Drip. Drip.
"Hahaha, I can't believe that idiot didn't do anything even after Haeun poured soju on him."
"Babe, don't you know? Mi-jun can't fight back. If he does, he'll be branded a killer, just like his parents."
"Kikiki, is that so?"
Lee Mi-jun.
They said he was a cursed child.
Some whispered it like a warning. Others spat it like an insult.
But he'd stopped caring about people's opinions a long time ago.
The music in the karaoke room was loud enough to make the floor vibrate. The smell of beer, perfume, and cheap cologne thickened the air—another meaningless college party.
Mi-jun knelt in the center of the room, eyes locked on the others, sleeves rolled up, a glass tray resting right before his knees.
"Hey, son of a killer! Didn't I tell you to use your tongue to clean that up?!"
A girl in a sequined dress laughed as she poured her drink over his head.
Cold liquid slid down his face, stinging his eyes. The crowd howled, phones flashing like fireflies.
Mi-jun didn't flinch.
He didn't beg or look away.
He simply stared through them, black eyes glinting under the lights, calm and unblinking.
There was something in that stillness that unsettled them. Something too dark for a twenty-year-old college student.
"Creepy bastard," one of the guys muttered before hurling a glass at him.
The glass shattered. Beer foamed across the floor and his face, blood spilling down his forehead.
Mi-jun exhaled quietly, gathered what he could, and slipped out through the back door.
The rain had started softly at first, then heavier, until it drowned out the laughter inside.
"Should I get something to eat?" the young man muttered, phone in hand. He stood about 179 cm tall, lean yet athletic.
Shaking his head, he walked away, the rain washing the blood from his wound.
City lights bled into puddles at his feet.
People stared, some with genuine concern, others with contempt. He ignored them. He'd been stared at his whole life.
His father, once a respected businessman, had been accused of murder.
The trial tore their family apart. The man turned violent. One night, his mother snapped, and in an attempt to defend him, everything ended in red.
She went to prison for murder, and Mi-jun was left with silence, stares, and whispers that followed him wherever he went.
It didn't matter that he kept straight A's, exercised every morning, learned martial arts, or avoided trouble. In everyone's eyes, he was still their son.
The son of two killers.
A killer.
Within a few minutes, Mi-jun reached a large apartment in a high-rise building.
His mom had given him everything she'd saved before going to prison, which was, honestly, more than enough for his entire life.
Entering the apartment, he peeled off his wet shirt and tossed it aside, staring at his reflection in the large window overlooking the city.
Lean. Handsome. Sharp-jawed. Grey eyes too tired for his age.
He looked fine. Normal, even. But he knew better.
People like him weren't allowed to be normal.
"Let's just clean up and go to bed."
Staggering to his room, he grabbed a first-aid kit and began tending to his wound.
He was just bandaging his head when the knocking started.
Knock. Knock.
It was soft at first, then desperate.
Mi-jun frowned. "Who the hell could that be?"
He stood up, unsteady, and opened the door.
A girl stood there, drenched to the bone.
Her hair was short and crimson, clinging to her skin like wet silk. Silver eyes shimmered under the dim hallway light.
She wore a thin white blouse that had long since surrendered to the rain, the fabric translucent and molded to her chest, her hardened nipples straining against it. A short skirt hugged her hips, plastered to her thighs, outlining every curve.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she smiled, small, knowing, and utterly out of place in the storm. Her full lips parted just enough to reveal the tip of her tongue tracing the edge of her teeth.
"Lee Mi-jun," she purred, her voice a husky whisper that cut through the downpour. "I finally found you."
Mi-jun blinked. "Do I… know you?"
"No," she said simply, stepping closer until he could feel the cold radiating from her skin. "But I know what you are."
He hesitated, unsure whether to listen or shut the door. "You're soaked. Do you need an umbrella, or…?"
She shook her head. Droplets cascaded from her hair, tracing down her neck and vanishing into the valley of her cleavage. "I don't need an umbrella," she murmured. "Because I'm going to be living with you from now on."
Mi-jun blinked. "What?"
Her eyes glowed faintly, silver burning against the dark. "You have the spirit of the King of Exorcists."
'Is this some kind of prank?'
Mi-jun glanced down the hall, searching for a hidden camera, but there was nothing.
The girl grinned. "You're the…" She paused, her breath quickening, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that drew his eyes downward. "Heavenly Sword Dragon."
The air grew heavy the moment the words left her lips.
Mi-jun took a step back, nearly shutting the door. "Look, I think you've got the wrong—"
The red-haired girl reached out, placing a hand against his chest. Her touch was warm, almost feverish. Her palm pressed flat, as if savoring the thud of his heart beneath it. Her fingers splayed, nails grazing lightly, sending sparks across his skin.
"There isn't any mistake, Lee Mi-jun," she whispered, leaning in until her breath ghosted against his lips. "Your energy matches perfectly. You're the one who's meant to purify them."
Mi-jun's brows furrowed. "Purify who?"
She smiled again, this time with something that looked like relief and something far more dangerous.
"You'll see soon enough. But for now…" Her fingers slid down to his wrist. "Let me in. It's cold out here."
Against his better judgment, he moved aside.
As she stepped into the dim apartment, water pooled beneath her feet, her hips swaying with a deliberate roll that made her skirt ride up just enough to flash the lace edge of her panties.
Mi-jun shut the door, for reasons he couldn't quite name.
"So… what's this about? Who sent you?"
The young woman turned to him, her silver eyes locking onto his.
Slowly, she hooked her fingers under the hem of her skirt, hiking it up inch by inch. The fabric peeled away from her skin, revealing plump, glistening thighs that quivered faintly in the cool air.
Her arousal was evident in the flush creeping higher and the way her breath hitched as she exposed the damp lace clinging to her core.
She bit her lower lip, eyes half-lidded and gleaming with raw need, her free hand sliding up her own thigh in a slow caress.
"First things first," she murmured. "Let's have sex. Coming all the way here drained my spiritual energy, and I need your seed and every inch of you to replenish it."
Mi-jun just stood there, staring at her, his head tilting in confusion. "What?"