After Seong-ah and Mother Goddess left, the abandoned house seemed to exhale—breathing out years of stagnant air and shadows thick enough to cling to the skin. The two YouTubers, however, weren't ready to leave.
"That was insane," the cameraman whispered, still trembling from the encounter. "Do you know what this footage could do for our channel?"
His partner grinned, adrenaline masking his unease. "One last sweep—just for a killer ending shot."
The rotting floor groaned beneath their steps as they wandered deeper into the blackened interior. The flashlight's beam jittered, catching fleeting glimpses of moldy wallpaper and broken furniture before finally landing on something out of place.
A single coin lay in the dust—small, dull gold with strange, looping engravings that seemed to twist when the light moved.
"Check this out," the taller one said, crouching down. The moment his fingertips brushed the metal, the air thickened, pressing against their lungs like invisible hands. The temperature plunged, their breath spilling out in pale clouds.
"D… did you feel that?" the cameraman asked, backing away.
Before an answer could come, the man holding the coin doubled over. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, and a dark, coppery stream of blood slid over his lips. The cameraman rushed forward—only for his own throat to tighten painfully, his heart pounding against his ribs in panic.
They both collapsed almost in unison, their limbs twitching before falling still. The flashlight rolled across the floor, casting a trembling beam over their lifeless faces. The coin slipped from cold fingers, spinning once before lying still—its strange symbols now faintly glowing, as if drinking in the last warmth from their bodies.
Hours later, in the shadowed stillness, the front door creaked open again. A pair of polished heels clicked across the floor. Yeomhwa stepped into the room, her sharp eyes scanning the scene.
Two corpses. The coin between them.
A slow smirk curved her lips. "So… the curse still works," she murmured, crouching to pick it up. As her fingers closed around it, the glow faded—like it recognized its master.
She slipped the coin into her sleeve and looked at the dead men without pity. "Thank you for feeding it," she said softly, before walking out and leaving the abandoned house even darker than before.
The next morning, the air at school felt unusually charged, as if gossip had spread faster than the morning bell. Groups of students huddled together in clusters, their voices low but urgent.
In the middle of one circle, Mo-beom's friend stood with his phone held high, the screen playing a shaky night-vision video. The grainy footage showed the inside of an abandoned house, the faint light of a flashlight bouncing wildly. Then—there they were.
Mother Goddess, her traditional robes pale against the darkness. And next to her… a figure in a mask, long hair spilling over the shoulders, carefully inspecting something on the floor.
"That's so creepy… are they doing some kind of ritual?" a girl whispered.
"Yeah, and look—this part!" Mo-beom's friend scrubbed the video forward until the masked figure looked straight at the camera for a split second. The resolution was poor, but the eyes, the curve of the brow—it was enough to spark recognition.
Mo-beom leaned in, squinting. "Wait…" His voice trailed off as a thought clicked in his mind.
The girl in the video wore a mask, yes, but there was something about her—her posture, the way her hair fell, even the slight tilt of her head. It felt… familiar.
Across the courtyard, Seong-ah walked into school, clutching her books, completely unaware that several pairs of eyes had just turned toward her. Her mask from last night was gone, her uniform neat, expression innocent.
Mo-beom's friend rewound the video and paused it on the masked girl's face. He narrowed his eyes. "Don't you think… she kinda looks like—"
Before he could finish, Seong-ah glanced toward them. Mo-beom froze, caught in her gaze for a heartbeat. She smiled faintly, as if nothing was wrong… but Mo-beom's fingers tightened around his phone.
The familiarity was gnawing at him now. He didn't have proof—but if he was right, it meant the quiet, cheerful Seong-ah wasn't just another classmate.
She was hiding something.
The hallway was buzzing with the usual chatter until a sharp voice cut through.
"Are you a shaman, Seong-ah?"
She froze mid-step, her books clutched tightly to her chest. The group of students standing ahead parted slightly, revealing Mo-beom's friend with his phone still in hand. His expression was half-taunting, half-accusing.
"What…?" Seong-ah forced a laugh, though her fingers trembled.
He took a step closer, holding the phone up. "Hey, everyone, look! Doesn't she look exactly like the shaman in this video?"
Several heads turned, curious eyes darting between the phone screen and Seong-ah's face. The grainy video was paused right at the moment the masked girl had looked toward the camera.
Her throat tightened, the image of herself in that abandoned house flashing in her mind. She kept her expression carefully neutral.
"No. Why would I be a shaman?" she said, her tone light but her voice just a shade too high.
"Then prove it." His smirk widened as he shoved the phone toward her. "Hold this and say, 'This is the shaman.' We'll see if you can."
A lump lodged itself in her throat. She didn't move, her fingers twitching as if reaching for the phone might burn her.
The silence was broken by the sound of quick footsteps.
Gyeonwoo and Jiho appeared from the other end of the corridor, Gyeonwoo's gaze immediately locking on the phone. He strode forward, his jaw tight.
Before Seong-ah could react, Gyeonwoo snatched the phone from Mo-beom's friend with a rough jerk. "If she isn't a shaman, why are you making her jump through your stupid tests?" His voice was low but carried an edge sharp enough to cut through the whispers.
Mo-beom's friend stepped back. "We're just—"
"Do you even know what a shaman is?" Gyeonwoo's voice rose, echoing down the hallway. His eyes swept the circle of students, each one looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Or are you just throwing around words you don't understand because you're bored?"
No one answered.
Gyeonwoo turned sharply and began walking away, the phone still in his grip.
Seong-ah lingered only a second before following him, her steps quick to keep up, leaving the group behind in uneasy silence.
They walked in silence down the empty corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly. Seong-ah kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides. She could feel Gyeonwoo's irritation radiating off him like heat.
Finally, he stopped at the landing near the stairwell and turned to face her. His eyes were sharp, the kind that made her feel like she couldn't hide anything.
"Why didn't you just tell them no?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of frustration. "You stood there like they'd caught you doing something wrong."
Her lips parted, but no words came out. She swallowed hard, trying to think of something—anything—that wouldn't sound like a lie.
"I… I just didn't want to make things worse," she muttered, forcing a weak smile.
Gyeonwoo's brows furrowed. "Worse? You think letting them push you around like that makes it better?" His grip tightened around the phone, the veins on his hand standing out. "If you let people doubt you, they'll keep doubting. You have to shut it down."
Seong-ah's heart pounded. If only you knew… She looked away, her gaze settling on a faint crack in the wall, as if the peeling paint might somehow save her from the weight of his questions.
Gyeonwoo stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Seong-ah… you froze back there. Why?"
The question hung between them, heavy and accusing. She could feel the truth clawing at her throat—about the abandoned house, about the ghost child clinging to Do Doyeon's leg, about her role as a shaman—but she bit it back.
"I was just… nervous," she whispered.
His eyes narrowed, searching her face for an answer she wasn't giving. But after a long pause, he sighed, sliding the phone into his pocket.
"Fine. But if they mess with you again, you tell me. Don't just stand there letting them corner you."
She nodded quickly, grateful the interrogation had ended.
As they resumed walking, Seong-ah couldn't shake the feeling that Gyeonwoo's words weren't just concern—they were suspicion. And the longer she kept her secret, the more dangerous that suspicion would become.
Meanwhile, at the abandoned house, the once-silent grounds were now swarming with people. Police lines stretched across the entrance, their yellow tape fluttering in the breeze. Uniformed officers moved in and out, speaking in low, urgent voices, while curious neighbors clustered just beyond the barricade, murmuring to one another. The smell of damp wood and something faintly metallic—blood—hung in the air.
Mother Goddess stood a little apart from the crowd, her hands folded inside the sleeves of her deep-colored robe. Her expression was unreadable, eyes fixed on the weathered building as if she could still see the restless spirits moving inside.
A woman broke through the small knot of onlookers, running up to her breathlessly. "Mother… what happened? They say two men… they died inside?" Her voice trembled, half with shock, half with fear.
Mother Goddess finally turned her head toward her. Her gaze was calm, almost too calm for the chaos unfolding around them.
"It's their karma," she said simply, her voice low but cutting through the chatter like a blade. "The house did nothing to them—they invited their own end."
The woman blinked, unsettled by the flat certainty in her tone.
"Karma…?" she echoed, as if hoping for a softer explanation.
Mother Goddess's lips curved in the faintest trace of a smile, though her eyes remained cold. "Some places are heavy with old debts. If you go in out of greed or mockery… those debts will find you."
A sudden shout rose from the investigators inside the house. Two stretchers were wheeled out, the bodies hidden beneath black sheets. The crowd gasped, some backing away instinctively.
Mother Goddess didn't flinch. She only turned her gaze back toward the building, whispering under her breath—not for the living to hear, but for whatever still lingered inside.
The next day, Seong-ah wandered through her small, dimly lit room. The morning light was soft but restless, filtering through the curtains as if urging her to hurry.
Mother Goddess's words wouldn't leave her mind:
> "Find something with eyes, a nose, and lips… it will serve as a vessel."
Seong-ah frowned, pacing. "A doll? No way… I've never kept dolls. They're perfect hiding spots for ghosts," she muttered, opening and closing drawers. Her desk was scattered with school notes, protective charms, and scraps of herbs she had forgotten to throw away.
She checked under her bed—dust and a stray sock. No luck. She rummaged through her closet—nothing but clothes and an old umbrella. Her pulse quickened; she didn't have much time before the opportunity to act would pass.
Finally, as she dug into the farthest corner of her desk drawer, her fingers brushed something smooth and cool. She pulled it out and stared—then let out a small laugh.
A lip care stick.
Not just any lip care stick—the cap had a tiny cartoon face: round black eyes, a dot of a nose, and a smiling red mouth. It was silly, almost childish, but it fit Mother Goddess's description perfectly.
"Well," she whispered, turning it between her fingers, "you're not a doll… but you'll do."
---
Later that afternoon, the school corridors were noisy, full of chattering students and the faint echo of sneakers against the tiled floor. Seong-ah spotted Gyeonwoo leaning against the back railing of the school building, looking up at the wide blue sky. The wind played lightly through his hair, and for a brief moment, he looked distant, like he was someplace far away.
She lingered a few steps away, her hand in her pocket, feeling the small lip balm pressing against her palm. How do I give this without sounding like I'm handing him something cursed? she thought.
Before she could decide, Gyeonwoo turned his head slightly, his voice calm but warm. "The weather's good today."
Her lips curved into a small, almost secretive smile. "Yeah… it is." Then, before her nerves could take over, she added lightly, "Since the weather's so good… we should stay moisturized, right?"
She pulled out the lip balm and held it toward him with a teasing tilt of her head.
Gyeonwoo blinked, a bit caught off guard, before letting a quiet chuckle escape. His eyes softened, curious yet faintly amused. "This is… random," he murmured, taking it from her. His fingers brushed hers for the briefest moment, sending a strange flutter through her chest.
"Think of it as good weather insurance," she replied, shrugging playfully, masking the importance of what she'd just handed him.
As he turned the little stick in his hand, the tiny cartoon face caught the sunlight, making its smile almost unsettling. Seong-ah pretended to look away, but inside she was watching closely—waiting.
She knew Gyeonwoo would keep it, even without understanding its true purpose. And when the time came, that little lip balm would be more than just lip care—it would be protection, a silent guardian resting in his pocket.
The bus rattled along the uneven road, sunlight flickering through the dusty windows in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Seong-ah sat near the middle, her hands resting on her lap, but her mind was far away.
She kept replaying the earlier moment in her head—the way she had awkwardly handed Gyeonwoo the lip care stick, the little cartoon face grinning up at him, the faint warmth when their fingers touched.
Her cheeks heated just thinking about it. Ugh… why did I say "let's stay moisturized"? That sounded so weird…
She glanced out the window, trying to hide her expression, but she could feel Jiho and Gyeonwoo's eyes on her from across the aisle. Jiho's gaze was sharp and curious, as if he were trying to read her thoughts, while Gyeonwoo's was calmer—quietly observing.
The bus swerved slightly to avoid a pothole, and Seong-ah, lost in thought, swayed with the motion. Her shoulder tilted toward the window, and before she realized it, her head was about to hit the glass.
Jiho's hand twitched, halfway lifting to steady her—
—but Gyeonwoo moved first.
His palm landed gently yet firmly between her head and the window, stopping her from hitting it. The warmth of his hand and the faint smell of his cologne made her freeze.
She turned to look at him, eyes wide. Gyeonwoo met her gaze for a brief second, his expression unreadable, before pulling his hand back casually, as if nothing had happened.
"You should pay attention," he said quietly, almost like a scolding but without any real bite.
Seong-ah's heart skipped. She nodded quickly, mumbling, "R-right…" and looked down at her hands again.
Jiho watched the exchange silently, his brows slightly furrowed. He didn't say anything, but something in his eyes suggested he was noticing more than either of them realized.
The rest of the bus ride passed in quiet tension, but for Seong-ah, the echo of that warm touch lingered far longer than the journey itself.
---
Seong-ah tilted her head slightly, still feeling the faint warmth lingering from earlier.
"Gyeonwoo… was that you who held me just now?" she asked, her voice low but tinged with curiosity.
Gyeonwoo gave a small nod, his expression calm. "Mm."
"Oh," she murmured, unsure what else to say.
Then, with a faint smirk, he added, "Don't forget… I'm still childish at heart too."
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the oddly playful remark, but before she could ask what he meant, the bus jolted to a stop and the moment dissolved into the noise of students rushing out.
Seong-ah lingered in the corridor, her footsteps muted on the polished floor. Students passed here and there, chatting and laughing, but to her, the world had gone quiet—her eyes locked on Do Doyeon's leg.
Wrapped around it, almost imperceptible to anyone without her sight, was the baby ghost.
Its translucent arms clung tightly, its small face buried against the side of Doyeon's calf.
Its eyelids were shut, lashes faint like threads of frost.
Its chest rose and fell in a rhythm that almost matched a real child's breathing.
And for a moment, Seong-ah felt an ache—pity, even.
It's… almost beautiful like this, she thought. Like an angel sleeping.
But the silence in her chest was short-lived.
Her mind replayed the heavy words of Mother Goddess as if they'd been etched into her bones.
> "Three ghosts you must be most wary of, Seong-ah—the dancing ghosts, the sleeping ghosts, and the baby ghosts."
She remembered how she had blinked in confusion, asking softly, "Baby ghosts? They can't be more dangerous… right?"
Mother Goddess' eyes had sharpened like a blade.
> "No. The baby ghosts are the most dangerous. Do you know what makes them similar to the others?"
Seong-ah had tilted her head, searching for the answer. "…They… do whatever they want?"
> "Correct," Mother Goddess had said. "But there's more. These ghosts don't complain, they don't bargain. Many spirits will leave if you console them… but not these. They cling, silent and stubborn, until they have what they want. To make them let go—you must play hard. Show no hesitation. If you falter even once, they will never release their hold."
A faint shiver trickled down Seong-ah's spine.
Now, as she stood in the present, her gaze still fixed on the sleeping form latched to Doyeon, she felt the truth of those words.
It looked harmless now.
It looked like a child who had simply dozed off after playing too long.
But she knew better.
Its tiny fingers twitched once, almost in a stretch, and the soft, dreamlike breathing stilled.
As Do Doyeon headed off to class, Seong-ah let out a small sigh. It was only then she realized her hand was gripping something soft and silky—Gyeonwoo's tie.
Her eyes widened and she quickly yanked her hand away.
"I–I'm sorry!" she stammered, face warming.
Gyeonwoo simply gave that easy, almost teasing smile of his. "It's okay. The weather is good today."
Seong-ah blinked at the random statement, mumbling a quick "Right…" before hurrying off toward the classroom.
Behind her, Jiho stood at the top of the stairway, brows furrowed.
"…Huh? Weather is nice?" he muttered, completely lost.
---
Later – Canteen
The canteen was its usual midday chaos—metal trays clattering, students talking over one another, the faint smell of fried food hanging in the air.
Jiho and Gyeonwoo sat facing each other, a half-eaten kimbap between them.
Seong-ah walked in, scanning for an open seat. Jiho waved his hand at her, patting the empty spot beside him. "Here! Sit here."
But without a second thought, she slid into the seat next to Gyeonwoo instead.
Jiho froze, chopsticks mid-air, staring at her like she'd just betrayed a lifelong alliance.
"What is with you, Seong-ah?" he blurted, leaning in. "Do you know how it feels? Like I'm the one being left behind!"
"I literally just sat down," she deadpanned, not even glancing at him as she opened her lunchbox.
"I showed you to sit beside me," Jiho continued dramatically, "but you—" he jabbed a finger toward Gyeonwoo "—you chose him."
Seong-ah rolled her eyes and focused on eating.
A moment later, Cho Hyeri dropped into the empty spot beside Jiho, while Do Doyeon slid into the space next to Seong-ah.
At the next table, Kim Jun-ung strolled over with his group of friends. Without so much as a word, he gestured at the students sitting there.
"Move."
The group scrambled away, leaving the table clear.
Jiho eyed the scene with his usual mix of suspicion and sarcasm.
"…Is this some kind of new bullying trend?" he murmured to Gyeonwoo.
Seong-ah's eyes lit up the moment she spotted Bok-i, Do Doyeon's fluffy white dog, sitting calmly at her owner's feet.
Its pristine fur, button nose, and tiny paws were the very definition of "adorable." She couldn't help but stare, her lips curling into a soft, almost dreamy smile.
Across the table, Gyeonwoo followed her gaze… and froze.
From where he was sitting, her line of sight didn't seem to point at Bok-i at all—it pointed straight toward Kim Jun-ung, who was now leaning back in his chair at the next table, smirking while his friends laughed around him.
Gyeonwoo's brows furrowed. Why is she… smiling at him?
The thought sat in his chest like a stubborn stone, his appetite suddenly fading. Don't tell me… she has some weird interest in that guy.
He quietly stabbed at his rice with his chopsticks, pretending to be focused on his meal but glancing at her every few seconds, as if her expression might reveal some hidden truth.
Meanwhile, Seong-ah was completely oblivious, her mind occupied with only one thought: Bok-i, you are literally the cutest creature alive.
Later that afternoon, Seong-ah sat quietly at the side of the archery court, swinging her legs slightly as she watched.
Her eyes naturally drifted toward Bok-i, curled up on the grass, his tiny paws twitching in a dream.
A soft smile spread on her face. She leaned forward a little and murmured,
"You are cute…"
From a distance, Jiho and Gyeonwoo's line of sight matched up perfectly with Kim Jun-ung, who was tightening his bowstring.
Neither of them said a word, but both froze at the same moment.
Jiho's expression turned oddly flat. Again? Is she… into him?
Gyeonwoo's brows lowered slightly, his hand pausing mid-motion. She's seriously looking at Kim Jun-ung like that?
Seong-ah, completely oblivious to the silent exchange, kept her gaze on Bok-i, whose ears twitched adorably.
She didn't notice the two boys exchanging quick glances—Jiho biting back a sigh and Gyeonwoo averting his eyes as if nothing was wrong.
Neither of them asked her about it.
They just carried the unspoken suspicion in their heads, each convinced that they'd seen something they didn't like.
Gyeonwoo walked off with Kim Jun-ung toward the far side of the archery court, their conversation disappearing into the echo of footsteps. Jiho stood watching them for a moment, his brows drawn together like he was solving some big mystery. Then he turned to Seong-ah with a look that was far too serious for lunchtime gossip.
"You like Gyeonwoo, right?" he asked flatly.
Seong-ah tilted her head. "What?"
"I mean…" Jiho began counting on his fingers, "he's handsome, he does archery, and… he's handsome."
She stared at him, unimpressed. "…You just said 'handsome' twice."
Jiho waved that off like it was irrelevant. "Details. Anyway, if that's the case, why'd you call Kim Jun-ung cute earlier? He's… uh, no offense, but he's not exactly model material."
Seong-ah's lips parted in disbelief. "I wasn't talking about him."
Jiho leaned forward like he was about to catch her in a lie. "Oh, really? Then who?"
"Bok-i," she said plainly.
"…The dog?"
"Yes, the dog," she confirmed, her tone patient but firm. "Bok-i is a good ghost. Loyal, protective, and always staying close to her guardian. I was admiring that… not Kim Jun-ung's face."
Jiho blinked. "So basically you were admiring his guardian angel, huh?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
Jiho leaned back, folding his arms with a knowing look. "You know, the shaman said Kim Jun-ung's actually a better person than people think… because he genuinely loves his pet."
Seong-ah tilted her head, slightly surprised. "That's… unexpectedly wholesome coming from you."
Jiho gave a half-shrug, half-smirk. "What can I say? I've got a soft spot for loyal sidekicks. Whether they're dogs, ghosts… or both."
Before Seong-ah could reply, a shadow fell over them. Gyeonwoo was passing by on his way back from the equipment rack, catching just the last few words:
"…admiring Kim Jun-ung… better person than people think…"
His steps slowed, eyes narrowing just slightly before he continued walking past them without a word.
Seong-ah didn't notice, but Jiho did—and his lips curled into a mischievous grin.
"Ohhh," Jiho thought to himself, "this misunderstanding's about to get interesting."
Jiho was still smirking to himself when Seong-ah suddenly straightened up like she'd just remembered something important.
"Oh!" she blurted, making him nearly drop his chopsticks.
"What?" Jiho asked, startled.
"By the way," she said, pointing at him with her spoon, "you were right earlier. Gyeonwoo is handsome. And tall. I mean, you can't deny that."
Jiho groaned dramatically. "Great, now you're agreeing with me about him too."
"But," she continued without missing a beat, "aren't I pretty?"
That made him freeze mid-bite. "…Huh?"
She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with a strange mix of confidence and curiosity. "I'm asking you—aren't I pretty?"
Jiho's ears went red almost instantly. "Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?!"
"No reason," she said casually, taking another bite of her food. But the faintest smirk tugged at her lips as she glanced sideways.
Jiho sat there, caught between indignation and… well, maybe a little bit of panic. Finally, he muttered under his breath, "Tch… of course you are…"
"What?" she asked, pretending she didn't hear.
"Nothing! Eat your lunch!" he barked, shoving a piece of kimbap into his mouth to hide the embarrassed smile creeping onto his face.
Gyeonwoo followed Kim Jun-ung into the boys' bathroom, his expression unreadable. The faint smell of cigarette smoke was already lingering in the air.
"Oh, hi newbie," Kim Jun-ung said lazily, leaning against the tiled wall. "What's happening?"
Gyeonwoo's gaze slowly traveled from the top of Jun-ung's head down to his shoes, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"What?" Jun-ung raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed. "You want something?"
One of Jun-ung's friends chuckled from behind him, pulling out a cigarette.
Jun-ung smirked and tapped the box. "You want to smoke? Come on, take one." His tone was mocking, the invitation more of a dare than an offer.
Gyeonwoo didn't answer. He just gave them one last unreadable glance before turning on his heel and walking out.
The group burst into laughter as the door swung shut. "Hah! Look at him—he's just a scared little rookie," one of them snickered.
But their laughter didn't last long.
Only a minute later, Gyeonwoo was standing outside the faculty office, his voice calm but firm as he addressed the teacher inside.
"Sir," he said, "Kim Jun-ung and his friends are smoking in the men's washroom."
The teacher's expression hardened instantly. "What?!"
Gyeonwoo stepped back as the teacher stood up abruptly, storming down the hallway toward the bathroom. The faint smirk tugging at Gyeonwoo's lips vanished the moment he turned away, his expression settling into its usual cool indifference.