The smartwatch charger glowed faintly blue in the dark kitchen, its shallow basin filled with the night's collected moonwater. So-young carefully poured it into the mixing bowl, watching the silvery liquid swirl with the burnt apricot leaves and her own dried tears. The digital clock on the oven read 3:17 AM—the witching hour, when Jeong had said the veil between worlds grew thin.
Her small hands kneaded the mixture with her 15+ years of experience of her previous life, but this dough felt different. It was not soft like her mother's brioche, nor has the elastic pull of sourdough starter. This dough seemed to be alive beneath her fingers, alive in a way that made her get goosebumps.
A sudden chill swept throughout the kitchen. The very little light from her fridge starting flickering as something was passing through the whole kitchen.
Then—
A scent like aged whiskey and burnt caramel filled the air.
Jeong started materializing not as his usual wispy fox form, but as a man—or the ghost of one. Tall and broad-shouldered in a vintage three-piece suit, his features were sharp just like Grandfather's but softened by the same kindness she saw in her Father's eyes. A jagged scar peeked above his collar where the family portraits showed cut-off.
"So-young-ah." His voice resonated deeper than she remembered, warmer. "You've grown so much since I last held your soul in my hands."
The dough between them began to move on its own.
Jeong—no, Granduncle Seong-ho—placed his translucent hands over her head, A touch that felt like winter sunlight, cold but bright. Together, they watched as the dough rose and reshaped itself:
1969, Han Corporate Headquarters
Two young men in nearly identical navy suits stood before a hall full of investors. The taller one (Grandfather) gestured to blueprints. The younger (Seong-ho) subtly switched their champagne flutes when Moon & Son's CEO looked away.
The Aftermath?
Grandfather screaming over his brother's convulsing body. Whispered words: "Why? The company wasn't worth this!"
Seong-ho's dying breath: "Not for the company... for you. They would've killed us both."
The vision shifted to present day:
Uncle Min-woo in a black Mercedes, accepting a silver briefcase from a Moon & Son executive. Inside—vials labeled Wellness Formula #9.
Mother's medicine cabinet, where those same vials glowed faintly toxic green under Jeong's light.
As everything slowly faded away.
A notification chimed from So-young's abandoned tablet:
✉️ Chairman Han Joon-ho - Birthday Banquet Invitation
Date: 100th Day Since Diagnosis
Dress: White Hanbok (No Black)
Special Request: Bring Apricot Twists
Her hands trembled as she read the invitation. The recipe that died with his brother Seong-ho.
Jeong's ghostly fingers tilted her chin up. "He's testing all of them . But for you—you he's calling home."
The spirit faded as dawn light crept across the kitchen tiles, leaving behind three things:
A perfect apricot twist recipe in handwriting she'd only seen in memorial albums
The scent of whiskey lingering on her collar
A single sentence whispered in her ear:
"The antidote is in the mourning."
Next Morning
Father found her asleep at the counter, flour-dusted cheeks pressed against a completed batch of apricot twists. The missing ingredient?
A single tear shed for the granduncle she never knew.