After washing the last dirty dishes, I wiped my hands dry on a thin towel and sat back down on the edge of the bed. The small meal had helped, but the quiet apartment suddenly felt too still.
"Hm, what should I do now?" I questioned out loud, voice soft and melodic in the empty room.
The refrigerator was basically empty now—no more eggs, no carrot, no tomato. The drawers held nothing edible either, not even a pack of instant ramen. I glanced around, frowning. 'Where is the original owner's phone?' Ever since I had woken up in this body an hour or two ago, I hadn't even seen a shadow of one. No charging cable, no case, nothing.
"Maybe she doesn't have one?" I muttered. It figured, given how rundown the place was. Still, it would have been really convenient. I sighed and plopped backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment.
I rested my eyes, letting the unusual peace settle over me. No ringing in my ears. No hallucinations. No crushing guilt hammering at my skull every second. Just… quiet. Finally having this much peace felt almost luxurious. I rolled onto my side, pulled the thin blanket over my shoulders, and drifted off into a light nap.
_+_+_+_+_+_+_
The sky had already darkened into deep indigo by the time a tired employee stepped out of a small convenience store a few blocks away. He wore a thick, worn jacket against the evening chill, shoulders slumped from another long shift.
"Finally done," the man with unkempt hair and unremarkable features muttered to himself. He stretched his arms overhead, joints popping, and began walking down the quiet streets of Seoul.
His name was Han Seorin—a name that often drew confused glances from new people because it sounded distinctly feminine. He was just a normal part-timer trying to scrape by, but tonight his measly pay meant he might have to skip dinner again. He sighed heavily and kept walking, footsteps echoing faintly on the pavement.
He turned into a familiar narrow alleyway, the same shortcut he had taken thousands of times before. The path was dim, lined with overflowing trash bins and flickering streetlights. As he moved deeper, something on the ground caught his eye.
'A fox?'
The question echoed in his mind the moment his gaze landed on it.
At first glance, it looked like an ordinary fox—small, elegant, and impossibly graceful. But the longer he stared, the more something felt… off. Or maybe not off. Just too perfect.
Its fur was a deep crimson, richer and more lacquered than any natural reddish-brown, catching the weak light like polished silk. The tips of its tail and ears faded into soft, pale white, like snow that refused to melt. And its eyes…
They were watching him intently.
Han Seorin took an instinctive step back, cold sweat breaking out along his spine. 'How many people have died from foxes? One? Two? Doesn't matter. I need to get out of here.'
Just as he turned to bolt out of the alley, a voice stopped him cold.
"Stop."
The voice was neither loud nor threatening. Instead, it flowed like warm honey dripping slowly from a spoon—smooth, calm, and carrying an ancient, careful weight. There was softness to it, but beneath that softness lay something refined and deliberate, as if measuring every syllable so as not to frighten a cornered animal.
It didn't sound human.
And yet, it didn't sound entirely inhuman either. If anything, it sounded… noble. Like the voice of someone ancient trying not to scare a frightened child.
Han Seorin froze, heart pounding. He whipped his head around the alley, searching for the speaker, but saw no one. His anxiety spiked. "Where the fuck are you?" he demanded, voice rising.
"Behind you," the voice answered, now dripping with quiet amusement.
He spun around again—still nothing. Except… the fox. It was still there, sitting calmly.
"Ha, don't fuck with me," he muttered, backing away.
"I'm not. I'm right in front of you."
The fox took a few graceful steps forward and stopped just inches away, tilting its head up to look directly at him. Its crimson fur shimmered faintly with red light particles.
"Hello," the voice said again.
Han Seorin furrowed his brows, hesitating. "Are you… Are you this fox?"
The fox released a soft shimmer of faint red lights and nodded once.
"Yes. It's nice to meet you, Han Seorin."
His eyes widened. 'How the fuck did this thing know my name?!'
Unbeknownst to Park Shiwon, who slept peacefully in her rundown apartment just a few buildings away, the scene she had vaguely recalled from the novel was unfolding right now—mere blocks from where she rested.
The two Saintess candidates, one already chosen by the serene Pear Spirit and the other about to be approached by the sly Apple Spirit, lived far closer than either realized.
And their paths were about to cross in ways the spirits themselves had not yet foreseen.