Osratida - Chapter 11

Shinhee, 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, Shinhee 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, Minam, 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, Minam still hadn’t replied.

Feeling awkward, Shinhee 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 Shinhee, 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 Shinhee’s shoulders. It reminded him of his always-solitary school days before he met Minam 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. Shinhee’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 Shinhee and his master to discreetly suggest several psychiatric clinics.
Still, high school had been relatively enjoyable. He recalled sneaking over a fence with Minam 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 Minam, 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 Minam was by his side.

When was it, exactly? On the day of their high school graduation, Shinhee, overcome with fear that he might lose Minam 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 Minam’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 Shinhee didn’t see Minam again until two days later. After that, Shinhee never told anyone else his secret—and he vowed he never would again.

Recalling this seven-year-old incident, Shinhee 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.”

Shinhee 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.

Shinhee 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,”
Shinhee 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 Shinhee couldn’t focus.

Annoyed, Shinhee 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.

Shinhee turned to see the handsome man he’d encountered in the parking lot.

“…It’s just an old habit,”
Shinhee replied.

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

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

Feeling self-conscious, Shinhee 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 Shinhee standing in front of him. Shinhee’s small act of consideration seemed to leave little impression.

Taking the opportunity, Shinhee 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, Shinhee 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 Shinhee, 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, Shinhee found himself glancing at him again.

“…You’re really handsome,” Shinhee 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, Shinhee awkwardly asked,
“Do you come to art museums often?”

“No.”

The man’s answers were curt. Shinhee 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 Shinhee 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,”
Shinhee said enthusiastically.

“Is that so?”

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

“Jinogigut?”

The man’s eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar term, silently urging an explanation. Shinhee 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, Shinhee let out a small yelp. The man, as if acknowledging Shinhee’s interpretation, slowly scanned the painting again.

Back in university, Shinhee had once discussed Kang Moon-seon’s works in class. While others spoke of longing, love, beauty, or hope, Shinhee 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, Shinhee 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 Shinhee 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, Shinhee turned to look, but the man was already striding quickly out of the exhibition hall.

Just outside the gallery, Gyojin 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, Gyojin 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…”

Gyojin, 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!”

Gyojin 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.