At 2:17 a.m., Seoul was still lit up.
The convenience stores never slept. The fried chicken place that was supposed to have closed an hour ago was still taking orders. Taxis rolled down the wet streets, carrying people too drunk to remember their own home addresses. In the high-rise apartments, some people were just getting home from work, some were just starting their shifts, and others were regretting the life choices they’d made around eleven that night.
Inside Jae-hyun’s car, two people sat in silence.
One because he was scared.
The other because he was considering whether fear was a good enough reason to move to another country.
Do-yoon sat in the passenger seat, staring at the rearview mirror.
The word GO HOME, which had appeared in the condensation earlier, was gone.
No fog.
No sound.
No woman in a white dress.
Just an empty back seat.
And that was exactly the problem.
If something showed up, at least he could face it.
If something was invisible, Do-yoon had to use his imagination. And as had been proven time and again, the human imagination was far less professional than a demon.
“You saw it, right?” Jae-hyun asked.
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
“Do-yoon.”
“I heard you.”
“I asked if you saw it.”
Do-yoon rubbed his face.
“I saw it.”
Jae-hyun drew a long breath.
“Okay.”
They fell silent again.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
Then Jae-hyun said, “I want to quit.”
“Quit what?”
“Being your friend.”
Do-yoon turned to look at him.
“Now?”
“Yeah.”
“After five years?”
“I think five years is enough.”
Do-yoon almost laughed, but Jae-hyun looked too serious.
“You can’t ditch me just because there’s a ghost.”
“It’s not just a ghost.”
Jae-hyun pointed at the rearview mirror.
“Your friend brought a ghost that can talk from the back seat.”
“She’s not my friend.”
“That’s even worse.”
Do-yoon sighed.
“She doesn’t always follow me.”
“That is not helping.”
“I’m just saying—”
“You know what I hate most about you?”
“A lot of things.”
“You’re always saying terrifying stuff in the same tone you’d use to talk about what’s for dinner.”
Do-yoon looked out the window.
The lights of Seoul streaked across the glass.
“I’m scared too.”
Jae-hyun fell silent.
It might’ve been the first time that night Do-yoon had said it honestly.
No jokes.
No laughing.
No complaining.
Scared.
Jae-hyun glanced at him.
“Then we’re going home.”
Do-yoon nodded.
“Yeah.”
“To your place?”
Do-yoon thought about it.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My dad told me not to come home.”
Jae-hyun turned to him at once.
“…Do you have another option?”
Do-yoon pulled out his phone.
Two percent battery.
No new messages.
No calls.
But just as the screen was about to go dark, a notification appeared.
TikTok — Someone mentioned you in a video.
Do-yoon stared at it.
So did Jae-hyun.
“Don’t open it,” he said.
“I just want to look.”
“Don’t.”
“I need to know.”
“Do-yoon.”
Tap.
The video opened.
It was a recording from the livestream a few hours earlier.
The quality was poor, the image grainy in the dim room. Do-yoon was sitting in front of the altar, wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants. Behind him was a wooden door leading to the storage room.
The comments were flying by.
who is the woman behind him?
IS THAT A REAL PERSON
bro turn around
there’s someone behind you
Do-yoon zoomed in.
The woman hadn’t been in the version of the video he remembered.
She was standing by the door.
Her face was turned toward the camera.
Long hair covered part of her cheek.
Do-yoon held his breath.
Then the video stopped.
Not because it was buffering.
A hand appeared on the screen.
Pressing the pause button.
From behind.
Do-yoon froze.
Jae-hyun looked at the screen.
“You couldn’t have—”
They both turned around at the same time.
Empty.
Do-yoon swallowed.
Then his phone vibrated.
One percent battery.
A message came in from the same TikTok account.
@unknown_0909
Don’t trust that woman.
Do-yoon stared at the username.
A date.
Or something else.
Before he could think it over, the phone screen went dark.
“Great,” he said flatly.
Jae-hyun looked at him.
“What?”
“My phone died.”
“And?”
“Now I can’t find out who messaged me.”
Jae-hyun closed his eyes.
“I hate your life.”
“Me too.”
They didn’t go home to either of their places.
They went to Do-yoon’s shamanic shrine.
It was in an old building wedged between a two-story coffee shop and a nail salon that stayed open until midnight. From the outside, there was nothing special about it.
No big sign.
No red lanterns.
No mystical writing that would make passersby stop and think, Ah, maybe there’s something in there I shouldn’t see.
The door was plain.
The walls were gray.
There was even a vending machine beside the stairs.
Seoul didn’t have time to be maximally creepy. The city was too busy collecting rent.
Do-yoon opened the door.
The moment they stepped inside, the smell of incense greeted them.
Jae-hyun stopped short.
“What?”
“I’ve never been here in the middle of the night.”
“So?”
“It feels different.”
Do-yoon looked at him.
“Because you’re scared.”
“No.”
“Because you’re scared.”
“I said I’m not.”
“Okay, then.”
Do-yoon took off his jacket and hung it over a chair.
In front of them was a small altar with a candle that had nearly burned down. Several offering bowls were neatly arranged. A folded ritual cloth lay off to one side.
The place was supposed to feel sacred.
And it did.
Except there was a black gaming chair with an expensive headset in the corner.
Beside it was a sneaker rack.
Jae-hyun pointed.
“You seriously have Nikes next to your altar?”
“Why?”
“The contrast.”
“My shoes have a right to be near the sacred, too.”
“You’re saying that while wearing hotel slippers.”
Do-yoon looked down at his feet.
“Fashion is flexible.”
Jae-hyun shook his head.
They’d barely taken a few steps inside when they heard a small sound.
Click.
The candle on the altar lit by itself.
Jae-hyun froze.
Do-yoon didn’t move.
The flame flickered gently.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Jae-hyun whispered, “Is that normal?”
Do-yoon answered without turning around.
“It can be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It can be normal.”
“So?”
“It can also not be.”
“I’m asking for a more helpful answer.”
“So am I.”
Do-yoon walked toward the altar.
He stopped in front of it.
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Not like in a movie.
His eyes didn’t suddenly turn black, and his voice didn’t change.
His face simply lost the last traces of the lazy expression that usually clung to it.
His back straightened.
His gaze sharpened.
His breathing slowed.
Jae-hyun had seen this change before.
It was the side of Do-yoon that always made him forget his best friend was the same guy who’d once spent twenty minutes picking an Instagram filter.
Do-yoon took a stick of incense.
Lit it.
A thin stream of smoke rose into the air.
“Whoever’s come here,” he said softly, “don’t bother anyone who isn’t involved.”
There was no answer.
“If you want to talk, talk to me.”
Jae-hyun swallowed.
“Do-yoon.”
Do-yoon raised one hand.
Quiet.
The room fell silent again.
Then—
Knock.
A sound from behind them.
One knock.
Do-yoon turned around.
The door to the back room was closed.
Knock.
A second knock.
Jae-hyun took a step back.
“Don’t open it.”
Do-yoon stared at the door.
“I’m not opening it.”
Knock.
A third knock.
Then a woman’s voice came from behind the door.
Soft.
Very close.
“Do-yoon.”
Jae-hyun looked at him.
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
Just like his father had told him.
Don’t answer if someone calls your name from outside the house.
But the voice hadn’t come from outside.
It came from inside.
From behind the door.
“Do-yoon.”
Do-yoon gripped the incense stick tighter.
“I know you’re in there.”
There was no reply.
Then they heard another voice.
A man’s.
Older.
Very familiar.
“Do-yoon.”
Do-yoon’s expression changed.
Jae-hyun saw it.
“Who is it this time?”
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
Because he knew that voice.
His father’s voice.
And that voice had just said from behind the door—
“Don’t trust that woman.”
The candle on the altar went out.
All at once.
The room went dark.
And for the first time that night, Do-yoon didn’t feel like he was facing something that wanted to bother him.
He felt like he was being warned.
The problem was, he still didn’t know who was lying.