The man who walked into the office wasn’t old at all, maybe mid-thirties, dressed in a suit that fit like it cost more than Ishaan’s monthly rent.
He set a thick folder on the desk and sat down without waiting to be invited to.
“Cho Minseok,” he said, sliding a business card across the desk.
“I want to redevelop a property.
Seonghwa Department Store.”
Kang Jihoon glanced at the card.
“The one that burned down.”
“Thirty years ago.
Before I was even born, basically.” Mr.
Cho leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way that felt practiced rather than natural.
“It was my uncle’s.
He built it up from nothing back in the eighties, made it the biggest thing in that whole district.
Then the fire happened, and he never touched the land again.”
“He just left it standing empty,” Ishaan said.
“Held onto the land, but never rebuilt.
I think it broke something in him, honestly.
He passed two years ago.” Mr.
Cho tapped the folder.
“Left the property to the family.
Which meant six cousins, two aunts, and about a decade of legal fighting before I finally bought everyone else out.”
“That’s a lot of effort for an empty lot,” Baek said.
“You have no idea.
Court dates, mediators, cousins who hadn’t spoken to each other in years suddenly caring very deeply about a burned-down mall.” Mr.
Cho rubbed the back of his neck.
“Took me four years just to get majority ownership.
Two more to buy out the last holdouts.”
“That empty lot is worth more than you’d think, once it’s actually developed.” Mr.
Cho’s mouth curved into something like a smile.
“But it’s not just about the money.
My uncle wanted that district to mean something.
It used to be the center of everything out there before the fire.
I want to finish what he started.”
“Sentimental reasons and profitable ones,” Somi said, not quite a question.
“Is there a rule saying it can’t be both?” Mr.
Cho asked, and there was something almost likable in the way he said it, easy and a little too smooth.
“You’ve hired other firms for this,” Kang Jihoon said.
It wasn’t a question.
“A few.” Mr.
Cho’s smile faded slightly.
“Didn’t work out.
Contractors kept backing out, citing all sorts of reasons.
Funding issues, safety concerns, whatever sounded professional enough to put in an email.”
“And the real reason?” Baek asked.
“I don’t know the real reason.
That’s part of why I’m here.” Mr.
Cho spread his hands.
“Your company has a reputation for handling difficult sites.
I’m asking you to actually look at it, which is more than most people have done.”
“Most firms just take the money and disappear once they realize what they’re dealing with,” Baek said.
“One of them did exactly that,” Mr.
Cho said.
“Took a deposit, sent one guy out for a walkthrough, then stopped answering my calls entirely.”
Kang Jihoon studied him for a long moment.
“We’ll review the property.
No promises beyond that.”
“That’s fair.” Mr.
Cho stood, buttoning his jacket.
“I’ll have my assistant send over anything else you need.”
He left the way he’d come in, unhurried, like a man used to getting what he wanted eventually.
Ishaan walked him to the elevator, and by the time he made it back, the whole team had already spread the folder’s contents across Baek’s desk.
“Okay,” Somi said, scrolling through a map on her tablet.
“This is going to be a headache before we even get to the supernatural part.”
“Show me,” Kang Jihoon said, leaning over her shoulder.
“Property’s not near anything.
Nearest main road is almost a kilometer out.” Somi traced a finger along the screen.
“This whole district got built around the mall originally.
Once it burned, everything died with it, shops, foot traffic, even the bus route, cut about fifteen years ago.
If he wants this district to mean something again, he’s starting from zero.”
“And the building itself is going to be its own problem.” Somi swiped to another page.
“Thirty years of no maintenance, structural decay, water damage probably straight through the frame.
We’re not talking about a cleanup job.
We’re talking full demolition and rebuild, most likely.”
“That’s before we even know what’s actually inside it,” Baek added.
“Right,” Kang Jihoon said.
“Which means whatever’s in there has had thirty years alone in a dead building nobody’s checked on.”
The room went quiet for a second at that.
“When are we going?” Ishaan asked.
“Not tonight,” Kang Jihoon said immediately.
“It’s Sunday.
We’re not doing a first look at night, not on something we know nothing about yet.”
“Agreed,” Baek said.
“Daylight first pass, minimum crew, see what we’re actually dealing with before anyone commits to more.”
“How minimum is minimum?” Ishaan asked.
“You, me, Baek,” Kang Jihoon said.
“Rest of you stay back and keep researching until we know what we’re actually walking into.”
“I’ll pull whatever historical records exist on the site,” Somi said, already typing.
“Ownership history, ownership disputes, anything from before the fire too.”
“I’ll start prepping supplies,” Junho said.
“Won’t know exactly what I need until we’ve seen it, but I’d rather overpack.”
Everyone started drifting back to their own desks after that, the conversation dissolving into smaller pieces, plans within plans.
Ishaan spent the evening at his own desk at home, laptop open, trying to make sense of the intake form Somi had sent him for documentation.
He got through most of it fine.
The last section stopped him cold, a field labeled Visual Confirmation, with no instructions on how it was supposed to work for someone whose main job description was literally seeing things nobody else could.
He scrolled back through a few of the old case files Somi had shared with him, looking for an example to copy.
Baek’s entries just said things like presence confirmed via intent read or no visual, sensory only.
Yuna’s were the same, all sound, no sight.
None of it applied.
He wasn’t reading intent or hearing anything. This story is hosted at g.com.
He was just looking, and apparently nobody on this team had ever had to explain what that meant on paper before him.
He tried filling in a guess, deleted it, tried again, deleted that too.
He called Junho.
“I have a documentation question,” Ishaan said, the second Junho picked up.
“Ask Jihoon,” Junho said, sounding half asleep already.
“1404.
Fourteenth floor.
Knock, he’ll answer.”
“Wait, right now?”
“Paperwork’s due tomorrow morning, right?
Then yeah, right now.” A yawn came through the line.
“I’m going to sleep.
Don’t call me again unless something’s on fire.”
The line went dead before Ishaan could argue.
He grabbed his laptop and headed for the elevator, the paperwork folder tucked under one arm, half convinced this was a terrible idea the whole ride up.
The fourteenth floor hallway was quiet, just the hum of a vending machine somewhere near the stairwell.
He knocked twice before the door opened.
Kang Jihoon stood there in a gray hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly damp, looking nothing like the version of himself that showed up to the office every morning.
The smell of instant ramen drifted out past him into the hallway.
“Am I catching you at a bad time?” Ishaan asked, already regretting the whole trip.
“No.
Come in.” Kang Jihoon stepped aside, leaving the door open behind him.
Ishaan followed him into a kitchen that looked barely lived in, one pot on the stove, steam curling up from it.
A single mug sat by the sink, the only sign anyone actually cooked here more than once a week.
“Sorry, Mr.
Kang, I just—” Ishaan held up the laptop.
“I had a question about the intake form.
The visual confirmation section.
I wasn’t sure how to fill it out.”
“Write it after you actually see something,” Kang Jihoon said, glancing at the screen.
“Don’t guess ahead of time.
If you speculate and it turns out wrong, that goes on record too, and it makes the whole file less reliable.”
“Right.
That makes sense.” Ishaan typed a quick note to himself, then glanced toward the stove without quite meaning to.
The noodles had gone soft, sitting untouched in the pot, like Kang Jihoon had abandoned them the second the knock came.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Ishaan said slowly, “but do you always eat instant ramen?”
“I’d prefer not to answer that,” Kang Jihoon said, entirely serious, like the question had genuinely caught him off guard.
“Okay.
Sorry.” Ishaan closed the laptop, already backing toward the door.
“Thanks for the help.
I’ll get out of your way.”
Kang Jihoon didn’t say anything else, just nodded once as the door clicked shut behind him.
Alone again, Kang Jihoon stood at the stove for a long moment, one hand coming up to rub across his face.
He looked down at the pot, water gone slightly cloudy, noodles softening past the point he usually liked them.
He glanced toward the door Ishaan had just walked out of, then back at the pot, like the two things were somehow connected.
“Well,” he said, to absolutely nobody.
“This is the only thing I actually know how to cook.”