"You're still here," Haru said quietly, his voice rough from disbelief. His eyes looked tired, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind them. He was surprised to see Minju floating in his hospital room, still completely present, like she had never left his side.
"Yup!" Minju responded cheerfully, her smile stretching wide. She was upside down, dangling from the ceiling like an acrobat. Her hair tumbled in wild, fluffy puffs around her face as she shrugged. The faint glow from her oversized hoodie made her look almost surreal in the soft morning light filtering through the window. "You snore like a cat, by the way. It's adorable." Her voice rang out playfully, full of teasing energy.
Haru's brows furrowed. "I don't snore," he insisted, trying to sound annoyed.
"Oh, you kind of do," Minju countered, grinning even more. "It's a little adorable, actually. Like a tiny kitten dreaming of chasing mice." She floated closer, tilting her head as if trying to get a better look.
"I said go away," Haru muttered, rubbing his eyes. His voice sounded strained. Every part of him still felt heavy, like remnants of the shock he'd gone through the night before.
Minju floated down slowly, her form wobbling a bit as she shifted to an upright position. She hovered just above his bed, her face bright with mischief. "Rude," she scolded. "You should be grateful. I saved your life, you know." Her tone was matter-of-fact but carried a confident air.
Haru's eyes shot to her with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. "Excuse me?" he asked. His voice was low, cautious, unsure whether he was dreaming or if she was serious.
Minju floated in a slow circle, her hair flowing freely in the air. She crossed her arms in a way that seemed nonchalant but reinforced her point. "Yeah, I totally pulled your soul back into your body when you flatlined for, like, 0.2 seconds." Her lips curled into a smirk. "You're welcome." Her voice was confident, as if she'd just performed an incredible feat.
Haru blinked a few times. "That's… not a thing," he said slowly, feeling the oddity settle deep in his chest.
Minju rolled her eyes. "It is now." Her glow grew just a little brighter.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. His entire body ached from the ordeal. "What do you want?" His tone was weary, full of resignation.
"I already told you," Minju replied, flipping herself around to land softly on the ceiling, then righting herself. She hovered lazily over his bed, mimicking the tone of an overly enthusiastic camp counselor eager to spill big news. "You're going to debut as an idol. For me."
Haru stared at her, mouth open in disbelief. "No. I'm not." His voice was firm, but he looked exhausted.
"Yes, you are," Minju insisted, fluttering closer with determined energy. Her smile was persistent, almost like a challenge. "You're going to debut. We're going to make it happen."
Haru shook his head, feeling a mix of annoyance and anxiety. "I can't dance. I don't sing. And I avoid eye contact with people who talk too loudly. I'm not cut out for it."
Minju waved her hand dismissively. "Perfect. A blank slate! You start fresh. No experience needed."
He stared at her. "I'm not an Etch-a-Sketch," he said, voice flat.
Minju crossed her arms, her glow flickering softly. "You owe me," she said simply, with a hint of seriousness.
Haru's brows raised in surprise. "I didn't ask you to ghost-coach me into K-pop!" His voice cracked slightly, revealing a mix of frustration and disbelief.
Minju's expression grew more serious. "Well, it's not like I asked to die before I could debut either!" She made a dramatic gesture, floating so her hair swung wildly around her. Her words cut sharp as a knife, and her tone brought weight to what she said.
That silenced him. The room grew quiet, thick with unspoken tension. Haru stared at his IV drip, its slow drip echoing the heavy pause between them.
Minju floated in a lazy circle, occasionally phasing through the ceiling fan, seemingly lost in thought. Her presence felt almost tangible, like a stubborn storm refusing to settle.
Finally, she spoke again, her voice softer, tinged with memories. "You know, I wanted it so bad. Not because of the fame or money. It was just… I wanted to meet them. The ones who saved me."
Haru looked confused. "Saved you?"
"Yeah," Minju nodded. "My bias group. The first group of professionals that ever actually stood for me when everyone else turned away. They were there when I was broken inside, when my world fell apart. Their music, the interviews they did—the chaos of everything they stood for—it all made me feel like I belonged somewhere. I dreamt about stepping on the same stage as them. Maybe even breathing the same air someday, just to say I was part of it."
Haru blinked slowly. "That's… pretty intense," he said, trying to process what she was really saying.
Minju snorted. "You think?" she shot back, then added with a small laugh. "Try getting a lightstick tattooed on your ankle when you're fifteen. That's how serious I was. I drew that thing on my ankle day and night, obsessed. It was like a promise I made to myself. Had to have it. To show I was part of the fandom, the team."
Haru looked at her more intently. "You what?"
"Focus!" Minju snapped, rolling her eyes again. Her glow flickered more brightly as she flitted around the room.
Haru groaned loudly. "Look, even if I was interested—which I'm not—and even if I had connections—which I don't—I still wouldn't get anywhere close to debuting. You know that, right?"
Minju grinned. "Well, you do now! I've watched every trainee show, every survival program—literally everything online. I know every fan account. I even watched a bunch of VLive broadcasts. I practically wrote the K-pop trainee handbook in my diary."
Haru raised an eyebrow. "You had a K-pop diary?"
"Yeah. Still do." Minju pointed upward, her smile mischievous. "It's under your hospital bed. Think about that."
Haru hesitated, then looked beneath his bed. There, tucked away, was a pink notebook covered in stickers, blinking faintly with a strange, internal glow.
"Oh, great," Haru muttered, feeling both surprised and annoyed.
"You're welcome," Minju said gleefully, floating behind him with a triumphant grin.
Over the next few days, Haru found himself learning some very strange but very clear truths. First, ghosts do not respect anyone's personal space. They seem to drift through walls and furniture as if they own the place, often startling him when he least expected it. One evening, he had barely sat down to eat when a cold breeze swept over his shoulder. He spun around, only to see Minju casually floating behind the couch, smirking. She had this way of invading his privacy without warning—sometimes popping up in the bathroom mirror or leaning over his bed while he was trying to sleep. It became obvious that ghosts simply don't care about boundaries.
Second, he learned that ghosts apparently don't sleep. Ever. They seem to be awake around the clock, roaming through the house, making weird noises, and messing with him at the worst times. Every time Haru thought he'd get a break and finally rest, Minju would start some new ghostly game or prank at 3 a.m., often waking him up with a loud giggle or a sudden cold touch. The lack of sleep started to wear him down fast. His eyelids drooped in class, and he found himself nodding off during exams. It felt like he had entered a state of permanent exhaustion. The constant wake-up calls, combined with the physical pain from the hospital, left him feeling sore and drained—and dangerously close to humming the chorus of Peach7's latest hit while in the shower. It was a clear sign that his mental state was slipping.
Third, Minju had an incredible knowledge of idols, as if she was Google in ghost form. She knew the names of every member in every rookie group, the backstories of old legends, and even some obscure facts about forgotten trainees. It was like her own personal encyclopedia of K-pop. She "trained" him not in the usual way, but with her weird, ghostly style. One morning, she woke him up at 4 a.m., forcing him to do vocal warm-ups with a rubber glove over his mouth—that was her idea of "training." She critiqued his posture every time he walked, shouting, "You slouch like a dejected manhwa character!" Her attention to detail was relentless. She made him watch old audition clips, then force him to mimic the dance moves while dragging his IV pole as a stand-in backup dancer. Every day, she pushed him harder and harder, turning his simple hospital stay into a bizarre bootcamp.
When Haru finally got discharged from the hospital, he was exhausted beyond words. His body ached from the endless drills, and his mind was foggy from sleep deprivation. Yet, amid all the chaos, he was also starting to notice how close he was to humming along to Peach7 in the shower. That strange group, with its catchy melodies and energetic beats, had been stuck in his head for days now. He knew he was at the edge of losing control, craving just a moment of calm—something to silence the constant barrage of ghostly training and idol trivia.
Back home, everything grew even stranger. His mother greeted him with open arms, wrapping him in a warm hug that felt almost too tight. She had prepared his favorite food, kimchi pancakes, which seemed to taste extra good after all he'd been through. But her face was filled with worry and curiosity. She fired off questions like a machine gun, eager to know every detail of his hospital stay. Meanwhile, his dad actively recorded everything, holding a camera as if he was filming Olympic highlights. "Say something for the vlog, son," his father said with a wide grin. Haru blinked in disbelief. "Dad, you have three subscribers," he pointed out, his voice rough from lack of sleep.
His dad chuckled, ignoring the comment. "And you're one of them. So, say something! Show some love for the fans." Haru rolled his eyes. "I unsubscribed," he muttered under his breath. His parents both laughed, not understanding how serious he was or how exhausted he felt. Meanwhile, Minju zipped through walls as if they weren't there, occasionally making weird ghostly sounds just to mess with his parents. His mom, sensing something unusual, started burning sage in the hallway "just in case," whispering about ghost prevention and spiritual safety.
One night, she leaned in close and whispered, "Do we have ghosts?" Her voice was quiet, almost cautious.
Haru nearly choked on his rice. He looked at her, wide-eyed. "Wh-what makes you say that?" he managed to ask.
She pointed to his bathroom mirror, which was covered in lipstick hearts and little scribbles. "I found this," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Haru looked up and saw Minju wink from behind the fridge. It was impossible not to notice her mischievous smirk.
"I… had a weird dream," Haru said, trying to explain the lipstick hearts and strange noises.
His mother squinted at him, then nodded slowly. "In Japan, we believe some ancestors could hear spirits. They were called ghost whisperers," she said.
Haru blinked. "What?" he asked, confused.
She nodded again, this time more confidently. "My great-aunt, many years ago, had a spirit cat named Yumeko. Very polite, she said. Sometimes she could see spirits, and she believed some relatives had that gift."
Haru didn't know what to say. He was about to dismiss it when she added, "It's true. Some people can talk to spirits—even if it's rare."
Feeling overwhelmed, Haru decided to retreat to his room. There, Minju had made a "ghost corner," complete with a glowing collection of glowsticks, a plastic-wrapped polaroid of her favorite idol group, and a sticky note that read: "Haru's Idol Debut Training Plan (Do Not Touch)." It was her way of turning the room into her personal shrine, a place to guide him through his strange new life. Haru flopped onto his bed and crossed his arms. "I'm not doing this," he muttered.
"You're doing this," Minju said softly, appearing beside him in her ghostly form. Her voice was gentle but firm. "You're already trying to survive high school, aren't you? This is just another challenge." Haru looked at her, unsure what to think. She continued, "You're going to school tomorrow. You can handle it. Besides, you're already so close to giving up, you might as well try something new." Haru hesitated. "I barely passed math without a ghost whispering Peach7 trivia in my ear," he said.
Minju shrugged. "You need a purpose. Something to keep you going." She paused. "Your purpose used to be just surviving. Now, it's to become a K-pop star, with a ghost girl acting as your manager." Haru's eyes widened. "That's not a purpose." She grinned mischievously. "That's just a YouTube conspiracy theory." At that moment, she turned upside down again, her hoodie hanging crooked on her ghostly shoulders. Her expression softened. "You've already had a miracle, Haru. Most people never get a second chance. Maybe you got yours because I didn't give up on you."
Haru stared at her, feeling something strange twinge inside him. Even tired and battered, he saw a hint of hope in her eyes. Her glow dimmed slightly. Her hoodie looked crooked, and for a moment, she seemed more tired than mischievous—something ghosts shouldn't be. Her voice cracked a little as she added, "You're serious about trying out for that audition, right?" Haru hesitated, then decided to answer honestly. "Yeah. One audition."
Minju fist-pumped with excitement. "Yes! I promise, you won't regret it!" she said, voice full of hope. Haru gave a tired smile. "I already do." He was exhausted, but her enthusiasm was infectious. She floated closer, her eyes shining with some strange, electric light. "Thank you," she said softly. "Really." Her words hit him harder than he expected. Haru looked away, unsure of what to say or feel.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Whatever." But deep down, an odd flutter stirred in his chest, reminding him that maybe, just maybe, this ghost girl was more than just a prank or a nightmare. Maybe she was a strange reminder that even in the darkest moments, surprises could happen.