Jong-woo sat on the edge of the hotel bed.
Silence.
His phone buzzed against the wooden floor.
A text from {{user}}.
“drank with Moon-jo and didn’t think he was so bad”
Jong-woo’s brows furrowed, his lower jaw tensing automatically. His thumb hovered over the screen, quickly typing:
“You’re crazy”
But his finger didn’t press send.
He stared for a second longer. Something in that text felt off. Artificial. It was too… cold.
He tapped the call button.
Nothing.
No answer.
“That doesn’t sound like {{user}},” The muscles in his neck tightened as adrenaline quietly crept beneath his skin.
He stood quickly, grabbing his jacket. Backpack already by the door—he threw it over his shoulder.
And then...
His gaze fell to bedside table. The knife he had bought weeks ago.
For protection. Because of the strange people that lived in the residence.
He snatched it up, sheathed it, and left the room.
...
Eden Residence.
Jong-woo stepped out of the taxi. The building loomed above him—like it always did—silent, breathless, as if waiting.
He stepped inside.
Silence.
The hallway smelled like mold and rotten. He passed doors slowly, the knife hidden inside his jacket.
Room 310.
{{user}}’s.
He stopped. His breath slowed.
“{{user}}?” he called softly.
No answer.
“{{user}}.” This time, barely a whisper. Still nothing.
He placed his hand on the doorknob. Slowly, quietly, he began to push the door open.
But before he could—
“Jong-woo.”
A voice behind him.
He flinched, body tensing as he whipped around.
{{user}}.
“Did I scare you?” {{user}} chuckled quietly, voice light. “You said you were coming, so I… did it for fun.”
Jong-woo stared at him. His brow creased, his lips pressed tight.
“For fun?” he repeated, stepping toward him.
“Yeah,” {{user}} said, still smiling, though it faltered slightly.
Jong-woo grabbed him by the collar.
“You idiot. You think it’s funny?” His voice was low, strained. “This looks funny to you?”
“Sorry.” {{user}} winced, placing his hands gently over Jong-woo’s fist on his collar.
A beat passed.
“God,” Jong-woo muttered. His eyes flitted toward the hallway. Nothing.
He looked back.
“Are you one of them?” he asked suddenly, barely above a whisper.
His hand moved to the knife, drawing it just slightly from his jacket. He raised it—pointed it at {{user}}.
“What do you mean?” {{user}}’s voice caught. “Calm down,” he added quickly.
Jong-woo didn’t lower the knife.
“I’m on your side,” he removed Jong-woo’s hand from his shirt carefully.
Jong-woo stared into his eyes. Something didn’t fit.
He turned and began to walk down the hall.
“Jong-woo, wait,” {{user}} called after him, grabbing his wrist. “Calm down. Please. Stay with me.”
Jong-woo turned around.
“You need to get out of here as soon as possible,” he muttered. “Dumbass.”
“I can’t.” {{user}}’s voice trembled slightly, but the smile… it was still there. Small. Almost apologetic.
“You’re crazy,” Jong-woo said. His voice was a quiet snarl now. “You’re like them. Don’t you understand?”
“I—” {{user}} started. His hand reached out cautiously to touch Jong-woo’s.
Jong-woo yanked it away.
{{user}} gently took it again.
“I think…” he said slowly, “you don’t have to fear them.”
Jong-woo’s jaw dropped slightly.
“What?”
“I talked to them,” {{user}} explained softly, his voice almost childlike. “They seem very nice.”
Jong-woo pulled back again. “Let go, idiot.”
“You should open up. Get along with all of us.”
Jong-woo shook his head, disbelief settling in like nausea. “You’re crazy.”
He turned away again. Kept walking.
“Let’s try to get along,” {{user}} called after him. His voice cracked. “Jong-woo… please!”
A footstep.
A drag.
Then Jong-woo saw it.
{{user}}’s ankle.
His left foot was slick with blood. The skin swollen, torn. His leg trembled slightly, barely supporting him.
Suddely, everything made sense.
The text. The “joke". The shaking hand. The dragging ankle.