"As you can see, the foundation is sound, but this property needs…" The real estate agent paused, a man named Mr. Lee whose suit looked ten times more expensive than Minho's life savings, wrinkling his nose at a faded hand drawn talisman tacked on the wall. "…let's just call it extensive modernization. Still, the neighborhood is hot. We can move this fast, Mr. Minho."
"That'll be great," Minho muttered, looking up from the laminated card in his hand—his grandmother's death certificate.
At twenty-four, he was technically the head of the family, which meant he was now the proud owner of three things: the dilapidated, debt-ridden property they were currently inspecting which belonged to his grandmother, a drawer full of useless university diplomas that couldn't secure him any job for years forcing him to work odd jobs to make ends meet, and an empty bank account.
Broke, jobless, and an orphan. It was the perfect trifecta of disaster.
He folded the card and shoved into the pocket of his one good suit—he had rushed over straight from his grandmother's funeral as soon as Mr. Lee's call came in.
The plan was simple: Cashout, cut the last ties to his shamanic grandmother, and start fresh.
Minho led the agent past the main room—the site of his grandmother's absurd rituals—and into the storage closet. It was stacked with clay pots, brittle paper charms, and a large, oddly sealed ceramic vessel sat precariously on a shelf.
Mr. Lee gestured wildly with his clipboard while pointing out water damage. "If we clear this place, the value increases by…"
He was saying, when his flailing arm clipped the shelf and the large, sealed ceramic vessel Minho had noticed on stepping into the storage tipped, then slammed onto the floor, shattering instantly. A plume of dust and a strange, cold mist erupting from the fragments.
"…"
"Ah, I—I'm sorry," Mr. Lee muttered, looking terrified.
Minho sighed. "Relax, it's just a pot."
But the man wasn't having any of it. Rattled, he mumbled an excuse and rushed outside to call his office, leaving Minho alone with the broken shards and the creeping, cold mist.
Minho didn't blame him; this was once the residence and shrine of a shaman—his grandmother—now deceased. Who said her ghost wouldn't be haunting the place—or worse, a super evil spirit trapped in the sealed vessel, now free and enraged?
But Minho didn't share any of those beliefs. He never believed in the supernatural, and always thought of his grandmother to be delusional for even thinking she could communicate with the 'spirits' and read fortunes—the only thing she ever got right being he was plagued by a miasma of bad luck. But that much was obvious and didn't need a cleansing ritual like she'd dictated.
Slipping his hands into his pockets as the temperature of the storage turned chiller, Minho used the sole of his worn shoes to gather the shattered shards at a spot out of boredom. But as seconds turned to minutes without signs of Mr. Lee returning, Minho decided to go find him.
He turned around and had just taken the first step towards the entrance, when he suddenly lost his balance due to bad footing, and trying to catch himself from falling, Minho steps on an overturned shard he missed while gathering the rest and slipped on it, falling on his back and hitting his head hard against the floor—twice in recoil.
Minho felt his head go numb the next moment, and his whole body turned rigid. He knew his fall had been fatal, and could feel his consciousness slipping away. That was when it crossed his mind that Mr. Lee might've ditched him and ran away in fear.
'That wimpy bastard… is this how I die?' Minho cursed and thought in sadness. He was the last of his bloodline, and couldn't even boast of living a fulfilling—or at least a comfortable life with the love of his life. His bad luck had finally caught up with him.
'Maybe I should've listened to grandma and let her perform that cleansing ritual on me… not that it matters now…'
"Do not enter is written on the doorway~♪ why can't everyone just go away~♪ except youuuu~ you can stay," Minho slowly began singing in form of a last prayer, accepting his fate, when a figure of ethereal beauty suddenly stepped into his blurred vision.
'Oh, someone's here. Quick, call the ambulance…' Minho mused in renewed vigor, but trailed off when the figure didn't do anything but just stand over him, staring down at him with cold silver eyes, and a passive expression. It was then that he realized three vital things:
One, the figure was naked—he couldn't see it, but from her upper chest up to her head fully exposed a flawless, milky skin.
Two, she had her silky hair cascading over her oval face of ethereal beauty… and it was white. Now, that wasn't very strange, but the point was, who dyes their hair white and breaks into a Shaman's residence naked?
Three, why the heck could he see… seven, eight… nine white fluffy tails waving behind her like they sprouted from her ass?
Was he seeing things now? Or was she a ghost?
Minho was still trying to make sense of it, when the lady lowered herself down on him and leaned forward with an unreasonable expression. He instinctively tried to recoil but his body refused to obey him, and just before everything went blank, he felt something soft—her lips—press against his lips, and a warmth filled his mouth and down his throat, resting somewhere in his stomach.
'Did she just… kiss me?' was Minho's last thought, before his consciousness slipped completely.
[HOST HAS ABSORBED NINE-TAILED FOX ESSENCE BEAD…]
[HOST'S ESSENCE IN CRITICAL CONDITION… 1%]
[ACTIVATE EMERGENCY ESSENCE TRANSFER FROM ESSENCE BEAD… Y/N?]
"…Yes," a hoarse, yet melodious voice escaped the white haired lady's lips as she retracted them from Minho's.
[EMERGENCY ESSENCE TRANSFER IN PROGRESS… %]
[HOST'S ESSENCE STABILIZING… 5%]
[SYSTEM BOOT COMPLETE]