In Lookism as the MOAB

Rachel could hear her mother's voice echoing from the kitchen, breaking her train of thought as she sat by the living room window, watching the glow of evening lights settle over the neighborhood.

"Rachel! Could you please bring Doo over for dinner?" her mom called. She almost groaned at the mention of him but knew her mother meant well. Her mom was constantly trying to look out for Doo, probably because she still thought of him as some kind of pitiful stray her daughter had befriended. Only Rachel knew the truth—she'd witnessed firsthand the chaos and destruction he brought with him. But there was no explaining that to her mother, who was dead set on including him in every holiday meal and every celebration as though he was family.

As she headed toward the kitchen, her mother grinned knowingly. "He's such a nice boy," she insisted, pouring tea into two mugs. "And I heard you two are close."

Rachel felt her face grow warm at the insinuation. Close? With that idiot?

They had been friends—or at least, she thought they were friends. In truth, she wasn't sure how to define their relationship. They'd known each other for years, almost half her life, but even now, there were days when he felt like a stranger. Doo was like a stone wall—solid, immovable, and just as difficult to read. But then again, he was also the boy she could call an idiot to his face and pull his hair without him getting truly mad. He was someone she could tease and scold, and in some strange way, she enjoyed the privilege. It was hard to explain to anyone else, but with Doo, she was… herself.

We're just friends… I guess. Rachel told herself as she hurriedly fixed her hair in the mirror, catching sight of the hint of pink that was blooming on her cheeks. She'd known Doo Lee for years—five, to be exact—since the day he moved in next door. From the start, she'd just felt bad for him. The other guys in Gangnam never really wanted to be his friend; they only tried to get close to him for his strength, as if he was some weapon they could use whenever they needed backup. And the girls? They were no better—shallow, sly foxes always making doe-eyes at him, focused on his looks.

Luckily, Doo wasn't as oblivious as he seemed, at least not when it came to those types. He could see through their flattery and false kindness, just like Rachel did, and she couldn't help but feel a little protective of him. Someone had to be on his side.

So, she chose to be that someone. In all of Gangnam, she was the only one who could tug his hair and call him an idiot; he only allowed Rachel this kind of freedom around him.

But then a thought struck her out of nowhere, and her face grew warmer as her stomach did a strange, excited flip. Does he… like me? She shook her head, trying to brush off the idea but failing miserably.

Just then, her mom's voice cut in, breaking her thoughts with a teasing remark.

"Right," her mom said, her voice dripping with amusement, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Just a friend."

Rachel shot her a look, tugging on her jacket with exaggerated nonchalance. "Mom, seriously," she muttered, though her voice betrayed her with a slight tremor. "It's not like that. I just don't want that idiot to starve himself on Christmas. After all, I'm the only friend he has."

Her mom's smirk only widened as she leaned against the doorway. "Uh-huh, sure. Just a friend, right?"

As Rachel slipped out of her apartment and made her way to Doo's, she felt her heart start to race, the way it always did around him these days. It was a mix of excitement and nervousness, something she'd never admit to anyone, especially not him. Not that he'd even notice; half the time, Doo seemed lost in his own world, caught up in thoughts she couldn't begin to fathom.

She tapped the door code she'd long memorized and walked in quietly. Her breath caught as she caught sight of him, shirtless, standing in front of his mirror, his back facing her. She froze, unsure if she should make her presence known, but unable to tear her gaze away. She had never really paid attention to his physique before, but now, seeing him like this, she realized just how much he had changed.

Scars marred his back—lines of past battles etched into his skin like strokes on an artist's canvas, each one a chapter in a story Rachel could only begin to imagine. Her breath caught as she took in the sight, and she couldn't look away, transfixed by the way his strength and vulnerability intertwined.

He stood with a natural confidence, the scars crossing his muscular back like badges of survival, adding to the quiet power he radiated. The moonlight through the window traced over his skin, highlighting the lean lines of muscle and every scar, old and new. Each mark only amplified the man he'd become, a mix of rugged strength and experience that she found captivating, even alluring.

At first, her mind struggled to make sense of them. The scars painted stories across his back, some thin and white, others thicker, jagged, and rough against his skin. They were like ghostly imprints, marking past battles she could barely imagine. A sudden pang of sadness hit her, and she took a small, shaky step closer, instinctively reaching out to touch them.

"Doo…" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. She placed her fingertips on one of the long, faded scars, her touch light, as though afraid she might hurt him by tracing over something that had happened long ago.

Doo glanced over his shoulder, an unreadable look in his eyes. "They're mostly stretch marks," he said with that casual, dismissive tone he often used, his voice void of any emotion.

She stared at him, hurt by how easily he brushed it off. They weren't just stretch marks—she knew that, could see that much. But what made it worse was that he wouldn't trust her with the truth. She dropped her hand, feeling a strange mixture of anger and sadness swell in her chest. Why did he always do this? Push people away like they didn't matter? Like she didn't matter?

"And these?" She touched a particular scar along his side, one that looked deeper, more raw than the others. She felt a tremor in her hand, an almost painful ache in her chest. "This one looks… different."

"It's nothing," he said, buttoning up his shirt, effectively putting a barrier between them. It was as though he were sealing himself off, locking her out with every button he fastened.

Rachel didn't know what possessed her to keep pressing, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. "Why do you always brush everything off like it's nothing?" She hated how desperate she sounded, but there was no taking it back now. "Why, Doo? Why are you always pushing everyone away?"

She hadn't meant to say it, to lay her feelings out so plainly, but once the words were out, there was no retracting them. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment, her throat tight with the weight of what she had just revealed. The silence hung between them like a heavy cloud, thick and suffocating.

Doo seemed to tense for a moment, his jaw tightening as he avoided her gaze. For a second, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—something vulnerable, almost pained. But then he sighed, his expression hardening once again.

.

.

.

The dinner table was a warm, nostalgic scene, with Mr. and Mrs. Richard chuckling over stories from their youth. Mr. Richard was reminiscing about his "grand romantic gestures" that had somehow convinced Mrs. Richard to fall for him. Rachel, however, was barely listening, distractedly picking at her rice like she was counting each grain, while Doo, oblivious as usual, was single-mindedly stuffing his face with everything he could reach.

Finally, Mr. Richard turned to Doo with a casual smile. "So, Doo! We're heading to Cheonglang for Christmas this year. You know, you should go home too. It's been, what, three months since you last visited?"

Doo nodded between bites. "Yeah, probably should…" He swallowed another mouthful before suddenly freezing, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "Wait a second." He put down his food, his eyes widening in realization. "Cheonglang?"

Richard blinked, confused by Doo's reaction. "Uh, yeah? It's where my grandparents used to live. Inherited the old place, so I thought it'd be nice to go clean it up, make it a little family trip, you know?"

Cheonglang was now, quite literally, a hellhole. Doo knew this all too well, having read every gritty, spine-chilling detail in the manhwa's Cheonliang arc. The story painted the town as a cesspool of chaos—run by a psychopath cult leader, filled with shady figures, twisted rituals, and every kind of horror that would make any sane person run the other way. And here was Mr. Richard, talking about a vacation there, as if it were some charming mountain retreat.

Doo pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head to clear the disturbing images. Yet, no matter how he tried to brush it off, dark memories clawed their way back to the surface. He remembered that look of terror on people's faces, the dread that had sunk deep into his bones, and the tragic end of that little girl—her face flashed in his mind, pale and still, haunting him as if it had happened yesterday. Just the way the world is, he told himself, nice guys like Richard getting tangled up in places they don't understand. It was part of the reason Doo kept his distance. Caring too much was a recipe for pain and, usually, for death.

Dinner ended, and Doo managed a half-hearted "thanks" before escaping to his apartment. But even there, lying in the supposed comfort of his bed, sleep wouldn't come. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw Cheonliang—a twisted nightmare he couldn't shake. He clenched his jaw, staring at the ceiling, repeating to himself, What does it matter to me if they go? After I'm just an extra

But the images wouldn't leave, lingering in the darkness of his mind, haunting him like unwanted ghosts.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Rachel's family car trundled down the dusty road and through the winding paths leading into Cheonliang, an uncanny peace settled over the surroundings. Too peaceful. The kind of quiet that prickled her skin, making her feel like they were driving into something cloaked and hidden, a secret that the trees and mountains themselves were trying to keep.

Her parents, however, seemed oblivious, chatting excitedly about their plans for their ancestral home. They were full of nostalgia, while Rachel just felt out of place.

Finally arriving, they were greeted by a handful of locals, each sporting broad smiles and soft, murmured words of welcome. They spoke with such reverence that it bordered on discomfort. And though she couldn't put her finger on it, something felt distinctly off about the entire place. She noticed people murmuring about someone—a name she heard repeatedly: Shinmyung Cheon.

It seemed that every corner, every whispered conversation, and every smiling local sang praise for this one person.

After the bags were unloaded, her parents dived right into cleaning and repairing the old, somewhat creaky house. Rachel found herself with little to do, and so, taking the chocolate ice cream cone she had found in the fridge, she sat in the open courtyard, taking in the village around her. As she licked her ice cream, she couldn't shake the feeling that there were eyes on her, as if she were the only newcomer in a small place that rarely saw one.

Soon enough, a group of girls around her age approached her. They looked friendly enough, each of them wearing similar traditional clothing, their eyes curious and smiles warm.

"Hello!" one of them greeted with a wide smile. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Rachel nodded politely. "Yeah, I'm from Gangnam."

"Oh, did you recently move here?"

"No, I'm just here with my parents to fix up my grandparents' house."

"Oh, that's so cool! You're really beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend?" she was bombarded by questions from these girls, their eyes twinkling mischievously. The question caught Rachel off guard, making her laugh despite the unease she still felt.

"No... not really," she replied, feeling a bit embarrassed under their attention. But she didn't know why, but the image of Doo smiling at her popped into her mind.

They exchanged a few glances and giggles, and then the tallest one in the group asked, "Want to come with us? We'll show you around! It's much better than staying cooped up here."

Rachel hesitated. The place didn't exactly scream "welcome," but the girls seemed friendly enough, and she figured a little tour couldn't hurt. As they pressed on with coaxing words, she finally relented.

"Alright, sure. Just for a little while," she said, giving in to their excited pleas.

They led her down the winding streets, where the smell of incense was thick in the air. At each turn, people stopped and stared, some nodding, others whispering. Everywhere they went, Rachel heard the same name over and over: Shinmyung Cheon. She wanted to ask who he was, but the girls always seemed to chatter about everything else, giggling and laughing.

Eventually, they reached a clearing near what looked like a shrine. It was packed with people, and she could see that they were all gazing in one direction. She followed their line of sight, her eyes landing on a figure standing on a raised platform at the center of the shrine.

The man looked like something out of a history book. Shinmyung Cheon had a somewhat odd appearance—bushy eyebrows, a large forehead, and small eyes that held a piercing gaze despite their size. His bald head showed an M-pattern, and he wore traditional, almost ceremonial clothing. He was dressed in a grey outfit, his feet bare on the wooden platform. But it was his expression that sent a chill down Rachel's spine; his face was twisted in concentration, his lips moving in a low chant that seemed to reverberate through the silent crowd.

Rachel could only stare, bewildered and a bit horrified, as he continued with his ritual. A hush fell over the crowd, a reverence in their eyes as they watched him with pure devotion. Some had their hands clasped, murmuring prayers under their breath. Others simply stared, their eyes wide, their faces blank as if they were hypnotized.

As she stood there, her discomfort growing, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Every instinct in her told her to back away, to leave this eerie scene behind. Taking a few slow steps back, her eyes still locked on the ritual, she bumped into something solid.

She looked up, startled, and found herself staring at a tall guy with a muscular build. His blonde hair was short and styled in a way that made him look rugged, almost intimidating if it weren't for the slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she stammered, feeling her face flush in embarrassment.

"It's alright," he replied, his voice deep but kind. He offered a small, almost mischievous smile. "I haven't seen you around before. New here?"

"Yeah, my parents and I are visiting to fix up an old house nearby," she explained.

He nodded, his gaze friendly but with a hint of something else that she couldn't quite place. "I'm Taejin Cheon," he introduced himself, his tone casual.

"Rachel," she replied, feeling herself relax a bit. Taejin seemed like a much-needed breath of normalcy in this bizarre place. There was an ease about him that made her feel safe, or at least less wary.

"Are you…?" she trailed off, wondering if it was alright to ask after hearing his last name.

"Yes, the shaman's son," he answered before she could finish. His tone was neutral, as though it were a fact that needed no elaboration.

Rachel's eyebrows raised in slight surprise. "Oh, I see." She glanced back at the crowd, still captivated by the shaman. "Is he always…?" she struggled to find the words, but Taejin seemed to understand.

"He's highly respected here. People believe he possesses special gifts," he said with a touch of pride, though he maintained a respectful tone. There was a pride in his expression, something that made her curious about how he felt regarding his father's reputation.

They stood together, watching for a moment. Rachel noticed how some of the locals were now glancing between her and Taejin, their expressions unreadable. She felt her cheeks heat up under their scrutiny.

"Do they always do this?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"Pretty much. It's kind of a tradition," Taejin shrugged. "If you're not used to it, it can seem…strange."

"That's putting it mildly," she muttered, earning a chuckle from him.

Taejin led her a bit away from the crowd, where they could still see the gathering but with some distance. They walked in silence for a moment, and she found herself feeling oddly at ease with him. He seemed grounded, someone who didn't buy into the fanaticism around them.

"Doesn't it bother you?" she asked quietly. "All of this?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, "It's just part of life here. People need something to believe in." His gaze was distant, as though he were looking at something far beyond the village and its rituals.

They sat down on a stone ledge near the fields

"So, no boyfriend?" he asked suddenly, throwing her off guard.

Rachel felt her cheeks warm thinking of certain someone. "No, not really. Just…you know, friends."

Taejin smiled knowingly. "Good. It's better to enjoy things while you're young. Plus, relationships can be…complicated." His gaze turned serious for a moment, but he quickly brushed it off.

Before she could reply, a couple of the girls she'd met earlier came over, giggling and teasingly whispering things that she couldn't quite make out. It was clear they were excited to see Taejin, and Rachel couldn't blame them—he was easy to talk to, and there was a certain charm about him that drew people in.

As the sun began to set, Taejin walked her back to her house, and she couldn't help but feel grateful. Despite the odd atmosphere of the village and the unsettling rituals, she felt less alone with him by her side.

"Thanks," she said softly as they reached her gate.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm. "Let me know if you need anything."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------