“Wow. Master, seriously… you’ve lost your mind. An ability-restraining device. Something I’d only ever seen in comics and novels, actually existing in real life… That’s insanely cool, for real…….”
Iri listened to the rather rough praise and selected a single strand from the countless threads gathered together in a tangled skein.
The darkest-colored thread stretched out from the tip of Iri’s fingers, pulled long and taut.
“Dojin. This is a memory related to a curio.”
“Ha. This is seriously badass. But why are you even wearing an ability-restraining device? Did the King order you to keep it on because he’s wary of you or something?”
Dojin already seemed to have lost interest in the memory thread itself. His eyes weren’t just sparkling—they were practically blazing.
After pulling the thread out completely, Iri put the bracelet back on.
“It’s not that. To maintain a human body, it’s more comfortable to seal my abilities, so I keep it on. Why would the King be wary of me…….”
“Oh. I see….”
Just as it’s easier to live underwater for a long time if you have gills, it’s easier to live in the human realm for extended periods if you inhabit a human body. That was why Iri, who had to remain in the human realm, maintained a human form. And unlike other Immortals, the reason Iri felt fatigue and physical limits was also because of this body.
Of course, he wasn’t completely human, so he didn’t need to eat meals or sleep more than six hours every day. Still, the fact that he had to sleep for at least two hours a day was already a fairly heavy penalty.
“I didn’t know there were penalties like this besides sleep. You’ve always been so strong, Master—I never once thought you were in a restricted state at all….”
“Enough.”
Iri stood up awkwardly. Wrapped around his finger was a single thread so thin it was barely visible. Despite its appearance, it was heavy with greed toward curios, so it didn’t sway in the wind.
“Want to try destroying this thread?”
“Me? Can someone as fragile as I am really do that?”
Iri didn’t indulge Dojin’s exaggerated whining.
“Then I’ll do it.”
“Ah—Master, I’ll do it. Please give it to me.”
Dojin quickly snatched the thread. Iri gave him a warning.
“Burn it. But don’t leave even ashes behind.”
“So that means I need to use ‘Divine Fire’, right? Understood.”
‘Divine Fire’ was a high-level Taoist art that demanded enormous concentration, and it was something Dojin had only recently learned.
Keeping all his fingers folded except his index and middle fingers, Dojin suspended the thread in midair. He focused while pointing at it with his fingertips, and blue flames began to bloom from them. This was ‘Divine Fire’—a powerful flame capable of burning even divine objects.
At first, the flame was smaller than a candle, but it gradually grew and multiplied. Eventually, blue fireballs as large as Fire Cats surrounded Dojin. All twelve blue flames merged into one and instantly swallowed Yoo Jaeho’s memory thread.
Since not even ash could remain, Dojin maintained his concentration until the very end.
When the flames flared up with a fwoosh and vanished in an instant, there was nothing left in the air.
Iri checked to see if any drifting ash remained, but nothing fell.
“Well done. It’s a success.”
“Then as a reward, will you give me a kiss?”
Without replying, Iri returned the skein of threads back into Yoo Jaeho. Jaeho’s body shimmered with brilliant, multicolored light.
“Master, earlier you said that thread contained both memories and emotions, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then Yoo Jaeho’s emotion of ‘greed toward curios’ is still there, isn’t it? Shouldn’t we remove that thread too?”
“We can’t touch emotions. That would violate the rules. Since the memories are gone, that emotion won’t awaken again anyway. He’ll wake up soon, so let’s hide and observe.”
“Okay.”
Dojin carefully sat Jaeho upright. The Fire Cat let out an aeng, aeng and scolded Jaeho with a few sharp sounds.
“You too, get over here, you little punk.”
Dojin roughly scooped up the Fire Cat in his arms.
Not long after the three hid themselves, Jaeho opened his eyes.
“…What? Where am I—ah.”
Seeing the pretty letter in his hand, Jaeho recalled, Right. I got confessed to.
It seemed he’d fallen asleep while waiting for the other person. Maybe it was because he’d been studying so hard every night lately….
After lucking out on a recent pop quiz—only questions he knew had appeared—he’d been studying even harder than before.
Since I’m a senior now, I guess I really should reject the confession.
Though bitter, Jaeho made up his mind. As he thought over what to say for the rejection, his gaze suddenly dropped to his wrist. An empty wrist, with nothing on it.
“…Huh?”
When Jaeho muttered in confusion, Dojin felt a surge of anxiety. Then Jaeho murmured again.
“I forgot to put my watch on. What time is it?”
Dojin let out a sigh of relief.
“This bastard really had me on edge.”
“I told you it worked. Let’s go.”
“Yes!”
After confirming that Jaeho’s memory of the bracelet was gone, the two left with lightened hearts. The Fire Cat also ran off gleefully to go see Lili.
No one paid any attention to the crushed feelings of a third-year high school student left waiting for a letter that would never come.
7) Ideal Type
Iri’s Curio Rental Shop, being firmly located in Korea, used electricity, gas, and water like any other place—and thus paid taxes regularly. This month’s total came to 420,000 won. Considering the actual land area, it should’ve been far higher, but with the help of curios, they saved a considerable amount.
While Iri was inside the inner workshop, Dojin handled the bills. He transferred the full amount from his own account instead of Iri’s.
Even if there’d been one more zero added, he could’ve paid it without batting an eye. Born into an affluent family, he’d never lacked money since childhood. Even now, at twenty, his parents still gave him an absurdly generous allowance….
On top of that, the salary Iri paid him was substantial. Two paydays had passed so far—eight million won in March, ten million in April. All in cash, with no taxes deducted.
When Dojin was still a minor, he’d vaguely thought Immortal Iri was rich. Turns out, Immortals possessed enormous amounts of cash. Real money—not magically fabricated bills.
Once, Dojin had asked about it.
‘Immortal, where did all this cash come from?’
‘Ah. I sold diamonds through peddlers.’
‘Where did the diamonds come from?’
‘From Neptune.’
‘…….’
Around then, Dojin gave up on trying to understand Iri’s abilities.
“Oh, are you paying taxes?”
Just then, Iri came out of the inner workshop, saw the scattered bills, and walked over.
“You need that, right? It’s in the drawer. Use that….”
“That? You mean cash?”
“No, that. The thing you need for account transfers. TOP…….”
“OTP.”
As an Immortal, his powers were unfathomable, yet when it came to modern conveniences, he could be innocently clueless—almost childlike.
“So damn cute.”
Muttering loud enough to be heard, Dojin bonked his forehead against the workbench repeatedly. It was a scene that played out fairly often in the rental shop. Iri sat down beside him, embarrassed.
“Should I get the OTP for you?”
“No, it’s fine. I already paid with my own money.”
“Then I’ll include the taxes in next month’s salary.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m not just an employee—I’m your only family, Master.”
With his forehead reddened, Dojin grinned broadly and subtly leaned his shoulder against Iri. Knowing exactly what kind of relationship this ‘family’ implied, Iri simply turned his head away and focused on his work.
He was in the middle of reassembling a returned curio after disassembling and thoroughly washing it. There were no less than eighty-four pieces.
“Master, what did you do for account transfers when I wasn’t around?”
“I went through Ihaeja.”
“Ahh. Right. That divine spirit’s basically a cheat code in the modern world.”
While most divine spirits weren’t familiar with computers or the internet, Ihaeja was not only extremely well-versed in computers but could freely infiltrate networks as well. Using this ability, he created resident registration numbers and phones for Wia—including Iri.
The reason only Ihaeja could freely control the internet was because his root was that of a wandering spirit that had once roamed while evading grim reapers and exorcists accumulated enough virtue to become a lesser god. That lesser god happened to help Immortal Iri once—and in doing so, ascended into a divine spirit. Because of that, Ihaeja regarded Iri as his benefactor.
“From now on, leave all the hard stuff to me. I can set up automatic tax payments, get the bills issued by email, and even register joint certificates with other banks. What do you think? Just hearing it sounds insanely complicated, right? But I can do it. Amazing, right? Impressive, right? Cool, right?”
Dojin bulged his eyes and lifted his already-high nose even higher. Iri let out a brief laugh, finding his disciple—who took every chance to promote himself—adorable. Automatic payments, email billing, joint certificates. Honestly, they were difficult concepts for Iri.
“Yeah. You’re cool. Thanks to you, I haven’t had to ask Ihaeja for anything lately. I think the last time was during that exorcism video.”
The exorcism video from two years ago had also been uploaded through Ihaeja. Since a divine spirit’s hand had touched it, it was only natural that no one could trace any clues about the uploader. Even videos saved individually or captured screenshots—uploaded or not—were all deleted one by one by Ihaeja.
At least on the internet, he could be said to possess authority nearly as absolute as Iri’s.
