Superstar 840
by Cristae“Okay! Cut!”
Morning filming wrapped, and after lunch, preparations began for the next shoot.
Seo-jun arrived on set for his afternoon scene.
“Welcome, Jun.”
“Hello.”
As Seo-jun greeted the staff, a soft meow made him look down.
A black cat stood at his feet.
“So it’s Bella today. Hello, Bella.”
Meow—
Seo-jun scooped her up, gently cradling the feline who had worked hard all morning. He also exchanged greetings with her handler.
‘Jack was here yesterday.’
Seo-jun recalled how aloof Jack had been, showing interest only in snacks—yet still finishing the shoot successfully.
All three cats seemed to be adapting well to the set.
Seo-jun sat down with Bella in his lap, still with time before his own shoot began.
Hailey Lodge, freshly re-touched in makeup, was heading back onto the set. She waved, and Seo-jun waved back.
“How was today’s shoot?”
“Bella did great. Hardly any NGs.”
As the handler spoke, Seo-jun gently stroked Bella.
If Lily was an attention-seeker and Jack was indifferent, Bella was calm.
“But I guess they all like you, Jun. She ran straight to the entrance when you arrived.”
The handler sighed, watching her cat purring contentedly on Seo-jun’s lap.
Bella meowed in response, and Seo-jun chuckled.
“Ready, action!”
Claire changed out of her rain-soaked clothes in her upstairs room and came down with a warm cup of tea.
Sinking into the soft sofa, she sighed in relief. Her whole body ached—she could fall asleep right here and now.
“Claire!”
But rest wasn’t on the agenda.
A voice perked her up. It came from a black cat sitting as if it owned one end of the couch—Molly.
With a fireplace taking up one wall, a table in front of it, an L-shaped sofa, and large windows behind—it all felt like the perfect frame for the black cat lounging there.
She belonged in this house.
‘The sofa and furniture came with the place…’
Along with appliances and even the books in the upstairs study. Claire had been amazed by the collection.
‘I’m so grateful, but…’
“A talking cat is a bit much, don’t you think?”
Claire sipped her steaming herbal tea instead of sighing. The warmth seeped into her, calming her nerves.
“Okay.”
Now collected, she nodded at the yellow-eyed cat.
Molly’s eyes sparkled.
“Let me introduce myself again! I’m Molly! A witch’s eternal companion—your familiar!”
“Familiar?”
“A being that helps and protects witches or wizards. Usually takes the form of a small animal—like me!”
Puffing her chest proudly.
“I’ll protect you from now on!”
Claire… said nothing.
She just drank her tea.
“So… what is a witch?”
“A person who can use magic. You’ve read fairy tales, right?”
Molly’s surprise was comical. Claire just exhaled.
Even cats read fairy tales, apparently.
“So… like the pointy hat, broom-riding, potion-brewing kind of witch?”
“Exactly! Margaret was amazing at potions!”
Margaret. The person who left Claire this house.
“…But there’s a fridge. And an air conditioner.”
Claire’s expectations were still adjusting.
“Huh? Yeah? So?”
Apparently, Molly had personally used the A/C during the summer.
“…Never mind.”
Claire laughed softly. She realized she was the one clinging to outdated ideas.
“Yes, Margaret was a witch. A really powerful one! The strongest, even! And you, Claire, can be just like her if you train! I’ll help you!”
Haa…
The strange man’s words. Molly’s insistence. The unnatural events.
Claire had suspected this.
Now, with nowhere to turn, she said it out loud.
“I’m… really a witch?”
“Yup!”
No hesitation.
Witch.
Me. A witch.
It sounded insane.
But remembering the enchanted storm, the flickering fire—it was hard to deny.
“I’ve never… used magic before.”
Claire’s voice cracked. The sentence itself sounded surreal.
Molly explained:
“Only because no one taught you. Most witches are trained from a young age.”
From a young age?
Claire’s heart skipped.
That would mean her family—her mother—might’ve been a witch too.
“Then… was my mom a witch?”
The word felt unfamiliar on her tongue.
She hadn’t said “mother” aloud in years.
Having grown up in an orphanage, Claire always secretly hoped for something—anything—about her parents.
Family.
Maybe… just maybe, her mother had been a witch. Maybe she had no choice but to leave Claire behind.
If that were true, Claire wouldn’t mind being called a witch.
“Probably.”
Molly’s answer came easily.
Claire’s mind locked onto those words.
“Witches have a lot of enemies. Who knows what happened.”
Ah…
There it was.
There was a reason.
She wasn’t abandoned out of hate.
Claire felt her eyes heat up. Tears welled, overflowed, streamed down her cheeks.
She didn’t fight it.
Even if it wasn’t a sure thing—this was the first time she’d ever heard anything about her parents.
Clutching her teacup, Claire cried.
Molly watched silently. Outside, the rain continued to fall.
“…You said witches have enemies?”
Time passed.
Still wiping her tears, Claire asked softly.
“There are other beings.”
Molly replied calmly.
“Like… demons, angels, wizards… even creatures from other realms. You’ve heard of Cthulhu? Vampires? Werewolves, like that guy from earlier.”
Demons? Angels?
More absurdity.
But Molly carried on.
“They’ve always been at odds with witches. Trying to steal their power. Even now, we get attacked sometimes—just for existing.”
Claire frowned.
Witches usually lived alone. Two or three at most. Other groups roamed in packs.
So witches often faced overwhelming odds in fights.
“That’s why we ward our homes.”
Ah.
Claire remembered.
The man from earlier—
“What did you say he was?”
“Oh, did I not mention? He’s a werewolf.”
Werewolf.
Claire’s mouth dropped open.
“That nose of his probably picked up your scent.”
“My scent?”
She sniffed herself.
“Not that scent!”
Molly giggled.
“It’s the aura of your magic.”
“Magic?”
“Yup. The stronger it is, the more noticeable it becomes. Werewolves smell it. Witches see it. Once you train, you’ll be able to spot others too.”
Claire looked at her hands.
“Once you’re good at sensing it, you can read others too! Like…”
“The werewolf you saw—he’s young. Just recently matured. His power is weaker than average. And he’s alone.”
Claire recalled the flames that injured him.
“Usually werewolves travel in pairs. Especially the young ones. But he was by himself… Weird, right?”
Suddenly, she remembered his voice:
“Wait—let me explain!”
Claire turned toward the window.
Rain poured down.
…Is he still out there?
No. Surely not. Not in this weather.
“That mutt aside, let me tell you about the house—”
“Ah!”
Claire shot to her feet.
Startled, Molly looked up.
“My bags!”
The ones by the front door.
“I bought tablecloth fabric, curtains, sugar—”
“SUGAR?! That’ll melt!”
Claire bolted for the door, Molly scampering after her.
She undid the lock and flung the door open—
—and froze.
The man stood there.
Soaked to the bone, shivering.
Black hair plastered to his face like a drowned puppy.
“…You opened the door.”
With skin pale as ice, he met her eyes and offered a faint, relieved smile.