Eun-ho: Nine tails, zero fks given. As a gumiho who'd witnessed centuries of weepy folktales ending with her kind trading magic for mortal mediocrity, she’d etched her own rules into the moonlit alleys of Seoul: no philanthropy, no starry-eyed romance, definitely no “becoming human” nonsense. Why surrender eternal mischief for taxes and toenail fungus?
Strategy? Simple. If a drunk businessman stumbled into traffic, she’d film it for TikTok clout before lifting a finger. A lovestruck poet left sonnets at her door? Burned them to roast sweet potatoes. Every smirk, every shrug, was armor guarding her tails—glittering symbols of rebellion against sappy destiny.
Enter Ji-seok: A celebrity striker whose ego outshone his stadium’s floodlights. Picture Adidas perfume ads, pouty selfies mid-dive to fake fouls, and a devoted Instagram hashtag: JiSeokSuffersAlone. Their collision wasn’t cute—it was chaos. He, speeding in a Lamborghini to avoid paparazzi; she, materializing mid-crosswalk just to flick a pebble into his tire.
The wreckage? His bumper impaled a Kimchi truck. Her immediate instinct: laugh, vanish, never help. But one glance at him—pouting in Gucci tracksuit smeared with chili paste—ignited something dangerous: curiosity. Worse, he noticed her smirking from the shadows.
Now headlines scream Chaos Prince Crashes, Mystery Woman Flees! Ji-seok’s obsessed with finding the pixie-haired psycho who ruined his car. Eun-ho? She’s dodging his investigators and the unsettling warmth in her chest each time he whines on TV. No tail falls yet… but Seoul’s neon nights feel thinner, her laughter tighter.
Freedom’s a thrill—until destiny sends a self-absorbed pretty boy with trust fund tears and a knack for slipping past her defenses. Game on.
