New Year Doomsday Theory (1)
"Phew, what a blast!"
Park In-ha's voice carried a hint of fatigue, but she stretched exaggeratedly with a big yawn anyway. She knew damn well that if she acted too wiped out after having genuine fun, it'd just make everyone around her worry unnecessarily.
"This is how reunions should be. Sitting around some fancy-ass place, sipping drinks, and calling it a night? Not my style."
"True that. If we'd had more time, we could've gone all out on a second round, but everyone's busy these days."
"Wonder if we'll get another chance like this."
"My family's been hounding me to get married already. And I'm not even in my thirties yet."
"Hey, teach, we're all turning thirty in a couple years~."
"A whole carton of eggs right around the corner."
The classmates, back inside from the terrace, traded quips laced with regret. People ground down by adult life had carved out rare time to play like kids again, so of course they felt the parting blues. But kids have kid time, adults have adult time. Everyone knew that, so no one whined for more.
This massive, tangled society wouldn't spin right without parts like them slotting back in on schedule. They knew they were just cogs in the machine, yet admitted that spot was theirs anyway. Humans were supposed to be the freest beasts around, but the choices handed to them were pathetically narrow.
I'd finished mopping up the hallway spotless and greeted them. Everything that had been rolling around out there? All shipped straight to heaven, no exceptions.
Sounds trivial when I put it like that, but it's not laziness skipping the details. With the corruption I'd already scattered, half of them were toast anyway. Repenting the rest and sending them upstairs was a breeze. Like lighting a match under oil-soaked logs.
This wasn't even a formal gig—no client, no victim. Just wrapped up something quicker than boiling instant ramen. No need to brag.
"Thanks to you, we had a great time."
Park In-ha, ready to check out and primping her outfit, approached me. I squinted at her soul, shining brighter than the dazzling morning sun pouring through the window. No wonder someone living her life has zero worries. Total opposite of my endless anxiety, dread, and despair.
"Glad you had fun. Worth dragging everyone to round two."
"You spent money you didn't need to because of us. Wasn't that overkill?"
"I'm not that broke."
"You sure? Back in college, you always looked desperate and on edge."
"......"
"Hehe, that was a bit mean. Anyway, thanks for making sure the reunion didn't fizzle out lame at the end. Last year's afterparty sucked—this one was the best."
No problem. Using you all as bait let me wipe out the annoying pricks in one go. Sure, solving a paying-job-level mess without the fee stung a little, but like I said, I'm not that broke.
Classmates trickled out of the suite one by one until only Park In-ha and I remained. She seemed to have something on her mind, lips parting then sealing repeatedly. Finally, she mustered it.
"Hey... will we meet at the next reunion next year too?"
What, that's it?
"No."
I seared the pattern off my tongue with the lighter flame, then carved in a fresh forgetfulness rune. None of the ones here with me would remember today. Because Han Siwoo was already dead.
"......"
I checked Park In-ha's last blank, dilated pupils to confirm she'd properly 'forgotten' my existence. Not recognizing me and forgetting memories tied to me were worlds apart. Now, to the stragglers, I'd be some vague Ordinary Classmate A—barely recalled by name. Someone no one ever met, no one had the contact for, no one gave a shit about.
One lifetime dose of boring reunion drama was plenty.
I escorted Park In-ha downstairs and handled checkout at the front desk for the dazed classmates staring blankly. Didn't forget to return the hall manager's security card either. Leaving the baffled staff and soon-to-snap-out-of-it alumni behind, I stepped into the street blanketed in fresh snow.
Not Christmas Day, but striding out of a hotel on Christmas Eve morning? Felt kinda badass for no reason. Long coat reeking of booze flapping as I cut through downtown, the vibe hit different—way more subdued than expected.
Christmas Eve morning should be packed with folks rushing for event spots, cake reservations, chicken orders. But...
Yesterday the streets were buzzing with excitement.
Maybe people were playing it cool since it was morning. But today was the real 'D-Day'—couples and parents should be hustling between department stores and shops non-stop. Crowds weren't that thick, though. Hell, even the cars zipping around felt way fewer than yesterday.
Too cold, so everyone's sardined in the subway instead of surface streets?
That's when I spotted a street vendor with an actual stand hawking paper newspapers, magazines, and snacks. Thought those died out post-2010s except lotto booths and shoe shiners. Who knew one survived on a swanky street like this.
"Hey, young fella, grab a paper."
No hobby collecting newsprint, and internet had all the latest plus rumors anyway. But something about the old man in the knit cap made me unable to refuse. Like skipping it would leave me itchy all day.
"How much?"
"Five bucks."
"Fair price."
Handed over five bucks, got a crisp paper in return. Sat on a bench like those old-timers used to, unfolding it wide.
Front page screamed with a massive EXCLUSIVE BREAKING NEWS header.
Global prophetess Maya—we know nothing about her except she's a she and relatively young. Her followers track and compile her predictions, uploaded digitally or left analog-style in various spots.
Her prophecies are vague but hit scarily often, never spanning more than three years verifiable—earning die-hard fans. She's been at it since around 2015, nailing all eight so far. (Check her Namuwiki page for deets.)
Astoundingly, with just a week to January 1, 2026, she prophesied: "When the new year dawns, a colossal wave and storm beyond humanity's power will ravage us." Folks are hyped for 2026 while trembling at potential doom, steeling themselves in their own ways.
Worsening freak weather, arms races between nations, unexplainable anomalies science can't touch—it all lines up. But Maya's followers urge calm waiting over chaos, united in cherishing time with loved ones.
Will the new year bring true apocalypse? Will she nail this one too? If so, how do we even get saved? In this fog of uncertainty, all we can do is wait.
I folded the five-buck rag.
"Who the fuck decided the world ends?"
So many bitches left to ship to heaven.