Chapter Text
Dear, Death
2000 years ago, Jugeum, who lived life treating it with an untainted heart, fell into the hands of unforgiving men who craved the power of ruling the lands far beyond anyone else's. He who lived with unwavering faith became vengeful on his last lungful of air. That night, Jugeum became a demigod—the demigod of death and the underworld. There in his realm, he who was once pure, now punishes those who sin gravely.
Every demigod leaves a portion of themselves on Earth as they rise to divinity. Jugeum, too, left a piece of himself—the part of him that longed to have seen the horrors people hid deep in their souls. However, although demigods are perfect, they, too, were once human. And so, as the last bits of his mortality turned to dust, he, for the last time, made a small mistake that spared his humanity. The part he left on earth fell onto a young boy who witnessed his tragic death.
That young boy grew up with a gift—one that he and his family kept a secret for generations, that they protected in fear of being accused, shunned, and exiled. Insanity, bigotry, illness—these were the words the villagers would have used. And these, too, were the words his own family used against him because the gift that young boy had was the gift of extraordinary sight, one that has him seeing creatures and beings that a mere human could never see.
This gift would be passed down to every second son in his family. A curse, they would say; thus, they must never conceive a second child.
“I dunno, grandma, it just sounds bull to me—ow!” With a pinched face, he rubs the spot his grandmother smacked on his forehead using a spoon. Jang Gyuri is a tiny woman with so much aggression in her body.
“Yah, Park Jimin! Watch your potty mouth, huh?!” She scoffs and puts down the spoon, glaring at him.
“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin cackles at the look on her face, but eventually sobers, seeing the steam coming off her nose. “It’s just—it's been years, and the more I hear this story, the more details you add that sometimes don't even add up.”
The same story has been told to him every waking moment in his life—it must be one of the first things he heard when his consciousness as a child awoke. His grandmother grew up with a bloodline of talented shamans, and she’s one of the few who didn't follow the same path. However, with that blood still running in her veins, it’s unavoidable that she harbors the same ‘powers’ of a shaman.
From time to time, she shows off these little moments of ‘power surges’ like visions, dreams, intuitions, and more. It's not like Jimin doesn't believe her; he has his fair share of experiences, but he just thinks that she sometimes takes this way too seriously. She has a strong faith in their religion, but again, it is too serious, too much.
Gyuri scoffs some more, pointing a wiggling finger at him accusingly. “Oh, so because you have a medicine degree, you think you’re smarter?!”
“That’s not…” Jimin sighs in fond exasperation and shakes his head. “Look, Grandma, these are myths for a reason. I’m only reacting this way because you look like you genuinely believe this story.”
“Because I do, and so what?”
He recoils, eyes widened and mouth agape. All these years, he never knew she was extremely serious about this tale that she’s been telling him since he was basically a newborn. “Wait—you do? I always thought you just wanted to tell me some folktales…”
Sighing, Gyuri leans over the table and levels him a serious stare. “Jimin, I’m telling you this because I know,” she whispers.
A spark of shiver runs down his spine, and the hairs on his body stand. “You know…?” He tilts his head, feigning innocent confusion.
“About your eyes.”
Silence settles between them, and for a moment, recognition crosses the face of Jimin's grandmother, as if his silence was a confirmation of her suspicion. However, Jimin is simply staring at her with a schooled expression—his eyes coldly unwavering. He wonders why, out of all the years they’ve discussed these tales, she decides to tell him this now. There's something about her demeanor that shows desperation, one he knows he’ll never know the reason behind.
Arguing with his grandmother over nonsense would only waste further study time, so letting an awkward smile grow on his face, he says, “Um, you’re not an optometrist.”
He witnesses in a dramatic slow motion as Gyuri’s eyes widen, and then, she yells indignantly, “Yah!”
Grinning mischievously, Jimin hastily stands up and bows at her. “I’ll go now, Grandma. Thank you so much for the meal. I am so sorry, but I have to continue studying for the exam. Bye, love you!” He quickly slings his backpack over his shoulder and bolts out of her bedroom.
“Park Jimin, your grandma is not done talking to you! Yah! Aish, this kid!”
As he puts on his shoes by the front door, his mother comes in from the kitchen and crouches down to help him tie his shoelaces. “Jimin, you're leaving already?”
Kim Jiae is a petite woman, just like her mother Gyuri, though she looks more like her father in her big eyes and plump lips. She's more composed than her mother, while her husband and eldest son, Jihyun, are a mix of them both. The three of them raising Jimin together was a perfect balance of chaos and calm.
“Yes, mom, grandma’s at it with that silly tale again.” He chuckles with a playful roll of his eyes.
“Oh? Why does she keep bringing it up in every conversation you two have?”
“I have no idea.” Jimin learned over the years to just let it be, go along with her words. “Does she tell you stuff about it, too?”
Jiae purses her lips and shakes her head, saying with a monotonous voice, “No, she never did, not even today.”
Uncertain, Jimin bites his lip and shakes his head as he stands up, pulling his mother up with him. “Don't worry about it, Mom. She may be creepy in her own way, but I can manage.”
With a relieved smile, Jiae caresses his cheeks affectionately. “Anyway, you go now. Take care, okay?”
“Of course. Tell Dad I said bye. Love you!”
Every person is born with a gift. They can be academically gifted, artistically gifted, athletically gifted, and many others. But where does Jimin fall under?
His gift sprouted at the ripe age of five, during his grandfather’s funeral. He’d been sitting on the sidelines, watching curiously as several people come and go to bow in front of his Grandpa’s casket. The concept of death was new to Jimin—new in the sense that he’d never experienced the grief of losing someone before this. And so he just watched, and he watched, and he watched.
It was gradual, but he would start to notice as the hours passed by that black smoke was beginning to form around everyone’s figures. He’d asked his mother if she saw what he did, but when it was negative, he chose to remain silent as he continued watching the smoke in fear.
Perhaps gift wouldn't be the best way to call it. It's a curse, more than anything else.
Jimin sits in the bus on his way back to his shared apartment, head resting against the window with earphones blasting K-R&B, and a somber expression that matches the weather; dismal mid-day skies with a never-ending drizzle patting against the glass. The beginnings of a rainy July—a season he dreads the most. Gloomy atmospheres tend to heighten his emotional state to a degree, and with the exact weather taunting him outside, his thoughts of his grandmother seem to upset him further.
For all of his 26 years living, alive and well, his grandmother never once mentioned knowing about his eyes at all. Never. So his conversation with her earlier put him off to an extent—no, greatly. He feels somewhat betrayed because she can’t just mention it to him out of nowhere, 26 fucking years later.
‘Extraordinary sight, one that has him seeing creatures and beings that a mere human could never see.’ How bizarrely fitting it is.
The bus stops by a waiting shed for a moment to gather passengers, and as Jimin continues staring out the window, his eyes lock with one of the people outside. He doesn’t break under the person’s gaze, especially not when the innocent face twists angrily—looking at him like he’s done something unforgivable. And when the stranger’s face skin begins to darken and black shadows start to envelope his frame, the bus finally takes off.
26 years, and he still hasn’t mastered the art of nonchalance—acting like he doesn’t see these ghosts. How could he, though? No matter how much he tries, these beings always sense his gaze, as if they just always know about him. He always made up excuses that he just randomly stared at something, and the ghost was just coincidentally there—but no, they always know, and it’s frustrating as fuck.
These ghosts or spirits, whatever you wanna call them, are everywhere, and they live among everyone's daily lives like they fit in this world. Two out of ten people in a room could be ghosts, and one way to tell them is the enveloping shadow and darkness around their frame, like a dark aura of sorts. Those were his first sightings as a child. and as he aged, the ghosts he saw would become darker and uglier. Most of all, angrier.
However, that is only one way to recognize one, and it is still sometimes inaccurate. He’d witnessed it the same way he did when he saw a ghost while visiting a relative’s funeral. Little Jimin had just established that people with shadows curling around them were ghosts, but it turned out to be false—sometimes. The entire memorial room was filled with “ghosts'“ when he entered. Jimin had turned and bolted out of that place, scared. It took a long time, but he was eventually convinced that they were humans, like him, just grieving humans.
This ultimately made it harder for Jimin to determine which was which, and as a result, he grew up shutting himself off from everyone. Avoidance was his only solution. Loneliness frequently confronted him until he became one of them—the grieving humans. He’d watched himself getting consumed little by little as the days passed until he almost cracked.
When he walks up the street to his apartment, he runs into his flatmates. The three of them share two umbrellas, and Jimin quickly hides under one of them that doesn't have a partner. They speak over each other, but he couldn't hear a thing, and he chuckles at their rapidly moving mouths.
Taking out an earbud, he now just notices that he’s sharing Taehyung’s umbrella—he who quickly leans into Jimin’s space and says, “Jimin, we’re going out! Wanna come with?”
Kim Taehyung was the first best friend he made in college, when they were both in their sophomore years. They're both very different from each other in terms of degrees, heights, and fashion tastes. Because while Taehyung studied arts, he is six feet tall, and loves wearing smart casual clothes, Jimin studied medicine, is barely as tall as him, and prefers cozy, cuddly clothes. However, they naturally found comfort and camaraderie in each other, and if someone were to ask Jimin how they became best friends, he wouldn't know how to answer.
He glances at the other two, Jung Hoseok and Jeon Jungkook, who both give him expectant looks, and sighs regretfully with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, guys, I gotta lock in today.”
“Goal for today?” Jungkook joins in with a pout.
The boy is still in his final year in college; he studies electrical engineering, and in his free time, live streams while he plays combat games. Together with Taehyung, the three of them met at an internet café beside their university; they both tried figuring out how to hack Taehyung’s then-recent ex-boyfriend, and Jungkook, who was beside them eavesdropping, piped in to volunteer to do it for them for free. Despite his innocent facade, the kid breathes and lives for gossip.
“Eight hours.” Jimin has a daily routine where, for a number of hours—averaging at least seven hours—he will study. Just studying for those hours straight; no phone breaks, no distractions, just him and his books. Although, of course, he takes snack breaks from time to time. All of this is to prepare for the written licensure exam this coming December.
“Geez—spare us two hours at least?” Hoseok joins teasingly, and there is no judgment in his voice.
Jung Hoseok joined their circle through Jimin. His hyung, who is two years older than him, studied dance at the same university. The dancer had already graduated by the time they met, but he was there helping his juniors. They both stumbled into each other in the clinic when Hoseok sprained his ankle, and Jimin was there gossiping with the nurse—he’s quite close to a lot of the medical staff in the university. From there, he’d invite his hyung to their hangouts until they all got close enough to eventually move in together.
“Please, please, please?”
“Please?”
A variety of puppy eyes push into his face, but as a veteran of those kinds of expressions, Jimin stands by his decision. “Nope.”
“Jimin!” The three whine, crowding into Jimin’s space. He laughs at their antics and complains loudly when rain gets on him.
“Look, how about we go out this Sunday? It's my ‘Jimin finally catches a break’ day, after all.”
“But that’s three days away,” Taehyung pouts.
“To give you motivation for the rest of the week.”
It takes a while, but he eventually convinces them to go on about their plans. Jimin continues his walk back to their apartment, deciding against the earphones for now to enjoy the calm afternoon.
For the next few hours, Jimin spends them sitting at his desk reviewing. This discipline took him a long time to perfect, but one glance at the ground, 20 stories below in the building, completely snapped him into a realization: he hadn’t slaved away at medical school for five years just to end his life like that. That was two years ago, and now, he’s finally here preparing for his licensure exam. To put it simply, studying basically saved his life.
However, there are moments where life decides to test Jimin’s patience.
The time reads 5:30 PM when he checks it. Outside, the street is dimly lit by the lampposts, with a sheen on concrete that tells rain had once pattered. Quiet, empty, narrow, dark. An ambiguous scenery, bringing fear or comfort. Ignoring all the bad experiences with hostile spirits, Jimin leans into the latter.
He sets a five-minute timer before he gets up and stretches. Looking down at the artistic mess on his desk, Jimin smiles, feeling accomplished. Studying is fun when there’s a goal, when it’s romanticized, and seeing the dramatic chaos on his table exhibiting his hard work and dedication is motivating, fueling.
His bladder presses, reminding him once more why he took a five-minute break. He walks out of his room and down the stairs, past the numerous photos and frames covering the entire wall.
Passing by the living room, the corners of his eyes catch a glimpse of a figure sitting on the sofa. On instinct, Jimin stops on his tracks and turns to take a look—it was probably one of the guys. And it is. There, on the end of the big sofa, sits Jungkook, scrolling through his phone.
Sighing in relief, Jimin allows himself to smile as he says, “You guys are back already? I’m wounded. None of you came by to annoy me.”
Jungkook looks up and gives him a small smile, but doesn’t respond. The interaction flies over Jimin’s head. He shakes his head, then goes back to do his original business—to pee. A pair of eyes following him doesn’t go unnoticed, but he ignores it altogether.
Staring at himself in the mirror, he watches the dull look on his face. Pale, dark eye bags, dry lips. Jimin is the embodiment of tired, a person who looks soulless, but is forced to survive, to carry on living. It’s sad, depressing, and he feels ridiculous just standing there, looking at himself with pity. Insecurity lies on the pits of his heart, but keeps it there on the edge—never growing, never decreasing, but a simple constant that makes itself known at random times. Sometimes, when moments like this happen, Jimin takes a moment to feel his existence and think, What the fuck am I still living for?
The automated answer would be his family—they would be distraught if they lost their youngest son. However, if he were to answer from the locked cage lying underneath that insecurity in pits of his heart, he would say that it’s because he feels a purpose. It’s quite ironic how he didn’t nurture the gift he has, yet he still feels like he should live for its purpose, like he would need it one day for something big.
Enduring is all he’s been doing his whole life—enduring for his family, his purpose—but should it really be the only thing he’ll do until he dies? He’s sick of this; he just wants to be normal for once. He just wants to live one day without the sight of these entities that haunt him daily. Haunt wouldn’t be the right word… but their presence is bothering enough to feel like it is.
Why did it have to be me? Why do I have to keep living for this? Why is it so hard to just end it myself?
Noticing a shadow beginning to curl around his form, Jimin exhales deeply before turning on the faucet and splashing water on his face. He does it three times, then straightens up once more. When he looks into the mirror, his whole body goes rigid, his heart stopping at the sight of a spirit. The woman is standing behind him to his left, and he doesn’t move an inch as they continue staring into each other’s eyes.
She’s young, his age probably, and she’s naked—except he can’t really see anything, considering half of her body is black, and black spots litter around her upper body, subtly growing in size. Her hair is long to her waist, and her eyes are pitch black and round. There’s black smoke curling around her figure, a common sign of hostile spirits.
There are very few, rare times when he gets confronted by them, and each time, he does what he knows best—runs away.
A sob escapes his mouth as he runs out of the room, his chest tightening to numbness as it pounds, the sound heavy and echoing in his ears. His body is trembling, each step getting more difficult to keep his balance. Heavy. Fear and adrenaline clouds his mind, his vision. Dry sobs keep involuntarily coming. So dark. Help.
He stumbles, he bumps, he sobs.
Everything is closing in on him until—
“Jimin!”
He gasps, and his vision returns. He’s out on the street, standing on white socks absorbing concrete moist. He’s outside of the house, standing, trembling in front of his friends. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok. The sob get stuck in his throat, a huge lump that pushes on his vocal cords, making it hard to form coherent words.
“Jimin, what the fuck? What happened?”
Jimin finally snaps out of it, and he can see them clearly, his friends. All of them look concerned, confused. When he looks down, he sees his own state—skewed pajamas, soaked soles, and his hands clutching Taehyung’s jacket like it’s a lifeline.
“Jimin?”
“Hyung?”
Their voices filter in and out of his ears, but he can only stare at his white grip on the jacket. He doesn't know how to explain what he’d just experienced—they don’t even know he has this… this curse.
“Jimin, let’s get you inside, hm?”
Someone, Taehyung, or maybe all three of them, work together to help Jimin inside the house.
Jimin sits in the living room surrounded by his friends, but he’s staring at the spot he’d seen Jungkook—no, mimic Jungkook—sitting on just earlier. And he just stares wordlessly at it. He hates it. The spirits somehow managed to get in the house and play with him, which shouldn't have happened.
He looks up, directly at the spot he knows where Gyuri’s talisman is pasted—at the center wall behind a picture frame of them four. It's above the wall-mounted TV. That's their throne, they’d always say.
The day they moved into the house, Jimin had asked his grandmother a favor, and that was to make a protection talisman for all of them. He explicitly asked for one that would prevent any form of entity, and asked for five pieces of it to put in each their room and the center of the house—the living room. He hid one for each room, very well-hidden that the three are still yet to bring it up, because they don't know what Jimin did.
Getting up from his seat, his friends straighten up in alarm, but he doesn't mind them. Jimin rises on his tipsy-toes as he takes the frame off the wall, then freezes. Ah. As expected, it’s gone.
“J-Jimin?” It’s Hoseok.
It’s puzzling how it disappeared. If any of them found a talisman, they’d probably shit their pants and immediately call everyone. None of that hasn't happened yet, so it wasn't them. Jimin returns the photo before facing his friends. He doesn’t give them a smile, even just a hint to assure them he’s alright. He just faces them blankly.
“I was seeing things. Must’ve been the lack of sleep.” His excuse comes out easily, but his friends are not convinced this time.
“Jimin, we can tell it was more than that,” Taehyung says, tone careful—too careful. “What really happened?”
“You can trust us, Jimin-ah.” Hoseok stands and walks up to him, taking a hold of his hands. “Please tell us.”
Then, it’s Jungkook’s turn. “We’re really worried, Hyung. You looked like you were being chased and had a panic attack.”
“I’m being for real. I thought I saw something, I—” He avoids their eyes, shifting to a meek voice as he comes up with another excuse. “I was watching a horror movie, and when I got down the stairs, I thought I saw a ghost, and it reminded me of the movie, so I just—” he shrugs his shoulders, “Ran,” he finishes.
The room falls quiet, giving his words the time to settle in their heads. And he nervously watches on as their expressions go through a series of emotions. Worry, doubt, understanding, and then amusement.
It’s Hoseok who breaks first. A chuckle, then another until it escalates into a full blown laugh. Taehyung follows awkwardly, uncertain, until Hoseok’s hilarious, infectious laugh gets the better of him. Jungkook as well. All three of his friends become breathless as they continue laughing, and Jimin can only watch with a pained smile.
As long as they don't suffer the same ways Jimin is, then he can live with that.
𓂃⋆.˚
Fire paints an orange hue to the stone pillars and walls of the grand hall. Whispered chatter echoes a silent song. A newcomer or two fills empty spaces. And to the right, leaning against a pillar, alone and brooding, stands Yun. A Korean deity dressed in his military service uniform dated in the late 15th century.
His eyes scan the room like a hawk, observing, listening. He catches a few stories, then moves to another, and then another. The whispers are varied, but they all speak of the same topic: the prophecy of Korea. The land of his home.
When it was announced that a meeting would be held, Yun had passed his time pacing, wondering, worrying. He’d done so for a long time that, as he stands there in the hall, he does nothing but listen, eavesdropping on languages he doesn't even speak, yet can understand fully well.
“It is with profound regret and sorrow that I must convey to you all—the day foretold by the prophecy is imminently approaching,” the voice says with calm authority, claiming everyone’s attention.
Yun looks up and there he sees Hwanin. The supreme god who holds countless of identities. He doesn't know what the others call him, but as with everyone else in the room, Yun calls him by what he knows him as: Hwanin.
Hwanin is the exact image the texts and paintings portrayed him to be. A powerful emperor of the high heavens. He’d wondered those centuries ago if this was the proof that his religion was right, the “correct” one, but it took him a while to discover that he holds the identity one depicts him as.
Every deity in the hall sees Hwanin as who they believe he is. Yun was very curious how he looked like to the others’ eyes, but centuries have already passed, and he’s long forgotten that thought.
“I have been conducting observations of the territories pertaining to the origin of Jugeum for several months. While I am unable to identify the descendant of that young boy, I perceive his influence saturating the lands.”
“With each passing day, this influence intensifies, becoming increasingly formidable, leading me to conclude that by the year's end, their nation shall be...” Hwanin doesn't finish his sentence, but when he gestures his hand, the implication is there.
Yun straightens up, then says, “Hwanin, is there a way to stop this? That nation is—”
“I acknowledge that it was formerly your home as well, Yun.” Hwanin looks at him, face kind and patient. “However, I regret to inform you all that the sole method to avert this calamity is to eradicate this descendant.”
The hall bursts into whispers, a loud, broken melody that disrupts the quiet song. Everyone is disagreeing. Yun, too, disagrees. Although his home is threatened, he thinks taking a human’s life for it is unfair to that person.
“Silence,” Hwanin calmly cuts through the noise, and the hall falls silent.
“Almighty, how is the boy’s identity not recognized yet?” One of the deities asks.
“The Blessing of Disguise. Jugeum relinquished a fragment of himself that longed for obscurity, as his assailant had deliberately sought him out. Consequently, upon his ascension, that yearning was cast down alongside the others.”
“The sole method to identify this young man is through the Blessing of Sight, and it shall be illuminated.”
Yun’s eyebrows pinch, and he asks, “Hwanin, what do you mean by ‘illuminated’?”
“You shall know upon meeting the individual who possesses this blessing, for it shall resonate upon you.”
“I would like to volunteer.”
“Volunteer?”
“I would like to see to these matters myself.”
“Yun, that is—” Hwanin pauses, and he seems to consider it. “You may,” he says in the end.
“Thank you, Hwanin.” Yun bows deeply in gratitude.
“You are permitted to step into the mortal realm, find the boy with the light, and eliminate the descendant. Your conditions are as follows…”
𓂃⋆.˚
The clock reads 10:00 PM, but the ticks and the tocks are nothing to Jimin’s ears as T-ARA’s ‘Like The First Time’ plays in his earphones on full volume. In front of him is his sketchpad with a detailed drawing of the body’s muscular system, which he is currently labeling. All of this is simply a part of his break drills. Break Drills are when he is taking a rest from studying and killing the time by labeling each and every part of at least two human body systems.
Just as it is with every horrific encounters in Jimin’s life, he lives on like nothing happened. As if a ghost didn’t just intrude his blessed, protected house just five hours ago. The speakers from Hoseok's room is back to vibrating the whole house, the jazzy saxophone from Taehyung's room contradicting the dance music, and the gamer shouts coming from Jungkook’s room. The house is moving on, back to its chaos.
What’s important is that he is distracting himself. He’s studying—still studying, and that’s what matters to him. Those ghosts can't entirely do anything to him, and as long as he doesn't die from it or dies from his own fear, then he’ll live, he’ll study.
As he writes, his eyes do not miss the annoying spirits loitering outside his window, especially now that the talisman disappeared, but he continues to ignore them even when the number of spirits only seems to increase by the minute. The crowd is starting to affect him, but he remains calm while already mentally strategizing his next move—in case they ever mess with him. And multitasking comes easily, his hand-eye memory being used to the muscular system already.
“Human.”
He freezes. The pencil remains locked with the paper in the middle of a word now halfway written. That was interestingly disturbing. And weird, he thinks. Whenever he has his earphones on, even the spirits’ voices get drowned out. However, Jimin must simply be hearing things like he always does when he is listening to music and when it is too loud he would suddenly hear his mother calling for him. Yes, it must be that.
Jimin continues writing, but as soon as he does, a presence of an entity appears to his right.
“Park Jimin.”
The powerful voice makes the hair all over his body stand and it leaves his heart thumping against his chest. Panic slowly creeps in again, but he manages to pull himself together this time, to act naturally, because he knows this is different. Harmful spirits, such as the woman earlier, has a suffocating, yet magnetic energy to them. Unlike it, this ghost right now is light. Powerful, but light.
Besides, what should be scarier right now, more than anything in the world, is the fact that he is losing his study minutes over some attention-seeking spirit. And from that encounter five hours ago.
He subtly peers at the compact mirror by his pencil case and tries not to flinch when he sees a man in soldier service uniform; a General’s uniform. The spirit looks intimidating, but not hostile, which is strange. Most of the soldier spirits he encounters all have dark energies, which must have been a result of the wars back then. It's quite hard to believe that a general, of all statuses, is a light spirit.
Deciding it's best to ignore, he goes back to writing, now at ease that at least this man wouldn't hurt him the way those hostile ones do.
“I know you can hear and see me, Park Jimin.”
It takes a moment, but just as the song in his earphones ends, realization hits him like a truck. Park Jimin? He shoots up from the chair and faces the spirit head-on, his eyes wide and mouth agape. How does he know my name? Jimin thinks, his mind scrambling for any kind of answer.
“Who are you?” He frantically looks around, double-taking on the window when he notices it’s empty, the eerie murkiness of the street now brighter, lighter. “Where did they all go?” He asks, referring to the loitering spirits.
“They fear me, and so should you.”
Jimin shoots him a look. “What do you want?” He straightens up, only to slump again after giving the spirit a once over. “You don't look like you need my help…” The man looks clean, polished, put-together. There is no way this spirit needs Jimin’s help with soul cleansing.
“On the contrary, I do.” Jimin raises a brow and watches as the spirit takes a step back and straightens up. “I am Yun, a war deity, and I come here in the mortal realm for the prophecy, which—” he gestures a hand down Jimin’s form, then continues, “Seeing as you're Jang Ahrin’s descendant, you should know what it is.”
“P-prophecy? War deity? Descendant? I—I don’t…”
His grandmother’s words echo in his mind then, ‘Extraordinary sight, one that has him seeing creatures and beings that a mere human could never see.’ He freezes. Is he coming to take me? But his thoughts are disarrayed, jumping from one to another.
Jang Ahrin. It’s certainly a familiar name, but he isn't quite sure—it’s a common name. The prophecy, Jugeum’s tale? Me? War deity. His grandmother hadn't mentioned one in her tales. Ah, Jang Ahrin, the first recorded shaman in Jang Gyuri’s bloodline. Who could this deity be?
The thoughts are dizzying, and Yun must notice his state because he snaps his fingers in front of Jimin’s eyes. This effectively drags him out of his mind.
“You bear the blessing of sight, Park Jimin,” says the deity.
Jimin shakes his head, then says, “I’m aware.”
“You are to help me save your nation, Park Jimin.”
His mind blanks at those words. Is he serious? He thinks. Lil’ ol’ depressed Jimin who uses his study habits as a way to escape from suicidal thoughts—saving a nation? The self-deprecating thought makes him snort in the deity’s face, making the latter tilt his head in confusion.
“Yeah—no, thanks.” Jimin swiftly turns and sits back down. He grabs his pen, forgoing his earphones, and takes a book to open it on the page he’d bookmarked.
“Wha—Huh?” Arms cage Jimin against his desk, and his breath hitches at the proximity. There's no solid pressure against his back, but the presence of the powerful deity is heavy, looming. “Did you just reject me, the war deity? The demigod of war? A demigod? A deity?”
Jimin bites his lip in irritation, and focuses on ignoring the suffocating presence of the deity. “Don't feel too special, oh mighty god of war, I turn down everyone seeking my help, so—”
“No…” Yun finally pulls away. Letting out a breath of relief, Jimin can't help but turn to look at the deity, curiosity and amusement getting the best of him. Sitting there, he watches as the man paces around the book-scattered floor, footsteps inaudible, items undeterred. “No, you can’t. You bear the blessing of sight.”
“So I’ve heard.”
His deadpan causes the deity to turn to him abruptly, face twisted angrily—though it leans more towards indignation. “You insolent, ungrateful human!” He screams, but his words do not cut, nor does his sharp voice. Spirits are less scary when they're not hostile.
Jimin lets out an exasperated sigh. “First of all, I didn't ask to be born with this thing. Second of all, you’re the one who rudely entered my home. You didn't have the decency to knock, so who’s the insolent here now?”
“Yah!”
“Wait—” Jimin holds up a hand, uncaring of the way Yun yells even more for his rudeness because a thought has just come up in his mind. By his own words, ‘you didn’t have the decency to knock’ struck an idea. His held up hand forms into an accusing pointed finger at the deity. “Were you the one responsible for the talisman?”
Yun blinks, then says, “How else was I supposed to meet you? It blocked entry from any entity—including deities!” He scoffs in disbelief. “The one who made that is very rude.”
If that's the case, then that must mean this deity broke all five of the talismans.
Jimin sees red. His life was put at risk because of some self-centered deity, who thinks he can just touch humans’ protection rites for his own benefit. Hands fisted by his side, jaws clenched, teeth gritted. He's near his tipping point, and any more provocation, he will crash out.
“Is this how gods act?” He spits out, his tone further angering the deity. The man comes up to his face, and they both glare at each other.
“I will rip this blessing out of you.”
“Please do, I’m sick of it.”
Yun recoils, his eyes blown and his jaw slack. He paces again. “No—no holder of any blessing acts this, this, this—arrogantly, ungrateful!”
Tired and done, Jimin sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a headache bringing discomfort. Today was too much exposure with these ghosts, and that says a lot considering he deals with them 24/7. “Mr. Yun, I’m trying to study, okay? I promise to pray for you or whatever when I’m done with this, okay? Thanks.”
“Pray for me?!” Yun looks offended.
“Would you rather I do a ceremony of sorts? Maybe I can do one where I send you back to your realm…” He's bluffing, but he thinks of his grandma when he says that—she could really do that to Yun.
The deity points an angry finger at him. “You will do no such thing! Hwanin sent me here himself!”
“Ah, really?” Jimin feigns interest. Yun sees through it. And he really shouldn't have tested the patience of the deity.
Because he didn't take the man seriously, Jimin failed to remember that Yun was actually a powerful being. This man comes from a different realm, and his presence disrupts the balance. His energy makes everything haywire, and one wrong move, he’ll have the ability to cut down the whole country's power source.
“Park Jimin!”
Luckily for South Korea, he only does it for Jimin's house. Unluckily for Jimin, it's his house.
“Yah!” He screams at the same time he hears his friends’ mixed yells. Startle, anger, and confusion.
“Don’t ‘yah’ me! I could end you here now if you dare disrespect me one more time!”
“I don’t think this Hwanin of yours would appreciate that, Yun.”
The door to his room opens, revealing Taehyung holding his phone with his flashlight on. “You okay—? Why are you just standing there in the dark? That's creepy.”
“I’m just…” Yun goes up to Taehyung’s face and observes the man, completely blocking Jimin’s view of his friend. “I was spooked. The movie, remember? I froze.”
“Oh—right! Just hold on, Jungkookie’s checking the power right now. Do you want me to stay and accompany you? You look like you need it.”
Yun turns around at that and shakes his head at Jimin. As much as he wants his friend to stay, if only just to shut the deity up, he also knows talking to Yun is the only way to fix the power outage. And so, Jimin reluctantly says, “It’s okay, I can manage.”
Using the light from Taehyung, he finds his own phone and turns on the flashlight. He flashes his friend a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine.”
It takes a moment before Taehyung chuckles awkwardly, then says, “Okay, just don't—try not to freak us out again, okay? And be careful of the dark, your scaredy ass would freak the whole neighborhood.”
“I promise.” And when the door is closed, Jimin drops the smile on his face and glares coldly at the deity. “If you're gonna throw a tantrum, can you at least bring the power back?” He rolls his eyes when Yun gasps. “Shouldn’t gods be, I dunno, nicer to their subjects?”
“Not when they’re insolent brats!” Yun clicks his tongue and paces around the room again. He does that a lot, Jimin thinks. It's quite distracting.
“Ah…” He sucks in a breath. Then, crossing his arms, Jimin levels the deity with a blank stare. “Bring the power back, Yun,” he demands with as much authority he could muster.
Yun scoffs indignantly. “You dare command me, human?!”
“I heard deities were once humans, so it’s kind of arrogant of you to say ‘human’ derogatorily.” He raises a challenging eyebrow.
Jimin watches on with mild amusement as Yun sputters and struggles to quip smartly. And he watches further with satisfaction when the deity now seems to be at war with himself. Then, he sees it, the moment the contemplation ends. With a hand under his chin, eyes downcast, annoyed, Yun brings back the power.
The lights flicker a few times before they settle, the fan whirs back to life, the music in Hoseok’s room immediately resumes from the part it was cut, and the relieved yells and sounds from his friends around the house. Life continues.
“Thanks.” Jimin huffs.
When Yun speaks again, it's softer, tired, a plea. “Park Jimin, you will help me.” He looks a little desperate, and Jimin finally decides to hear him out.
“Why?”
“You know the prophecy.”
“What prophecy?” He feigns innocence.
“I am serious, Park Jimin.”
Jimin drops his act and sighs. Yun steps up to him and speaks with intensity, “It’s coming, the day this boy will cause the demise of Korea. He will suck the life out of this nation if we do not find him soon.”
So it wasn't me.
There’s nothing to consider, the answer is quick, “I can’t help you.”
“You bear the blessing of—”
“I know, but I can’t help you, okay? I didn’t nurture this gift, so it’s pretty weak. The only thing I can do is see spirits, that’s all, so I can’t help you save a nation, Yun.”
“All you have to do is point out who he is.”
“Didn't you recognize me at first glance? I imagine a divine being like you will be able to do the same thing.” Jimin sits down and turns to his desk. He imagines the deity getting irritated by his rudeness, but he doesn't get a nag.
Yun continues, “That is the issue. I need your help because the boy has the blessing of disguise.”
Jimin looks up from his book and words out loud, “Just how many blessings does he have…”
The deity leans down to his face level. “Jugeum died with a lot of baggage in his heart. He left quite a lot when he ascended… This boy is the only mortal who bears three blessings.”
“Three..?”
“While you mortals normally hold two, this boy has three, and that’s what makes him even more of a threat.”
You mortals. Two. His heart picks up at the information. There are others like him, and there are two abilities that he has. He can't find it in himself to be curious, as the thought simply scares him. Bearing two abilities—blessings—is a lot of baggage. Sight alone has put him through hell, and now he's finding out he has a second?
How ironic it is to call it a blessing, when all Jimin got from it were the horrors it put him through. The loneliness, the grief, the fear.
“I have two blessings? Why didn't this have to happen, like, a thousand years ago? Why now?”
Once again, his mind is a wreck. Years of growing up with the mysteries of his curse flash in his mind, like a snapshot of memories they put on those films. His grandmother’s words echo. The tales, the rites, the teachings. Everything he believed to be true—he’s back to square one.
“Yes, you have two, and like I said, the boy has the blessing of disguise.”
“Of course…” Just how fucking powerful is this disguise that those damn gods can't see through it?
“I… I volunteered to take care of this,” The deity quietly admits.
Jimin would retort, pick up a reason to banter, but the meek behavior Yun is displaying softens him a little. He looks at the man from head to toe, and his chest tightens slightly at what he sees.
A man with so much desperate determination in his small, feline eyes. A man with small pressed lips, hiding the fact he’s clenching his jaw hard. A man in service uniform—the robes neatly pressed, the colors remaining vibrant. A well-preserved, well-loved uniform.
“For your home,” he adds for him.
Yun was, after all, once a human. A man who fought for his country. And he became a deity—Jimin decides he won't question the reason for that anymore.
“Yes.” The deity straightens up. “Now, are you going to help me?
Jimin looks down at his desk, then at the deity. “Can you please let me finish this first? We’ll talk after this, I promise.”
“Fine with me,” Yun nods, relief softening the once hardened look on his face.
“Just…” Jimin gestures around his room, not really sure how to be hospitable towards a deity. Maybe he should call his grandmother… “Whatever,” he says in the end before he faces the mess on the table.
With everything going on in his brain, at the situation, he’s not really sure if he can do any studying anymore. Still, he picks up his pen, just to have something to hold on to, and begins flipping through his book, just to have something else to do.
The words are a blur as he lets his eyes scan the pages. The pen in his hand is heavy between his fingers as he clutches it like a lifeline.
This, he thinks, feels like that purpose he’s been clinging onto for years. The very same purpose he felt that led him to decide to continue living. The purpose he felt was coming, for something big that he couldn't explain. Is this it? He keeps asking himself, the words repeating in his mind like a broken record.
He thinks that, maybe, for once, this good-for-nothing curse might finally do itself justice. Maybe his sufferings will finally have a good reason to have been endured for—for something good. For greatness.
Jimin doesn't say it out loud, but as mindlessly runs his eyes across the page, he accepts it. He will help Yun. He doesn't know how, but he will. For the sake of the poor man’s honor—and to give his lifelong suffering a meaning.