Chapter 7
‘‘The effect is definitely there.’
Jeongjikhan clenched his fists, having secured an exact 5% profit before exiting the trade.
The chart that had spiked sharply for precisely ten minutes began its descent at 1:30 PM, forming a long tail as it fell.
The accumulation pattern was complete.
Even for day trading, the standard practice was to verify accumulation patterns and trading volume before entering a position. But to witness prices rising in real-time by riding this accumulation wave with his own eyes? And to take profits before the descending tail fully formed?
Through virtual trading experience, Jeongjikhan knew such gains bordered on impossible in reality.
The 5 million won limit existed precisely because larger purchases might attract market manipulators in small-cap stocks under 10 billion KRW market cap.
This is insane.
He viscerally understood why relentless work at the Café of the Dead was necessary.
Knock-knock.
When the clock struck 4 PM, someone rapped on Jeongjikhan’s door. Engrossed in studying day trading strategies, he hadn’t noticed the time.
“Who is it?”
“From KarMa Entertainment.”
Jeongjikhan rushed to open the door, revealing three burly men who scanned his sparse room.
“Not much to move, eh?”
“Who are you?”
“Aren’t you Mr. Jeongjikhan, scheduled to relocate today?”
Since when does KarMa handle moving services? He’d assumed he’d need to hire movers separately. With no prior notice but unable to refuse, he nodded reluctantly.
The crew packed his meager belongings swiftly—within 30 minutes, his studio stood empty.
“Shall we depart?”
“Where’s the officetel located?”
“Didn’t Team Leader Cha brief you?”
“No specifics.”
“Typical. No heads-up again…” The employee sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “Seongsu-dong, Seongdong District.”
Seongsu to Hannam-dong? Practically adjacent—a short bus ride. Jeongjikhan stifled a cheer as they drove off.
Upon arrival, he craned his neck at the 20-story building. Living in a high-rise? After grabbing energy drinks from a convenience store, he offered them to the movers:
“Here, for your trouble.”
“Thanks. Sorry we couldn’t prepare better—didn’t expect you today.”
The movers chuckled, downed the drinks, and handed him a document. Jeongjikhan flinched—the fee demanded 5 units of his Luck (吉).
Free moving was too much to hope for. He signed, triggering a whisper:
-5 Luck (吉) transferred to KarMa Entertainment.
His updated stats materialized:
[Luck (吉): 35]
[Great Luck (大吉): 0]
[Minor Misfortune (小凶): 0]
[Great Misfortune (大凶): 0]
Originally at 32 Luck, he’d earned 18 more at the café—1 Luck every 2–3 coffees brewed. After spending 10 on stocks and 5 on moving, 35 remained.
I’ll save the stock screener for emergencies.
“Do I pay rent here too?”
“Obviously. Nothing’s free.”
Cha Seung-pyo made it sound complimentary…
“Rent’s 50 Luck monthly, utilities included.”
Relief washed over him—earning 18 Luck yesterday meant 540 monthly. Affordable.
At Room 702, his card key triggered a system prompt:
[October 10th: Monthly rent (50 Luck) auto-debited every 10th. Contract duration matches café employment.]
He signed the floating rectangle, and the door swung open to reveal a spacious two-bedroom unit—far beyond his studio expectations.
[Insufficient Luck (吉). Remaining 15 due in 3 days.]
35 vs. 50? No matter—tonight’s shift will cover it. “Let’s go!”
At 9 PM, Jeongjikhan arrived early, mopping floors until footsteps chimed with the doorbell.
“Team Leader?” Cha Seung-pyo entered, nursing fresh scratches.
“Americano, please.”
As Jeongjikhan served him, he noticed the wounds. “Evil spirit?”
“Lost one. Non-standard specimen.”
“I thought reapers were unshakable.”
“Media myths. We’re public servants.”
Jeongjikhan fetched first aid. “Health comes first.”
Cha Seung-pyo tolerated the bandages awkwardly. “You always this nurturing?”
“Habit, I guess.”
The Team Leader’s tone sobered. “Korea’s population shrinks, but trapped spirits multiply—not from aging. Grudges fester, breeding unprecedented evil.”
Jeongjikhan nodded—he’d read the stats: soaring depression, luxury obsessions, loss-aversion culture.
“Guide those who come here,” Cha Seung-pyo urged. “Help them pass on peacefully.”
“We’ll manage,” Jeongjikhan affirmed.
After finishing his coffee, Cha Seung-pyo left—a busy superior checking on his charge.
Decent guy. The media’s grim reaper caricature didn’t capture dutiful civil servants like him.
***
At 9 p.m., Jeongjikhan, who had arrived early at the Café for the Departed, hummed a tune as he prepared to open.
Ding-a-ling— Ding-a-ling—
Footsteps echoed with the entrance chime.
Jeongjikhan, mid-mop, set down his cleaning tools and approached the source.
“Oh? Team Leader.”
“You’re early today.”
Team Leader Cha Seung-pyo glanced around the café before settling into an empty seat.
“Coffee?”
“A hot Americano, please.”
Jeongjikhan hurriedly ground the beans and served the drink. Cha Seung-pyo cradled the mug, eyes shut tight.
Do grim reapers freeze if they’re outside too long? Impossible. Then how do they battle evil spirits?
Jeongjikhan spotted a fresh scratch on Cha’s chin and a wound on his right hand.
“Fought an evil spirit?”
“Yes. Sturdier than expected.”
“Did you send it to the afterlife?”
“It escaped. Not your average spirit.”
Jeongjikhan had assumed grim reapers always maintained dignified control, but even they could be bested. Cha sipped his steaming coffee, thawing his chilled body.
“You feel cold too?”
“Naturally. Their aura’s no ordinary chill.”
“Thought Team 1’s leader would be invincible. Makes you seem more… human.”
“Explain.”
Cha’s gaze sharpened. Jeongjikhan waved his hands frantically.
“Not an insult! Just… relatable. Poor phrasing.”
“……Finished moving in?”
“This afternoon. A heads-up would’ve been nice—your team startled me.”
“They were briefed. Miscommunication, it seems. Keycard?”
“Room 702.”
Cha nodded, savoring his coffee. After a pause, he licked parched lips.
“Impressive skills.”
“The coffee?”
“That too. Didn’t expect you to win hearts on day one.”
“Hearts?”
Cha smiled faintly at Jeongjikhan’s confusion. “Met Ms. Sook-hee en route.”
“You converse with the departed?”
“Problem?”
“Just figured they’d flee someone like you.”
Cha laughed heartily, setting down his mug. “Media paints us as monsters, but we’re civil servants.”
“Civil servants don’t usually return wounded from spirit battles.”
Jeongjikhan fetched ointment and bandages.
“Let me see.”
“They’ll heal.”
“Health comes first. Stay still.”
As Jeongjikhan applied the bandage, Cha stared awkwardly out the window. Growing up caring for his sister Jeong Su-hye had made such gestures feel natural.
Cha cleared his throat. “Always this attentive?”
“Wouldn’t call it ‘attentive.’”
“I reviewed your file during the contract process.”
“Admitting to snooping?”
Jeongjikhan huffed as Cha continued, “You’re consistently considerate.”
“Only when it costs me nothing.”
“Now I see why Kang Moo-chi saved you.”
Jeongjikhan sat calmly opposite Cha, who crossed his arms.
“Korea’s population shrinks, yet the departed increase.”
“Aging population?”
“No. More die clinging to grudges.”
“Ah.”
“More spirits mean more evil ones—their hatred’s unprecedented.”
Jeongjikhan knew the stats: rising depression, global suicide rates, luxury obsessions. Modernity bred spite and self-preservation, eroding past virtues.
Cha locked eyes with him. “We need you, Jeongjikhan.”
At his puzzled look, Cha added bitterly, “Help invited spirits find peace here. Prevent new evil ones.”
The café’s patrons sought resolution, not frozen souls. Jeongjikhan nodded.
“We’ll do our best, Team Leader.”
Cha smiled faintly, drained his coffee, and stood. “Need anything?”
“All good here.”
“Contact me anytime.”
Cha exited, having checked on his recruit despite a hectic schedule.
He’s decent, Jeongjikhan mused. Internet myths maligned grim reapers—they were simply civil servants doing honest work.
