Chapter  15

Thinking of Holding an Exorcism Ritual

“What story did you come here hoping to hear from me?”

As Yi-hyun gestured with a hand pulled from his long, enveloping sleeve, a female devotee appeared from outside the door and immediately served tea. It was a swift, synchronized routine—almost as if they had been completely prepared for Min-gook’s arrival—and Min-gook felt an unexplainable sense of pressure once again.

“I am Producer Cha Min-gook from a small internet broadcasting network.”

A small ceramic teacup decorated with yellow daffodils met Yi-hyun’s lips with a clear clinking sound before being set down. After sipping his tea, he flashed a gentle smile and picked up where Min-gook left off.

“I see. As for me…” “You are Mr. Baek Yi-hyun, correct?”

Min-gook interrupted Yi-hyun with a stiff face, his tone sharp. Min-gook’s body shivered slightly as the air inside the main hall felt unusually chilly. Yi-hyun, on the other hand, curved his eyes into crescents and let out a hearty laugh.

“Haha, correct. My secular name is Baek Yi-hyun, and my Buddhist name is Baek-cheon. Please call me ‘Monk Baek-cheon.'” “I’ll get straight to the point. For what’s supposed to be an ordinary temple, you’re receiving an enormous amount of tribute money from an enormous number of believers, Monk Baek-cheon.”

Min-gook emphasized Yi-hyun’s Buddhist title with a deliberate bite of sarcasm.

“Tribute money, you say? It is merely dana—an offering given generously by those with great merit.” “From what I’ve gathered, the money an individual hands over per month ranges up to tens of millions of won, with a base of several million won being offered up. Is that really normal dana?” “Hmm…”

Firmness resonated through Min-gook’s gaze and voice. Yi-hyun couldn’t answer easily this time either. Closing his eyes, he took another sip of the tea rippling inside his ceramic cup. In the silent stillness that followed, a heavy, ominous mood settled over them.

“What does the amount matter when it comes to an offering? Whether it is a hundred won or ten million won, what truly matters is the heart of giving.”

It was a sharp, barbed reply from Yi-hyun. The benevolence vanished from his hardened face, an expression that alone carried a formidable threat. Yet Min-gook hadn’t come all the way here just to miss an opportunity to uncover something.

“Do you also know what ordinary people resort to doing every single month just to hand over that kind of money?”

Min-gook’s question was loaded with intent, carrying a somewhat pointed implication. Silence descended once more. A wind growing increasingly fierce scraped against the wooden floorboards with a raspy hum.

“Hmm… I know what kind of words you came here hoping to hear, but I have nothing to tell you.”

That was the answer Yi-hyun offered at the end of the dark silence. Yet Min-gook actually looked satisfied, as if he had found his answer within that ambiguous response.

“No, knowing what words I came to hear means there are definitely things you’re hiding. This answer is more than enough for me.”

Instantly realizing he had let his guard down too much, Yi-hyun bit his lower lip hard in irritation at showing a flaw. For Yi-hyun—who had seemed like an unscalable fortress in Min-gook’s eyes—to display this level of agitation was more than enough to fuel Min-gook’s investigative drive.

“Excuse me for intruding at such a late hour. I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Having reached his conclusion, Min-gook picked up the briefcase he had set down and stood up, straightening legs that had gone slightly stiff in the cold air flowing over the wooden floorboards.

“Drop by to pray next time. For only the clearing of accumulated karma can break the painful cycle of samsara.”

Yi-hyun stood up as well, placing his palms together in a gassho gesture as he spoke to Min-gook. Whether it was a warning of sorts, a razor-like sharpness gleamed in his eyes.

“Clearing karma, huh… Monk, if someone has committed a crime, they should go to prison, eat prison food, and let their useless remaining years rot away in obscurity. Trying to clear it as you please by praying here—that’s illegal business practice, you know?”

Min-gook displayed a bit of his regained composure, offering a playful reply that nevertheless contained a sharp bone of truth. Yi-hyun, too, sensed that Min-gook hadn’t come merely to prod around for a profitable piece of sensational news.

After a polite bow, Min-gook departed, and Yi-hyun kept his palms together while watching Min-gook’s retreating back. As the cold air bit sharply at the tip of his nose, Yi-hyun’s moist eyes gleamed with a chilling light.

“I saw it on the news at the hospital too. It’s truly horrific, right in the middle of Seoul.”

Miso spoke, looking up at the news broadcast that had instantly brought a solemn quiet over the bustling barbecue restaurant. On the TV screen capturing everyone’s attention, news of the “Wiam High School” incident that occurred that morning continued to stream out.

A female anchor with neatly tied hair, wearing a white shirt and black suit jacket, delivered the cliché pledge with a somber face: while there was still no progress in the investigation, they were looking into foul play and were determined to uncover the truth.

“It’s a total headache as it is. We need something to work with to investigate. I’ve been a detective for quite some time, but I’ve never seen a crime scene this clean.”

Jin-tak replied, building on Miso’s words. Finding it a headache just thinking about it again, he downed the beer in front of him in a single gulp.

“Four young students died… who could have done such a thing?”

Young-ah spoke, her pale face turning even whiter.

“As things stand, we don’t know anything either. I mean, there wasn’t a single drop of blood, and the bodies were just lying there side-by-side, totally neat.”

Jin-tak lowered his voice and spoke cautiously.

“Oh my goodness!”

Lacking much courage, Young-ah gasped in horror just listening to it, covering her mouth with both hands while her eyes went wide.

“It really is… a situation odd enough to make even a ghost cry.”

On the other hand, Miso—surprisingly unbothered—muttered the words as she brought her beer glass to her lips.

“Right?! Speaking of which, what was he today—a reporter?” “A producer.”

When Jin-tak asked Eun-ho with eyes slightly loosened by alcohol, Eun-ho provided the answer.

“Right, right! A guy who said he was a TV station producer came by and claimed the reason those students died was because of a superstition! And aren’t you two, Ms. Miso and Ms. Young-ah, experts when it comes to superstitions?” “Even without him saying so, I already knew about the Wiam High School superstition.” “Oh, really?”

Leaning forward with an intrigued expression, Jin-tak watched Miso, while Eun-ho—who was still sitting upright with an unreadable face—turned to look at her as well. When Miso met Eun-ho’s chilly gaze without backing down, Eun-ho crossed his long arms over his chest as if to say let’s hear it then.

“It’s a superstition that if four people run a relay in the gymnasium past midnight, a ghost appears.”

The moment the story began, a subtle mood flowed from the tip of Miso’s tongue. Amidst the loud, bustling restaurant, only the table where the four sat seemed isolated in quiet stillness. As each of the three focused on Miso’s story in their own way, the narrative resumed after a brief silence.

“If one person stands at each corner of the gymnasium to run a relay, the run should end with the final runner, but in a darkened gym, the relay keeps going continuously.” “Eek! Then a g-ghost runs with them?”

Jin-tak asked Miso with a face filled with terror.

“Around this time last year, there was an incident where a first-year female student was found dead in the school gymnasium.” “What? That’s news to us.”

Jin-tak spoke, glancing at Eun-ho’s expression. Yet Eun-ho maintained his rigid face, simply keeping his eyes fixed on Miso.

“That female student was also found lying neatly in the center of the gymnasium. It seems she wasn’t someone who fit in well with school life. She was an outsider who kept to herself, and a short suicide note was found in her uniform skirt pocket. The school administration seemed desperate to wrap things up as quietly as possible, knowing how hard it would be to appease angry parents if rumors leaked out. I heard they closed it as a suicide without any real investigation.” “But… if that’s true, the bereaved family wouldn’t have just stayed quiet…” “Well…”

It was an uncomfortable silence. Miso looked conflicted on how to explain Jin-tak’s question. For some reason at that moment, from Miso’s low, hesitated sigh, Jin-tak was reminded of Gyeong-chan, who had been carried away that morning colder and more lonely than anyone else.

“Because not all parents grieve the death of their child.” “So are you saying the dead female student turned into a vengeful ghost out of resentment and ran the relay race?”

Eun-ho, who had been listening silently, finally opened his mouth. As expected, his aggressive tone made Miso scowl, her cheeks flushed pink from the buzz of the alcohol.

“Yes. And the end of the urban legend is that if you stop running before the ghost does, everyone dies.” “What a terrifying urban legend.”

Just as a dangerously tense tug-of-war seemed about to flare up between the two once more, Jin-tak cut into their conversation.

“We can’t close a case based on superstition alone… but the fact that someone died lying neatly in the exact same place is definitely worth looking into, wouldn’t you say?” “What, are you planning on going there to hold an exorcism ritual or something?”

Thump—

At Eun-ho’s hasty, abrasive remark, Miso finally slammed her hands down and stood up from her seat.

“Detective Yoo Eun-ho! I get that you’re free not to believe, but don’t speak so recklessly about the deceased!” “Unni…” “Ms. Miso…”

As Young-ah and Jin-tak hovered helplessly in the middle, Miso decided to step outside for a moment to cool her temper. Stepping out of the establishment, the muggy air receded, replaced by the refreshing embrace of the early spring breeze.

‘Ah, lashing out like that means losing… what an arrogant jerk.‘

Pondering for a moment whether she should head to the restroom located outside the building, Miso walked over to the building wall opposite the restroom and leaned her body against it.

Drinking alcohol rapidly when she rarely drank was the problem. Her heartbeat felt so loud she could feel every throb, and as her consciousness kept drifting, her body lacked strength.

Slumping straight to the ground and burying her face between her drawn-up knees, Miso let out a shallow yet long sigh in her exhaustion.

“Mom…”

Borrowing the courage of the alcohol for the first time in a very long while, she uttered that word—one she had kept tightly suppressed out of longing—out loud.

She felt as though an answer would come immediately, but the prevailing silence brought a wave of sadness instead. Normally, she would have gritted her teeth to hold back the tears that welled up as if ready to pour out, but today—just for today—she gathered the courage to let a single teardrop fall.

“Are you alright?”

Right at that moment, no one could have known that this single question from Eun-ho, who had followed her outside, would completely alter Miso’s path forward.