Osratida - Chapter 19

Gyojin was mentally tormenting Secretary Park, who stood before him.

“Secretary Park.”

“Yes?”

“Try holding my hand for a moment.”

“What? No, I mean, what do you—”

“Hurry up.”

This isn’t the reaction he wanted.

“Secretary Park. Stand over here.”

“Director, why are you doing this to me…? Have I not been handling my work properly—”

“Shut your mouth.”

Positioning himself against the wall, Gyojin placed Secretary Park right in front of him. Instead of the scent of soap, he wrinkled his nose at the stale nicotine smell and an unidentifiable unpleasant odor.

“…You should wash up properly. You may go.”

Leaving behind Secretary Park, who stood in shock, Gyojin walked away.

“But I shower every day….”

Left alone in the hallway, Secretary Park could only stand there, feeling wronged and wondering what on earth had just happened.

After a simple breakfast, the group headed to the Mishima Department Store’s planning headquarters. According to Secretary Park, they had to conclude the second meeting from yesterday. Finding it awkward to return to the hotel alone, Shinhee decided to explore the company with Dongja while the meeting was in progress. Alongside them was Yukie.

Though he couldn’t speak English or Japanese, making conversation impossible, she simply smiled brightly and led him through different parts of the company. Perhaps those terrifying eyes he saw earlier had been his imagination. Trying to think positively, Shinhee couldn’t shake off a strange feeling.

As expected of a major corporation, Mishima Department Store had excellent employee benefits, with various amenities for its staff. Shinhee stopped in front of the employee lounge on the third floor. The walls were decorated like an art gallery, displaying works by various artists, but one particular hanging scroll caught his eye.

It was a delicate ink painting of a woman with long, flowing hair, playing a pipa. Shinhee stood mesmerized, gazing at the scroll for a long time. Yukie slowly approached and glanced at the artwork he was fixated on.

The details were so precise—the elegant fingers, the finely drawn facial features—so vivid that they seemed almost real. Eastern paintings generally focused on philosophy and symbolism rather than realism, yet this painting was so strikingly lifelike that Shinhee couldn’t help but gently trace it with his fingertips.

[Do you like this painting?]

Yukie asked casually. Though he still didn’t understand the language, it seemed like she was asking if he liked it, so Shinhee nodded in response.

The woman in the scroll held his gaze for quite some time. They only left the lounge after several department store employees, who had come to rest, had already departed.

Three hours later, once the meeting concluded, Shinhee joined Gyojin’s group for dinner. However, throughout the meal, the stares directed at him made him feel as if he were sitting on pins and needles.

The atmosphere was more relaxed compared to the first day, as they had gotten somewhat acquainted. Even someone as indifferent to others’ gazes as Shinhee couldn’t ignore the discomfort of being stared at so directly. One person would have been unsettling enough, but two? Every time he tried to pinpoint who was looking at him, he always found either the interpreter or the daughter of the Mishima president at the other end of the stare.

Meanwhile, Gyojin, who had previously held his hand and walked with him down the hallway, didn’t spare him a single glance. Instead, those two looked as if they were trying to count the number of rice grains on his plate.

What’s going on? Did I do something wrong? Do I have something on my face? Or am I just too good-looking?

Endless questions circled his mind with no answers. Eventually, Shinhee had to put down his chopsticks mid-meal.

His stomach, which had been bothering him all evening, finally gave out late at night. Barely having managed to fall asleep, he was forced to rush to the bathroom past midnight.

Shinhee rarely got sick, so Dongja looked incredibly worried, his face filled with distress as he patted Shinhee’s back.

Only after he had vomited everything, even bile, did Shinhee finally stop. Brushing his teeth and taking another shower, he barely managed to pull himself together. Even though he had brushed his teeth three times, he could still taste the sourness in his mouth.

Ah… what honor am I supposed to gain by coming all the way to this foreign country just to suffer like this?

Regret visited him once again, as it did every day.

[Shinhee, does it still hurt a lot?]

Dongja clung to Shinhee’s sleeve, his big eyes filled with tears, ready to burst at any moment.

Shinhee was about to shake his head but decided to watch Dongja’s reaction instead.

The little one flitted back and forth anxiously, his tiny feet stomping in distress.

[…Did Dongja make Shinhee sick?]

At this rate, he looked ready to wail with snot running down his face.

Shinhee couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer and lifted Dongja up, swinging him playfully.

Too cute to even tease properly.

Sure enough, Dongja buried his face in Shinhee’s shoulder and let out a heartbreaking cry, as if he had just witnessed Shinhee’s death.

As Shinhee patted the sobbing child, soothing him, he stopped in his tracks on the way back to his bed.

Sensing the moment, Dongja immediately stopped crying and looked at him with wide eyes.

Without a word, the two stared at each other before cautiously moving toward the door. Dongja climbed out of Shinhee’s arms and quickly stood beside him.

It was past midnight, and the only lights in the hallway were the dim auxiliary lamps. All other rooms were dark.

Shinhee, with a hardened expression, studied Dongja’s face.

Not a single trace of tears remained. Instead, his gaze was calm and low, carefully assessing the situation.

A dense, ominous aura—something only vengeful spirits carried—seeped through the hallway.

A chill ran down Shinhee’s spine as the sharp energy threatened to suffocate him.

Sensing his tension, the prayer beads on his wrist began to vibrate slightly.

The creaking sound of the wooden floor echoed in his ears.

A figure slowly emerged from the far end of the hallway.

—Gyojin, Gyojin.

Gyojin’s eyes fluttered open.

Someone—whose face he couldn’t see—was calling his name in a desperate voice.

The faint twang of stringed instruments accompanied it.

Slowly, he got up and walked toward the door.

Just as he was about to slide it open, a firm grip on his shoulder stopped him.

Without even looking, he knew.

It was that red-eyed one again.

“Move.”

Gyojin’s voice was low and firm as he forcefully pushed the sliding door open.

The hand gripping him let go.

The dimly lit hallway stretched out before him, dotted with scattered low lights.

With each step, the aged wooden floor creaked, letting out sorrowful cries.

—Gyojin.

The voice overlapped with the melody, filling his mind completely.

He had intended to scold whoever was disturbing his sleep again.

That lingering melody, which always found him at the worst moments, was enough to disrupt his already hectic life.

But now, more than anything, he just wanted to find the source of that voice.

To see the face, to hear it speak, to witness the melody being played in front of him.

An overwhelming desire took over, like a high tide in midsummer, drowning his senses.

His heart pounded, and his head grew dizzy.

He was so close.

Just a little further.

All he had to do was open the door at the end of the hallway.

Unaware whether he was dreaming or walking, his fingers brushed against something.

And that something grabbed both his cheeks and pulled.

“Director! Get a hold of yourself!”

A desperate voice struck his ears like noise.

The calling voice, the music—all of it cut off in an instant.

As the ringing in his head subsided, focus returned to Gyojin’s vision.

With a deathly pale face, his hands clutched both of his cheeks. His large, black eyes resembled those of a white puppy.

In other words…

“…Glutinous rice cake?”

And then, Gyojin collapsed onto Shinhee’s shoulder.

Though the weight of his tall frame pressing down on his shoulder hurt, Shinhee was too dazed to do anything about it.

Glutinous rice cake, glutinous rice cake, glutinous rice cake…

Gyojin’s voice calling him echoed in his ears. Of all the things he had heard in his life, this was certainly a first. He’d been told before that he looked like a patient due to his pale and slender appearance or that he resembled a meerkat, but “glutinous rice cake” was an entirely new one. Honestly, the nickname seemed more fitting for Dongja, who was curiously poking at Gyojin’s handsome cheek, rather than for himself.

After standing still for a while, Shinhee finally adjusted his grip on Gyojin. Carrying a man who was at least ten centimeters taller than him was no easy task. After a brief moment of consideration, he decided to move Gyojin to his own room instead.

Without knowing exactly what had happened to him, returning him to his original room seemed risky. A person who had been perfectly fine until now ending up in such a state could only mean one of two things—either he was possessed or he was under some sort of spell. Judging by his unstable condition, it seemed more like the latter. Checking Gyojin’s room could wait until after he was safely laid down.

Dragging him along as best as he could, Shinhee struggled to open the sliding door and carefully placed him on the bedding. The entire process took at least ten minutes.

No matter how much he looked around, he couldn’t see any ghosts or anything out of the ordinary. Gyojin didn’t seem weak either—if anything, his energy was strong. Then what on earth had possessed him like this?

As he crouched beside the now deeply asleep Gyojin, Shinhee stared at his handsome face and retraced his thoughts. Beside him, Dongja mirrored his posture, tilting his head in curiosity as he observed Gyojin.