An Office Worker Is Good At Exorcism - Chapter 336

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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 336
Part 7. May All Go Well (3)
(Manager! I’m so sorry!)
Kang Hyung-seok, who was driving, let out a bitter laugh and opened his mouth.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Don’t worry about it.”
(I should have gone with you. Ugh, I’m really sorry.)
He was heading to Choi Yu-ri’s house.
It had been a sudden summons, and so only Kang Hyung-seok, who had a flexible schedule, was able to make the trip.
“That’s just how it is. We can’t treat existing business partners lightly just because a new one is important. And besides, it was a scheduled meeting—there was no way around it.”
(Still…)
Namgoong Min-ah’s voice trailed off with such frustration that it seemed to droop.
(Ugh, I have a feeling you’re going to sign the contract today. I wanted to go too.)
“I’m not sure. But the Manager said he’d count this as a joint achievement anyway.”
(Really?)
“You put in more effort than I did, Min-ah.”
Even as Kang Hyung-seok carried on the casual conversation, he kept an eye on the navigation screen.
He was heading toward a residential district on a weekday afternoon.
With few cars around, driving felt leisurely.
“We’re getting close now. I’ll call you back later. Have a good meeting.”
(Okay.)
“Hang in there. You’ve got this.”
After ending the call, Kang Hyung-seok parked his car in the public parking lot and headed toward Choi Yu-ri’s house.
It was the third time in two days.
The route had become so familiar that he no longer needed to check a map—he could find his way to Choi Yu-ri’s house as easily as he would his own.
Knock, knock.
He rapped on the door, and moments later, Choi Yu-ri unlocked it from inside.
“Welcome.”
Kang Hyung-seok studied her complexion for a moment.
Sunken eyes, dull skin, uncombed hair as if she hadn’t washed it.
She had the typical appearance of someone who hadn’t slept, and since he could guess the reason why, Kang Hyung-seok chose not to mention it.
“Excuse me.”
Kang Hyung-seok stepped inside her house, and after Choi Yu-ri guided him to the dining table in the living room, she began preparing coffee at the sink.
Bubble, bubble, bubble.
As Choi Yu-ri heated water in a coffee pot and prepared a hand-drip coffee, she broached the subject.
“I tried the method you showed me last night.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know this would happen? How much did you already know?”
Choi Yu-ri fitted a paper filter into the dripper as she spoke, and Kang Hyung-seok glanced toward the tightly closed workshop door before answering.
“As much as you suspected.”
“Hm.”
“Is this inconvenient for you?”
“Not at all. It’s just… phew!”
Choi Yu-ri exhaled heavily and poured water over the dripper filled with coffee beans.
Though each tool appeared crude in quality, her skill was genuine—the rich, aromatic scent of the ground coffee quickly filled the house with a weighty presence.
“I saw a friend last night. She pointed to a notebook.”
“….”
“I’d already suspected it, actually. Why she asked me to do this, and what your friend wanted to convey to me.”
Kang Hyung-seok watched silently as Choi Yu-ri prepared the coffee, his gaze fixed on her back.
She carried no extraordinary burden.
She had never harbored a deep grudge against anyone, nor had anyone wished her dead with such intensity.
She was not cursed, nor had she picked up a Vengeful Spirit from some dangerous place.
She was simply one of many ordinary people carrying tragic circumstances.
“She was a friend I’d promised to attend the same university with. We loved drawing manga together, and we swore we’d get into our dream schools and succeed side by side.”
Unfortunately, neither of their dreams came to fruition.
Her friend took her own life, while Choi Yu-ri chose mother-of-pearl inlay work instead of drawing.
There were fewer competitors in that field, and since it wasn’t entirely divorced from art, it seemed like the more practical path.
“But there’s one thing I don’t understand. I know she had something to tell me, but I wonder if she really couldn’t ascend just because of that.”
“It wasn’t trivial.”
Choi Yu-ri’s hand, which had been pouring water into the dripper, stilled.
“…What do you mean?”
“Abandoning a dream is not a light matter.”
Choi Yu-ri turned her head to look at Kang Hyung-seok.
Her face had grown rigid, her eyes trembling.
“Not everyone can do what they want. Sometimes you choose a different path. But that doesn’t make abandoning a dream something trivial enough to dismiss lightly.”
Kang Hyung-seok spoke calmly, meeting her gaze as though peering into the depths of her eyes.
“You know this better than anyone, since you’re the one who lived it.”
A clear ring echoed.
The Shaman’s Bell chimed, and Kang Hyung-seok felt the spirit settle within him.
He saw no visions, heard no phantom voices.
Instead, Choi Yu-ri’s emotions transmitted to him with such piercing clarity that it was almost unbearable.
“It must have been tremendous pain. You cried so much that day.”
Choi Yu-ri’s jaw loosened, and tears began to well in her eyes.
“You discovered a talent for mother-of-pearl inlay work, something you’d learned by chance, and you thought it had opened a path for you to survive. Fortunately, the photos you posted on social media received decent responses too.”
Choi Yu-ri, who had been listening quietly, clenched her teeth hard and cast a sharp look at him.
“That’s not wrong, is it?”
“I never said it was wrong.”
“Then what are you trying to say? I finally found something that could earn me a living—I can’t chase my dreams again, can I?”
“You could try.”
“And if I lose everything chasing two rabbits at once? Who’s going to take responsibility?”
Kang Hyung-seok held her gaze and spoke in a quiet voice.
“No one can bear responsibility for this.”
Disappointment bloomed across Choi Yu-ri’s face in that instant.
“But you won’t have regrets.”
Choi Yu-ri stared at me with a rigid expression, and I continued, glancing around the room where the workshop was located.
“Attachment is resentment. Perhaps clinging to something just enough that no resentment remains is itself a way of living.”
I had witnessed far too many beings left with attachment and harboring resentment.
Unfulfilled dreams are also attachments.
But unlike Vengeful Spirits, the living can dissolve their attachments through their own effort.
“I’m not saying you should abandon the present for your dream. I simply hope you won’t give up on it entirely.”
Heavy silence. Choi Yu-ri’s eyes grew increasingly red.
“Hah.”
She exhaled a burning breath, roughly wiping her eyes before burying her face in her palms.
Breathing deeply in that position, her voice emerged strained and muffled.
“What about my friend?”
“If you abandon your dream, I will perform a proper ritual for her ascension.”
“….”
“If not, your friend will depart in peace simply by seeing you look toward your dream once more.”
This was all I wanted to say.
Even the dead are cheering for your dream.
Namgoong Min-ah, who still lives, is genuinely wishing for your happiness.
“I won’t force anything. I’ll do whatever you wish.”
I spoke calmly and waited long for Choi Yu-ri’s answer.
The coffee had gone completely cold, no longer releasing steam, and only the faint aroma lingered in the living room.
Choi Yu-ri opened her mouth only when the coffee beans in the dripper had withered and dried.
“My friend. She took her own life. Can you just resolve that resentment for her?”
A friend whose dream was crushed by her parents’ coercion, who ended her own life.
Just as Ji-su thought of Choi Yu-ri, she too had been thinking of her friend.
“Gladly.”
I rose from the dining chair.
I hadn’t managed a single sip of coffee, but that hardly mattered.
As I pulled my car keys from my pocket, Choi Yu-ri hurried into the room and emerged wearing only her coat.
***
The friend’s house was not particularly close.
An hour’s drive away.
It was south of Icheon in Gyeonggi Province—an empty rental house with a courtyard.
The tree itself was ancient, but the saw marks etched clearly into the trunk were relatively recent.
A soft whisper of wind.
Choi Yu-ri ran her hand over the deep groove, her smile turning bitter.
“I heard somewhere that spirits easily dwell in trees.”
She murmured as if speaking to herself, then lifted her gaze to the thick branches overhead.
She didn’t say it aloud, but her friend had hanged herself from one of those thick branches.
“That’s why I wanted to tell her not to worry about me, that even if I couldn’t pursue art, I’d found another way to make a living.”
Her intentions were pure.
But her friend had wanted something different.
For Choi Yu-ri to walk the path she truly desired and finally find happiness.
I tilted my head back to gaze up at the tree.
With my spiritual sight, I could see the spirit of a young woman perched on the branch, her eyes filled with affection as she looked down at Choi Yu-ri.
“Would it be alright if I read your fortune before performing the ritual?”
“My fortune?”
“Yes. I’ll just examine your auspicious signs and spiritual obstacles.”
Choi Yu-ri hesitated briefly, then provided her birth year, month, day, and hour.
Since I had never formally studied fortune-telling, I analyzed her chart using the perpetual calendar, and soon a faint smile crossed my face.
“You have the Taegeuk Noble Person sign, and the Peony Blade.”
“Is that… bad?”
“No. The Taegeuk Noble Person is a strong auspicious sign. It grants you the strength to endure. You will ultimately achieve what you desire.”
These words were not for Choi Yu-ri alone.
They were also for the spirit watching over her from the tree.
“However, because of the Peony Blade, your talent may not reveal itself easily. Yet someday, like a flower blooming, your abilities will flourish in full, and you are destined to be loved by many.”
Now Choi Yu-ri understood why I was saying these things.
“Will I be alright?”
“You will be. Truly.”
“Will I be able to live well…?”
“Yes. Believe in yourself and hone your skills.”
You are not alone.
Just as the Taegeuk Noble Person brings noble connections, you too have such a destiny.
I hope you will strive to achieve your dreams.
“Thank you.”
Choi Yu-ri’s voice trembled with genuine gratitude.
She sniffled and looked up at the tree, and I gazed in the same direction.
The spirit in the tree was smiling down at me, her expression full of thanks.
The spirit’s face was bright.
There seemed to be no need for a ritual to resolve lingering resentment, yet I took out the Shaman’s Bell.
This was because a different sutra was needed now.
“I will now recite the sutra.”
Choi Yu-ri’s gaze turned toward Kang Hyung-seok, and Kang Hyung-seok’s gaze turned toward the Victim Spirit.
“With the Hundred Salvation Sutra to eliminate misfortune and bring forth the blessing that all things unfold as desired and the future shines bright with great prosperity, I ask that all who hear—both the Victim Spirit and those present—lend me your ears.”
A gentle resonance.
The Shaman’s Bell rang softly.
As spring drew near and the weather grew warmer, the sound carried a gentleness that matched the season’s mild spirit.
“The first month’s original calamity, the second and eighth months’ eight difficulties, the third and ninth months’ thousand thread calamity, the fourth month’s earthly doom, the fifth month’s yellow heaven calamity.”
And Kang Hyung-seok’s long, flowing sutra continued.
It was a sutra as gentle as the sound of the Shaman’s Bell.

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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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