But the manager held his tongue.

He wanted to hand in his resignation right then, but if he could just make it through this year, he’d get promoted.

Besides, looking at his colleagues around him, Han-gyeol really was a unicorn you didn’t see often in this industry.

From what others said, there were all sorts of wrecks out there: alcoholics, party-and-women addicts, even drug offenders. Better to deal with someone who�d demand things up front, like Han-gyeol, than to worry every day about which headline would ruin your life.

Gritting his teeth, the manager answered.

“I see~ But why does our Han-gyeol want to see a shaman now?”

“The Star Hero contestant Gwak-hyeol told me to watch out for blood fiends.”

Right. Did Han-gyeol even know his company had been turned upside down because of that show? When he’d suddenly holed up on set demanding to be treated like a leech, the manager had been speechless. Han-gyeol wasn’t broke or homeless—he had the means. Still, the agency couldn’t interfere with where he stayed. But to postpone every scheduled engagement! It was nuts. And then he almost caused a major accident—if the CEO hadn’t stepped in, Han-gyeol would still be on that set.

No wonder the CEO had called repeatedly to get him a bodyguard. So the manager had been running himself ragged trying to find the right awakened protector.

“By the way...”

“You know I don’t believe that stuff.”

Are you kidding? You’re the one who always believes it. The retort stuck in his throat, but the manager swallowed it—his job consisted of nothing but stress, fatigue, and patience.

“But that person who warned you is B-rank, right? It’s only natural to worry.”

“...Yeah. I suppose. I’m looking into finding the highest-ranked person I can.”

“Speaking of which, I’d like them here by the end of this week.”

“...”

The manager was momentarily speechless. Whose dog’s name was a high-ranked awakener? And he hadn’t even found one yet—demanding it by week’s end was pure abuse of power. But his only possible answer was:

“All right. I’ll do my best.”

“Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. The world’s dangerous these days, right? It can’t hurt to be cautious.”

“Mm.”

“But people who see the future aren’t only prophetic awakener types, right?”

Han-gyeol seemed to want reassurance. Since prophetic awakener types were hard to find, maybe he meant at least seeking a shaman.

“Not all shamans are frauds. They just haven’t awakened. I’ve heard the really gifted ones are on par with A-rank prophetic awakener types.”

“Really?”

“Even before awakeners, there was fortune-telling—thousands of years of statistical data. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Really?”

How had good old work-and-home Han-gyeol fallen into superstition? The manager felt like crying.

“So let’s go ask.”

“Really?”

If he said no, Han-gyeol would sneak off alone—risking exposure by reporters and ruining the lie about his injury. The manager nodded.

“Sigh... All right. Let’s go.”

✧

At the fortune-teller’s place in Paju, Han-gyeol heard a shocking message.

“You’re going to die.”

He hadn’t even given his birthdate, but the first thing the seer said upon seeing him was: “You’ll die.”

“You don’t even need to sit down. Turn around and leave. I can’t help you.”

“Why not?”

“Why what? Just go. No need to chart your fate—your lifespan is cut short.”

Han-gyeol, pale, looked at his manager with an expression pleading him to intervene. This time the manager spoke up.

“Ma’am, please—just one reading—”

“No, there’s nothing to see! Something ugly is clinging to you back there and won’t let go!”

“Ugly...?”

Something clinging to his back? Han-gyeol whipped around, frantically patting his back. The seer laughed contemptuously.

“You think it’ll fall off just because you pat it?”

They’d said she was gifted—but when she was so blunt, Han-gyeol was terrified.

‘She’s certain I’ll die?’

The thought that he might die tomorrow drained the color from his mind.

“Get out!”

The seer just yelled at him to scram, and the manager stood flustered. Just then, a staff member who’d heard the commotion approached to escort them out. Han-gyeol dropped to his knees and prostrated himself.

“P-Please help me once! I’ll pay whatever you want!”

He was as good as dead—grasping at any straw.

“You’re really slow to get this, aren’t you?”

“Please do a ritual—anything...!”

“I said no!”

As the seer bellowed, the colorful bells behind her rattled violently.

Clang-clang-clang—

As if wind blew on them alone.

“One hundred million!”

He’d never use that money once dead. He’d worked so hard for it—to live comfortably in old age. He knew in a capitalist society, money could solve almost anything.

“Two hundred million!”

“Han-gyeol...?”

His manager grabbed his arm, alarmed, but Han-gyeol pressed on.

“Three hundred million!”

The offer tripled in an instant.

“I’ll give you three hundred million if you either remove whatever’s attached to me with a ritual or tell me another way to save myself.”

The manager sighed, pinching his forehead. He thought it was useless, but if this seer refused too, they’d have to try someone else. Then a surprisingly gentle voice returned.

“Ahem. Ritual’s hard... But there is one way to avert disaster.”

“What is it?”

“Embrace fire.”

“Fire...?”

“Yes. You cannot avoid dying. Only by meeting a ‘benefactor’ can you be reborn.”

What could that mean? Puzzled, Han-gyeol asked:

“Reborn, as in reincarnation?”

“Maybe. Or you might die and come back.”

So there was a chance to live.

“Then why didn’t you say that from the start?”

“Ha! You think meeting a benefactor is easy?!” The seer slammed the table.

Bang!

“Three hundred million! Hand it over and get out!”

Discarding three hundred million was easier said than done.

✧

“Are you an idiot or what?!”

Even leaving the fortune-teller’s place, Han-gyeol was being berated—the manager was livid. He was convinced the seer had overcharged him knowing he was a celebrity.

“No one in Korea lives here and doesn’t recognize your face—on buses, subways, billboards, it’s plastered everywhere!”

“Okay, okay, calm down.”

“Three hundred million... Why not just keep it? Hell, you could’ve given it to me!”

“...”

When Han-gyeol stared him down, the manager realized: he was the one feeling worst. He closed his mouth.

“Sorry for yelling. But it hurt so much...”

“I get it. Think of it as a ritual fee. Three hundred million for your life isn’t too bad, right?”

“You actually believe that?”

He didn’t want to, but being told he’d die, and twice at that, forced belief. The manager raised his voice again.

“Are you really that dumb? I don’t believe it—it’s a scam. I told you to cover your face before going in!”

“Hyung, didn’t you see those bells behind her shake by themselves when she told me to get out?”

“Could be a trick—maybe a hidden button.”

The manager apparently distrusted everyone.

“Forget it. It’s not your money, so why care?”

“I care because it’s a waste! Ugh!”

He pounded his chest, sighing deeply. The more he did, the heavier Han-gyeol’s heart felt. Sighing to himself, Han-gyeol wondered:

‘What is this fire? What’s clinging to me—is it really a blood fiend?’

Then he recalled the viral Salvation Church video: a mysterious creature incinerated in an instant by one man—S-rank fire awakeners Lee Gong! Han-gyeol tapped his manager urgently.

“Hyung, maybe that fire she meant was a fire awakener?”

“What?”

“Think about it. Blood fiends are taken down by awakeners. I-roi said I should hire a protector awakener, too.”

“...Could be.”

“Of course it is!” I didn’t just lose three hundred million! He felt relief settling in.

“If we hadn’t gone there, you’d just have gotten someone high-ranked, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then it’s settled. Get me a fire awakener.”

“????”

The manager’s eyes rolled back. Realizing he was in deep trouble, but Han-gyeol, oblivious, kept talking.

“Lee Gong would be ideal. How can we get his contact?”

“...”

“How about asking?” his manager started to speak, but Han-gyeol clapped in excitement as another thought struck him.

“Maybe Jegal-bi—she knows Lee Gong! Let’s go through her!”

“...”

The manager wanted to quit again.