Tick-Tock
I sat there with the pocket watch laid open before me, its hour, minute, and second hands spinning wildly on their own. Time lost all meaning—no clue how many seconds, minutes, or hours had slipped by. Autumn sunlight filtered through the office window, and my stomach was starting to rumble for fuel, so at least I knew morning had broken.
"Scored about a million won selling that one gold ring—nice haul. But the nightmares? Not so much."
Was it because I'd fenced the belongings—stolen goods, really—of folks who'd died unjustly? I'd come back from the Han River late last night and jolted awake at the crack of dawn. Maybe crashing on the office sofa in that eerie silence hadn't helped, but whatever dreams had tormented me were already fading from memory. No point drifting off again, and killing time on YouTube till sunrise felt too much like a total NEET. So here I was, zoning out to the rhythmic tick-tock-tick of the broken watch, letting it lull my body and mind.
Snap! I finally shut the metal lid, and the ghostly ticking faded away.
"Even Jesus realized too late he'd dragged thousands out to the wilderness without packing lunch—talk about an 'oh shit' moment."
With the miracle of the loaves and fishes, he'd filled believers' bellies and still had twelve baskets left over. Prime example: gotta feed 'em to grow the faith.
I grabbed my basic-colored coat, laundered through that shady coin shop more times than I could count. Crisp texture, fresh fabric softener scent wafting off it—slip this on, and even I'm a sharp city guy. The green gem on my necklace had its little bug inside going nuts today, so I flicked it a couple times to settle it down. Broken pocket watch, chain-sealed ancient tome, knuckle-duster tucked in the coat's front pocket for quick grabs—outfit complete.
"Whoops, almost forgot the Good Book with the words of our Lord Jesus Father."
If even half of that was true, they'd slap "Great" in front of it. Bible in hand, I stepped out of the building with its bizarre "Supernatural Phenomena Resolution Office" sign, yawning my head off. I knew the street cleaners passing by at this ungodly hour gave me weird looks, and the occasional prank calls from nutjobs. Yeah, in this high-tech world, who believes in the supernatural anymore? I get it. But I'd love to tell 'em they've wasted half their lives. Ignoring the supernatural? That's willfully turning your back on heaven itself—the pinnacle, the ultimate, the hyper-dimensional reality. Pathetic.
"Gimme the house specialty!"
"Only serve kongnamul gukbap here, you punk!"
Kim Malja, the living legend of hangover cures, had a franchise spot in Hongdae too—of course, smack in drunkard central. Was it company policy to staff each one with a foul-mouthed granny, or did foul-mouthed grannies just end up as managers? Who knows. Business boomed anyway, so franchises popped up everywhere.
"Who sticks to kongnamul gukbap one-trick these days? Try adding kongnamul hangover ramen sometime."
I gave the granny sincere advice as she slammed down my steaming stone pot and side dishes, but she ignored me.
"Listen here, you brat—gukbap's just premade rice with broth. But that damn ramen? Gotta boil water fresh each time. This old bat's gonna pray for death scrubbing those pots!"
"Hire some part-timers if it's a hassle. Business is killing it."
"Shut it! I'll stick to easy rice-and-broth sales~!"
"Man, kongnamul hangover ramen's a goldmine."
Slurp. Tasted just like the joint near my old office. Same breed of foul-mouthed granny running the show? As I shoveled the cool, hearty kongnamul gukbap like a beast, she plopped down at the customer table and flipped through the wall-mounted TV channels. Morning news at 9 a.m. hit right on cue.
Victims from recent disappearances have been found in an abandoned building at the rugged, remote southern foothills of Gwanak Mountain.
Police say it appears unrelated to the serial killer who terrorized Seoul just recently.
"Aigoo, end times for sure. How rotten does the world gotta be for scum like that? Wonder if they caught the bastards."
"Slurp. Already did."
"What?"
"Guy named Kim Hakju was the perp. I nabbed him."
The granny eyed me up and down with saucer eyes, then asked cautiously.
"Your getup, pounding gukbap this early... you a detective?"
"Something like that."
Tracking sinners and locking 'em in heaven's jail? Close enough to detective work.
"Oh my, thought you were some loose screw at first glance, but a real hero. Impressive young man."
"Means I grind day and night. So, hook me up with that kongnamul hangover ramen as thanks."
"Hold on, gimme a sec."
She bolted to the kitchen and whipped up a spicy bowl packed with bean sprouts, green onions, and chilies—the works. My gukbap belly was still half-empty and bland anyway; this hit the spot. Hands and mouth went into overdrive.
Slurrrrrrrp! Wrapped ramen and sprouts in fresh kimchi, crammed my mouth full, and chomped away. Koreans were born to mix ramen and rice.
"Anyway, detective sir. Got a tiny favor to ask..."
"Slurp. Shoot."
"Well, see. My granddaughter's at college here in Seoul, called recently."
"Nice farming—Seoul uni kid who checks on grandma? Rare filial gem these days."
"Course, she's mine. But that's not the point. Lately, she sounded uneasy. Someone watching her, bad dreams, her stuff vanishing. Think she's getting stalked or whatever?"
"Slurp. You want me to meet her, chat, poke around a bit?"
"Aigoo, bothering a servant of the people feels bad, but... could ya? Solve it clean, and I'll slip you an envelope on the side, yeah?"
Cops can't take envelopes, but I'm no cop.
"No sweat. Fresh off a case anyway. I'll check it out. Just pre-notify her so no misunderstandings."
"Will do! I'll set it up—talk to her. World's rough; worries me, her living alone."
And just like that, I took the non-request request. Got her granddaughter's contact and Kakao profile pic. Kim Hyeji, 22, Seoul XX University. Standard Korean girl name. Long straight hair, bright sunny smile—prime popular girl material. Probably had gal pals, guy friends, maybe a boyfriend. XX U was my alma mater's level, so smart cookie too. Typical middle-class Korean princess, freshly independent in her twenties—yeah, scary world out there.
'Address... officetel, not a goshiwon? Makes sense—folks look loaded; safer than a cramped death trap for parents.'
I picked my teeth, left the shop, and headed straight for the subway. Korea boasts top-tier public safety, especially Seoul—CCTV everywhere, violent crime's a unicorn. Not that I can talk, after personally offing twelve without a trace. Still, Seoul's safer than most places. Hell, a drunk girl passed out on the street wakes up fine only here.
"Yeongdeungpo for her place... decent safety."
Tucked between crime hotspots like Gangseo, Yangcheon, Guro, Dongjak, and Gwanak, Yeongdeungpo oddly stayed low-key.
"Guess I'll find out when I meet her."
Bonus: drop some serious "believe in Jesus, go to heaven" life advice.