OSR Chapter 3

“Then, what do you want me to do?”

Shin-hee asked, his eyes fixed on Jisoo’s.

She hesitated before quietly mouthing her words, which he focused on intensely, not wanting to miss a single syllable.

“M-mom, dad? You want to find your parents?”
Shin-hee asked, and she nodded.

“Why? Do they not know about your… passing?”

Shin-hee dreaded having to be the one to deliver such tragic news to someone’s family. His expression clearly showed his discomfort, but to his relief, Jisoo shook her head vigorously.

“Then what?”

Shin-hee asked, and the next words she mouthed made his eyes widen in surprise. Though her lips moved slowly, her intent was clear.

— I have something to give them.

The bus rattled noisily as it carried Shin-hee and Jisoo toward their destination.

The first stop, her old apartment, was already occupied by someone else. Jisoo, still silent and urgent, led Shin-hee to another location without revealing what she needed to deliver to her parents.

As they headed toward her family home in Ansan, Shin-hee, sprawled out in his seat, was in agony.

His stomach churned from a lack of proper food and rest, and his disheveled appearance only added to his misery. He knew that if he asked Jisoo for more time to recover, she might just turn into a vengeful spirit and push him onto the subway tracks.

As Shin-hee clutched his queasy stomach, making yet another empty promise never to drink so recklessly again, Jisoo remained indifferent.

She seemed completely focused on her mission, showing no concern for anything or anyone other than her parents.

Shin-hee had many questions he wanted to ask, but he decided to keep his mouth shut instead of prying into Jisoo’s past.
To be honest, he didn’t have the mental bandwidth to be curious about someone else’s life right now. Regret washed over him like a wave—why did he even agree to come along?

He couldn’t even enter the house, and maybe he should have just hidden under his blanket and ignored everything. The thought of sleep, the ultimate cure for a hangover, tempted him as he closed his eyes.

There was still a long way to go before they reached their destination.

Just as he was about to surrender to sleep, a strange, cold sensation crept up his spine, raising the fine hairs on his skin. It was an eerie, bone-chilling feeling that startled him awake. As he instinctively scanned his surroundings, his eyes locked onto a man outside, visible through the bus window.

What is this?

Shin-hee couldn’t look away, confusion and fear blending in his gaze. The bus had just come to a stop, and there, standing on the road, was a tall man. Clinging to his back were at least a dozen ghosts.

Shin-hee’s journey is becoming increasingly eerie and exhausting, with the presence of so many ghosts and his own physical discomfort weighing heavily on him.
His encounter with the man burdened by multiple spirits hints at the darker side of the supernatural world he’s entangled in.

Despite the ominous atmosphere and his growing doubts, he continues to follow Jisoo, driven by a sense of duty, even as he questions the wisdom of his decisions. The story is clearly building towards a tense and possibly unsettling confrontation at the old, decrepit house.

Shin-hee hesitated, unsure of what to do next. The silence from the house was unsettling, and the pressure from Jisoo was growing.

Her anxiety was palpable, and it made him uneasy. She kept insisting on the urgency, pointing to her broken watch as if time itself was running out.

Shin-hee understood that this task, which seemed simple at first, was becoming increasingly complicated. Entering a house without permission was risky, but the urgency in Jisoo’s eyes left him with little choice.

He glanced around one more time, ensuring that no one was watching, and then turned back to the rusty gate. With a deep breath, he made a decision.

“Alright, but if things go south, we leave immediately, understood?”

he said, more to reassure himself than Jisoo. Her intense gaze softened slightly as she gave a quick nod, silently urging him to move forward.

Shin-hee approached the door, trying to calm the nerves buzzing in his head. He tested the handle, and to his surprise, the door creaked open slightly.

It wasn’t locked.

He exchanged a glance with Jisoo, who looked equally surprised but also resolute. Taking another breath to steady himself, he pushed the door open further and stepped inside, bracing himself for whatever might come next.

“How, exactly? The door’s locked. There’s no doorknob, no one inside! Do you have a key?”

At this moment, Shin-hee was more frustrated than Jisoo. He had raised his voice, but upon hearing a noise from outside, he glanced at a neighbor peeking out from their door and lowered it again. Jisoo touched the wound on her forehead and quietly pointed somewhere.

 

“Sigh… This is just… damn it…”

With a string of sighs and curses, Shin-hee crawled forward. The solution she had found was a fairly large hole under the concrete wall. The hole was big enough for a Jindo dog to pass through without much trouble, so it easily accommodated Shin-hee’s skinny frame, but it did nothing to protect his dignity as he crawled through it.

A wave of self-reproach and the cold realization of what he was doing hit him at the same time, causing Shin-hee to close his eyes tightly.

It seemed like it had been a long time since anyone had used the hole, as there was a thick web at the end. Damn it.

“Sigh…”

Shin-hee sighed as he roughly brushed away the cobwebs that nearly clung to his face. The yard he finally crawled into, scraping his stomach along the way, was a mess.

An old pushcart was lying around, and plants that must have once bloomed beautifully had long since withered, exposing their roots. Rotting leaves that hadn’t been swept away in time with the changing seasons were piled up in various corners.

The old house, with its broken earthenware jars scattered across the ground, seemed abandoned, untouched by human hands for quite some time.

Shin-hee, carefully nudging aside shards of broken pottery with the tips of his toes, remained silent, lost in thought. But instead of continuing his musings, he turned to look at Jisoo, who was following behind him. With a calm expression, she pointed to somewhere in the house. It was likely the place where the ‘item’ she wanted delivered was located.

Following her gesture, Shin-hee stepped inside the house. The small home, nestled in an old shantytown with a tiny yard, looked as if it could collapse at any moment. However, in contrast to the exterior, the inside of the house still had a lived-in feel, as if someone was still taking care of it.

The living room, which was small enough to cross in just a few steps, was connected to a narrow kitchen. Despite the aged, mold-stained yellow wallpaper, the house was generally well-kept, indicating that someone had been maintaining it.

The narrow living room, with its tiny kitchen, was small enough to cross in just a few steps. Despite the aged and mold-stained yellow wallpaper, the house was generally well-kept.

Shin-hee took off his shoes at the entrance and carefully stepped inside. On the wall, a neat family photo was hanging—a pleasant-looking couple seated with their two well-grown daughters, all smiling brightly. The photo frame was in stark contrast to the dusty fan hanging nearby, indicating that it had been well-maintained.

Shin-hee recognized Jisoo as the eldest daughter from the family picture.

As Shin-hee glanced around the room with an involuntary frown, he suddenly looked up at a rough, hoarse voice coming from the other side of an open door. The groaning voice sounded frail and weak, suggesting it did not belong to a healthy person.

Noticing that Jisoo’s face grew darker at the sound, Shin-hee turned to her for permission, and she nodded solemnly. It was a clear request for him to proceed.

“Hello…”

Shin-hee stepped into the room with polite strides, heading towards the source of the voice. The room, though small, was clearly the bedroom, furnished with a wardrobe and bedding spread out.

Lying on the floor was an elderly man with white hair, the voice’s owner. Shin-hee recognized him immediately as Jisoo’s father. Despite not yet being in his sixties, his white hair and wrinkled face made him look older than his years. He appeared significantly more aged than in the photo hanging on the wall.

The man simply blinked slowly, showing no sign of welcoming the guest who had come to his home after a long time. His demeanor was one of abandonment, devoid of dreams, regrets, or hopes.

Jisoo, looking down at her father, bit her lip tightly. Her eyes, barely moving, seemed on the verge of extinguishing themselves.

“Who… who are you?”

Shin-hee had come all this way because of the request from the deceased daughter, but as he felt the words rise to his throat, he instinctively stopped speaking.

 

Shin-hee, for the first time in a while, asked his master for some free time over the weekend. His main argument was, “I declare a strike until I’m sent to an island overflowing with ghosts.” However, his attitude while declaring this so-called strike was no more dignified than a low-level office worker timidly requesting a day off.

When he meekly whispered, “Just one day,” his cold-hearted master let out a snort of derision and waved him off as if telling him not to bother before turning his attention back to the book he was reading.

Seizing his long-awaited freedom, Shin-hee got on a bus, determined to shake off the baby ghost that tried to follow him. Unsure of what to do, he texted his one and only friend, Minam. However, Min-am, who had been engrossed in a month-long work project, seemed intent on devoting the rare weekend to some much-needed sleep. By the time the bus reached its destination, Min-am still hadn’t replied.

Feeling awkward, Shin-hee smiled wryly as he stepped off the bus, his nose stinging at the realization that Minam was the only person he could truly open up to.

He walked slowly along the street. Spring was in full bloom, with vibrant green plane trees lining the sidewalks, their leaves gracefully draped over the branches. For some, it was just another mundane scene from their daily lives, but for Shin-hee, this rare moment of leisure felt unfamiliar yet precious.

It had been six years of non-stop busyness—meeting, confronting, and having deeper conversations with ghosts more than with people.

A group of male students passed by in the distance. Though they weren’t wearing uniforms, the fresh energy unique to young students filled the air and lightly settled on Shin-hee’s shoulders. It reminded him of his always-solitary school days before he met Min-am during his high school entrance ceremony. What had those days been like? How did he spend them? They must have been very quiet and uneventful.

Fragments of scattered memories began to piece themselves together. Until the day he picked up a brush, he had always felt lonely.

Maybe it was because ghosts were constantly chattering around him; he often found himself zoning out to listen to them. Shin-hee’s world was noisier and more chaotic than most, and by the time he was done listening to all sorts of laments, he often neglected conversations with people around him.
Naturally, people drifted away. In elementary school, he confided in a friend he trusted most, admitting he could see ghosts, only to be labeled a lying braggart the very next day.

There were times he felt resentful. “I didn’t ask to see them, so why do I have to be treated like this?” One time, overwhelmed, he turned to his homeroom teacher, who had always said he could come to her anytime he needed help. At first, she seemed to believe him, but a few days later, she summoned Shin-hee and his master to discreetly suggest several psychiatric clinics.

Still, high school had been relatively enjoyable. He recalled sneaking over a fence with Min-am during lunch break, only to get caught by the disciplinary teacher and beaten so hard it left his bottom bruised. Or the time he embezzled money meant for test prep books to buy art supplies, only to be caught by his master and locked in the outhouse all night. There was also the time he unknowingly lost his wallet but still ordered barbecue with Min-am, ending up washing dishes for three hours to pay for it.

Those moments had felt so intense at the time, yet looking back, all the tragedies now seemed like comedies. All of it was possible because Min-am was by his side.

When was it, exactly? On the day of their high school graduation, Shin-hee, overcome with fear that he might lose Min-am forever, had nervously blurted out a confession that had been rising to his throat countless times.

“I can see ghosts.”
Go away, are you crazy, are you delusional, stop lying, ignore him—all the negative scenarios he had spent sleepless nights imagining were completely blown away by Min-am’s short yet powerful reaction.

“That’s so cool.”

So he mustered up more courage.

“There’s actually one standing right next to you right now. A boy who killed himself two years ago.”

He was about to add, “He’s waving at you, so wave back,” but before he could, Minam fainted on the spot. What should have been a joyous graduation day turned into a minor fiasco, and Shin-hee didn’t see Min-am again until two days later. After that, Shin-hee never told anyone else his secret—and he vowed he never would again.

Recalling this seven-year-old incident, Shin-hee came to a stop, staring at the large building in front of him. He hadn’t planned to come here, but it seemed his subconscious had remembered the poster he’d glimpsed while sending off Okja a while back.

A banner fluttered in the breeze outside the art museum, proclaiming the “Kang Moon-seon Special Exhibition.”

Shin-hee had majored in traditional Korean painting. He loved the entire process of grinding ink, picking up a brush, and carefully pouring his heart onto rice paper. It had been nearly six years since he formally entered training and set aside his brush, to the point where he could barely remember how to grind ink properly. Yet, something about the paintings on display was stirring nostalgia within him.

Kang Moon-seon was a master of modern ink-and-wash painting. His works, characterized by soft, flowing curves embodying tradition, occasionally showcased sleek, bold lines exuding sophistication and strength.

Shin-hee was completely engrossed in a single piece, lost in thought for ten minutes when he suddenly felt a sharp sensation at the back of his head. He turned to see a ghost missing an arm, smiling brightly and waving at him.

“I’m not working today,”
Shin-hee muttered, swiftly turning away and moving to a different spot, unwilling to let his rare holiday be interrupted. However, the armless ghost trailed after him, standing behind him and staring so intently at the back of his head that Shin-hee couldn’t focus.

Annoyed, Shin-hee considered tying the ghost down for an hour or two before snapping,
“I said I’m off today—”

“Talking to yourself must be a hobby,”
a voice interrupted from behind.

Shin-hee turned to see the handsome man he’d encountered in the parking lot.

“…It’s just an old habit,”
Shin-hee replied.

It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was more a conversation than talking to himself, but since the man couldn’t see what Shin-hee did, he decided not to elaborate.

Shin-hee glanced around quickly. The ghost that had been following him had retreated behind a wall, peeking out hesitantly. Feeling awkward, Shin-hee cleared his throat. The man, however, seemed more focused on the wall.

Feeling self-conscious, Shin-hee shuffled to the side, hoping to give the man a better view of the artwork. But with his tall stature, the man seemed to have no trouble viewing the piece even with Shin-hee standing in front of him. Shin-hee’s small act of consideration seemed to leave little impression.

Taking the opportunity, Shin-hee discreetly observed the man’s profile. His sharp nose and almond-shaped eyes with faint double eyelids left a strong impression. If he had a sketchbook in hand, Shin-hee would’ve immediately asked him to model.

“Do you not think staring at someone is rude?”
the man said without turning.

“Ah, sorry.”

“That kind of behavior is very uncomfortable.”

The man’s bluntness was startling, his words as sharp as a knife. Yet Shin-hee, instead of reacting angrily, simply nodded, his face calm. Strangely, even the man’s lips, from which those prickly words came, were well-shaped. Despite the warning, Shin-hee found himself glancing at him again.

“…You’re really handsome,” Shin-hee mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

The man squinted, his expression clearly questioning Shinhee’s sanity. Realizing the need to change the topic, Shin-hee awkwardly asked,
“Do you come to art museums often?”

“No.”

The man’s answers were curt. Shin-hee couldn’t help but marvel at the coincidence of running into him again in such an unexpected place. Not since the man with a swarm of ghosts had Shin-hee experienced such a peculiar encounter.

“Actually, I don’t particularly like museums, but I do like Kang Moon-seon’s paintings,”
the man admitted after a pause.

“Ah. Me too,”
Shin-hee said enthusiastically.

“Is that so?”

“There’s something about them that reminds me of Jinogigut¹.”

“Jinogigut?”

The man’s eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar term, silently urging an explanation. Shin-hee hesitated, feeling awkward.

“…It’s a shamanic ritual meant to guide the spirits of the deceased to ascend peacefully, so they don’t linger in this world.”

“……”

“It’s just a personal impression…”

“That makes sense.”

“Sorry?”

“It seems fitting,”
the man said.

Surprised, Shin-hee let out a small yelp. The man, as if acknowledging Shinhee’s interpretation, slowly scanned the painting again.

Back in university, Shin-hee had once discussed Kang Moon-seon’s works in class. While others spoke of longing, love, beauty, or hope, Shin-hee had shared a different perspective.

“It’s like the paintings are telling the dead not to come back to this world.”

His comment had made the atmosphere awkward, as no one else could relate. Remembering this, Shin-hee felt grateful that the man today had validated his thoughts.

At that moment, the phone in the man’s jacket pocket vibrated. He excused himself briefly and answered the call.

As soon as Shin-hee shifted his interest to another painting and took a step to the side, the man, standing still and taking the call, suddenly cursed under his breath. Startled, Shin-hee turned to look, but the man was already striding quickly out of the exhibition hall.

Just outside the gallery, Gyo-jin walked briskly to his car and immediately made a call. The signal rang several times before Director Jung finally picked up. Without waiting for pleasantries, Gyo-jin vented his frustration.

“What the hell do you mean the business trip is confirmed?”

“Ah, Mr. Ha. I just got the news from the boss myself.”

“I explicitly said I wasn’t going. What’s going on here? Explain properly.”

“Well, uh… I don’t have the full details either, but the boss told me to pass along this message: ‘We’ve secured a shaman.’ That’s all he said, and I don’t quite understand what it means either…”

Gyo-jin, who had just been about to press the accelerator, froze. A fragment of a past conversation flitted through his mind like an unwelcome ghost.

“…Anyway, I’m definitely not going on the trip. Unless you somehow bring along a shaman.”

“So all we need is a shaman, huh?”

That sly old fox actually did it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Mr. Ha? Hello? Mr. Ha!”

Gyo-jin growled a curse under his breath, threw his phone onto the passenger seat, and yanked the steering wheel, driving out of the parking lot at a reckless speed. In his mind’s eye, the mischievous Chairman Ha was already welcoming him with open arms, grinning like a raccoon.