It was a perfect spring day.
Even after sunset, the streets were crowded with people, and the night had lost its chill.
Between the press of bustling bodies, two strange figures appeared out of nowhere—just as the moon slipped behind a veil of clouds.
One was a boy dressed all in black, wearing a dark gat and a black robe. The other was a broad-shouldered man in a worn but pale white dopo.
They walked side by side through the busy streets, yet they brushed past no one and were seen by no one. Not a soul noticed their presence, nor the strangeness of it.
“Why are you following me?”
“What’s wrong with going together? I took care of that child, so I’d like to at least see her off properly.”
Their voices, too, reached no human ear.
“You’re a tiger—why are you so sentimental?”
“What else can I do? I’ll just live the same way I always have.”
“What a strange creature.”
“By the way, Modal, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this. What, about two hundred years?”
“These days, it’s required to wear a grim reaper mask while on duty—something about making humans feel at ease. Well, I guess it’s better than having them scream the moment they see me.”
Modal could have passed for an ordinary fifteen-year-old boy, if not for his faintly bluish skin and lifeless eyes.
He carried something wrapped loosely in cloth under his arm—something dripping with water. A pale foot stuck out from beneath the fabric, dragging along the ground.
It was Haein’s foot.
Yaho glanced at the form uneasily and stretched out a hand.
“What are you doing?”
“It’d be better if I carried her. It’s bad luck for a grim reaper to hold someone who’s returning to life.”
“You really say whatever comes to mind.”
“I’m not wrong, am I?”
In a sense, Hae-in was walking the path between death and life—and Yaho wanted to be the one to see her off, not some reaper.
He eventually pulled her from Modal’s arms and held her himself. Then he lifted a corner of the cloth, leaving a small space for her to breathe.
Just moments ago, she had been pulled from the pond. Now, she was taking shallow, uneven breaths, still deeply asleep.
“…But really, is there any need to rush? You didn’t have to bring her out immediately after arriving.”
“What nonsense. You think this is something we can take our time with? I want to finish this as soon as possible—and I’m sure Park Hae-in would feel the same.”
“…”
“The sooner it’s done, the better for both sides.”
Modal had appeared two days earlier than promised and showed no sign of delaying Haein’s return to the human world.
So quick, in fact, that even Yaho found it disconcerting.
“Still, couldn’t you at least wake her up for a proper farewell—?”
“What good would that do? She’d just cry. Seems she got attached to the humans she was staying with. It was bothersome.”
“Even so, isn’t it too cruel to erase her memories like this?”
“Why are you always so soft on humans? Talking won’t change anything. Nothing will change. And those memories are going to be erased anyway—they’re meaningless.”
Modal wasn’t wrong. But Yaho didn’t like the idea of Hae-in being asleep when her memories were taken.
Even if she were awake, nothing would change. She wouldn’t be able to stop it. Maybe Modal was right—it might be better to send her back quietly like this.
All Yaho could do was brush her damp hair back and dry it, making her more comfortable. There was nothing else he could offer her now.
“This place will do.”
Modal looked around and pointed to a blue sign.
Yaho had no idea what it meant.
“…A police station? What’s that?”
“Think of it as a government office. Anyway, she’ll be safe there. They’ll find her a home and handle the rest.”
“I see.”
“Set her down nearby.”
Yaho propped Hae-in against the transparent glass wall that looked like a door, dispersing the cold air from the ground beneath her.
She wore nothing but the thin cloth draped around her.
Yaho gathered the surrounding warmth and pulled it toward her, enveloping her in a soft heat.
“What about clothes?”
“Oh, right.” Modal glanced around.
“Let’s see… something like what they wear should do.”
Unlike Yaho, Modal just wanted to get this over with. He moved briskly, flicking the sleeve of his black robe.
In an instant, a pair of jeans and a hoodie appeared on Hae-in—clothes like those worn by people passing by. A pair of sneakers materialized next, matching several styles around them.
As Yaho watched, he remembered something Hae-in had grumbled about.
“She said because of you, her car’s still under payments or something… I forget the exact words. Anyway, she told me you owe her for that.”
“You mean her car.”
“She wanted to give you an earful about it, but you never woke her up.”
“Hmm… I can’t recreate that. Can you?”
“I can’t either.”
The two exchanged blank looks, scratching their jaws awkwardly. Creating non-living things wasn’t particularly hard for beings like them—
But…
“To make something, you need to understand its structure. How are we supposed to know how those machines work?”
“Then give her gold or something.”
“Oh, that could work. Jewels are easy enough.”
“Make it a gold bar, a big one!”
“No. That’ll just get her investigated by the police.”
“Huh? Why? Then make it a gold frog.”
Yaho frowned, not understanding, but Modal was too lazy to explain. He flicked his sleeve again, and Haein’s pocket grew noticeably heavier.
It wasn’t perfect compensation, but for a grim reaper, it was the best he could do.
“That should be enough.”
As Modal stepped closer, Yaho took a step back. He knew what came next.
Yaho turned his head away while Modal drew out a pale, bloodless hand from his dark sleeve and pressed it against Haein’s forehead.
The touch of a reaper was cold and unsettling. Haein’s eyelids fluttered as if she might wake, but she didn’t.
The beings who stood over her ensured she would not.
“Park Hae-in, forget everything of the other world. Only then can you return to your life. Humans are better off remembering only human things.”
What spread from Modal’s fingertips wasn’t quite light—it was more like vapor, a faint blue and violet mist.
The power of the underworld.
“…She’s crying. Does that mean she’s conscious?”
“No. Humans often cry when their memories are erased. It’s the same for all of them.”
Do they instinctively know they’re losing something? Or is it just reflex?
Either way, the sight of tears tracing down her cheeks was painful to watch.
Yaho had lived long and seen much, but this was the first time he’d ever witnessed a human’s memories being erased.
What kind of loss is that?
As a being whose own memories were eternal, Yaho couldn’t even imagine it.
Still, the thought of Hae-in forgetting him made him feel—just a little—lonely.
“It’s done. Let’s go.”
When Modal finally lifted his hand, Hae-in was still shedding faint tears.
“…Is it really done?”
“Yes. We have to leave before the moon comes out.”
Modal seemed nervous, urging Yaho to hurry. Yaho looked back once—just once—and then followed.
Only after the two disappeared did the people nearby finally notice Hae-in.
No one knew how long she’d been sitting there.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
By human standards, it was a modest celebration. Few beings could drink with Yaho as an equal, but Modal was one of those rare exceptions—a heavy drinker, despite his teenage appearance.
“Was there no way to erase her memory later?”
Yaho asked suddenly, staring into the empty pond. Modal paused mid-sip and looked at him in disbelief.
“Huh? Would that even be possible by your world’s laws?”
“Of course not.”
“Humans shouldn’t know things beyond their realm. It never ends well. They destroy themselves or cause chaos. Whether or not to erase memories isn’t up to me. Humans can’t live normal lives once they know beings like us exist.”
Modal figured Yaho’s somber mood was just because he’d grown attached to Hae-in. Even when he’d first entrusted her body to Yaho, he’d been unusually attentive.
That was fine when it came to getting things done, but now it made the reaper feel oddly guilty—as if he’d taken something precious away.
Is this how humans feel when a pet cat runs away?
“Hey, if you’re that lonely, why not take a human as your mate?”
“Pfft.”
“What? It’s the only way. If you don’t want their memory erased, make them your partner—bring them into your world. Or train them until they become a celestial being.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Yaho gave a quiet, unreadable laugh. Modal poured more drink and raised a brow.
“Not interested?”
“Not at all.”
Sometimes, mountain spirits took in lost humans out of pity, just as humans took in stray animals.
Most were healed and sent back to the mortal world, but occasionally, affection turned into a bond—an unbreakable connection.
Yaho could have done the same, though it meant he would eventually have to ascend alone after his partner’s death.
It wasn’t unprecedented, though it came with countless restrictions.
Of course, Modal—being a reaper, not a celestial—spoke lightly of such things.
“It’s impossible. I don’t plan on choosing anyone other than Wol as my partner. And even if I did, I’m not strong enough to watch my mate die and still ascend alone.”
“You say that, but plenty manage it.”
“I think I’d rather die with them.”
“…Isn’t enlightenment supposed to mean overcoming even death?”
“It is. But isn’t love what makes death no longer frightening?”
Yaho looked into the empty pond, thinking of Haein—not as a woman, but recalling how deeply she had loved Siyul.
Would she have been content, even if she’d been devoured by that evil spirit—just because she loved him?
He didn’t know. Perhaps that was proof he was still, at heart, just a beast.
“This is why I hate talking to ascetics. You all speak in circles, calling it the law of the universe. It’s exhausting.”
“Everything does come full circle. In the end, neutrality is the answer. But anyway—there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Me? The great tiger who’s mastered enlightenment doesn’t know something?”
Though he worried about Hae-in, Yaho was also concerned for Modal.
Modal was clearly at fault for much of what had happened—but Yaho had seen him scrambling to fix it, restoring things as best he could.
Now that it was finally resolved, Modal looked at peace.
But Siyul still remained—and that was what troubled Yaho. Could they really just leave him alone?
“Modal,” he said quietly.
“One of the reasons you erased that girl’s memory… it was because of Yeomna, wasn’t it? Because her memories must never be read.”
“That’s right. Humans stand before Lord Yeomje after death, and all their memories are read. Only Yeomje can see every detail of a human’s life.”
“Basically, those memories decide what they’ll be reborn as, right?”
“The worst ones go to hell, yes—but generally, that’s how it works. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”
Yeomna—the King of the Underworld—judged the dead and ruled over their sins.
In simple terms, this incident had broken divine law. They had deceived a god.
Hae-in wouldn’t care about that—but if word got out, Modal would be erased. That was the real reason he’d been so desperate to wipe her memories clean.
If she kept them and died too soon—before Modal could act—and was brought before Yeomje by another reaper, then…
If her memories were read, it would be like leaving incriminating evidence in Yeomna’s hands.
“…By the way, when’s your reincarnation?”
“Thirty-seven years left. I’m sick of being a reaper.”
But the real problem was—Modal didn’t know there was another piece of evidence left behind.
He thought it was over. But it wasn’t.
“Once you shed your duties as a reaper, are your sins erased too?”
“What do you mean?”
“When we ascend, our past sins on earth are no longer judged. Is it the same for you?”
“Oh, yeah. Once you enter the cycle of rebirth, all sins and tasks from your time as a reaper are cleared. Unless you kill yourself and take up the duty again.”
“I see…”
Watching his friend drink freely, confident that everything was fine, Yaho silently hoped Siyul would live at least thirty-seven more years.
If he outlived Modal’s time as a reaper, even Yeomna couldn’t punish him.
As much as I dislike it, I’ll have to check in on that boy sometimes,
Yaho thought.
If I want him to live long, I’ll have to watch over him.
He wondered what price to charge Modal for this trouble.
“Modal.”
“Hm?”
“Why are you so desperate to forget everything and be reborn? You’re always saying how you want to live again.”
“I told you, it’s embarrassing.”
“Tell me, and I’ll do something good for you.”
“Ugh, you’re scheming again. You ascetics always have an agenda…”
It wasn’t much, but Yaho had been wondering about that for centuries. Modal had always refused to say.
But tonight, with drink and relief loosening his tongue, he finally spoke.
“…It’s nothing special.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want to be born again as my mother’s son.”
“Your mother?”
“Yeah. I want to make her happy this time. I won’t die before she does again. I’ll live longer than her, see her off when it’s time, give her grandchildren… That’s the kind of life I want.”
It was such a simple wish that Yaho was at a loss for words. Almost too plain to be real.
He tipped the nearly empty bottle upside down, scowling.
“That’s it?”
“Oh, and I don’t want to die from another plague either. Having your limbs rot off—it’s worse than death. So I’ll stay healthy, no matter what. That’s important too.”
“Well, sure, but you don’t exactly get to choose to be someone’s child.”
“Heh. Secretly… I’ve learned a few things from being a reaper. If you long hard enough for something, you’ll eventually reach it.”
Ah… I see.
Yaho nodded faintly, finishing his last cup.
Because in Hae-in —now back in her original body—he had caught a glimpse of her previous life.
“I see. I understand now… what you mean.”
It felt like when she found Siyul again, Hae-in would be right there beside him.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
It was still spring.
“That’s strange.”
“……”
“Your joint reactions are completely normal.”
Hae-in stared blankly at the hem of the doctor’s white coat. For some reason, that stark white fabric kept catching her eyes.
It looked so familiar—not the doctor himself, but the coat. Of course, it made sense that a doctor’s coat would look familiar, but it was different somehow. The sight of it just wouldn’t leave her mind.
“Ms. Park Hae-in?”
“…Ah, yes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your bones, and your muscles look fine. In fact, you’re so healthy it’s almost unbelievable. I’ve never seen anyone with such perfect results on a full examination.”
The doctor—a man in his mid-thirties—flipped through the reports she’d brought from another hospital and the full check-up results from this university hospital, sounding as though her health itself was the problem.
At this point, Hae-in was tired of that reaction.
Every famous doctor she’d gone to said the same thing: that she was in astonishingly good health.
“Maybe it’s because I don’t drink or smoke…”
“No, even then—how should I put it—it’s rare to see blood this clean, bones this straight, and overall such a beautiful, healthy body. You could live a long life with no illnesses at all if you take care of yourself. Honestly, your results are so perfect I’d want to use them as a textbook example. As a doctor, I’m honestly thrilled by your—uh—physical condition…”
“…Eh.”
“What’s your secret to staying so healthy? Do you, uh, have some special regimen…?”
Hae-in pushed her chair back slightly, her expression hardening as she began to gather her things with one hand. Even just putting her jacket on took a long time.
So this hospital was the same as all the others. She came to find out why her left hand wouldn’t move, but all she ever heard was,
‘You’re so healthy!’
‘Your body’s in perfect shape!’
‘You’re blessed with incredible physical condition!’
“Ah—my apologies. I got carried away with my admiration and forgot myself for a moment…”
“That’s fine.”
“Miss, I understand that you’re frustrated hearing the same answer over and over, but your test results truly are spotless. There’s not a single sign of abnormality. If that’s the case… then there’s only one possibility left.”
“…What’s that?”
Hae-in stopped mid-step, just as she was about to walk out of the exam room.
Every hospital so far had only told her the same thing: they didn’t know the cause. That her body was perfectly fine.
This doctor didn’t look particularly trustworthy either—but if he had an answer, any answer, she would take it.
“In my personal opinion… it could be psychological.”
“You mean… you’re telling me to go see a psychiatrist?”
“If it’s not a physical issue, then we need to consider the possibility of psychological trauma. Perhaps something in your past—”
“I don’t have anything like that! If I did, do you think I’d be going around like this?!”
The words burst out before she could stop herself, and even she was startled by her own shout.
Maybe it was the frustration of her unmoving hand. She’d never been the calmest person to begin with, but lately her temper had gotten worse.
Everything irritated her. She was restless, anxious, and her heart raced constantly. Sometimes the unease was so overwhelming that even breathing felt difficult.
Who could stay calm when one of their hands wouldn’t move for no reason? Yet, she hated herself for acting this way.
“…I’m sorry. But I really don’t think that’s it.”
“Miss, if you react so negatively, we won’t be able to find the cause or treat it. Even a simple consultation might—”
“No, thank you! I’ll be going now.”
Hae-in practically fled the examination room. As she walked briskly down the corridor, she grabbed her limp left hand with her right.
Something—anger or tears, she couldn’t tell—kept welling up, threatening to spill out.
________✧⑅˖♡∘˚˳°↝^._.^_________
Just going to the hospital was exhausting.
It wasn’t just the distance from her house—it was the atmosphere, the sterile air, and the constant cycle of getting no answers that drained her both mentally and physically.
Thinking she might need a break, Hae-in stopped by a café. But as soon as she ordered her coffee, she regretted it—the line behind her kept getting longer.
The barista at the counter looked a little flustered.
“Ah… Miss, would you like some help?”
Only being able to use her right hand meant that even taking out her wallet and pulling out a single card took twice as long.
No—three times as long.
Getting dressed and washing up alone in the morning took five times longer than before. Dishes never came out clean, reading was uncomfortable, and typing was reduced to awkward one-finger pecking.
