Surviving Bad Customer Service is Easy, Really (1)

The worst enemy of mankind isn't a vengeful spirit, a monster, or a curse.

It's the morning sun.

"Ugh..."

I let out a groan and pulled the blanket over my head. The cheap curtains I bought from the 1,000 won shop were doing a terrible job. A relentless beam of sunlight was piercing through the gap, aiming directly for my eyelids.

I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow.

"Five more minutes... just five..."

Creak... Creak...

From the ceiling above, the sound of fingernails scratching against wood rhythmically filled the room. It was accompanied by a wet, breathing sound.

Haa... Haa...

"Shut it. I'm trying to sleep."

I grabbed a spare pillow and threw it blindly at the ceiling.

Thud.

"Kiek?!"

A startled squeal echoed from above, followed by the sound of something scurrying away.

Peace returned.

I sighed into my mattress. Honestly, spirits these days have no manners. Back in my day, ghosts waited until midnight to haunt people. Now they're doing morning shifts? This economy really is tough on everyone.

I lay there for another ten minutes, trying to enjoy some more sleep. But the biological clock is a cruel mistress. My stomach growled, demanding sustenance.

I kicked the blanket off and sat up, scratching my messy hair.

I yawned, stretching my arms high above my head until my back popped. Then, I shuffled toward the full-length mirror leaning against the cracked wall.

A small, delicate girl reflected back at me.

Pale skin that looked like it hadn't seen the sun in weeks, huge dark eyes with droopy eyelids, and messy, short black hair that stuck out in every direction. The oversized t-shirt I was wearing slipped off one shoulder, revealing a collarbone that looked extremely fragile.

I rubbed my chin. Smooth. No stubble.

"Damn. I'm cute."

I turned my head left and right, admiring the angle.

"Seriously, if I wasn't me, I'd date me. How am I this pretty? It's a crime."

I poked my own cheek. Soft. Squishy.

It had been about three years since I became like this.

Three years since I, a 27-year-old male Onmyoji named Lee Yeon-Woo, stumbled into a High-Grade Ghost Story. I didn't die, obviously. I exorcised the thing, but it left a curse with its dying breath.

So poof.

I went from a 180cm man to a 155cm woman overnight.

Most people would have freaked out. They would have searched for a cure, cried to the heavens, or had an identity crisis.

Me?

I checked my bank account, realized that gender reassignment surgery costs millions of won, and gave up.

And really, is it that big of a deal? In this line of work, I experienced way weirder things than having my gender changed.

The only problem was the people. My old acquaintances, the other exorcists, my family... explaining this to them was a pain in the ass. The pitying looks, the awkward questions, the guys I used to drink soju with suddenly acting weird.

So, I did the logical thing.

I packed my bags and moved to Seoul.

New city, new face, new life. A life where I could live doing the bare minimum, eating junk food, and sleeping 14 hours a day.

The dream.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

I stripped off the t-shirt and walked into the bathroom. The water pressure in this building was garbage, barely a trickle, and the water was cold.

Well, there is no way this shabby place has any heating.

After washing up, I returned to my room to dress.

I opened the wardrobe. It was filled with identical oversized hoodies and... skirts.

I picked out a black pleated skirt and pulled it on.

Some might ask, 'Yeon-Woo, as a former man, doesn't it hurt your pride to wear a skirt?'

After all, in those novels you see online, guys who turn into girls have a mental breakdown about wearing skirts. They talk about "preserving their dignity" or "feeling a draft."

For that, all I have to say is:

Amateurs.

After a shirt, I slid the skirt on and spun around once.

Skirts are the pinnacle of human engineering. They offer absolute freedom. Maximum airflow, and zero constriction in the crotch area. Not that I have anything there anymore, but the phantom memory of tight jeans pinching my soul remains.

Plus. It's cute.

Once the baggy hoodie was on, I turned back to the mirror.

I smoothed out the pleats and struck a pose in front of the dirty mirror again. I tilted my head slightly to the side, smiled, and winked at my reflection.

"Mwah~"

I blew a kiss to my reflection, followed by a wink.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Yeon-Woo, you sinful woman."

I sighed to my reflection, shaking my head in disbelief.

"If beauty was a currency, I'd be a billionaire. It's a tragedy that I'm broke, but at least the world gets to see this face for free. You're welcome, humanity."

I grabbed a white disposable mask from the box on the desk and hooked it behind my ears. I pressed the wire down on my nose, ensuring a tight seal.

It was a tragedy to hide the lower half of this face, really. But a mysterious exorcist needs to look, well, mysterious.

"And seal complete. The world is safe from my charm for another day~"

With my face hidden and my narcissism satisfied, I flopped back onto the bed and picked up my cracked smartphone.

Tap. Tap.

I opened my banking app.

[Balance: 234,500 Won]

I stared at the screen.

234,500 Won.

"..."

I refreshed the page. The number didn't change.

"That can't be right. Didn't I just rob—I mean, receive a legitimate service fee from those high schoolers?"

I tapped my chin, contemplating, a dangerous thought crossing my mind.

'Should I raise my prices?'

50,000 won per head was cheap. Dirt cheap. For a Low-Grade Spirit like the one at that school, the standard market price was at least 500,000 won. I was practically running a charity here.

If I just doubled my fee... No, if I tripled it...

I shook my head violently.

"No. I can't."

It wasn't because I was kind. It was because of the damn market economy.

The supernatural industry in Korea is a cutthroat red ocean.

If I raise my prices to the market standard, why would anyone hire a shady, unlicensed freelancer?

They wouldn't. They would go to the big players.

I tossed the phone onto the bed and began counting on my fingers, listing the giants that were currently strangling my livelihood.

First, there's the Holy Order, backed by the Vatican's Korea Branch.

They are the gold standard. They wear cool black vestments, wield Holy Water, speak Latin perfectly, and have excellent PR. Plus, they do it for "donations", which makes them hard to compete with on price.

Then, there are the Taoist Sects, primarily influenced by the ancient lineages from China.

The Mount Longhu sect or the Wudang disciples. These guys are the old money of the spirit world. They deal with high-tier calamities: dragons, ancient demons, mountain gods... They charge astronomical fees, sure, but they have the prestige. Hiring them is a status symbol for the rich chaebols.

Next, the Onmyou Bureau and the Shinto shrines.

They are annoyingly efficient. Onmyoji clans and Shrine Maidens who specialize in barriers and sealing rituals. They have branch offices in Seoul now, complete with receptionists and loyalty cards. They are the most service-oriented out of the main powers.

Fourth, the Korea Hunter Association.

The local giant. Bureaucracy incarnate. They treat ghosts like resources. They have insurance policies, customer service hotlines, and even a mobile app. They are expensive, but they do any job.

"And finally... the Special Occurrence Response Team."

SORT. The Police. Civil servants. They handle the public cases for free, funded by tax dollars. Sure, they are overworked, understaffed, and take weeks, but you can't beat the price of "free".

"Haa..."

I rubbed my temples.

"If I raise my fee to 200,000 Won, I'm basically begging my clients to call a Priest."

If I charge 200,000 won, a client will think, 'For that price, I might as well add a bit more and hire a licensed exorcist.'

But if I charge 50,000 won...

They think, 'Oh, it's cheap enough to try. If she fails, it is no problem.'

Low margin, high volume. That is my survival strategy.

"Being broke is a sin. Being a broke freelancer is a punishment."

I flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling again.

But the competition wasn't the only reason I had to keep a low profile.

I clenched and unclenched my fist.

I could feel it. The flow of energy inside me.

In the past, my body was a furnace of Pure Yang energy. As a male Onmyoji in his prime, I was a walking sun. I could easily incinerate a High-Grade spirit. My vitality was overflowing, and I could pull all-nighters for a week without dark circles.

But now?

I looked at my pale, slender hand.

My vitality had plummeted.

Women naturally possess a constitution inclined toward Yin. Because of that, my power has dropped by around 60%.

In exchange, my sensitivity to spirits has skyrocketed. Because my body is full of Yin energy now, spirits don't fear me instinctively like they used to. Rather, they see me as a delicious meal.

That's why I have to use more talismans and tools. I can't just overwhelm ghosts with spiritual energy anymore—

Growl...

My stomach protested violently, interrupting my brooding session.

Right. Enough brooding.

I rolled off the bed and shuffled to the mini-fridge in the corner. I prayed to the gods that I had left something edible inside from last night.

I opened the door.

A half-empty bottle of water and a single, withered apple greeted me. The apple looked like it had been through hell. It was wrinkled, brown, and frankly, looked cursed.

"Convenience store it is."

I slammed the fridge shut.

The nearest convenience store was a five-minute walk away.

I slipped my feet into my sneakers, crushing the heels because bending down to tie shoelaces is a hassle, and grabbed my wallet.

"Keys, wallet, talismans..."

I patted my skirt pocket to ensure the stack of yellow paper slips was there.

Click.

I unlocked the lock on my front door.

Creak...

The moment the door opened, the air temperature dropped ten degrees. The hallway was dark, even though it was morning. The lights flickered ominously.

And standing right in front of my door, hovering about three inches off the ground, was a woman.

She had long, unkempt hair covering her face, and her neck was bent at a ninety-degree angle. She was holding a covered pot that smelled of rotting meat.

Oh, and she had no legs.

"..."

"..."

We stared at each other. Well, I stared at her. She stared at my shins.

"Hel... lo..."

Her voice sounded like she had something stuck in her throat.

"New... neigh... bor..."

She extended the pot toward me.

"Ri... ce... cake..."

I looked at the pot. I could hear something wriggling inside.

I looked back at the woman.

I slowly reached up and pulled my mask down, flashing my best customer-service smile.

"Oh my! Rice cakes! You shouldn't have. Thank you, Unnie. I'll eat it well~"

I took the pot of rotting curses with a bright smile.

"By the way, do you happen to need an exorcism? I'm running a discount for neighbors."

The ghost woman stared at me. Her neck creaked as she tilted her head further, confused by my sales pitch.

"Ex... or... cism...?"

"Yes! I offer a full package. Prayers, aura cleaning, and sending you to the afterlife with a smile! For you, I'll even throw in a free Incense stick."

"..."

The woman blinked for a second.

"No... mon... ey..."

She mumbled, then slowly drifted backward, phasing through the door of Unit 404 opposite mine.

"Tch. Cheapskate."

I muttered under my breath and kicked my door shut.

Click.

I placed the ominous pot on my small, wobbly dining table and lifted the lid.

Inside, a lump of black, hair-covered dough was pulsating like a heart. The smell of rotting meat filled the tiny room instantly.

"Ugh, seriously? Hair in the food?"

Most people would throw this away. Or burn it. Or call the police.

But I am Lee Yeon-Woo. And more importantly, I am broke.

I pull a yellow talisman from my pocket.

"The Great Dao is shapeless, yet it births all things. The foul earth shall become fertile soil. Fire of the South, Water of the North—converge and wash away the grudge. Return this offering to its purest form. [Cleanse]."

I slapped the paper onto the lid.

Hiss—!

A sound like sizzling bacon filled the room. Black smoke erupted from the pot, screaming as it dissipated into the air. The foul smell vanished, replaced by the warm, sweet scent of steamed grain.

I lifted the lid.

The wriggling things and the rotting meat were gone. In their place sat a pile of perfectly white, steaming rice cakes.

"Perfect."

I picked one up. It was hot.

"Ideally, I should reheat this to kill any bacteria, but spiritual cleansing kills 99.9% of germs anyway. Probably."

I popped the rice cake into my mouth.

Chew. Chew.

"Mmm. A bit chewy, but not bad."

I grabbed three more cakes, wrapped them in a paper towel, and shoved them into my hoodie pocket. Eating on the go was the hallmark of a busy city woman.

I grabbed my keys and headed out again.

The hallway was empty now. The neighbor from Room 404 was gone.

I walked to the the end of the hall, where the elevator is. The metal doors were covered in rust, and the digital display was flickering between the numbers "4" and "444".

A piece of paper was taped to the button panel.

[Out of Order.]

"Well. Of course it's broken."

I didn't even press the button. Everyone who lived here knew the rules. The elevator was for the "other" residents. If the doors opened for you, it meant you were being invited to a one-way ticket to the underworld.

I turned toward the emergency stairwell.

The heavy fire door creaked as I pushed it open. The stairwell was dimly lit by a single bulb that clearly saw better days, and the concrete steps went down into pitch-black darkness.

"Alright. Let's do this."

I took a bite of my rice cake and began my descent.

Chew, step. Chew, step.

One, two, three...

I counted silently in my head as I descended.

...Eleven, twelve.

I stopped.

My sneakers hovered over the edge of the twelfth step.

Below me, there was one more step.

It looked identical to the others, just a slab of gray concrete.

But I knew better.

The 13th step.

It is one of the classic ghost stories, usually originating in schools.

In the world of the occult, the 13th step is known as a "Gap". It is a temporary bridge that connects the world of the living to the space between dimensions.

There is a legend called the [Fox Ladder]. It says that if you find the hidden 13th step and step on it while making a wish, the wish will be granted.

That is a lie.

Or rather, it is a half-truth that traps the ignorant.

While it grants your wish, it takes your soul in exchange.

"Make... a... wish..."

A sticky whisper crawled into my ears.

"I... will... grant... it..."

I stopped chewing my rice cake and saw a pair of golden eyes appear on the stone step.

"Anything?"

I asked.

The eyes widened, sensing a potential victim.

"Any... thing..."

"Can you deposit 100 billion won into a Shinhan Bank account under the name Lee Yeon-Woo? Tax-free? And legally laundered so the National Tax Service doesn't come knocking?"

"..."

The eyes blinked.

"Banking... laws... are... complicated..."

The voice faltered, sounding genuinely distressed. The golden eyes darted around nervously.

"I... I can give you the love of a handsome chaebol heir..."

My ears twitched. A chaebol heir?

For a split second, a glorious image flashed through my mind. Me, lounging on the deck of a private yacht, wearing sunglasses, tossing 50,000 won bills into the ocean just to watch them fly in the breeze. Unlimited credit cards. Premium Hanwoo beef for dinner every night. No rent. No leaks in the ceiling.

'I could just live as a trophy wife. I wouldn't even have to work. I could just eat expensive sushi and shop all day.'

The temptation was sweet. Sickeningly sweet.

But then, reality crashed back in.

'Wait. No. I'm a guy.'

My soul recoiled. The thought of having to act lovey-dovey with some rich dude, holding hands, and other things?

My pride as a man was currently hanging by a thread, tattered and worn, but it was still there. I could sell my body for labor, but I couldn't sell my soul for romance.

"Pass."

"Then... eternal youth?"

"I'm already cursed into this body. I literally stopped aging three years ago. Next."

"..."

The eyes in the darkness trembled. The entity seemed to be racking its brain, trying to find something that would appeal to a human woman.

"I... I can make your hair... very shiny...?"

I looked at the ghost. Then I looked at my split ends.

For a split second, I hesitated.

'Conditioner is expensive these days...'

But then I remembered my dignity. I am a master of the Arts. I cannot sell my soul for good hair.

"No thanks."

Before the ghost could offer some other deal, I hopped over the empty space where the 13th step was supposed to be, landing firmly on the end of the stairs.

"..."

I felt its gaze on my back before disappearing silently.

Quickly going down the remaining staircases, I thankfully reached the entrance without meeting any other ghosts.

I pulled my hood up and shoved my hands into my pockets.

The neighborhood I lived in, somewhere on the outskirts of Mapo-gu, was a gray zone. It was a place where redevelopment plans went to die. The buildings were old, the streets were narrow and dirty, the sun barely reaching from the tall buildings. The perfect gathering of Yin energy for supernatural entities to live.

"Soju. I need Soju. And a triangle kimbap, too."

I muttered my shopping list like a mantra as I walked the gloomy street.

My destination was the 24-hour convenience store two blocks away.

As I approached, I squinted.

The sign above the store was flickering.

[Conv_nience S_ore 24/7]

The sign was dirty and grimy, some letters faded, and the glass windows were plastered with promotional posters that were yellowed with age.

I pushed the door open.

Ding-dong~

"Welcome..."

A voice drifted from behind the counter. It was a flat, monotone, and tired.

I didn't look at the clerk immediately. My eyes were locked on the prize.

I went straight to the food section.

"Yes! Sale!"

I pumped my fist. The god of fortune was smiling upon me. The "Spicy Lava Chicken" cup noodles were on sale. Buy two, get one free.

I grabbed three cups. Then I moved to the drink section.

"Soju... Soju..."

There was only one bottle left in the fridge. I reached for it.

At the same time, a pale, blue-ish hand reached for the same carton.

"..."

I looked at the hand. The fingernails were black, and the skin was peeling.

I looked up.

Standing next to me was a man in a business suit. His neck was twisted at an odd angle, and tire marks were printed clearly across his white dress shirt.

He glared at me with bloodshot eyes.

"Min... mine..."

He hissed, his grip on the Soju bottle tightening.

"Ajusshi."

I pointed at the price tag.

"This is 1,400 won. Do you have 1,400 won?"

The ghost blinked.

"Mon... ey...?"

"Yes. Do you have it?"

The ghost looked at his pockets. He patted his tattered suit. He realized, with dawning horror, that he had died without his wallet.

"I... I..."

"If you don't have money, let go. First come, first served. That's the law."

I snatched the Soju bottle from the fridge.

"Have a nice afterlife. Look both ways next time~"

I turned on my heel and walked toward the counter, leaving the stunned ghost behind.

I dumped my haul onto the counter. Three cup noodles, one Soju, and a pack of triangle kimbap.

"Calculate this, please."

The clerk stood behind the register.

He was a young man wearing the store's uniform vest. His head was lowered, his bangs covering his eyes. He stood perfectly still, not breathing.

"..."

He didn't move.

"Excuse me? I'm in a rush."

I tapped the counter.

Slowly, the clerk raised his head.

There was no face.

Where his eyes, nose, and mouth should have been, there was only smooth, pale skin. Like an egg.

"..."

The faceless clerk slowly reached out. He picked up the barcode scanner.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He scanned the items with agonizing slowness.

I watched him, my brow furrowing beneath my bangs.

Something was off.

Not the lack of a face. I've seen weird things in Seoul. A faceless part-timer wasn't even in the top 10 weirdest things I've seen lately.

No, what bothered me was the items.

As he scanned the Spicy Lava Chicken noodles, the name on the register display didn't say [Cup Noodles].

It read: [Minced Brain - Spicy Flavor].

I looked at the Soju.

The display read: [Rotten Blood].

I looked at the triangle kimbap.

[Bloodied Tongue - Salted].

"..."

I looked back at the faceless clerk.

He finished scanning and held out a hand. A mouth slowly ripped open on his smooth face, revealing jagged, shark-like teeth.

"That will be... two years of your lifespan. Or... one human arm."

I stared at him.

I stared at the "Bloodied Tongue" kimbap.

I stared at him again.

Then, I let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Haa..."

I scratched the back of my head, messing up my hair even more.

"I can't believe I made such a rookie mistake."

I was so hungry and tired that I hadn't even noticed I'd walked straight into a Ghost Story.