Iri’s only response was a faint, silent smile—but Dojin, in the driver’s seat, clicked his tongue instead. Jiyon glanced at Dojin, gauging his mood.
“I know I’ve been hanging around here and causing trouble. I really, really am sorry. I got so excited once I realized you were the people from the videos. I’ve been looking for you for so long…. If you don’t want me to, I swear I won’t tell anyone in the club. I’ll swear it. But could I come with you? Please. I’ll do anything. Make me run errands. I’m good at working. I’m fast. I’m efficient.”
If she’d had even a shred of spiritual sensitivity, Dojin might’ve suggested hiring her—but he fully expected Iri to refuse. There was no way the Wia would like this. But after watching Min Jiyon for a brief moment, Iri said something entirely unexpected.
“Dojin. You brought the briefcase, right?”
“…Huh?”
“The one for the Mouth.”
“Oh—yes. I brought it.”
“Then let’s go.”
“…You mean take her with us?”
“Yeah.”
“The divine spirit’s going to hate that.”
“Since when did you start worrying about a musician’s feelings? We’ll be late. Let’s move.”
“…Okaaay. I’m not responsible for what happens later. You deal with it, Master.”
Dojin answered sulkily and turned the steering wheel.
Jiyon watched the scene with admiration and curiosity—the younger-looking one speaking casually while the other obeyed without protest.
As they drove, Min Jiyon explained how she’d ended up there in the first place. She said she’d recently visited a friend who had moved into the neighborhood and was on her way home after the housewarming.
“I got lost trying to find the bus stop, so I wandered through alley after alley… and then I found this alley with fog so thick it felt suspicious.”
“White fog?” Iri asked.
“Yes. So white you couldn’t see anything at all….”
Her voice sounded dreamy, as if she were reliving the moment. She seemed newly moved by the memory.
“It was raining, too. I can’t just walk past gloomy scenes like that. The white fog settled there so mysteriously, like there had to be something inside it. So I pushed through the fog, and that’s when I found the house you live in.”
If she’d seen the sign reading Iri’s Curio Rental Shop, she would’ve called it a shop instead of a house. She clearly had no spiritual sense at all.
“I was just about to turn around, thinking it was a nice detached house, when I saw him.”
Jiyon pointed at Dojin, adding that he’d been carrying a piano at the time. A grand piano weighing at least 300 kilograms—with one hand.
Since no exorcism videos currently existed anywhere, people had to rely on memory to identify the performers. And Dojin, even back then, had been over 190 centimeters tall with an absurdly handsome face—enough to sear him into people’s minds. The members of the Saeboreumi Research Group pooled their memories together to draw portraits of the performers, desperate not to forget.
“I searched all over the country and couldn’t find a single clue. I never thought I’d stumble onto you by pure chance.”
“Could I see that portrait?” Iri asked.
“Of course.”
Min Jiyon took out her phone and showed him the photo. It wasn’t an exact match, but it was undeniably similar.
“Seeing a man who looks like the exorcism video performer carrying a piano with one hand… it makes sense you’d keep hanging around nearby.”
When Iri said this, Jiyon’s face lit up brilliantly. Dojin’s, on the other hand, darkened.
“Did I do something wrong?” Dojin asked.
“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is just the kind of fate it was.”
“…You know I hate fate theories, Master.”
“It’s the truth. Just because you hate the sun, does that mean the sun doesn’t exist?”
“That’s different. Fate isn’t even visible.”
“Then should we say it was your fault?”
“…I see. So this really was fate. Crystal clear. Completely understood.”
Listening to their exchange, Min Jiyon cautiously asked,
“Um… could I ask for your names? You are exorcists, right? And… how old are you?”
“I’m Iri. Over there is Kim Dojin. Dojin’s younger than you, and I’m… very old.”
Iri didn’t bother adding that he wasn’t actually an exorcist. She wouldn’t believe him at this point anyway.
“I thought so, since he calls you Master…. You seem like someone important, but please speak casually with me, too.”
“Alright. I’ll talk comfortably.”
“Um, if you don’t mind me asking… how old are you, Iri?”
“Very old. What about your family?”
“Me? Oh—my parents are alive, and I’m an only child.”
“An only daughter. Your parents must worry a lot.”
“Still, my parents don’t see the occult as something bad. They’re pretty understanding…. Some members of the research group have cut ties with their families entirely. That’s because they quit their jobs and go around exploring haunted houses. I actually have a proper job.”
“That’s admirable.”
Iri smiled gently. At the sight of the beautiful young man’s smile, Jiyon’s cheeks—already flushed with excitement—burned redder.
For some reason, she felt embarrassed.
Iri’s clear gaze made her feel self-conscious. His eyes were darker than anything she’d ever seen. If the universe had no stars, would it be this color? Unable to endure it, she looked away—then cautiously glanced back.
Those black, lucid eyes pulled her in. Every time their gazes met, she felt inexplicably shy, turning her head away—only to sneak another look at him moments later.
It was strange, but as long as the mysterious young man named Iri was looking at her, she felt that even if she wanted to avoid his gaze, she had to look back. She was aware she was acting oddly—when it happened.
Thud.
The vehicle jolted violently, as if it had struck an obstacle.
“Fuck. Don’t distract me while I’m driving,” Dojin snapped.
Jiyon glanced briefly toward the driver’s seat, then turned her gaze back to Iri. But his eyes had already shifted to Dojin. She felt relieved—and oddly disappointed. It was, truly, strange.
***
The car headed into the mountains. After driving so deep that Jiyon found herself thinking, You can really drive a car all the way in here, they finally got out.
The moment she stepped out, she felt it—this was no ordinary place. She hiked often, but she’d never seen a mountain so lush and green in early March. Half-expecting it to be somewhere other than the human realm—perhaps the Immortal realm—she asked excitedly,
“Where are we?”
“Gyeryongsan, South Chungcheong Province.”
“South Chungcheong…? Huh?”
Just as disappointment set in, Jiyon’s eyes widened. She hurriedly checked the time on her phone—it had been just over thirty minutes since they’d left Seoul.
“South Chungcheong? You mean really South Chungcheong? We got to Chungcheongnam-do in thirty minutes?!”
“Of course. If you can’t get from Seoul to Chungcheong in thirty minutes, you can’t call it a Dragon Horse. We drove a bit slower than usual since we had a passenger not used to the speed.”
“Woooow—!” Jiyon exclaimed repeatedly. She kept fiddling with her phone, clearly wanting to take photos or contact the club members—but in the end, she endured.
“Ah—um.”
She noticed Dojin pulling two boxes from the trunk and hurried over.
“I’ll help. Give me one of the boxes.”
“No need.”
Dojin rejected her coldly. He tucked the two large boxes under his left arm and carried a black briefcase in his right hand.
As if it were only natural, Iri carried nothing at all and led the way. After walking a little farther, the path became impassable. Dense undergrowth blocked the way completely—but Iri stepped straight into it. Jiyon froze, only to grow even more startled by what happened next.
The moment Iri placed his foot forward, the brush parted.
Dojin followed the small back without a hint of surprise. Jiyon hurried after them, glancing behind her—only to see the undergrowth closing again like an automatic door.
It was a truly mystical sight she desperately wanted to record.
“From now on, don’t say a word. No matter what you see, don’t show any reaction. The Wia we’re about to meet is extremely wary of humans.”
“Yes. I’ll stay quiet.”
Jiyon was curious about what a Wia was, but she didn’t ask. The word “Wia” had appeared once in an exorcism video.
‘It’s not actually a ghost—it’s something called ***—’
Wi-ua, Wi-uya, Wia, Wiya, Uya, Ua—there had been countless theories. Among them, “Wia” had been correct. She recalled Lee Seokjin, who had insisted vehemently on that pronunciation. He’d be thrilled to know. Her vow of silence was starting to feel like a mistake.
After walking for about ten more minutes, a thatched house came into view—something straight out of the Joseon era. Its walls and roof were collapsing. Calling it a house was generous; it was barely more than the remnants of one, clearly unfit for habitation.
“Musician-nim, we’re here.”
Dojin greeted it and set the boxes down. They waited about a minute, but there was no response.
“They’re not coming out. Could they be out?”
“…Do you really think they’re out?” Iri asked.
Realizing Iri was testing him, Dojin spread his senses outward. Having trained for several years now, he quickly detected a faintly concealed presence.
“They’re inside.”
“Correct. Good job. They’re probably not revealing themselves because of the unfamiliar presence—but we don’t need to see their face anyway. Take out the ‘Feather Flute’.”
“Yes.”
Internally dancing with excitement at the praise, Dojin nevertheless maintained a composed exterior as he took out the “Feather Flute” and handed it to Iri.
Having been told to stay silent, Jiyon kept her mouth shut—but she darted closer and peeked inside the boxes. They were filled with oddly shaped odds and ends. Thinking that each one was probably a mysterious artifact, she desperately wanted to shove her phone inside. Afraid she’d give in, she stuffed her phone deep into her pocket instead.
Dojin was bothered by Jiyon’s behavior, but Iri seemed completely unconcerned. He placed the flute on top of the boxes.
“Musician. Take care of this first. Tune it and contact me—I’ll come pick it up right away. I left sixty percent of the fee in the box. I’ll see you later.”
Just as Iri turned away, a strong gust of wind swept through. Dojin quickly wrapped an arm around Iri’s shoulders. Jiyon kept her eyes open despite the fierce wind, half-expecting something to appear—but nothing did.
“Musician-nim.”
No—something had appeared.
Dojin was bowing politely toward empty air.
