An Office Worker Is Good At Exorcism - Chapter 335

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 335
Part 7. May All Go Well (2)
Vroom.
It was time to head home from work.
Normally I would have driven straight to my Rental House, but the destination marked on my navigation wasn’t there.
It was Choi Yu-ri’s Workshop and residence. I followed the directions while driving, substituting an energy bar for dinner.
Crunch, crunch.
An energy bar studded with almonds was never easy to eat neatly.
Still, hoping this matter would be resolved smoothly, I parked at the Public Parking Lot where I’d left my car during the day.
Then I called Choi Yu-ri on my phone and made my way toward her residence.
Ring, ring, ring.
(Hello?)
“Yes. This is Kang Hyung-seok from Daejeong Materials. I’m nearby now.”
(I’ll be waiting out front.)
“Understood.”
When I arrived, Choi Yu-ri stood in front of her residence wearing a long padded coat.
The two of us exchanged a simple bow in greeting and entered the residence.
I had been here during the day as well.
But now the sun was setting, and the air had grown cooler than it had been then.
Because of this, the Workshop’s atmosphere presented an entirely different face from daytime.
Click.
When Choi Yu-ri closed the door, the atmosphere inside the residence shifted once more.
This time it was the atmosphere that came from the space being severed from the outside world.
“There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you.”
I turned to face her while standing before the shoe rack.
Choi Yu-ri’s face stiffened as she posed a careful question.
“You’ve received the calling, haven’t you?”
I had anticipated even this question, so I nodded silently.
“Sigh.”
Choi Yu-ri then sighed with an “I knew it” expression, and I posed a question to her.
“It seems you visited the Shamanic Temple frequently.”
“…What?”
Choi Yu-ri’s face stiffened, and I opened my mouth while maintaining eye contact with her.
“You must have heard repeatedly that you possess spiritual sensitivity. Each time, there were Shamans saying you needed to receive the calling, and others saying ‘it’s not that serious.'”
Choi Yu-ri’s face turned ashen as if I had pierced straight through to the heart of the matter.
“…How did you know?”
“You asked me. Whether I had received the calling.”
Choi Yu-ri nodded with a face that trembled slightly.
Her eyes held considerable confusion.
It was the look of someone who couldn’t understand how I knew, nor why someone who had received the calling and possessed spiritual power was working as a company employee.
“Aren’t you curious whether I’ve received a god?”
As if to verify Kang Hyung-seok one last time, Choi Yu-ri added the question, and Kang Hyung-seok shook his head heavily.
“You haven’t received one.”
“…How can you be so certain?”
“If you had, you wouldn’t be able to see me like this.”
A true Shaman—even Heo-ju, freshly initiated as a Shaman, wouldn’t be able to look Kang Hyung-seok straight in the eye.
It was a matter of divine hierarchy.
“In any case, now that you understand my situation, I’d appreciate it if you kept this secret from the Company.”
Kang Hyung-seok spoke calmly, but Choi Yu-ri’s expression grew even more rigid.
Though I couldn’t know the magnitude of the god he’d received, I could certainly understand that he was a proper Shaman.
“Even from the woman who came with you?”
“…I’d especially appreciate your discretion there.”
It wasn’t that I distrusted Namgoong Min-ah.
But her reaction would likely differ markedly from Gwak Young-ho’s or Lee Jin-pyung’s, so I wanted to hide it as much as possible.
“Understood.”
Having received her assurance, Kang Hyung-seok smiled, pulling up the corners of his mouth.
But he couldn’t maintain the smile for long and had to broach a heavier subject immediately.
“More importantly, I’d like to know why you called me here.”
Choi Yu-ri’s face darkened.
“That tree you saw during the day—it wasn’t actually brought from my parents’ house.”
“I know.”
Choi Yu-ri looked at Kang Hyung-seok with surprise, then smiled bitterly.
“I’ve been having nightmares. Ever since I brought that tree.”
Kang Hyung-seok regarded Choi Yu-ri silently.
She was someone who possessed a spirit vessel.
She clearly knew the cause of the nightmares, yet she couldn’t bring herself to discard the tree that was the source.
That meant there was certainly a reason for it.
“We should look at the Workshop first.”
“Yes.”
Choi Yu-ri answered heavily, then removed her shoes and entered the Rental House.
She opened the Workshop door, and Kang Hyung-seok, having asked for her permission, stepped inside and stood before the workbench.
It was more organized than when I’d seen it during the day.
Plastic organizers containing wood and mother-of-pearl fragments.
A small bookshelf with worn notebooks tucked inside.
A faint sound.
Kang Hyung-seok retrieved the Shaman’s Bell from his bag.
He shook the Shaman’s Bell while looking at the desk, and Choi Yu-ri’s gaze followed him.
Though the oppressive atmosphere prevented her from speaking, I could tell what she wanted to ask.
What was I seeing?
Was there something to see?
A resonant chime.
I shook the Shaman’s Bell without speaking, my answer conveyed through its vibration alone.
My gaze remained fixed upon the desk.
There, a female Victim Spirit gazed back at me.
Powerless, bearing no deep resentment—a spirit untethered by rage.
It made no sense at first.
Her tongue hung slack, her bare feet caked in earth, her clothes filthy—all signs pointing to a self-inflicted end by hanging.
‘A suicide spirit.’
Yet this Victim Spirit harbored no resentment whatsoever.
Only compassion filled her essence.
That was what troubled me.
‘Who are you?’
As I posed the question in my mind, the Victim Spirit pointed a finger toward Choi Yu-ri.
‘A friend of hers?’
Another chime.
This time, the Shaman’s Bell rang of its own accord, as if affirming the spirit’s plea for aid.
“Just now….”
Startled by the bell’s spontaneous cry, Choi Yu-ri began to speak but caught herself, pressing her lips shut.
In that instant, the Victim Spirit’s eyes glistened with moisture.
Her gaze held genuine pity and sorrow for this woman.
‘May this shaman ask a question?’
About your bond with Choi Yu-ri.
Why you, bearing no lingering attachments, remain at her side, delaying even your own ascension.
A gentle motion.
The spirit’s finger drifted toward the bookshelf.
There, she caressed an old, worn notebook with reverent care—the same one Namgoong Min-ah had mentioned.
In that gesture, I understood much.
Another chime.
The Shaman’s Bell rang once more.
‘Is it unfulfilled dreams in life that became your attachment, preventing ascension? Or….’
I shifted my gaze toward Choi Yu-ri.
She flinched, and the Victim Spirit’s eyes followed to her.
Feeling the spirit’s emotions flow through me, I smiled sadly.
‘I understand now.’
This Victim Spirit could not ascend—not for herself, but for Choi Yu-ri.
They were friends, bound by years of shared dreams.
I knew not what those dreams were, yet this spirit yearned for Choi Yu-ri to achieve them.
“I have one question for you.”
“Yes…?”
I met Choi Yu-ri’s bewildered gaze as I continued.
“Your original dream wasn’t shell craft, was it?”
Choi Yu-ri’s face stiffened abruptly, as though struck by an arrow aimed at her heart.
Having obtained all the answers he needed from her reaction, Kang Hyung-seok rubbed his lips and nodded slowly.
In that moment, the Victim Spirit’s hand reached toward Kang Hyung-seok.
Though invisible to Choi Yu-ri, the Victim Spirit conveyed her desperate plea to him with urgency.
“…I understand.”
Though his words were meant for the Victim Spirit, Choi Yu-ri believed they were directed at her.
“Why? What did I do wrong?”
Kang Hyung-seok shook his head gravely, then shifted his gaze from the Victim Spirit to Choi Yu-ri.
“You mentioned the immediate problem is nightmares, correct?”
“Ah? Yes, yes.”
“They’re dreams in which your friend appears.”
Choi Yu-ri’s expression transformed into that of someone utterly bewildered.
“How could you possibly know that?”
No.
What truly matters now isn’t such trivial details.
Kang Hyung-seok shook his head and met Choi Yu-ri’s eyes directly as he spoke.
“What you need right now isn’t slander. It isn’t your friend’s grudge being resolved either.”
Choi Yu-ri’s brows narrowed, and her lips parted slightly.
Her expression asked: then what on earth is the problem?
“You must hear it directly from her.”
“…Hear what?”
“The wood had a story, and your friend followed it here.”
“My friend did?”
“Yes. Sleep in this room tonight. Place the timber on the work table, and be sure to keep the notebook right at your bedside.”
A long silence fell.
Confusion filled Choi Yu-ri’s eyes, and her hand covering her mouth trembled faintly.
“…Will that be enough?”
“You’ll understand when morning comes.”
Choi Yu-ri gazed at the wood chip for a long time, her expression heavy with thought.
Then she nodded solemnly, and Kang Hyung-seok moved toward the door as though his work here was finished.
“If there’s anything else you need, feel free to contact me again.”
“…Yes.”
Kang Hyung-seok offered Choi Yu-ri a brief farewell and stepped out through the Entrance.
Time had passed, and the sun had set; the surroundings were now shrouded in darkness. Yet this darkness didn’t feel threatening.
‘Fortunately, it wasn’t anything dangerous.’
There was no talk of grudges or curses.
It was simply Choi Yu-ri’s personal matter.
With that thought, Kang Hyung-seok made his way toward the Public Parking Lot.
***
It happened that night.
Following Kang Hyung-seok’s instructions, Choi Yu-ri carried her pillow and blanket from the Bedroom to the Workshop.
The Workshop was cramped, so she pushed the chair flush against the workbench, and the blanket couldn’t fully unfold—its edges crumpled awkwardly.
“Phew—!”
Having completed most of her preparations as if performing a ritual, she gazed at the bookshelf atop the workbench.
All that remained was moving the notebook.
Yet her hand wouldn’t move immediately, because the notebook itself wasn’t anything special.
She’d simply held onto it for so long, and though she now believed it unnecessary, lingering attachment prevented her from discarding it.
It was merely the sort of object everyone possessed at least one of.
“…This is irritating.”
With a soft rustle.
She retrieved the notebook from the bookshelf and placed it near her pillow.
Then she switched off the light, lay down, and turned her body toward the workbench.
A rustling sound.
Sleep didn’t come easily, perhaps because her mind was restless.
Still, Choi Yu-ri tossed and turned in her efforts to fall asleep, finally drifting into shallow slumber.
The peaceful moment didn’t last long.
Tick, tick.
The moment the wall clock announced the arrival of midnight with its soft sound, Choi Yu-ri’s eyes snapped open, her entire body seized by suffocating dread.
Sleep paralysis.
Unlike usual, it didn’t end in a nightmare—pinned by the paralysis, Choi Yu-ri exerted every ounce of her strength trying to move.
But her body, firmly locked in place, wouldn’t budge at all.
That was when it happened.
A rustling sound.
In her eyes, fixed toward the workbench, she saw dirt-caked feet.
“…!”
She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn’t move, and Choi Yu-ri watched with labored breathing as the soles descended toward the floor.
Step, step.
The feet passed her by, moving toward where the back of her head lay.
Then she felt cold hands enveloping her face,
and with a sharp turn.
Her head rotated.
In Choi Yu-ri’s field of vision appeared the lower half of someone crouching.
Dirt-caked feet.
A rope stretched long like a necktie.
And a tongue.
If she could turn her head just a little further, she might have seen the face, but Choi Yu-ri felt she already knew who this was without seeing it.
‘Ji-su?’
Her friend who had ended her own life by hanging.
The gap between the university she’d wanted and the one her parents desired had been vast, and her inability to bridge that difference had been the cause.
We promised to attend the same university.
That friend had become a spirit and appeared before my eyes.
Tears seeped from Choi Yu-ri’s eyes, soaking the pillow, and her pale fingers—nails inverted and missing—entered my field of vision.
And she pointed at the notebook.
There were no words.
Her pale fingers remained on the notebook for a long time, as if desperately hoping her feelings would reach me.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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