Know Thyself

"Way too inadequate to capture the one and only Han Daeri on a single sheet like this, but hey, it's the unspoken rule of society, so I'll play along and hold back a bit."

I stretched out my stiff arms and legs with a series of satisfying cracks, loosening the knotted muscles.

Just last night, I'd smashed the New Millennium Salvation Society to literal pieces alongside Park In-ha. Well, technically I did it solo, but since we'd partied up, I figured she'd get credit for the assist.

Before we split, Park In-ha punched her number into my smartphone and dropped some cryptic line about how we'd meet again soon, then vanished into thin air. Thinking back, our first encounter was at that alumni reunion in the Shilla Hotel, and we parted ways amid the rubble of their headquarters after my Heaven Meteor turned it to shit. What a twisted connection.

Of course, I deleted her contact and smashed the phone to bits before dumping it in the Han River. Then I grabbed a burner and quit every forgotten SNS account I'd ever signed up for. With that, I'd finally scrubbed away the last remnants of my old social identity and ties. I got back to the Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office just a few hours ago—dead of night.

Never thought I'd play cult leader or have some fateful reunion with a busty old classmate at said reunion, but none ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of it changed my life much. Life doesn't get reshaped by bullshit fate; you carve it out yourself. Destiny isn't handed down—it's the story you weave. That's why here I was, age 28 pushing 29, drafting a resume to submit to an international marriage agency.

Global Royal Marriage, or GRM for short—a foreign outfit running the show. No idea why it skips "Interracial" for those initials, but anyway, they'd muscled into Korea when skyrocketing singlehood rates tanked birth rates. What company isn't a hustler in this world? But GRM took the cake. They peddled fantasies to Korean guys and girls sick of each other: "You can score a hot Western guy or sushi girl too, kimchi style!"

If they'd just been clickbait, they'd be a glorified dating app like the rest. But nope—they actually hooked up real foreigners wanting marriage with locals, racked up success stories, and boom, hit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the jackpot. Once those tales hit forums and TV, they blew up. And since the success rate was decent—not some fluke—suckers were lining up to pay.

That alone wouldn't have dragged Han Daeri, who never gave marriage a second thought, into it. But fresh back at the office, I habitually hit up the Mystic Arts Gallery. While I was grinding through alumni hell to cult-smashing marathon, the bros were feasting, so I tossed 'em some prime shitposts like always. Felt like something was missing after, so I peeked at the request board...

"Never dreamed I'd spot a gig with overseas travel premium package included."

Lifelong landlubber who'd never even ferried to Jeju, I got suckered and accepted it on impulse. Forgot all about the irony of a guy who'd just erased his social self needing to fly. But canceling now meant coughing up hefty fees and penalties, so I grudgingly committed.

Hence the resume. Anyway, the request was simple yet shady. Anonymous client suspected something off with GRM's international meetups and marriages. Here's what tipped 'em off:

Client wanted infiltration or posing as a desperate groom to uncover the dirt. Money plus free foreign trip? No fixer office would pass. Travel or not.

Sure, seems like overthinking bullshit at first glance, but a few points nagged. Biggest red flags: 1 and 3.

2? Easy—cherry-pick K-pop obsessed eggheads who majored in Korean. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠4? GRM hides divorces, or happy couples by chance. 5? Newlyweds ghosting nosy folks after settling in—3-6 months fits.

But 1 and 3? Too fishy for coincidence. Korea's foreigner paradise. Why ship locals out wholesale? And favoring low-connections in a spec-obsessed agency? Bullshit excuse about in-law drama doesn't fly—same logic should hit foreigners too, but no mention. Means they're targeting specific traits in locals only.

I submitted the resume via GRM's free consult signup and flopped onto the sofa. Nothing beats my office couch over luxury hotel beds or cult leader fuck-pads.

Lying there, it hit me: Was I working too damn hard lately? Back in sales, I'd grind till my body broke, booze through nights schmoozing, take mental beatings till my liver screamed—same shit since opening shop. Work, kill, work, get fucked over, work, exterminate, work, debate apocalypse.

Is the world trash from the start, or am I buried in a dump missing the view? Either way, like Park In-ha said, end of the world this year might not suck.

How would it go down? Global geezer-zombie horde? Hulk + Apocalypse = Hulocalypse?

What a fucking nightmare world.

If real, that protag must've been a traitorous sellout in a past life. Even I couldn't hack it.

I let heavy eyelids win, drifting off in the silent Hongdae dawn. Then—

Knock knock.

Phone check: 3 a.m. Who the fuck craves burgers at 3 a.m.?

"What asshole knocks at dawn while the boss sleeps?"

I yanked the door open. Staring back: "What asshole knocks at dawn while the boss sleeps?"

Phone check: 3 a.m. Who the fuck craves burgers at 3 a.m.?

I stared again at what was there. In other words—

"Fuck my mom."

CRACK!

I reset my snapped neck to normal and found myself staring at the freshly finished resume.

Something's here.

No—something.

Possessed.

Nah.

No.

"Got hit by something."

I gazed out at the silent dawn street blanketed in snow. Pitch black, no moonlight.

A world of stillness and void absent from any memory. All things asleep, stars silent, eternal dawn without rising sun.

I resubmitted the resume first, then quietly stood.

Heh.