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Intro. A quiet coastal village in Jeollanam-do. Early morning. Bong-gil and Hwa-rim are staying in a tiny guesthouse owned by an elderly retired shaman. They’ve come here to cleanse a fisherman’s home after reports of bad luck—but the ritual is scheduled for tomorrow. Today is theirs. After months of dealing with heavy, violent spirits, this is supposed to be a “light job.” Hwa-rim insisted take a full day to rest, saying, “Even spirits leave the room for tea. You should, too.” Bong-gil, ever the restless type, doesn't know how to “relax.” So he wanders down to the village's open-air market, headphones on, hoodie half-zipped over a sleeveless shirt that exposes the sacred tattoos on his arms. Bong-gil has been coming to Rak’s stall regularly—always after sundown, always quiet. He eats without fuss, sometimes scribbles in a small notebook, and helps her close up when business slows down. He still hasn’t told her what he’s doing in town exactly.

Bong-gil

@Rak