Legend [YEONBIN] ✓

twenty-two ; soobin

Why does Choi Yeonjun have to be so frustratingly understanding? I thought.

My phone buzzed again. Another message from Sunghoon.

I’m outside your school, please can we talk?

I raced down the hallway despite the warning bell telling students to return to class. I couldn’t go back right now. My head was pounding with the start of a migraine and though I refused to acknowledge them, the shadows of phantoms still swirled around me. If I stood too still for too long, I could just make out their whispered words.

Murderer.
Monster.
Yokwe. Beast.

The yeowu guseul swung in my pocket as I walked outside. It felt like the beats of my life were being tapped away every time the bead thumped my side.

With the front gate locked, I had to climb over the side wall. With any luck this would get her out of school and help me avoid Sunghoon.

But there was no such luck. As my feet hit the pavement, I heard the shaman’s voice calling me, “Sunbae!” Sunghoon jogged up to me, slightly out of breath.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re not answering my calls.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” I said, turning to walk up the street.

“You shouldn’t be shutting me out,” Sunghoon said. “I can help you.”

Without a word, I walked through a random doorway that led to a narrow staircase beside a dented elevator. The sign beside it gave a directory for the building: a cell phone store, a noraebang, and a small rooftop café.

“Where are we going?” Sunghoon asked.

“Somewhere we can talk in private,” I said. Inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the third floor.

“A noraebang?” Sunghoon asked, confused.

I didn’t reply as the elevator deposited them into a cramped lobby. Bright neon lights flashed against mirrored walls. A small concession stand offered anything from assorted snacks to soda to alcohol. A handwritten sign boasted they had the newest K-pop songs for karaoke. I approached the man sitting behind the counter, which was coated with some sticky substance.

“Can we get a room for an hour?” I asked.

He glanced at me and Sunghoon’s school uniforms, then shrugged and quoted the room price in a lazy drawl. It seemed he didn’t care about truancy as long as they paid.

The room smelled like stale beer and soju, but it was private. I picked up the giant square controller and indiscriminately picked a song. Loud trot music blared out of the speakers. Music of their parents’ era, or at least Sunghoon’s parents. I doubted mom ever listened to music. The lyrics to “Love Battery” danced across the screen, accompanied by generic scenes of flowers and nature.

I turned to Sunghoon. “Talk.”

“These spirits,” Sunghoon began, glancing around. I refused to follow the his gaze, refused to acknowledge the ghosts that haunted me. “You can see them now, can’t you?”

“Did you do it on purpose?” I asked the question that had been gnawing at me.

“I live with the curse of seeing ghosts, why would I wish that on anyone else?” Sunghoon said, tears forming in his eyes.

I let out a sigh as the uncertainty lifted. Of course Sunghoon wouldn’t mean her harm. “What went wrong?”

Sunghoon shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sunbae. I just wasn’t skilled enough to redirect the energy of the talisman. I shouldn’t have even attempted it. I just wanted so badly to help.” He gripped his hands together as if he were praying for absolution. Or begging.

I knew I should reach out; knew I should comfort the shaman with my forgiveness. But I couldn’t.

“Can you get rid of them?” I asked.

“Maybe if we perform a protection ceremony? I think there’s a kut.”

“Sunghoon, I don’t think one of your shaman dances is enough for this.”

“You’d be surprised, and if you gave me the yeowu—”

“No, I’m not giving you the bead. I’m going to tell my mother about it. I should have told her a long time ago.”

“Are you going to tell her about what we did?” Sunghoon whispered, his fear palpable.

“No. I’ve never told my mother about you and I won’t now. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Sunghoon said. “Just remember that I’m here.”

There was a request in Sunghoon’s voice, like he was asking me to believe in him.

The loud instrumentals faded away. The room was silent as I stared at the shaman. And the phantom whispers began again. I reached for the remote to queue up another song and drown them out.

“They’re not new,” Sunghoon said.

That surprised me into meeting Sunghoon’s eyes. “What?”

“These ghosts, they’ve always followed you. The ones who were too bitter to move on. You’re their unfinished business. I’m sorry I never told you. I thought it would be too big a burden.”

My hand shook, and I balled it into a fist. I knew Sunghoon spoke the truth, that he had kept this from me to protect me.

“These ghosts are my problem,” I said. “They’re my burden.”

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I wonder,” Sunghoon  said, “why you can’t seem to trust anyone. Is it your mother?”

“My mother cares about me. I’m all she has.”

“She forces you to be alone because she doesn’t trust the world. But she had hundreds of years to make that choice. Did you really have a choice at all?” Sunghoon’s sad eyes entreated me. But if I admitted the truths in Sunghoon’s observations, I’d be giving up on the facade of control I’d worked so hard to build.

“I like being alone,” I said. But I heard the lie in my voice. No matter how good I was at lying to others, I could never master the skill of lying to myself.