Writer's POV
---
The air was heavy with the scent of white chrysanthemums. Their petals lined the grand hall of the Yoon estate, where mourners whispered under dim chandeliers. Black suits and hanbok-clad women passed incense across the altar, bowing before the portrait of Chairman Yoon Sung-hwan, the man who had once commanded one of Korea's most powerful conglomerates.
Now he was gone.
And with his passing, the world seemed to hold its breath—not for grief, but for what would come next.
At the front of the hall stood Yoon Hae-rin, his only legitimate daughter. Her black dress fell elegantly, her long dark hair pinned back, and yet, despite her composed stance, her eyes revealed the storm within. She bowed with measured grace, receiving condolences, her lips barely moving.
Every step she took felt heavier, because she could feel their eyes on her—her stepmother's, her half-brothers', her half-sisters'. They did not see her as a grieving daughter. To them, she was an intruder, the obstacle that had suddenly become the center of everything.
At the back of the hall, Madame Seo Ji-won, the widow—Chairman Yoon's second wife—watched in silence. She wore a veil, her face hidden, but there was no mistaking the curve of her lips beneath it. A curve that did not belong to sorrow.
When she finally stepped forward, her heels tapping against the polished floor, whispers died down. She carried herself with elegance befitting a chaebol's widow, yet there was something unnerving about her presence, as though shadows bent toward her. She stopped before the altar, laid down white chrysanthemums, and whispered words that no one else could hear.
The faintest flicker of light shimmered across her eyes, gone before anyone could notice.
---
The will was read the following evening in the chairman's private study.
Stacks of books lined the mahogany shelves. Oil paintings of ancestors loomed down as though silently judging. The air was tense, thick with anticipation.
The lawyer, sweating under the glares of the Yoon heirs, opened the sealed document.
"In accordance with the last will and testament of Chairman Yoon Sung-hwan," he began, voice trembling, "the majority stake in Yoon Group Holdings and the position of Chief Executive Officer shall be transferred to his eldest daughter, Yoon Hae-rin."
Silence.
Then, like the crack of thunder, voices erupted.
"What nonsense is this?!" shouted Yoon Jae-sung, the eldest son from Madame Seo. "She's just a child compared to us—father must have been tricked!"
"This company belongs to us too!" cried another half-sibling.
"She's not even blood of my mother!"
The room devolved into chaos, accusations flung like daggers. Hae-rin sat still, her hands folded neatly, though her knuckles whitened. She had prepared for this moment, yet the venom in their voices still cut deep.
The lawyer raised his voice, desperate to regain control. "The will was signed and notarized in full capacity. There can be no dispute. Chairman Yoon's decision is final."
From the corner, Madame Seo finally spoke. Her voice was low, smooth, like silk wrapping around a blade.
"If this is Father's wish," she said, "then we must honor it."
Gasps filled the room. Her children stared at her in disbelief, but she continued calmly, turning her veiled gaze toward Hae-rin.
"You have a heavy burden now, Hae-rin-ssi. I pray you have the strength to carry it."
Her tone was gentle, but her eyes—sharp and glinting beneath the veil—spoke a different truth. A warning.
Hae-rin met her gaze and, for a moment, felt her breath catch. It was as if she was staring into something ancient, something watching her not as a rival but as prey.
---
That night, in another wing of the mansion, the siblings gathered with their mother.
The room was dark, lit only by a circle of candles. The smell of burning herbs filled the air.
"Mother," Jae-sung growled, "why did you yield? That company was supposed to be ours!"
Seo Ji-won did not answer immediately. She knelt before the candles, her fingers weaving slow, intricate motions in the air. The flames bent unnaturally, dancing to her rhythm.
"Patience, my children," she whispered. "Everything will be ours. The girl's inheritance is nothing but a temporary inconvenience."
Her nails traced symbols in the air, unseen by mortal eyes, but powerful enough to make the room's shadows ripple.
"Leave her fate to me."
When she turned, her face half-illuminated, it was not grief that adorned her features but hunger.
---
The next morning, Hae-rin stood before the towering glass windows of Yoon Group's headquarters. The city stretched out beneath her, Seoul alive with energy.
She breathed in deeply, gathering strength. This company, this empire—her father had built it. And now, it was her duty to protect it.
But even as she resolved to step forward, an unshakable unease clawed at her chest. A sense that something—or someone—was already moving against her.
She would not have to wait long to find out.
---
The boardroom smelled faintly of polished wood and old money. Rows of executives sat around the oval table, their tailored suits crisp, their eyes sharper than their fountain pens.
At the head of the table sat Yoon Hae-rin, her hands folded neatly, her posture impeccable. She had inherited not only her father's position but also his enemies.
Some of them masked their contempt with polite smiles; others did not bother at all.
"As you all know," Hae-rin began, her voice steady despite the weight of their stares, "Chairman Yoon built this company from nothing. His vision remains the backbone of Yoon Group Holdings. I intend to honor that legacy while also expanding into new markets."
Murmurs ran down the table like a ripple.
One of the older directors cleared his throat. "Miss Yoon," he said carefully, "your father's guidance was invaluable. But as you know, leading a conglomerate of this size requires experience. Are you confident you can handle such a responsibility?"
The words were courteous, but the meaning was clear: You are too young. Too weak. Too replaceable.
Hae-rin's lips curved into the faintest smile. "With all due respect, Director Han, my father believed I was prepared. His will entrusted me with this company. If anyone wishes to challenge his judgment, you may take it up with him in the afterlife."
Gasps and nervous chuckles broke the tension, but her gaze never wavered. She held her ground, unyielding.
For a moment, she saw him again—her father, standing in the same chair, commanding the room with presence alone. That was the legacy she had to live up to.
But as the meeting went on, she could not ignore the faint prickling at the back of her neck.
A feeling that she was being watched.
---
The night air was cool when she finally stepped out of the building. The skyscraper loomed above her like a steel giant, its glass windows glittering under the city lights.
The underground parking lot was nearly empty. Her heels echoed against the concrete floor as she walked toward her car, the sound too loud in the silence.
She paused.
Something wasn't right.
Her eyes darted to the shadows between the cars. The air felt heavier, her instincts screaming.
Before she could react, a figure emerged from the darkness. Masked, black-clad, a blade glinting faintly in the light.
Her heart froze.
The assassin moved swiftly, no hesitation. The knife flashed, slicing the air before plunging deep into her side.
The sound escaped her lips in a strangled gasp.
Warmth spread across her dress as she collapsed to the ground, her hand pressing desperately against the wound.
The assassin crouched, his laughter low and cruel. "Poor little princess," he sneered. "Did you really think you'd sit on the throne so easily?"
Her vision blurred. The cold floor pressed against her cheek. Tears mixed with the blood pooling around her.
Her lips trembled as she whispered, Father…
Then the world slipped away.
---
When she opened her eyes, the pain was gone.
She stood in a place she did not recognize—a vast plain under a sky without stars. The ground was made of silver mist, rippling with each step. Ahead stretched a river, dark and endless, flowing silently.
The air was neither cold nor warm, but heavy, pressing against her chest.
She knew instinctively: This was the afterlife.
Her steps were slow, unsteady. She walked toward the river, but before she could reach it, a figure appeared.
Tall. Clad in black robes that seemed woven from shadow itself. A wide-brimmed gat hat cast his face in half-darkness, though his eyes glowed faintly like embers. At his side hung a sword, its hilt worn with age.
The Grim Reaper.
His presence was overwhelming, ancient, and cold. He regarded her in silence for a long moment before speaking, his voice low, like gravel scraping across stone.
"Yoon Hae-rin," he said. "Your time has come."
Her lips trembled. "N-no… it can't. I don't want to die yet. Please."
A faint smirk curved his lips, though it did not reach his eyes. "They all say that. Every soul begs for one more day."
But then—something changed.
As his gaze lingered on her face, something flickered across his expression. A recognition. A memory.
The mist around them trembled.
In his mind, a scene from long ago returned—an era of silk robes and wooden palaces. A woman in royal attire, her hair adorned with jade, smiling faintly as she walked with her guards. And he, once a man, once alive, perched on a tree branch with his sword in hand, watching her with a heart he would never confess.
He blinked, and the vision vanished. But the ache in his chest remained.
"...You," he murmured.
Hae-rin stared at him, confused. "You… know me?"
The reaper's expression hardened again, his voice cold to mask the storm within. "It doesn't matter. You are a soul of the dead. And I am bound to deliver you to the deity of the afterlife."
Her knees buckled, and she fell before him, hands clasped. "Please. Please, I beg you. I can't die yet. My father's company, my life—it's not over. If you ever had mercy, grant it now."
The reaper's hand hovered over his sword, his face unreadable.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. "If you wish to plead, then do so before the deity herself. But know this—fate is not easily undone."
With a flick of his sleeve, the mist around them swirled, and the river dissolved into light.
When it cleared, they stood before towering gates of ivory. Beyond them, a palace gleamed like moonlight itself.
The Reaper glanced at her, his expression stern, but his eyes lingered longer than they should have.
"Come," he said. "Your fate will be judged."
And together, they walked into the realm of the afterlife.
---
The palace of the afterlife was not of this world.
It rose from the silver mist like a vision carved from moonstone, its towers spiraling upward, catching the pale light of an unseen sun. The gates were etched with countless names—souls long departed—glowing faintly as though alive.
Inside, the halls shimmered with veils of light, the air thick with a silence that was not empty but eternal. Every step Hae-rin took echoed like thunder against her fragile heart.
At the end of the hall sat the Deity of the Afterlife.
She was robed in celestial silk that rippled like flowing water. Her eyes were pools of ageless wisdom, but when they fixed on Hae-rin, there was no warmth in them.
The Grim Reaper bowed low. "Deity, I have brought the soul of Yoon Hae-rin, whose life has ended by human hands."
The deity's gaze slid to Hae-rin, sharp as a blade. "A mortal clinging to her sorrow." She tilted her head slightly. "Why did you bring her here, Reaper? Her place is across the river."
Hae-rin dropped to her knees, desperation burning in her chest. "Please, great one! I cannot leave yet. My life was stolen from me. My company—my father's legacy—is in danger. My soul is restless. I beg you for another chance."
The deity's lips curved into a cold, almost pitying smile. "Every mortal says the same. Do you think yourself special, child?"
Her words were final, but before she could dismiss the girl, the Reaper stepped forward.
"Deity," he said, his tone formal but laced with something more. "Her death feels… wrong. I saw her sorrow. Her time was not yet due."
The deity's eyes narrowed. "Strange words from you, Reaper. You, who have never bent your duty."
His jaw clenched. He did not answer.
The deity studied them both, then her gaze sharpened. "Ah. I see. Fate repeats itself."
Hae-rin's head shot up. "What do you mean?"
But the deity ignored her, addressing the reaper instead. "The threads of your past lives intertwine once more. That is why your heart wavers."
The reaper stiffened, his eyes betraying the flicker of memory—the royal courtyards, the jade hairpins, the unspoken longing. He forced his face into cold neutrality.
"If it is fate," he said flatly, "then it is your will, not mine."
The deity leaned back in her throne of light, her voice echoing across the hall. "Perhaps. But there is one way to alter her destiny."
Both Hae-rin and the reaper looked up, startled.
The deity's expression hardened. "Reaper, your punishment is not yet complete. You were sentenced to a thousand years of servitude for the sins of your mortal life. You have endured eight hundred."
Her words cut into the silence like knives.
"You may extend your punishment another two hundred years. In exchange, I will return this mortal to life."
Hae-rin gasped. Her eyes darted to the reaper, wide with desperate hope. "Please… I'll do anything—"
The deity silenced her with a gesture. "But know this: her return will not be free. To restore balance, she must serve the order of the afterlife. She will carry tasks in the human world on your behalf, reaper. Investigations, errands, duties that even you cannot fulfill in your cursed form. She will be both your ward and your anchor."
The hall fell silent.
Hae-rin's heart pounded. To live again? To protect her father's legacy? She would accept any price.
But her fate lay not in her own hands, but in his.
The reaper stood motionless, shadows curling at his feet. Two hundred years more of chains, of endless wandering, of silence and grief.
And yet—her eyes met his. Wide, pleading, fragile. And in them, he saw the echo of another time, another life.
A smile that once brought light to his darkest days.
His chest tightened painfully.
Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and resigned. "…I accept."
The deity's lips curved, neither kind nor cruel. Simply inevitable. "So be it."
Light swirled through the hall, encircling Hae-rin like a cocoon. She gasped as warmth spread through her veins, pulling her away from the cold numbness of death.
The deity's voice followed her as the light consumed her:
"Remember this, mortal. You walk again not because of your will, but because of his sacrifice. Fail your pact, and your soul will not find peace again."
The reaper did not look at her as she faded into light. His gaze remained fixed on the deity, his jaw tight.
But as the last trace of her form vanished, he allowed himself one whispered word.
"…Hae-rin."
---
When her eyes opened again, she was lying in a hospital bed, machines beeping steadily. Pain shot through her side, but she was alive.
Her breath came in shaky gasps. Tears filled her eyes—not from weakness, but from the knowledge that she had been pulled back from the abyss.
She touched her chest with trembling fingers. She could feel it. The mark of the pact. A faint warmth where the reaper's presence lingered.
Somewhere beyond the mortal veil, she knew he was watching. Bound to her. Protecting her.
And in the shadows of Seoul, unseen forces stirred.
For her stepmother, Seo Ji-won, had felt the ripple that night.
The ritual flames in her hidden chamber had flickered violently. She smiled, her eyes gleaming with ancient malice.
"So… you returned," she whispered. "Good. It will make destroying you all the sweeter."
---
The faint beeping of machines was the first thing she heard.
Hae-rin's eyes fluttered open, the sterile white ceiling of the hospital above her. Pain throbbed along her side, dulled by medication but still sharp enough to remind her—she should not be alive.
She remembered the assassin's knife, the cold floor, her blood pooling. She remembered the river of mist, the reaper's burning gaze, and the deity's throne of light.
And now—she was here. Alive.
She turned her head slightly. A nurse gasped, nearly dropping her clipboard.
"Miss Yoon! You're awake!"
Moments later, doctors rushed in, checking her vitals, murmuring in disbelief. "It's a miracle," one of them whispered. "She had lost so much blood, she should never have survived."
Hae-rin listened absently, her fingers brushing her chest. She could feel it. A warmth under her skin, a mark unseen to others. The pact.
As the bustle around her faded, a shadow stirred in the corner of the room.
Her heart froze.
There, half-hidden in the dim light, stood the Grim Reaper. Jin-woo. His black hanbok and wide-brimmed hat seemed out of place in the modern room, yet no one else reacted. The doctors and nurses passed by as if he did not exist.
Only she could see him.
He stepped forward, his presence heavy, his gaze steady upon her.
"You live again," he said quietly. His voice was the same—low, cold, but beneath it, something else lingered.
Hae-rin's throat tightened. "You… you're real. I didn't dream it."
He inclined his head slightly. "No dream. You walk because of the pact."
Her voice shook, but she held his gaze. "You sacrificed two hundred years… for me. Why?"
For a moment, silence hung between them. His eyes, dark as midnight, searched her face as though looking for something long lost.
Finally, he turned away, his tone clipped. "It was the only way."
The words should have felt dismissive, but they did not. She sensed the weight behind them, the chains he bore, the choice he made.
Her hand clenched the bedsheet. "Then… what happens now?"
He looked back at her, and this time his gaze was unflinching, burning with something she couldn't name.
"Now," he said, "you live. But you are not free. You carry a debt—to the afterlife, and to me. Until the pact is fulfilled, I will not leave your side."
The air seemed to still. For the first time since her father's death, Hae-rin felt both fear and an odd comfort. She was no longer alone.
---
But outside the sterile walls of the hospital, shadows gathered.
In a hidden chamber deep beneath the Yoon estate, Seo Ji-won lit black candles around a circle of runes etched into the floor. Her children did not know of this place. To them, she was simply the grieving widow, but here—she was herself.
A sorceress of old blood.
The flames flickered unnaturally, turning blue as she chanted. Images shimmered above the runes—Hae-rin lying in her hospital bed, alive.
A scowl twisted her beautiful face. "So the brat clung to life after all."
She dipped her fingers into a bowl of crimson liquid, drawing symbols that pulsed against the floor. The shadows writhed like living things.
"No matter. If the gods have granted her a second chance, I will grant her despair."
Her laughter echoed through the chamber, low and venomous.
---
Back in the hospital, night fell. The halls quieted, and the city lights outside blinked faintly through the curtains.
Hae-rin stirred, her dreams restless. In them, fragments of another life returned—palaces, silken robes, the sound of swords clashing, and a man's gaze that lingered too long upon her.
She woke with a start, her breath uneven.
At her bedside, Jin-woo stood as though he had been there all along. Watching. Waiting.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, softly, she asked, "Who were you… before all this? Before the hat, before the sword, before death?"
His eyes darkened, but he did not answer.
Instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over her, his voice quiet but firm.
"Rest, Hae-rin. The world will not wait for you to be ready."
And with that, he turned, fading into the shadows, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Her heart pounded, not from fear, but from the strange pull she could not explain.
---
Outside, the moon rose high over Seoul.
The heir had returned from death.
The reaper had bound himself to her.
And in the darkness, the sorceress watched, waiting for the moment to strike.
The wheels of fate had begun to turn again, after a thousand years.
And this time, the curse would not be so easily broken.