“Agent Cheongdong.”
“Yes.”
Ryu Jaegwan, who had been waiting, lifted his head.
“I’ll escort you.”
Only a single day had passed since the ‘Man on the Screen’ incident was resolved. The headquarters of the Supernatural Disaster Response Agency was still slightly unsettled with lingering chaos.
It had been a simultaneous, widespread event—enough to mobilize not just Hyunmu Team 1, who were on duty that day, but even the off-duty Hyunmu Team 3.
And to make matters worse, it had involved a broadcasting station and nearly escalated into a mass-casualty incident, which had only barely been contained through the intervention of government authority.
On top of that... the whole thing had been suspicious from the start.
“Looking back, the timing of the report was too perfect.”
Ordinarily, when a supernatural disaster first breaks out, it’s nearly impossible to contact the SDRA.
Civilians usually don’t even know the number exists, and during initial outbreaks, the agency can’t pre-distribute the number in advance.
And yet, they’d received a call before anyone had even confirmed whether there were any deaths.
“No way it’s not suspicious.”
Sure enough, interrogation of the PD had revealed:
A group of ‘experts in suits and masks’ had shown up, tampered with the editing room, and afterward, it was those people who introduced the SDRA’s number.
It seemed clear that Baekilmong Corporation, having dug into a previously-resolved supernatural incident for their own collection efforts, had made a mess—and once it got out of hand, tried to pass the problem off onto the SDRA.
They were denying it officially, of course.
Cheongdong pressed down on the dark circles under his eyes.
“That trash company.”
Which is why the decision to bring in a Baekilmong employee for further information gathering had earned praise as a smart move.
...Though that hadn’t been the only reason for doing it.
On top of that, someone who appeared to be part of the Elite Team had escaped at the last second using an artifact. They’d missed him by a hair.
A shame.
“Well, I’m just relieved the situation was handled,” the escorting clerical staff said, making small talk.
“...Yeah.”
“I heard they decided not to use the label ‘Episode 6’? Is that right?”
“Yes. They’re jumping straight to Episode 7.”
That’s how they were covering it up.
Until the ‘Man on the Screen’ fully vanished, the number six would be scrubbed from all mentions.
And the station, jumping at the chance, had begun dramatizing the mystery with a 6-skip marketing campaign, pretending to use the ‘urban legend’ virally.
Even if people mocked it as a tone-deaf, failed marketing stunt, the strategy had the effect of sweeping away any creepy atmosphere.
The two deaths would quietly be chalked up as overwork or accidents, and once everyone involved had their memories erased, the station would return to normal operations.
There was a strange déjà vu to it all.
Because, oddly enough, it resembled something that had once been done by a new recruit on the Baekho Team, nicknamed “the Calamity King.”
“...Agent? We’ve arrived.”
“Ah. ...Thank you.”
And that’s when the odd sensation hit Cheongdong again.
A feeling of... presence.
Of someone he hadn’t seen in half a year—who had vanished, leaving behind nothing but a tightly folded letter and a pile of artifacts.
Agent Podo.
...Kim Soleum.
It felt like an omen. Like a warning not to make a mistake here.
“You may enter now.”
He stepped into the room he’d been led to.
A little removed from the main debriefing area for supernatural disaster witnesses—this was where they temporarily detained “potentially dangerous” individuals based on their statements.
The so-called protective room.
One step short of the Glass Prison.
“Well hey, great to see you, Agent!”
Cheongdong was greeted by someone still grinning inside the protective cell.
A member of the Field Exploration Team wearing a pony mask.
“Thanks for the jajangmyeon! The food here’s really great. And free, too. Ha!”
He hadn’t given his real name, but they’d already identified his profile.
“So if you match the price, I’ll tell you everything.”
An extreme materialist.
“But if it’s related directly to my job that day... I mean, I could get reprimanded or even fired, right? You’ll need to offer more than a ‘token of appreciation.’”
“......”
Cheongdong was used to this type.
Though this one was a bit more extreme than most.
“Citizen. This isn’t a negotiation.”
Cheongdong’s voice was calm and level.
“The tokens we offer are not payment, but a gesture of gratitude for your cooperation. Exercising the right to remain silent is not permitted under SDRA safety protocols.”
“......”
“And refusing to give a statement is categorized as creating a dangerous situation.”
And honestly, even if it came to that, Cheongdong wouldn’t regret it.
“That means we may apply other forms of treatment besides ‘protection.’”
The Baekilmong employee didn’t even blink.
“Well, if it comes to that, I might have to claim emotional damages and up the price even more!”
“......”
“But ideally, we come to an agreement and settle on a reasonable rate. Hahaha!”
What a piece of work.
Cheongdong stared at the textbook example of a selfish junior Baekilmong employee and suppressed a sigh.
Technically a villain, yes—but not one who had yet committed many crimes.
Since the scale hadn’t tipped fully toward evil, the SDRA wouldn’t designate him as a sacrificial pawn either.
Normally, someone like this would be interrogated in the Glass Prison so they couldn’t lie—but...
“...Maybe I should just send him.”
Into the Nightmare Labyrinth.
That kind of firsthand experience would probably change his attitude.
Cheongdong was still weighing that decision when—
Click.
The door to the protective room opened, and another person entered.
“...Agent.”
“Phew. Rough one.”
Cheongdong barely held back a sigh as Agent Choi strode in, waving cheerfully both to him and the Baekilmong employee before dragging over a chair and plopping into it.
“Just stopped by after finishing up. I mean, I helped transport him—least I can do is chat a bit, right? Don’t you think so, employee?”
“No need for bonding—just pay me in gold! Hahaha!”
“Hahaha, you’re very consistent!”
Agent Choi lowered his voice while lounging carelessly in the chair.
“But even if we wanted to pay you in gold... you gotta give us something worth trading for.”
“......”
“Do you really think whatever a junior with less than two years in the Field Team knows is worth that much?”
Kang Ihak laughed.
“Well, you did bother to catch me.”
“I was betting on the odds.”
Choi scratched his chin as if considering, then raised both hands in mock defeat.
“Fine! Spill everything you know, and I’ll try to match your price.”
“Ooh!”
“How about some gold as a down payment? Maybe some jade, too.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Cheongdong gave Choi a look of disbelief, but Choi only offered an awkward shrug and maintained his slippery tone.
And then he actually brought in a piece of jewelry made of real gold and jade.
“...!”
Kang Ihak caught it in his hand.
He could tell by touch.
“Pure gold.”
By weight.
“At least ten don.”
Even stripped of craftsmanship or historical value, just as raw metal, it was worth over five million won.
Add the jade, and...
This was the real deal.
“Pretty, right? As long as you answer everything properly, you’ll leave with it. We won’t stop you.”
“Agent.”
“And if your intel turns out useful... who knows? I might ‘accidentally’ give you one or two more.”
“Agent, I understand now. The SDRA is a righteous organization that works for the people—and also knows how to get things done with some flexible efficiency!”
“Of course.”
“Ask away. I’ll even give you the locker number of my dad’s columbarium!”
“Whoa now, no need for that.”
Agent Choi made no move to stop Kang Ihak from pocketing the jewelry.
He just asked casually:
“Let’s start with a test question, then...”
It was—
“Do you know anything about Noru?”
Agent Cheongdong froze.
He barely stopped himself from clenching his fists in tension.
Noru.
...Agent Podo.
No trace of him in six months.
Even Ko Yeongeun, once suspected of being a spy, had only repeated that she had no idea where he was—and that was the truth.
His last letter had said he wanted to go home. That he was going back to the company for the wish ticket.
Then he vanished.
And yesterday, in a slightly trembling voice, Choi had made a call to request the employee’s urgent transfer—
“Podo... he got the wish ticket.”
“......”
They had never truly believed in the wish ticket’s power.
But if Kim Soleum had truly made a wish and safely quit... then where the hell was he?
No answers. Only mystery.
And now, again, the same tired response came.
“Oh, yeah, he was one of us. Went missing, right? Isn’t that already known? Though I didn’t know he got the wish ticket, honestly.”
“......”
“I’m being 100% honest. For the sake of building trust.”
Trust, he says.
He must’ve known the SDRA could compel honesty—yet he was still talking like that.
Cheongdong frowned. Choi, after a long silence, suddenly changed the subject.
“Then how much do you know about the Security Team?”
“Security Team?”
“Yeah. You were partnered with one, weren’t you? Normally the Field Exploration Team doesn’t work with them... must’ve been a special mission?”
“......”
Cheongdong had heard about this, too.
“That Security Team member supposedly gave testimony about the wish ticket.”
Maybe Choi was trying to dig deeper in that direction—but then, he took the conversation in an unexpected turn.
“Do you know of a Security Team member like this?”
A strange profile.
“Black smoke trailing behind them. Huge cluster of horns on their head. Wears a gas mask... and their eyes... were yellow.”
.......
“Agent...”
Agent Choi nudged Cheongdong under the table with his foot, then waited until the silence settled before speaking again.
“That Security Team member who was with you... looked like they recognized that employee, didn’t they?”
“Huh?”
Kang Ihak blinked.
“You met that ‘employee’ too, didn’t you? Right there at the scene.”
“......”
A thick, stifling silence blanketed the room.
“What are you—”
“I thought you were asking because you already knew!” Kang Ihak said, utterly casually.
“I’m talking about the carrier case. The one that Security Team guy was holding.”
......
“Carrier case.”
“Yes!”
Width: 35cm. Height: 50cm. Depth: 36cm.
Just big enough for an adult man to slip in both hands, barely two spans wide.
A portable container.
“That is the employee.”
An eerie chill rose through the air.
“They’re inside it.”
***
I came out of the carrier case.
Concealing the bell given to me by Agent Haegeum in my hand.
Ding-a-ling.
[Oh, friend. What an exhilarating day it has been. Wouldn’t you agree?]
Yeah.
I mean... if I still had my original body, I’d be drenched in cold sweat by now.
This is insane.
Lying flat on the cot in the isolation room, I replayed what had just happened.
Agent Haegeum had handed me the bell and generously let us go. The Guard Captain and I had returned safely to headquarters.
I heard Deputy Lee Seonghae made it back too and submitted the USB.
It seemed like the mission had been deemed a success. Probably wouldn’t be officially settled until work hours resumed tomorrow.
In any case, the Guard Captain had returned to his designated living area, leaving only the carrier case inside the isolation room, as per my newly assigned isolation protocols.
Ding-a-ling.
Maybe he’s meeting with Section Chief Park Minseong right now.
I had free time now, too.
Anyway, I was relieved everything was resolved safely... though the bitter aftertaste of how Baekilmong had dumped the fallout on the SDRA still lingered.
Baekilmong doing what Baekilmong does, huh...
And yet, after all that, I came back with a “gift” from Agent Haegeum as thanks. It didn’t feel right.
...The moment I realized I still carried the identity of the resort’s owner, it had left a strange impression on me.
Is that... a good thing?
Maybe it was.
I adjusted my angle to stay out of the CCTV’s view and slowly lifted the bell with my hand, giving it a soft shake.
Ding-a-ling.
Even back in the carrier case, it had made this sound—clear and pure.
It felt like something unwanted was being gently shaken loose.
...Is this why the agents wear bells?
Like how Agent Choi had one strapped to the cleaver.
It wasn’t... important.
Probably meant to drive away contamination or corruption. But I wasn’t sure if it would have any effect on me.
Ding-a-ling.
Still, the sound was nice. It made me want to keep listening. Felt like it lightened my head somehow.
Ding-a-ling.
Strangely, I found myself focusing on it more and more.
...Would Brown be able to hear it too?
[Mr. Noru.]
Can you hear this?
[Of course, it’s crystal clear! Oh, and I have a question for my dearest friend.]
[How are you feeling right now?]
How am I feeling?
Pretty awful.
It’s hard to feel great when you’ve realized you’re not human—and that your body collapses into a puddle without this containment suit...
And yeah, signing a labor contract that technically qualifies as modern-day slavery under Baekilmong’s control doesn’t help either...
......
Ding-a-ling.
Wait a second.
[Ah, at last.]
I shot up from the bed.
...What is this?
Why—
Why can’t I think?
It’s like my mind was smeared, melting, fogged over—refusing to settle.
But something was returning.
Motion.
Natural flow.
There was no clear emotion I could name, and yet... the way I thought, the trajectory of my mental processes—the reflexive, instinctive direction it always took—
It was coming back.
Ding-a-ling.
...!
[To think the damages suffered at the resort would repay themselves like this—what a dramatic twist, truly!]
[Congratulations, my friend!]
I was here.
I was me again.