We Don't Accept Cash
"All right, let's go over today's stream plan."
Lee Do flipped his phone's camera around to face himself.
It was late at night. The sidewalk was practically deserted, illuminated only by scattered storefront signs and streetlights standing at measured intervals down the road.
"There is no plan."
The chat window immediately began to scroll.
"What do you mean, why did I turn it on? Because you guys are watching."
"Kimchi, losing even one person out of forty-eight is a critical hit. Watch yourself."
The viewer count immediately dropped to 47.
Lee Do stopped dead in his tracks.
"Who was that?"
"Come back. I'm sorry."
The viewer did not return.
Lee Do let out a heavy sigh and started walking again. He had been streaming for two years now, averaging somewhere around fifty viewers. On good days, the count pushed past a hundred; on bad days, it plummeted below thirty. It wasn't an utter catastrophe, either. Small donations trickled in, and the occasional brand sponsorship kept him afloat. At the very least, he earned enough to keep himself fed.
The problem was what came next.
How long can I keep doing this?
The question crossed his mind from time to time.
Thirty-two years old. Originally, he had been an ordinary office worker. The company had been ordinary, and his daily duties had been ordinary. Then, in quite an unordinary fashion, the company went under—closed its doors for good, to be precise. At first, his plan was simple: get back on the job market. He polished his resume and went on a handful of interviews. In the downtime between submissions, purely out of boredom, he turned on a live stream.
He played video games, hosted mukbangs, and broadcasted late-night walks outside. Before he realized it, streaming was eating up more of his days than job hunting ever had.
Let's just give it a few months.
Just like that, two full years had vanished into thin air.
"Ah."
Lee Do stopped walking.
"How about I fold you in half first?"
Across the asphalt, a brightly lit convenience store caught his eye.
"Maybe I'll grab a beer before heading home."
"One can is just hydration."
"Keep it up and you're getting banned."
The pedestrian signal switched to green. Lee Do crossed the street toward the convenience store.
It was a familiar route. He had lived in this neighborhood since childhood, and even after taking up streaming, he frequently walked this stretch of pavement. Yet he had never seen that convenience store before. Emblazoned across the glowing storefront sign was a business name he had never once encountered.
"Is this place new?"
"Here? In the neighborhood."
"I told you, it's called 'Woori Convenience Store.'"
"Must've opened today, then."
Thinking nothing of it, Lee Do approached the glass automatic doors.
Chime.
The doors slid apart with a clean mechanical hum. Inside, the store appeared entirely unremarkable. Rows of metal shelving stood neatly arranged beneath bright, humming fluorescent lights. Drink coolers were packed tight with sodas and beers, while another section displayed an assortment of instant noodles and packaged bento boxes. On the checkout counter sat a small informational sign, and behind it sat a female clerk dressed in a standard convenience store uniform. Straight black hair spilled past her lowered face, and a modest name tag was pinned over her chest.
There were two other customers browsing the aisles: a middle-aged man in a suit, and a woman bundled inside an oversized hoodie.
"See? Perfectly normal."
"I can't see her face."
"You want me to get reported for harassment?"
Catching the message, Lee Do glanced toward the beverage coolers.
"What is?"
Lee Do walked over to the glass cooler doors. Bottled beverages lined the wire shelves in dense rows: cola, lemon-lime soda, sports drinks, and clear water. Tucked right between them was a bottle he had never seen before.
A black glass bottle.
There was no label on it whatsoever.
"Some new product that just came out?"
"I'll drink it if you buy it for me."
A donation alert pinged on screen almost instantly.
"Forget it. Keep your hundred won."
Passing up the mysterious black bottle, Lee Do grabbed a familiar brand of canned beer instead. He picked out a bag of chips from the aisle and headed straight to the register. The clerk remained seated with her head bowed, staring blankly down at her phone.
"Ready to check out."
There was no response.
"Excuse me?"
Only then did she slowly lift her head. Her face was completely average—mid-twenties, perhaps. Aside from looking mildly worn out from the night shift, there was nothing unusual about her appearance. Lee Do set the beer and the snack bag onto the glass counter. The clerk looked down at each item in turn. She didn't scan the barcodes with the register scanner.
After a short pause, she spoke.
"That will be 3,800 won."
"All right."
Lee Do retrieved a card from his wallet and held it out toward her. The clerk made no move to take it.
"Do you not take cards?"
"We do."
"Then here you go."
He pushed it forward again. The woman remained entirely motionless. Question marks began cascading down the stream chat.
"My card," Lee Do said, lightly tapping the plastic edge against the counter.
The clerk smiled. It was an impeccably natural, polite smile.
"Customer."
"Yes?"
"Our convenience store..."
She paused for a split second.
"...does not accept money."
Lee Do's outstretched hand froze midair.
"...Excuse me?"
The chat stalled for a heartbeat before erupting all at once.
Lee Do glanced down at the can of beer and the bag of chips sitting on the counter, then looked back up at her.
"You just told me it was 3,800 won."
"That is correct."
"So what do you mean, you don't take money?"
"Just as I said."
"Then what do you take?"
The corners of the clerk's mouth curled upward a fraction higher. And then a little higher still.
Lee Do stared at her mouth. The curling lips didn't stop. They slowly stretched outward across her cheeks, pulling wider and wider—well beyond the anatomical limits of human flesh and bone—and kept expanding.
As if aiming to touch both of her ears.
The banter died in Lee Do's throat. The endless stream of laughter that had flooded the chat vanished in an instant.
Lee Do read the frantic text scrolling past. Usernames that rarely spoke up were popping up one after another. Not a single person was making jokes.
He took a slow, deliberate step backward. The clerk's torn mouth remained frozen in that impossible grin.
Click.
The small acrylic display stand sitting on the checkout counter flipped over on its own. Across the card, which had been completely blank moments before, thick black letters began to bleed into the paper.
Lee Do stared at the notice, then dragged his eyes back to the clerk. She was still smiling, her split jaw gaping wide. He backed away another step and whispered beneath his breath.
"Guys."
The chat slowed to a near-complete halt.
"I don't think this is content anymore."
The moment the words left his lips, regret settled deep in his gut. This was no time to care about stream content or views. Across the counter, the woman continued to smile. The corners of her mouth parted her cheeks all the way back to the bases of her ears. There was no blood. No torn laceration. It looked as seamless and natural as if human mouths were meant to be built that way from birth.
Which only made it so much more revolting.
Lee Do nearly overlooked that final message.
Behind?
He slowly rotated his neck. The space directly behind him was empty. Through the gaps between the shelving units, he spotted the middle-aged man in the business suit, browsing items just as he had been doing minutes earlier. On the opposite side of the aisle, the woman in the oversized hoodie stood in front of another shelf. Both customers appeared perfectly calm, casually examining merchandise.
"...What's behind me?"
Lee Do whipped his gaze back toward the register. His eyes met the clerk's. The split corners of her mouth hadn't lowered by so much as a fraction of a millimeter.
That's enough. I'm getting out of here.
Leaving the beer and snacks abandoned on the counter, he spun around and bolted toward the sliding entrance.
Chime.
The automatic doors parted. Outside lay the ordinary night street. Streetlights. The crosswalk. The retail facades on the opposite side of the asphalt. The very road he had walked down minutes ago sat waiting beneath the dark sky.
"I'm out."
Without hesitating, he stepped through the threshold.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Chime.
Lee Do froze mid-stride, his forward foot suspended over empty air. He raised his eyes. Right before his face was the beverage cooler. He was standing in the exact same spot inside the convenience store where he had stood moments ago.
"What the...?"
He spun around. The automatic doors were gliding shut behind him. But beyond the glass, instead of the street, sat the checkout register.
"Why?"
Lee Do stood rooted in place. His heart thudded in erratic, heavy beats against his ribs. He had been broadcasting for two years. He had endured technical hiccups, stream drops, and severed internet connections. But what had just transpired was entirely divorced from technological failure. He had stepped outside with his own two feet.
Yet here he stood, trapped back inside.
Lee Do checked the notification bar at the top of his phone screen. Signal reception was full. The broadcast stream was completely intact.
"I'm calling emergency services."
Leaving the stream running in the background, he tapped the emergency call function. Not even a ringtone came through. The interface indicated an ongoing call, but pitch-black silence hung on the line.
"...It's not connecting."
"Hey!"
A booming shout rattled the interior of the store. Lee Do snapped his head toward the noise.
It was the middle-aged man in the suit. Grabbing a bottled beverage, he stood aggressively in front of the counter.
"How long does it take to ring up one damn drink?!"
The clerk's face had returned to normal. Her split jaw was gone, replaced once again by the unremarkable, worn-out expression she had worn when he first arrived. Lee Do momentarily doubted his own eyes.
The man seemed completely oblivious to what had transpired. He pulled a crisp ten-thousand-won bill from his leather wallet and slapped it onto the counter.
"Ring it up."
"Customer," the clerk replied smoothly. "We do not accept money."
"What?"
"The Price of Goods cannot be paid in cash."
The man's brow furrowed in deep annoyance.
"What kind of nonsense is that?"
Before he could stop himself, Lee Do spoke up.
"Mister."
The man turned his head.
"Just put that down and walk out."
"What?"
"Something isn't right here."
The middle-aged man looked Lee Do up and down, glaring at the smartphone held upright in his grip.
"Are you one of those live-streamers?"
"That isn't what matters right now—"
"Forget it." The man waved his hand dismissively. "You kids do all kinds of ridiculous stunts for YouTube nowadays."
The man dumped his beverage on the counter and marched toward the automatic doors. With a gentle chime, the glass parted and he stepped boldly out into the night.
Chime.
From the opposite side of the store, the man strode out between two snack displays.
"...Huh?"
He froze. Utter bewilderment washed across his face as he failed to comprehend where he was standing. He looked back toward the glass entrance.
"What is this?!"
This time, he broke into a frantic jog.
Chime.
He darted out into the dark.
Chime.
He stumbled right back into the center of the convenience store. The color drained completely from his face.
"What... what is happening?"
Unlike before, all the arrogance had evaporated from his trembling voice. Lee Do observed him in silence. It wasn't just him; this anomaly applied to everyone. As the man turned to charge at the doors a third time, Lee Do called out.
"Stop."
This time, the man actually halted.
"No matter how many times you go out, you'll just end up back here."
The man looked at Lee Do with wide, panicked eyes. His expression was no longer that of someone annoyed by an internet prank. Between the shelves, the woman in the oversized hoodie had stopped browsing as well, watching the scene unfold.
"Then... how do we get out?" the man stammered.
"I don't know either."
Lee Do turned his gaze to the checkout counter. The clerk was staring back at the three of them in silence. Her mouth looked perfectly normal now. But Lee Do knew he could never view that face as ordinary again.
Lee Do angled the camera. Beside the register, the acrylic sign that had flipped over by itself was still sitting in plain view.
"I'm looking at it."
"Underneath?"
Lee Do lowered the camera lens toward the bottom margin of the card. Fresh letters were bleeding into the material. At first, it looked like an expanding stain of black ink, but gradually it took the distinct shape of words.
The realization of the rule triggered a tidal wave across the chat.
Lee Do was already thinking along the same lines. Earlier, the clerk had clearly quoted 3,800 won, yet refused currency. If so...
Is there an entirely separate price?
Lee Do walked over to the nearest snack aisle. Small price stickers were affixed along the edge of the shelving below the snack bags.
1,500 won.
1,700 won.
2,000 won.
Judging strictly by the printed digits, they were ordinary retail prices.
"They're just normal prices."
Lee Do returned to the glass drink displays.
Bottled water: 1,000 won.
Soda: 2,200 won.
Sports drink: 2,000 won.
"It's the exact same here."
His footsteps halted before the black glass bottle. Sitting beneath the unlabeled container was a narrow price label.
Was that there earlier?
Lee Do dredged his memory. He recalled noticing the absence of a brand label, but couldn't remember whether he had looked at the shelf tag. It was there now. And there were no numbers written on it. Lee Do brought the phone's camera closer.
The stream chat fell momentarily silent.
Lee Do immediately shifted his eyes to the price label below the adjacent bottle of water. Moments ago, it had unequivocally read 1,000 won. The text printed upon it had completely transformed.
Beside it, below a can of sweet coffee:
Beneath a row of vibrant energy drinks:
A cold dread washed over him as he backed away from the cooler doors. Viewers reading the text frantically demanded that he distance himself from the shelves.
Lee Do slowly dragged his eyes toward the register. The canned beer he had set down on the counter was still resting where he left it. Tucked directly beneath the metal can sat an identical price label.
"...Holy shit."
For the first time tonight, a curse escaped his lips unbidden.
The suffocating silence did not last long.
"Hey! Answer me!"
The harsh voice of the middle-aged man shattered the stillness. He had marched back to the counter and snatched up the bottled beverage he had placed down before.
"I asked how much this damn thing is!"
Lee Do's eyes blew wide with horror.
"Mister!"
The clerk slowly lifted her head from the desk.
"How much is it?!"
"Wait!" Lee Do lunged across the floor toward him. "Don't ask her!"
"Don't ask what?"
"Just put it down!"
The man snarled with irritation. "What the hell is your problem? Why do you keep—"
"Look at the shelf tag!"
"What?"
"Don't ask her for the price directly, just—"
It was too late.
The clerk rose from her stool. Beneath the counter, her black sneakers planted flat against the floor. She smiled. The corners of her mouth split apart once more, peeling back across her skin. Lee Do recognized the motion. And this time, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt: whatever followed that smile would shatter all remnants of normal reality.
Her jaws torn wide to the base of both ears, the clerk parted her lips.
"The price..."
Her voice had fundamentally changed. It was no longer the voice of an ordinary young woman, but an eerie chorus of multiple voices speaking over one another in grotesque unison.
"...are you curious?"
The middle-aged man froze like stone.
Lee Do found himself paralyzed. Should I try to save him? The thought flickered through his mind for a fraction of a second, but he had no idea what to do, nor what force he was dealing with. The clerk leaned forward across the register. Her gaping, torn maw leaned directly toward the businessman's face.
"Shall I tell you?"
Every light fixture in the store went out simultaneously.
Clack.
Absolute, pitch-black darkness swallowed the world. The sound of someone sharply drawing breath scraped the silence.
A truncated, stifled shriek.
"Agh—"
Hum.
The fluorescent tubes snapped back on. Lee Do instantly whipped his head toward where the man had stood.
The spot was entirely empty. There was nothing on the floor. Nothing behind the register. A living, breathing human being had simply ceased to exist. Only the plastic bottle of juice the man had been clutching was left behind, rolling erratically across the white tiles.
Rattle... rattle...
No one said a word. Even the live chat had completely halted.
A moment later, a single line appeared on screen.
Lee Do slowly turned his neck toward the shelf. Resting among the familiar snacks was an item that had not been there moments before. It was a glossy black bag. Printed across its front face was a detailed, beaming photograph of the middle-aged man's head.
Lee Do could not form words. Affixed directly below the packaging was a brand-new label.