Contrary to not-so-popular belief (nobody really believes in ghost hunters nowadays), ghost hunters do need to eat. I'm the living proof for that. I'm starving and this client wouldn't stop calling me so I could enjoy my chicken in peace.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there in …” I check my wristwatch. There it says 8:38 PM. “Thirty minutes.”

“I wish you can get here sooner,” the man on the other line says, teeth chattering. “I can hear them.”

What’s new? I resist on rolling my eyes. Yes, hunting the dead is my job. And just like any other people who has a job, I get tired of it. “I’m not promising anything," I say as I take another bite of the chicken leg--whoever invented this sweet sauce on the crispy chicken needs a promotion. 

“Please—”

I cut the line, pressing the red button on my phone. I put my phone down and rub the bridge of my nose. The man who just called lives just down the street. It won't take me longer than five minutes to get there by car. But I'm going to go there with full belly and unarmed. I'll use the remaining twenty-five minutes I've promised him to jog down the other street to my flat and get my dagger. Not all hunters carry their amunition all the time. I don't. Our business isn't a busy one, after all.

A screeching sound coming from the rusty, metal door of the chicken house as it grazes the dirty floor. I snap my head to the door and almost choke when I see who's standing before it.

It's her, again. I can tell by the long, black hair and funny nose any time. For goodness’ sake, what is she doing? Why do I see that girl everywhere? Does she have twins? Triplets? She creeps the hell out of me; and I'm rarely ever creeped--I'm a Hunter!

The girl goes to the counter and orders something.

I turn m attention back to the plate before me. I hang my head low and eat in silence. I chew faster. The sooner I go, the better. I should really go before she gets the chance to--

“Hi!”

Damn it. I groan. I look up and find that the girl has excused herself to sit across from me. That's it, she's following me. She has been for quite some time. From around Halloween, if I remember correctly. It certainly is not a coincidence.

The girl puts her drink--orange juice--down onto the table and makes herself comfortable on the wooden chair.

My phone rings.

“Your phone rings,” she points out.

I ignore the vibrating phone and just stare at her. I hope I have my best 'get the hell away' face on.

“Hello?” The girl waves her hand to my face. “Your phone rings. It might be important,” she says again.

Without looking at the caller ID--I know it must be the man from earlier--I tap the red button. “What is it that you want?” I ask without breaking eye contact.

The girl leans forward, placing both elbows on the table and her chin on her hand. Her thin, pink lips stretches into a smile. “You know, I’ve been watching you.”

“Shocker," my voice monotone.

“And,” she pauses to widen her smile, “I might have known some information about you.”

“Counting how many times we’ve ‘coincidentally’ met, I hope you’ve known plenty.”

“Yes! But this one’s very interesting. I heard you’re an adventurer.”

I scoff. I couldn't helpt it. Adventurer is an understatement of what I've been doing all his life. Deadly escapade around the dead would describe who I ambetter. But in a nutshell, this job does seem like an adventure when it doesn't put my life at stake--which is never. “I’m not, now shoo.” I wave my hand, dismissing her.

Her face falls, as well as her arms. Then comes something that I hate the most: the pout attack. “Come on, I know you are.”

"And I should care about your opinion of who I am, why?” At this point, I already lost my appetite.

“Because I want to go on adventures! So, am I in?”

This girl's crazy. I put my chopsticks down, push my chair back, and stand up. “I’m out.” I say.

The girl catch me by the arm before I can flee.

I yank my arm off her grip. “What?” I snap. Consciously, I turn my head to check my surrounding. The customers and staffs are now looking at us. Great, I sigh. I turn back to the girl and is about to leave her again when she announces my real identity.

“You’re a ghost hunter."

I hope the people watching us decide that the girl is insane. I don't mind them knowing that I'm a ghost hunter, because they won't believe it anyway.

“No, I’m not. Get lost.” I take a step forward, but then she catches me by the arm again. “Goodness, what?” I pull my hand away again.

“Is there anything we can help, Sir?” a voice chirps from behind me.

I turn and find the owner of the restaurant—bald, pale, moustache-y. The name Yang Han on his nametag happens to be the name of the place--Yang Chicken. He's smiling rather cynically at me. Great, now she's going to think this is a lover quarrel and I'm the one at fault.

“Nothing,” I say, fast. “Actually, this girl’s been bothering me. Maybe you can get rid of her for me. That would be great.”

The man turns to the girl. “Are you bothering him, Miss?”

The idiocity of this plae just escalate to 100 real quick. What a question. “You know what, I’ll just get out of this place and not deal with you guys. Goodbye.” I wave at the manager and spin around. The door is just a feet away from me.

“I’m not bothering him! It’s just … he’s my boyfriend. He doesn’t want to drive me home. I don’t know how else am I going to go home.”

My fist tighten into a ball. I should've make a run the moment I sense her coming through that door minutes ago.

To ruin my day even more, a nosy old lady comes over me and say, “Young man, go take her home. My husband’s never left me to go home on my own. That’s no way to treat a lady—”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes,” I say, flailing my arms around in frustration. I turn to the girl and grab her wrist. I give her my best glare then turn to the granny and the owner. “I’m going to take my lovely girlfriend home. So, please, go back to where you belong. Have a nice day.”

I stride out of the restaurant, marching toward my car. It is parked at the alley just beside the chicken house--it's free there. When we reach my beat up Camaro, I let go of the girl’s hand. It's rather harsh, but I don't really care at the moment.

“Are you … okay?” the girl asks in tiny voice.

“No, I’m not,” I answer, pacing back and forth to shake off the rage. “I might kill you right now, but I won’t. Why? Because I’m human, you’re human, and it’s against the law. But look around you, it’s so quiet. So stop bothering me before this turn ugly.”

When I face her, she … well, she's on the brink of having the ugliest cry in the universe.

“Perfect, cry and get the hell away,” I say. My phone vibrates yet again in my jeans pocket. I ignore it.

The girl takes a sharp breath. “I want to join you.”

“Nah, girl, I work alone.”

“So you admit you’re a ghost hunter.”

I chuckle, not in an amusement, but disbelief. This girl knows no stop. “No point denying since you’ll just insist that I am a ghost hunter. And we go by Hunter only, anyway.”

“I can communicate with ghosts.”

“Yeah, right.” I know for a fact that she's lying because only chosen families got to be Hunters. There's this ‘family meeting’ twice a year: summer and winter, one of which is coming soon. (We'll talk about that later). And never, in my eighteen years of existence, have I seen her in the meeting.

The girl steps forward, making me step backward. I don't like the close proximity she's trying to get. “Just one adventure, please. You can see what I can do.”

I shake my head. The girl just doesn't get it, does she? “It’s not a bloody adventure. It’s dangerous. It’s lethal. I’m not playing Ghostbuster here, kiddo.”

“Please?” she pleads. “Just one, then you can decide to keep me or not.”

“Okay, just let me think … got it, decision’s made,” I smile. It's ridiculous how she looks so hopeful. “Get lost.”

“Pleeeassee.” She takes another step forward, her hands entwines as if she was praying. It appears that she has another attack aside from the pout one: puppy-eyes attack, one that wouldn’t ever work on someone like me.

“Don’t you have parents or something?”

The girl smartly retorts, “Don’t you?”

I have. But not that I live with them or wants to live with them. They hate my guts.

That question distracts me for a bit, until she wails again. “Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll just keep bothering you then!”

See, both ideas are the worst of ideas. I don't want her tagging along but I definitely don't want to have this conversation with her ever again.

I've always do this job solo. I'm capable of doing it on my own—very capable, in fact. Instead of helping, this girl would just ruin my work. And I still don't believe that she can actually see ghosts, let alone communicate with them.

Another phone call (no doubt is from my one and only client of the day) forces me to make a decision.

Goodness, I hate to make this decision.

“Alright, you're in,” I say. Just by that one word, the girl looks like she has just won a lottery or gotten a voucher sent from heaven.

“Really? For real?”

I point at my Camaro. “Get in the car before I change my mind.”

"Oh my God, I’m so excited!” She starts jumping up and down, hopping toward the passenger seat like a little rabbit.

I get into the driver seat myself. I sigh. What other decent choice do I have?

Author Note:

HOW IS IT?

Hope you like it so far!

BTW, HAVE U GUYS SEEN LOVE SHOT?
IF KIM JONGIN IS TO BE PUT IN WORDS, IT WILL BE LOVE SHOT!

KYAAAA