting that he’d nearly been hurt. Even if it had been his mistake, Muheun would likely believe it was his own fault, stemming from his “second sight.”

“When you asked earlier?”

“…Nothing much.”

Though he was actually upset with him, he didn’t want Muheun to feel guilty. While he found it annoying, he wasn’t looking to hear an apology. Even though he might act irritably, if Muheun started worrying too much, he’d stop himself.

The one thing Seungjoo kept from Muheun, despite usually being open, was an old incident where he had been hurt. Even now, Muheun didn’t know about the cast Seungjoo had worn in high school. He knew how much Muheun would fret, and since it was an accident that wouldn’t happen again, he hadn’t seen the point in mentioning it.

“That Gwimae hunter came looking for me again.”

So Seungjoo swallowed what he’d been about to say and went with a safer topic. He was planning to bring it up anyway. At the mention of the Gwimae hunter, Muheun frowned, though his expression turned curious as he listened.

“He called you a lackey for higher-ups, so I thought I’d ask for a fortune reading. Just to check if he was going to stab me in the back.”

“…He called me a lackey for higher-ups?”

“Yes. He also said you’re not exactly a righteous person.”

It was almost like tattling.

I feel that way too,

Seungjoo swallowed the thought, looking directly at Muheun. It had been a while since he’d faced him like this.

“If you’re familiar with him, then you probably know his birthdate, right? Can you check what he’s up to?”

He didn’t ask Muheun to stop him from coming back. While he was curious, he didn’t want to bother Muheun more than necessary. He had a vague sense that if things got dangerous, Muheun would step in.

“Hmm…”

Muheun quietly made a low sound, narrowing his eyes. He casually slung Seungjoo’s bag over his shoulder, opened a notebook, and put pen to paper.

“Do you even know that guy’s birth details?”

It wasn’t odd; most people didn’t remember others’ full birth charts, including exact times. They probably didn’t even know the exact day and hour of birth.

So it seemed that reading this person’s fortune wouldn’t work. But Muheun simply started writing something down in his notebook.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading a fortune.”

時 日 月 年

丙 庚 戊 庚

子 子 子 子

The elegant Chinese characters he wrote looked familiar—especially the four instances of the character “子.”

Seungjoo looked at him incredulously. “…Why would you look up

my

fortune?”

* * *

The date Muheun had written was none other than Seungjoo’s birthday: December 23rd, which was the 9th day of the 11th lunar month. Known as “a day without spirits,” it was a night without any trace of spirits.

“It’s been a while since I last read it.”

After adding a few more characters, Muheun scribbled lines across the page, occasionally circling numbers and pausing to narrow his eyes as he thought.

“A person’s fate… it doesn’t remain exactly the same. It changes a lot depending on their environment and relationships, so it’s always a bit different each time.”

Seungjoo, usually dismissive of things like fate, found Muheun’s words had a different weight to them. And with so many unsettling things happening lately, he’d been thinking it might be time for another reading. So he quietly watched, focused, as Muheun spoke with a faint smile.

“Now, let’s see… for Seungjoo’s ‘day pillar’…”

His tone was unusually cheerful, explaining unfamiliar terms as if to playfully tease. He went on about his “day pillar” and something called “gyeong-geum,” (庚金) explaining minor details that were hardly important to the reading.

“I’m not a kid.”

Muheun was like a fortune teller in moments like this. He’d once joked about setting up shop to read fortunes, though he’d been sternly scolded by his tiger-like mother (who’d insisted words had power and shouldn’t be joked about), and he hadn’t mentioned it since.

“Your nature is solid, so you don’t waver easily. You’re good at adapting to your environment, too…”

While it seemed like he was speaking casually, he was clearly assessing Seungjoo’s fortune. Soon, Muheun grew quieter, his gaze gradually clouding over as he stared downward, his smile fading bit by bit. Like those moments when he glimpsed the future and predicted what lay ahead.

“…”

The pen stopped with a suddenness that made Seungjoo tense involuntarily. Finally, in a strangely subdued tone, Muheun spoke again.

“…Your fate has shifted.”

It wasn’t surprising. As Muheun had explained, one’s fate changed endlessly, often without warning. Seungjoo frequently complained that it barely deserved to be called “fate” (運命) at all.

Even so, he couldn’t help but feel tense at the sight of Muheun’s somber expression as he continued.

“Someone… seems to have interfered with your fortune.”

“…Interfered?”

Did someone “intrude” or “meddle”? He couldn’t quite understand. He was about to ask what it meant when Muheun looked at him sharply.

“Seungjoo.”

“…”

The gentle look in his eyes had turned into a heavy, dark gaze that pulled Seungjoo in, making him freeze.

Muheun, in a voice devoid of any trace of a smile, asked,

“Did you almost die today?”

 

Friday morning. Standing in front of the mirror, Seungjoo turned sideways, pulling up the sleeve of his short-sleeved shirt. As he lifted the fabric, a deep bruise was visible on his exposed forearm.

 

A bruise about the size of an adult man’s hand mark appeared right where Gwangsik had grabbed him yesterday by the lake.

“…Damn, it bruised.”

No wonder it hurt. He’d only been grabbed, but the mark was a severe bruise. His skin wasn’t particularly pale or prone to bruising, so it was strange how such an intense mark had formed.

“This is going to last a while…”

Seungjoo rolled his aching arm, smoothing it with his hand. Thankfully, it was still long-sleeve weather; if it wasn’t, he would’ve been spreading news of his bruises around the neighborhood. If Muheun found out, he’d probably be forbidden from using this arm entirely.

When was it? One time Gi Hwanyeong had caught him when he almost slipped down the stairs, and it had been the same. The moment Hwanyeong grabbed him, it hurt like hell, and later, he found a bruise. Back then, he hadn’t known Hwanyeong was an exorcist, so he’d just assumed he was an unusually strong ordinary person.

Even though he’d spent his life around exorcists, Seungjoo still wasn’t fully used to their strength. Partly because they rarely had reason to show their powers around him, and partly because their strength was far beyond what an ordinary person could fathom.

‘Kim Muryeong could probably crush stones with his bare hands.’

Even Muryeong, who appeared delicate, had been incredibly strong; in their school days, he’d never lost a single arm-wrestling match. Back in middle school, he’d even defeated every male student in the school with his deceptively mild face, earning a reputation that deterred most bullies from even considering messing with him.

‘How does Kim Muheun manage to control his strength…’

The odd thing was that Seungjoo had never experienced anything like that from Muheun. Even when Muheun had forcibly grabbed him to kiss him, the places he’d grabbed had never hurt afterward. Usually, in urgent situations, people lost control of their strength (Muryeong once popped a soccer ball), but Muheun behaved as if he never relaxed his grip on control.

Sometimes, it felt like Muheun saw him as something fragile that might break with the slightest touch. Either that, or he knew Seungjoo’s limits precisely and kept himself in check. Either way, it was a little bruising to Seungjoo’s pride as a fellow man.

Seungjoo adjusted his clothing, throwing a hoodie on over his t-shirt. He half-heartedly fixed his hair with his hands as it got tousled in the process. Slinging his bag over his shoulder and slipping his phone into his hoodie pocket, he was ready to leave just in time.

Muheun would probably be waiting by the gate.

It had already been well over a week, yet there was no sign his spiritual eye was going to close. He suspected Muheun had intentionally added extra energy to it. After all, counting only the times they kissed, he’d definitely spent longer enchanted than when he’d been tipsy the week before.

‘Well, even if it closes, he’ll still come pick me up anyway…’

Just before he turned to leave, Seungjoo noticed the notebook on his desk, left open from last night. The scribbled Chinese characters on the pages were traces of when Muheun had read Seungjoo’s fortune.

The hour, day, month, year, and his birthdate. That was about all Seungjoo could make out.

“Did you nearly die today?”

When Muheun had asked him that yesterday, Seungjoo had momentarily been at a loss for words. Not because he’d hit the mark or because he’d figured it out, but because Muheun looked angry as he said it.

“To interfere with a fate, you either have to save someone from a near-death experience or have a life debt owed to you. But from what I can see now…”

Muheun’s next words were murmured almost inaudibly, his voice just barely reaching Seungjoo. Something strange had intervened, he’d said in that low murmur.

Did they say that if you owe your life, even your destiny is indebted? It was something Muheun had often said offhandedly—that’s why you shouldn’t go around saving people carelessly, he’d say, half-jokingly.

“Tell me what happened.”

Muheun clicked the end of his pen, retracting the tip, and looked directly at Seungjoo, gesturing with a tilt of his head and softening his voice.

“Don’t lie to me, okay?”

After all that serious talk, he suddenly relaxes his expression. Seungjoo couldn’t tell what was bothering him, but it was to the point that he wondered if something dangerous had happened.

Sensing Seungjoo’s apprehension, Muheun added in a relaxed tone.

“It’s not like there’s a big problem. Your fortune hasn’t changed drastically. Things like this can usually resolve themselves naturally over time.”

His words sounded genuine, his tone soothing and unhurried, without a hint of deceit. Only then did Seungjoo feel relieved, reassured by Muheun’s demeanor. If there had been a serious problem, he knew Muheun would have told him.

“What happened was…”

He planned to keep it brief: he’d nearly fallen into the lake by accident, but the exorcist had caught him. It wasn’t a serious situation, and it was in the past now, so there hadn’t been any reason to mention it.

After Seungjoo explained everything, Muheun asked one question.

“Any injuries?”

“No.”

Though he’d answered confidently, Muheun didn’t let it go. He sharply shifted the question.

“Then, anywhere that hurts?”

His arm, ankle…or maybe his tailbone from when he’d nearly fallen. There were plenty of sore spots, but he knew if he was honest, Muheun would drag him to the hospital. So, he deliberately answered with a casual tone.

“Everything’s fine. If there aren’t any injuries, then nothing’s hurting either.”

“…Really?”

Muheun looked both relieved and skeptical. His eyes scrutinized Seungjoo from head to toe, thorough enough to feel almost obsessive. Despite his persistent gaze, Seungjoo maintained his casual demeanor, and eventually, Muheun murmured softly.

“Then I should be grateful.”

Oddly enough, he seemed genuinely thankful, making Seungjoo feel strange for some reason. It was a ticklish feeling in his chest, as though he couldn’t quite understand why his lack of injuries was something for Muheun to be grateful for.

As if that wasn’t enough, his quiet murmur continued with a sigh.

“Don’t get hurt, Seungjoo.”

“…”

“If anything happened to you, I’d lose my mind.”

* * *

That wasn’t something he should have said with such a sweet, melting voice. He spoke as if he truly cared, as if he genuinely had no idea what to do otherwise. It might not have been obvious to others, but Seungjoo, who’d been watching him for a long time, could tell.

“…You’re going to drive yourself crazy over nothing.”

Seungjoo didn’t know how to respond with kindness to cheesy words, especially not from someone he liked. The best he could do was downplay the situation to keep Muheun from worrying.

“Why would I get hurt? I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been hurt since I grew up.”

It wasn’t just talk—Seungjoo genuinely took care of himself. Beyond avoiding dangerous activities, he led a disciplined life to maintain his condition. Going to bed early, waking up early, and sticking to three meals a day without fail. Although it had initially been for mental resilience, it had become a part of his physical health routine as well.

“Hyung knows that our Seungjoo doesn’t get hurt easily.”

A gentle smile with no shadows lingered on his face. It was a common trait among the neighbors; their relaxed smiles were especially bright and clear, making anyone nearby feel uplifted just by watching.

Thankfully, Muheun didn’t bring up the topic again after that. He carefully tucked away the notebook with the fortune-telling notes into his bag and didn’t return it until they got home. It was clear he enjoyed carrying things for him, though Seungjoo couldn’t understand why he was so attached to the bag, which wasn’t even heavy.

“See you tomorrow.”

It dawned on him belatedly that even that goodbye felt like it had been a while.

Oh, right—I was angry. That realization only hit him once he finished showering and sat at his desk, opening the notebook Muheun had used. He scrutinized the analysis he couldn’t comprehend, wondering for a long time what to do tomorrow.

Although his little protest had been half-hearted, once the steam dissipated, he felt reluctant to keep it up. Wandering around aimlessly wasn’t his thing, the goldfish he’d encountered by the lake had startled him, and the patient waiting of Kim Muheun was… well, it was on his mind.

Was this what it meant for the one who cares more to always lose?

He vaguely remembered having such thoughts. Everything felt like it was slipping out of his control, leaving him in an unsettled mood even from the moment he opened his eyes the next morning.

And it only intensified the instant he saw Muheun standing at the gate.

“Did you sleep well?”

“…”

For the first time in days, Muheun greeted him warmly. When Seungjoo didn’t respond, he reached out and adjusted Seungjoo’s hood, which he hadn’t even realized was flipped inside out. His hand brushed over the strings of the hoodie before he slowly pulled it away.

“Your hair’s sticking up in the back.”

“…Oh.”

As always, his intuition was impeccable. He knew instinctively how close he could get, where he’d be permitted to go, and he backed off at just the right moment. If he’d tried to fix his hair, Seungjoo would’ve swatted him away without hesitation.

Running a hand over the back of his head, Seungjoo took the first step. Annoyingly, even when Muheun teased him, he somehow stayed just within bounds. Whether that was instinct or a skill honed specifically for one person, he couldn’t say.

Unlike the friendly greeting, the walk to school was as quiet as ever. Then again, it was never all that lively to begin with. Seungjoo was never much of a talker, and Muheun wasn’t chatty either. Unless he was in the mood to joke, this quiet was their norm.

“Pay attention in class.”

As they reached the school gate, Muheun casually tossed in that farewell. It was too warmhearted to ignore, and Seungjoo didn’t feel like being stubborn anymore.

With a light sigh, Seungjoo replied, “See you.”

* * *

With the school festival approaching, the air was buzzing with excitement among his peers. They kept going on about talent shows and other events, but nothing really interested Seungjoo. He didn’t enjoy loud festivities to begin with, and working with others was particularly tedious to him.

“Which celebrity’s coming?”

“Hope it’s High Five.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Why not? Last year, Sunset came!”

Even while eating lunch, his classmates were focused entirely on the festival. Though the names of famous idol groups came up, none of it piqued Seungjoo’s interest. He simply kept eating in silence, absorbed in his meal.

“Why’s Seungjoo so quiet today?”

Apparently, his quietness was unusual enough that Jinwoo commented on it. Another classmate, Seohyun, answered on his behalf.

“Hasn’t Seungjoo always been quiet?”

“Yeah, it’s you who’s loud.”

“It’s just that he’s quieter than usual today.”

Jinwoo didn’t deny his own rowdiness. With all those piercings and his casual cigarette habit, he was friendly in a way that often felt excessive.

“He hasn’t said a word all day.”

“…What are you talking about? I’ve said something.”

“Just now, that’s two words.”

It wasn’t far off the mark. Other than muttering an “uh-huh” for the morning greeting, Seungjoo had been silent all day. It wasn’t for any particular reason—he just still felt off.

“Did you get dumped?”

Seungjoo’s chopsticks paused midair, and he raised an eyebrow. He’d acted on reflex, but Jinwoo chuckled, looking a bit abashed, as if he’d taken it as a sign of disbelief.

“No, it’s just, you look like you’re heartbroken.”

“What heartbroken?”

Had he overreacted? Seungjoo quickly relaxed his expression. Was my face really that bad? he wondered.

“There’s no one to break my heart.”

So, it wasn’t heartbreak. He hadn’t been rejected after confessing, and Muheun hadn’t found someone else. If anything, with their cold war over and things back to normal, the situation had improved.

“Then what’s up?”

“It’s nothing. I just don’t feel that great today.”

He must be catching the spring blues. With summer just around the corner, it felt oddly out of season.

“Don’t mind me. Go back to talking about the festival.”

He tapped his chopsticks together as he said this, and Jinwoo quickly shifted his focus back to the conversation, assuming everything was fine. Seohyun shot him a slightly skeptical look, but Seungjoo ignored it and resumed eating.

After the meal, Jinwoo disappeared as usual to smoke, apologetically saying he couldn’t guarantee he’d come back smelling fresh. Seungjoo grabbed a coffee and leisurely made his way to the lecture hall, savoring the cool breeze.

“Is it really okay to be this half-hearted?”

The same thoughts kept cycling in his head. Just yesterday, he’d been so angry, yet today, he felt strangely indifferent. Though it was more like resignation, he simply saw no point in futile resistance.

Maybe he’d always been fickle.

He had never doubted it before, but when it came to Muheun, Seungjoo found himself constantly wavering. For instance, while he didn’t mind walking to and from school with him, part of him also wished it would just end quickly. And yet, if it really did end, he knew he’d be left with that same hollow feeling from before.

‘It was fine up until now…’

He knew the reason why. The feelings that had been buried deep within had resurfaced. When he only saw Muheun occasionally, he had time to push them back down, but now, seeing him every day left him with no such time. As a result, he felt himself being pulled deeper and deeper into that abyss.

It’s easy to avoid something when it’s not in front of you, but pretending not to see it when it’s right there is another story. When you see someone frequently, there inevitably comes a time when you can no longer ignore what’s in front of you.

And when that time comes, will he really be able to hide his feelings?

“…”

Seungjoo abruptly stopped walking. He thought he was heading toward his classroom, but when he came to his senses, he noticed the lake nearby. Normally, he would’ve turned around, but instead, he slowly walked toward it.

Standing in front of the lake, Seungjoo stared blankly at the space below the fence. He was careful not to lean close to it as he had last time. The lake, positioned slightly lower than the ground level, would remain undisturbed unless someone threw a stone in.

“…It’s not there.”

Seungjoo found himself murmuring unconsciously while looking for the goldfish. Had he been possessed by a ghost? He should have felt relieved, but instead, he felt an odd sense of regret—a nagging feeling from the memory of the fish gaping at him.

“It seemed like it was asking for help…”

Yes, it was asking for help, without a doubt. As if it was saying, “Someone, please help me.”

‘Sometimes animals get lost, too.’

“Could it have really been a spirit?”

Maybe it was a goldfish that had somehow lost its way. Perhaps its call for help was actually a plea to be freed, to move on. If not, then it was probably just his imagination.

In either case, there was nothing he could do about it. Seungjoo, having quickly reached this conclusion, turned away from the lake without regret. Perhaps it was due to the time he’d spent lost in thought, but his mind now felt noticeably clearer. Feigning calm wasn’t all that difficult for him.

‘I’m handling this well enough for now.’

Yes, for now, he was handling it well enough. His feelings, too, would stay placid, as long as no one threw a stone to stir them up. And Muheun surely wouldn’t do anything so ruthless.

With that in mind, Seungjoo resumed walking at a leisurely pace.

As soon as Seungjoo left, a small change came over the vast lake. A shadow emerged from beneath the water, gradually forming into a solid, pitch-black mass.

Taking on the shape of the goldfish’s body, the shadow swam around for a while before suddenly popping up to the surface.

Plop—no splash could be heard. Instead, only gentle ripples spread across the lake, as if a strong wind had passed through, bringing a subtle disturbance to the once still waters.

They said that May’s flowers were festivals. It was a time when the chill of early spring finally retreated, making it the perfect season for all sorts of events. The clear blue skies would likely remain until the monsoon season arrived.

As soon as the traditional seasonal shift,

Ip-ha

(the start of summer), had passed, the festival at Korea University, where Seungjoo studied, was right around the corner. A few lenient professors announced class cancellations, and students used the resulting free time to prepare booths for each department.

“Are you really not helping, Seungjoo?”

“Nope, I’m not.”

Naturally, none of it involved Seungjoo. He kept his head down and firmly shook it, ignoring his friends who had been pleading with him since morning whenever he had a free period.

If it were anyone else, helping them might have been less hassle, but lately, Seungjoo had someone picking him up from school every day.

‘My spiritual sight closed up again.’

This past Monday, the spiritual sight that had been open for so long finally shut. Fortunately, he hadn’t encountered any spirits or Gwimae during that time, thanks to Muheun’s company and his own cautiousness.

‘Really? That closed quickly.’

Muheun’s smug response had been irritating. After all, he’d been so worried about Seungjoo being haunted by Gwimae, but it seemed he was more concerned now that Seungjoo might tell him to stop picking him up. So, Seungjoo promptly added:

‘I’ll keep going with you for now, Hyung.’

“…”

Muheun’s expression upon hearing this was still fresh in his mind. It was as if he hadn’t expected Seungjoo to agree so easily, like he couldn’t believe he’d hear those words from him.

Of course, Seungjoo didn’t plan to simply sit back and be protected.

‘But you should tell me what your plan is going forward.’

Hadn’t Muheun said a newly emerging group of spirits was targeting him? He must have some plan in mind—he wouldn’t just stay by Seungjoo’s side indefinitely until the group disappeared on its own. Surely, he had some strategy, whether it was capturing them or something else to resolve the situation.

‘I deserve to know how long I’ll be living like this.’

“…Fair enough.”

Muheun had shown a hint of regret at that. He looked almost disappointed—strange, considering how often he would disappear without warning, only to look as though he’d been abandoned at the mention of setting an end date.

‘I’m not certain yet. But it shouldn’t take too long.’

Though his words were vague, Seungjoo figured that was the best Muheun could offer. If he couldn’t give a clear answer, there was probably a good reason.

It made sense—handling an incident within the Association likely wouldn’t be simple.

‘You should still enjoy your college life, Seungjoo.’

Muheun said this with a grown-up smile. The faint tinge of regret that had flashed across his face earlier was probably for Seungjoo, who could no longer freely walk around at night. While Muheun had never restricted Seungjoo’s movements himself, he’d noticed that Seungjoo now only traveled between home and school, and it bothered him.

Well, it wasn’t Seungjoo’s job to ease Muheun’s conscience. The first time his spiritual sight opened might’ve been his fault, but after that, it certainly wasn’t. Then again, whether it was entirely Muheun’s fault was another question.

“Seungjoo, you’re so cold-hearted.”

“Hey, Seungjoo’s not going to be the one pouring drinks at the booth; he’s going to be drinking them with me.”

“…Who said that?”

At Jinwoo’s words, Seungjoo let out a hollow laugh. “You think I didn’t know that?” he asked, to which Jinwoo responded confidently.

“Well, we can take our time getting to know each other from now on.”

The way he spewed nonsense was almost impressive. And yet, Seungjoo couldn’t bring himself to dislike him. He realized it was because that shameless confidence sometimes reminded him of Kim Muryeong. If he were outright annoying, Seungjoo would’ve just shaken him off, but his awkward whining was passable as a bit of cute behavior.

“I don’t know. We’ll see how it goes that day.”

“You’re always like that, Seungjoo…”

Ignoring Jinwoo’s plaintive tone, Seungjoo gave him a light pat on the shoulder as he gathered his bag and stood up. Normally, he’d walk with him to the main gate, but today, Jinwoo had another lecture.

“I’ll head out first.”

* * *

The walk to the main gate always put Seungjoo in a strange mood. At first, he’d walk out of the building without a single thought, but the closer he got, the more his mind would fill with various musings. Nothing particularly complex—just bits and pieces floating through his mind.

Kim Muheun would probably be waiting there again. How many people would be staring today? Would the first thing he’d say be “You’re here?” or “How was class?” He looked pretty tired this morning; hopefully, he’d had a chance to take a quick nap.

Anyone who attended Korea University would know about the handsome man who always waited at the main gate. It wasn’t just that he was attractive—his distinct look stood out so much that Seungjoo, who walked with him after classes, had gained a bit of notoriety by association. Thankfully, things had quieted down a bit over time.

“Maybe I’ve gotten used to it.”

They say humans are creatures of adaptation. What had once felt overwhelming now barely fazed him. People could look if they wanted; it wasn’t like any of them would dare approach him, so he’d decided it didn’t matter.

“…”

Yes, that was what he thought, anyway.

“…What’s that?”

There was Kim Muheun, as usual, standing next to the main gate. His tall frame and broad shoulders drew every eye. The piercing in his left ear was still there, as was the tattoo running from behind his ear down his neck.

Seungjoo would’ve just brushed it off as usual if it hadn’t been for the fact that Muheun’s outfit was…different.

“A suit…?”

If he wasn’t seeing things, he was in a suit. Black jacket, black pants, black tie, and a black vest to top it off. Even his shirt was black, giving him a mysterious look.

In Seungjoo’s memory, Muheun always wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt unless there was a specific reason. It was to cover the tattoo that ran from his shoulder to his forearm. Even in the summer, his outfit never changed. In winter, he’d either wear a coat over it or add a turtleneck that went up to his neck.

But a suit? He’d been dressed normally just this morning. It wasn’t that the suit itself wasn’t normal—rather, the fact that Muheun, who was already conspicuous, had gone full formal attire was the problem.

And as if that wasn’t enough, he was holding a large bouquet of flowers.

“…”

It had been a while since Seungjoo felt this way. The thought of walking up to someone who attracted that much attention, let alone speaking to him, felt overwhelming. If he could, he would’ve turned around and bolted out the back gate.

“…”

“…And yet here I am, locking eyes with Muheun, who, of course, has sharp vision.”

‘At least I’m glad Jinwoo didn’t come with me,’ Seungjoo thought with a sigh as he slowly moved forward.

Muheun remained in place, waiting for Seungjoo to come closer. As the distance closed, his expression softened, and by the time Seungjoo was right in front of him, his eyes curved into crescent moons.

“You’re here?”

So today, it was “You’re here?” Seungjoo wrinkled his brows slightly.

“What’s with the suit?”

He couldn’t help but ask. Normally, Muheun would leave his hair down, but today, he’d neatly combed it back, revealing his forehead. His features, sharp and striking, were especially pronounced under his dark brows. Dressed in all black, his face appeared almost ghostly pale.

“Oh, this.” Muheun looked down at his attire with an impassive expression. With his dress shoes on, he was a bit taller than usual. One hand in his pocket, he shrugged.

“It’s a memorial day.”

“…Ah.”

It was then that Seungjoo noticed the flowers Muheun was holding were chrysanthemums. Though there were a few other types mixed in, the overall palette was soft pastels. His attire might’ve looked like something for a proposal, but it was actually for a different purpose.

“I need to head to the association right after I drop you off.”

Once a year, there was a day to honor the memory of exorcists who had passed. It was one of the few events held by the Exorcist Association, known to every exorcist affiliated with it—Seungjoo included, from a young age.

Exorcists, charged with protecting lives, bear an immense responsibility due to their abilities. Facing death was part of their lives, and they had to always be aware that their own lives might be at risk. Even without extraordinary dedication to their work, dangerous situations were bound to arise in the course of their duties.

“I thought I’d get flowers later, but I didn’t have time.”

Thus, the association had established a memorial day for those who had died.

Since they knew the exact whereabouts of the spirits, the purpose wasn’t so much to console them but to remember their sacrifice and encourage the living to stay vigilant.

Among those departed souls was Muheun’s father.

* * *

“Doesn’t the bouquet make me stand out?” he asked.

“…Kind of.”

Honestly, at first, Seungjoo hadn’t even noticed the flowers. What Muheun really needed was to realize he stood out the most on his own. Of course, that wasn’t something Seungjoo was going to point out aloud.

“We’re short on time, so let’s hurry.”

Drawing twice as many eyes as usual, Seungjoo quickened his pace. By tomorrow, stories like “that guy was wearing a suit today” would probably flood the university forums. Actually, it might not even take until tomorrow—by this evening, perhaps.

“I’m going with you, Hyung.”

The chapters have been revised, edited, and compressed, and the complete main story has been released for free, as I’m concerned it might be taken down or worse. I didn’t want to disappoint the readers, so I apologize for any inconvenience, and I hope you enjoy reading the complete story! The side stories will be coming soon, so don't worry~