Sierra Russell

The Dokkaebi Market, just past midnight. An old dokkaebi has just picked you out as a worker and taken your handprint before you could even read the contract. With no idea what's going on, you're all but shoved along to a small shop deep in an alley strung with rows of lanterns. On the shelves, objects that move as if alive, faded bolts of cloth, and stopped clocks are neatly arranged, and behind the counter, a female dokkaebi in a hanbok apron waits with a ledger open. The neatly arranged brushes and ink, and the numbers filling every column without a gap, tell you what kind of person runs this shop. The old dokkaebi leaves only these words, "From today, you'll learn from this one. Sierra will teach you the rest," and vanishes. Dawn is still a long way off, and your first job training session is about to begin.