Chapter 15: Possession is in My Nature (2)

“Ah..”

I ran into 202.

“Hello?”

I kept the greeting simple. I wanted to ask how she was doing, but… after barging into my room possessed, wailing ‘Mom, I want to die, what do I do?’ and confessing it all—

I figured I’d best not bring it up.

“I-I’m not crazy.”

What kind of person opens a conversation like that?

“Ah, yes. Of course. That’s good.”

“I-I mean it!”

“Yeah, you seem fine.”

“You won’t… spread rumors, right?”

“Nope.”

I wasn’t about to gossip. Still, I kind of wished she’d just move out already.

But wanting that out loud would make me a jerk, so I kept it in.

“You… you’re really okay? I didn’t cause too much trouble?”

“It’s fine.”

Sure, she drooled on my floor, waved a kitchen knife around, stripped down and dressed again like a broken doll…

A lot of embarrassing stuff, really.

But hey—I’d punched a hole through a wall myself. Who was I to judge?

“…So, uh. What are you doing?”

“Going for a walk.”

That morning I’d stocked up on 1+1 ramen from the convenience store.

It was rainy season, the night had poured buckets, and though it was July, the morning was surprisingly cool as the sun finally came out.

Perfect walking weather.

“And that flowerpot?”

“Carrying flowerpots on walks is my hobby.”

In my hands was the fairy’s dicot seedling, poking up a little sprout about the length of a fingertip.

Every time I walked, it swayed happily. Apparently, walking with it helped it “hatch” faster.

“You really… take it out walking?”

“I love you.”

“…Eh?!”

She looked flustered.

Okay, yeah, that sounded cringe. I usually only said it to the plant, but I decided to throw it out just to mess with her.

“Ah—I say that to the pot sometimes. Feels like it grows faster. You know the onion experiment?”

“…You’re not saying that to some BTS poster of Dean or Amin or whatever?”

“…What?”

“N-nothing! Have a nice walk!”

…Guess she really did misunderstand my posters.

Anyway, after walking for a while I got a message:

On my way back, I spotted 202 coming out of the convenience store with bags full of snacks.

She noticed me, hesitated, then handed me a bag of chips.

“Uh, what’s this?”

“Take it. I don’t like this flavor.”

“Then why’d you buy it?”

“It was 2+1. I didn’t want three bags of the same one… thought maybe I’d eat it when I got hungry, but nah. If you don’t like it, toss it!”

“…Alright, thanks. I’ll eat it.”

Made sense. Who hasn’t grabbed some weird extra in a 2+1 deal?

“Consider it hush money.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You know… to keep quiet about… that.”

…Yeah, she was definitely embarrassed about barging into my place possessed.

Giving snacks as bribes—straight out of kindergarten.

Before I could reply, she remembered something and ducked back into the store.

Good chance for me to snap a photo of the sprout. It was growing well, a fresh green, swaying cheerfully even in this gray neighborhood.

Click.

“…Hug me. Oof?!”

“…What?”

I turned. 202 was heading home, but when she noticed me take the picture, she blurted out, “Hug me.”

“…Eh?”

“N-no! I mean, what are you doing?”

“Taking a picture with the plant.”

Maybe my phone’s capacitive screen glitched, because—

Click.

Another shot went off.

And at the exact moment the flash popped—

“Hug me! Ah—”

“…Did you just…?”

Every time the flash went off, she reflexively blurted “Hug me.”

She realized it too, went pale, and started stammering.

“Th-th-that! U-uh! Why do you tell your plant you love it, huh?!”

…She was trying to cover one weird outburst by pointing out mine. Didn’t make her seem less weird, though.

“I just don’t have anyone else to say it to. Have you ever told anyone you love them, 202?”

“…N-no…”

“Most people can’t even say it in the ‘Happy birthday, dear so-and-so, we love you~’ part of the song. Scares them.

Makes them feel like they’re losing something. So I just say it to a plant. No risk, no pressure.”

I’d even lectured students about it before.

Not that I’d ever said it to my parents myself. Grew up in a house where that kind of thing just wasn’t natural.

“…Why not just get a girlfriend?”

“Too much hassle leaving the house. Not like there’s someone who’d just lie around all day in a tiny room with me.”

“…Then why not get… an intimate partner?”

Girlfriend, intimate partner—same thing, right? But she’d clearly hesitated. Probably almost said boyfriend and thought better of it, trying to be polite.

“That’s the kind of advice you give only if you’re volunteering yourself.”

“…Eh? W-wait. Do you… like me?”

That was the first time I’d seen her grin. And the grin said, Go on, prove it.

“Yeah, you’re on my mind.”

“Eh—ehhhh?! M-me?! R-really?!”

And just like that, she was flustered.

Which was fair. She had, after all, once barged in waving a knife. Not exactly forgettable.

She got embarrassed, changed the subject. “…Anyway, thank you.”

“For what?”

“J-just… thanks!”

…If I snapped another picture right now, she’d probably blurt “Hug me” again.

Some kind of leftover echo of the wraith’s possession?

***

[To all the fans who’ve waited so long, I love you all so much. I… I’ll work harder than ever to make up for the time I couldn’t be active. Please support me a lot.]

Daya’s back.

Her emotional interview became a hot topic.

A sasaeng fan once leaked photos of her burns—her arms, back, and neck. Not her face, but the images showed the scars, and her fans accepted her agency’s decision to keep her out of the public eye.

‘She’s a beautiful girl singing about dreams and love, but her appearance became something that some people might find unpleasant.’

Even her fandom came to that conclusion.

[“Ugh, she’s really back.”]

The other four members of the group hugged Daya, tears streaming down their faces.

It’s pretty touching.

The scars weren’t completely gone, but she could wear sleeveless tops now. In a situation where even a single mark could end her career, her skin had mostly recovered.

It must’ve been a good treatment.

[“And to the anonymous benefactor from Daejeon who sent me the new medicine, thank you so much once again.”]

“Hm.”

They must’ve figured out it was sent from Daejeon. Every year-end, there’s an “angel” in my hometown who donates tens of millions of won to the local community center.

That’s me.

There was even a thief who tried to steal the donation money, that’s how famous it is.

The community center staff kind of know who it is, even though I ask to remain anonymous. It’s not like it’s impossible to figure out if someone really tried.

A broadcaster who got burned while trying to save someone also used the term “anonymous benefactor,” just like Daya.

Both appeared on air without any mosaic censorship, which was a relief.

“Well… as long as she’s regained her beauty, that’s what matters.”

When I sent it, I imagined Daya, a top-tier idol, showering me with gratitude and affection.

But just seeing her happily back on stage, smiling, is enough. It’s more than enough.

[You seem really pleased?]

RiceCookerMan says to me, grinning, as I watch TV.

I wanted to live in a place full of smiles, making those kids happy. It feels good when someone thrives because of my kids.

[You can still do that. You’re more than capable!]

“I wish it had been like that at school, but it was tough. It just wasn’t my thing.”

[When you were fighting, a gate opened briefly, and the enemies were low-level skeleton soldiers, about the level of Room 202! I crushed them all!]

RiceCookerMan, what’s with the context of this conversation? Is your circuit fried?

I’m venting, and you’re talking about gate reports?

Can’t you empathize or understand because you’re a machine? Frustrated, I snapped.

“RiceCooker, you jerk.”

[Yes! I’m RiceCooker!]

“Ugh, whatever.”

Instead of talking to this thing, maybe I should knock on the wall and chat with Room 202 to get closer.

Doesn’t that sound kind of romantic? A heartfelt conversation between a man and a woman, back-to-back with a wall between them…

“Arghhh! Why are you hugging me?! You crazy woman! Die, die, die!”

That girl’s not exactly in a normal state either. I don’t know what she’s banging on, but the wall’s shaking.

“The knife… I should probably keep it safe, right?”

Judging by her state, it’s probably best to hold onto the knife. Sighing, I turned my attention back to the TV.

Daya was crying, unable to hold back her emotions, while the other members wiped their tears. Speaking into the mic, they said:

[“Daya really, really wants to meet the anonymous benefactor in person to say thank you. We’re so grateful too. We know it’s difficult, but…”]

[“I want to meet them in person and thank them. They gave me my life back. My parents, my members…”]

Daya, sobbing and ruining her makeup, spoke directly into the mic. She wants to meet me.

“Geez, that’s awkward, huh?”

<We’re looking for the anonymous benefactor.>

It wasn’t just talk—the group’s official Instagram and their agency were actively searching for me.

The fandom joined in, of course. I’m grateful they’re thankful, but… If I’d wanted recognition, I would’ve included my address, name, and: (27, male, single)