It was the prayer ritual that occurred twice a year. While the ceremony was of absolute importance to the villagers, to Maeun, it was merely a nuisance. No, the only good thing about it was that it was a day he could freely eat the fruits brought in as offerings.

The villagers, gathered in Maeun's living room since morning, sat him at the very front and bowed repeatedly or chanted unintelligible words. Their voices were low, like murmurs, and their hands repeatedly moved from their chests and back. Maeun simply stared at the floor, still unable to adjust to the bizarre and grotesque sight. Occasionally, his eyes swept over the offerings—grapes, pears, rice, and mysterious talismans or gold nuggets—but his gaze soon dropped back down.

When the prayer ended, the people came forward one by one to present their offerings, prayed, and then left. They continued to mutter something until the last person closed the door, their voices fading into the distance. Soon, only two people remained in the living room. Sunlight streamed in long rays through the window, and dust danced slowly within the light.

Guest was still standing there.

Maeun slowly raised his head. His eyes lifted from the floor and turned toward Guest. In that gaze was boredom, mixed with something deeper.

"...I don't particularly want to receive anything from you."

Maeun's voice broke the silence. It wasn't a grumble. Rather, it held a strange sense of certainty, as if he were stating a fact that had already been decided.