By Ji-eun
There are days when the cafe feels like a normal place.
The smell of roasting coffee mingles with the steam from the machine. Golden morning light streams in through the old windows, illuminating the dark wood counter my grandmother polished with her own hands. The cups clink. The radio plays soft K-pop from the 2000s. And for a few brief minutes, I manage to pretend I'm just a 25-year-old barista, trying to keep a small business alive in the middle of Seoul.
But then I turn and see the customer in the corner.
Same as always.
Dokkaebi with golden eyes. Hair as black as pitch. Smile that seems to know something I don't. He sits there every night, as if time stands still for him. He drinks his coffee black. Never asks for sugar. Never pays—but he always leaves an old coin on the table. One no one uses anymore.
And me?
I try not to look. Because every time I look at it, I feel a strange warmth in my chest. And it's not just him. It's the entire cafe.
This place has never been normal.
My name is Ji-eun, and three months ago, I inherited the Lost Hunters Cafe from my grandmother—that woman everyone said was "a little crazy," but who, deep down, everyone feared. She disappeared without a trace, leaving behind only a key, a recipe book with names in Hanja that no one understands, and a warning scrawled on the last page:
"If the cafe opens, they will come. And if you can see, you're next."
At the time, I thought it was a metaphor.
Now, I know it was a warning.
Because I can see.
Not like everyone else. I see what's behind. The dark aura surrounding someone being possessed. The unblinking eyes. The shadows that move on their own. And sometimes... things that shouldn't be there.
Like the creature that walked in today.
She arrived around noon. She looked like an ordinary woman—middle-aged, with a gray coat, her hair tied in a messy bun. She ordered an Americano with oat milk.
"I'm tired," she said, rubbing her eyes. "Like I haven't slept in weeks."
I smiled, as I always do.
"The coffee will help."
But as I brewed it, I felt it.
A chill in the air.
A smell of wet earth, even with the sun outside.
And then, when I looked up to hand her the cup…
Her eyes were black.
Completely black.
As if someone had turned off the light inside her.
"You can see it, can't you?" she whispered. Her voice wasn't hers. It was quieter. Older. "She's here. She's holding me back."
I swallowed.
"Who's holding you back?"
"The woman from the accident. The one who died because he chose her."
And then, with a slow smile, she said,
"But I'll make them suffer. One by one."
My heart raced.
Gwisin.
A mourning ghost. Possessive. Vengeful.
She wasn't the woman.
The woman was the prison.
"Min-jae!" I shouted, banging on the intercom.
"I've detected an anomaly in the hall. Level 3. You need to act quickly."
Her voice came from the hidden speaker in the radio.
"Suah!" I shouted again.
"I'm coming down."
She lives in the apartment above the cafe. She trained with taekkyeon masters. And she hates it when I interrupt her breakfast.
But there was no time.
The woman—the gwisin—stood up. The cup fell to the floor. Coffee ran down like blood. And then she stretched out her hand, and the shadow on the floor moved on its own, creeping up the walls like spilled paint.
"You can't stop me," she whispered. "I've already killed three. And you'll be the fourth."
I ran behind the counter. I opened the secret drawer. I grabbed the silver kettle—the one my grandmother used. I added dried spirit brine leaves (it looks like chamomile, but burns like fire) and poured boiling water.
The tea began to glow pale blue.
"That won't save you," she laughed.
But I knew: every creature has a weakness.
And the gwisin's is the unspoken truth.
"You don't want revenge," I said, holding the cup with both hands. "You want someone to hear your pain."
She hesitated.
"That's a lie."
"You died in a car accident. But it wasn't by chance. It was out of jealousy. Someone pushed you. And no one believed you."
Her eyes trembled. The shadow on the floor trembled with her.
"How do you know…?"
"Because I see," I said, and threw the tea.
The liquid flew like a thread of light.
It hit her chest.
She screamed—a sound that wasn't human.
The black aura shattered.
The woman collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
I breathed.
I managed.
But then…
I heard a sound.
A laugh.
Low. Deep.
Coming from outside.
I went to the window.
The street was empty.
The sky, darkening too soon.
And in the reflection of the glass…
He was there.
Not the dokkaebi from the corner.
Another one.
Taller.
Darker.
With an ancient straw hat and eyes that glowed like embers.
And in his hands, a black iron staff, studded with symbols that made my skin burn just looking at it.
He smiled.
And with a slow movement, he touched the glass with the tip of the staff.
A crack appeared.
Outside.
As if the whole world had shuddered.
"You did well today, little hunter," he said, his voice echoing in my mind.
"But you still don't understand.
They're not the monsters.
We are."
And then...
He was gone.
As if he'd never been there.
Min-jae rushed in, followed by Suah, fists ready.
"Who was that?!" she screamed.
I looked at the spot where he'd been.
"I don't know," I whispered.
"But he called me 'next.'"
And for the first time since I inherited this cafe...
I was afraid.
Not of dying.
But of discovering who my grandmother really was.
And what this coffee truly protects.