Mu-ryeong’s Spirit

[15+ Content Advisory]
This work contains material that may be inappropriate for readers under 15.
Please proceed under the guidance of a guardian.

***

Tick. Tick.

The empty classroom was swallowed by the creeping dusk. The shadows of the window frame stretched long, and the crimson hues of the setting sun painted the space. In this strangely still moment, as if time itself had paused, Mu-ryeong hesitated, trailing off.@@novelbin@@

“So… in other words…”

Tick. Tick.

The boy sitting across from him remained silent, waiting for him to continue. His lips, perfectly shaped, carried an unsettling stillness. His bangs cast a shadow over his eyes, his gaze was sunken, and his skin was so pale it was almost ghostly white.

Tick. Tick.

“…Your shoulders feel heavy?”

Even after Mu-ryeong finally spoke, the boy showed no reaction. He only stared at him with ink-dark eyes, deep and unreadable. Silky strands of his hair slid down, cascading over his shoulders.

“…Yeah.”

Tick. Tick.

“….”

Why? Why did that single syllable feel so raw and unsettling? It wasn’t whispered into his ear, yet it sent a shiver down his spine, as if it had been spoken far too close.

Tick. Tick.

Mu-ryeong forced himself to look away, lowering his gaze as if nothing was wrong. The name tag pinned to the boy’s chest read Ki Hwan-young. But even that was half-obscured by the strands of his unruly hair.

“If your shoulders feel heavy… shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”

Tick. Tick.

What should I do?

His throat felt dry. He clenched and unclenched his hands, but no solution came to mind. Even his attempt to lighten the mood failed to elicit any response from Hwan-young.

Tick. Tick.

“….”

With no other choice, Mu-ryeong swallowed dryly and slowly lifted his gaze. He made sure to keep his expression friendly, not wanting to provoke any wariness in Hwan-young. But his eyes weren’t on Hwan-young’s face—they were fixed on his shoulders.

Tick. Tick.

“….”

Tick. Tick.

“….”

Tick. Tick.

“….”

Tick…

“….”

Tick.

Silence fell between them. Even the ticking of the classroom clock echoed like rolling thunder. The long strands of Hwan-young’s hair spilled down his shoulders, stretching over the desk like spilled ink.

…Tick.

“….”

Their eyes met. Hwan-young tilted his head to the side, then slowly straightened it again. The movement was followed by an eerie, creaking shift. His gaze turned, exposing the stark red of his sclera. Drip. Drip. Droplets of blood clung to the grotesquely long fingernails, sticky and dark.

Tick.

“….”

Mu-ryeong steadied his breath, unable to say a word. Hwan-young’s gaze lingered, heavy and unmoving, but all Mu-ryeong could do was tighten his fist.

How could he say it?

How could he possibly tell him that ever since he walked in, a ghost with long, tangled hair had been clinging to his back—

Gnawing on his shoulders?
***

Two days earlier. Haeyeon High School’s new building.

Under the dim glow of the moon, the hallways remained eerily quiet. It was still early morning, and the silence was only broken by the occasional gust of wind rattling the locked windows. Outside, leaves rustled faintly, and now and then, the old window frames shuddered against the night air.

A student moved cautiously through the hallway, steps wavering. One step. Then another. His slow, unsteady gait felt almost as if he weren’t moving of his own will. His gaze, unfocused, drifted into empty space.

“…Where… can’t….”

His voice—whether a whisper or a moan—was barely audible. His lips moved repeatedly, but most of his words were lost, dissolving into faint breaths. Staggering. Staggering. He walked as if he were drunk, then suddenly stopped in front of a window at the end of the corridor.

“Here…”

The window was just low enough that someone could easily climb over if they curled up slightly. For a taller person, a simple step up would be enough to get through.

Click. The lock released. He hadn’t even touched it. Screech. The window creaked open, letting in the damp night air.

“…Here?”

His hesitation lasted only a moment.

In the blink of an eye, the student placed his hands on the windowsill and lifted one leg over. His movements were swift and precise, unlike his earlier staggering. He followed with his other leg, leaning forward without a hint of hesitation.

Tilt.

As his upper body tipped forward, time seemed to slow. His fingers loosened from the frame, and in his vacant gaze, a faint trace of relief flickered. Yes. This is right.

Just as his eyes were about to close—

“No!”

Whoosh.

A burst of blue flames ignited in midair. The flickering fire wrapped swiftly around the student’s hands, feet, and bag. His body, which had been moments away from falling, froze in midair.

And then—

"……!"

A rough hand grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him backward with force. As if that wasn’t enough, another arm wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him in. His body, which had been on the verge of tumbling out the window, collapsed inward instead.

Thud!

With a loud crash, the student sprawled onto the hallway floor. More precisely, he had landed lightly on his backside, cushioned by someone else’s body. The person who had thrown themselves at him groaned in pain as they tried to sit up.

“Ugh… That hurt.”

“……”

“Damn… What, do you have rocks in your bag or something…?”

Floating embers flickered into existence. First two, then three—small flames hovering above them, as if watching over them in concern. The student simply stared blankly into space, but a response came from behind him.

“I’m fine. Just hit my elbow, that’s all.”

The voice, gentle yet somehow youthful, carried a softness that eased the eerie air around them. It wavered between that of a boy and a young man, its warmth subtly cutting through the chill. Letting out a quiet sigh, the speaker leaned over and addressed the student.

“Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me…?”

“……”

Their eyes met.

There was no sign of shock in the student’s gaze. No irritation, no unease. He simply stared, vacant and unmoving. The person looking at him—Mu-ryeong—knitted his brows, troubled.

“Ah… Completely possessed.”

The student’s face showed no trace of life. He had been pale before, but not to this extent—this was unnatural. His unfocused stare, his utter lack of reaction despite his fall—none of it made sense.

Letting out a small sigh, Mu-ryeong placed his hand over the student’s eyes.

“Stop tormenting this innocent student and come out.”

“……”

The student’s cheek twitched.

Even though his eyes were covered, Mu-ryeong could tell—he felt wronged. Why? That question hovered in his mind as the student’s lips trembled slightly, moving ever so faintly.

“…I… can’t… find…”

“……”

“…My….”

Mu-ryeong didn’t remove his hand. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his ear closer to the boy’s lips. The fragmented words finally came together, whispered in a voice rough and worn.

“I can’t find my classroom.”

This is supposed to be it. This was my classroom…

“…I can’t find it.”

“……”

Mu-ryeong closed his mouth, lowering his gaze.

He didn’t need to ask what that meant. The voice that kept murmuring the same words, thick with injustice, only pointed to one possibility.

“…What grade and class are you in?”

“…Huh…?”

The floating embers flared, crackling as though rebelling against Mu-ryeong’s question. As if warning him. But Mu-ryeong merely held up a single finger with his free hand, a silent plea for patience.

“If you tell me your grade and class, I’ll take you there myself.”

“…Really?”

“Yes, I’m a student here.”

“…O-okay…”

“But you’ll have to leave that body. How about it?”

“……”

The student hesitated, his cheeks twitching again. Instead of pressing him, Mu-ryeong reached for the bag slung over his shoulder. It was far heavier than expected. No wonder—it was stuffed with more than five thick study books.

“…I don’t know how to leave.”

“What?”

“…I… can’t do that…”

The way he mumbled was too uncertain, too hesitant. A blatant lie, even to the untrained ear. The embers circling Mu-ryeong spun faster, as if to say, See? He’s lying.

Clicking his tongue lightly, Mu-ryeong softened his voice and offered a compromise.

“Then let’s go as you are.”

“……”

“But keep your eyes closed until we get there. That’s all I ask. Can you do that?”

There was no answer, but silence was its own kind of agreement.

Mu-ryeong carefully lifted his hand, confirming that the student’s eyes remained shut before rising to his feet. He reached down, helping the student up. Though unsteady, the boy followed his lead.

“So, what grade are you in?”

“…Third year…”

“And your class?”

“…Class 1…”

“Ah, third-year, class 1.”

Mu-ryeong’s face lit up with a bright smile. His crescent eyes gleamed with warmth, disarming and kind. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he gave a playful wink to the hovering flames.

“Perfect.”

Class 3-1.

The very same class written in the student’s books.