The Labyrinth Holds No Malice

"Ah, ugh……"

My head felt like it was splitting open.

Where was this…… inside a car?

Why was I lying down?

"Ah. You're awake already. Thank goodness."

That's right. This lunatic had struck me under the jaw.

"Mmph—……"

Something coarse, like rough cloth, sat in my mouth, and I spat it out. A metallic, fishy taste lingered on the tip of my tongue.

"Sorry. I had to put you out quickly. Looked like you were about to bite your own tongue off, so I wedged some gauze in there."

"Who are you—ugh……"

It felt as if someone had frozen my skull solid and was shattering it with a hammer, while my stomach heaved like I might vomit at any second.

Thanks to the damn concussion aftereffects, it took real effort to look around — and I discovered I was lying in the back of an ambulance. With my arms and legs tied.

"I just started screaming that someone had collapsed here, please, somebody help, and everyone came running to lend a hand."

If only the whole world were full of people like that. The faceless terrorist muttered it with revolting serenity.

"Thanks to them, I bought myself time to call an ambulance."

"……We're not headed to a hospital, though. Are we."

"Of course not. Turns out you only need a handful of bills to call one of these. The world, honestly."

The terrorist sat back at ease and rambled on.

My head throbbed, my body had no strength — I didn't have the energy to deal with him.

"Is your name Seon Yuhan, by any chance? Not your real one, I'd wager."

"What……?"

How did he know my name?

"As I was carrying you out, a colleague of yours came over from the next compartment, searching around. Asking where Seon Yuhan was. If I'd been a minute slower, I'd have been caught red-handed."

My head refused to turn over.

How, exactly, had I ended up tangled in this absurd little kidnapping drama?

My luck really was…… rotten to the bone.

"Ah, shit."

So this was my bad luck? If I'd dodged that paper cut from the start, maybe my group would have shown up in time and I wouldn't have been snatched at all?

No — there's bad luck, and then there's bad luck.

Getting kidnapped by a terrorist isn't supposed to be on the menu……

"So which organization are you with, exactly? No radio on you. Could it be implanted somewhere I couldn't find? Like a secret agent out of the movies?"

Ah.

Of course he wouldn't be in his right mind — and yep, he is not in his right mind.

Secret agent nonsense. Delusions running deep.

Well, from a terrorist's perspective, it isn't entirely insane to assume that the saboteurs who knew about and stopped his attack came from some organization.

"We haven't been able to reach your side yet. I was just thinking it'd be lovely if this opportunity let me find a way in."

"Is the evacuation…… finished?"

I ignored the terrorist's drivel.

"I'd say so? It's been about five minutes since we got out."

Then why was I still inside this world ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠within the article?

If every subway passenger had evacuated and the mass casualties from the attack had been prevented, the 'edit' should have succeeded.

Did I need to satisfy some other condition?

"You don't look relieved, though? You don't seem to know about the car behind us. Something else weighing on you?"

"The car behind……?"

"Just in case, I fiddled with the ventilation system in that one too. Lucky break, really. Our car stopped, so the one behind it must have stopped as well. Spray the gas into the gap between them, and it's done."

"It takes effect in under three minutes? So by now, I'd say……"

The man tilted his head, just slightly.

"Yep."

Flat words, delivered with an almost cheerful lilt.

"They'll all be dead."

The first thing I felt was a kind of liberation.

The way you feel the instant you find the answer to a problem that never used to budge.

The way you feel the moment a word you'd forgotten suddenly surfaces.

The labyrinth holds no malice.

It traps people without malice, and it kills people without malice.

"Why…… why on earth?"

I know that a person, in and of themselves, can become a labyrinth.

"Right. Why indeed."

"Huh? You're back!"

"All the passengers got out — looks like it worked!"

"But wait, Seon Yuhan. Where were you? I looked everywhere and couldn't find you."

"More importantly, the mannequins' positions have changed again, just like before."

"One moment."

I squeezed between my companions and checked the laptop.

"We…… failed."

"I'm sorry — what?"

"Why?"

"I was, um, briefly kidnapped by the terrorist."

"Sorry? What did you say?"

"What? He did what to you?"

"What did the terrorist say?"

"It seems he had a Plan B. He sprayed gas into the car directly behind the one we rode."

Ah, damn it all.

The mannequins all pivoted at once.

And we all turned, in exactly the same way.

"……"

Trudge. Trudge.

Six puppet humans walked, without so much as opening their mouths. Only the sound of their steps carried.

The one thing we could still do was close our eyes.

Look away from the sight of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠our companions gulping down their own clothes, forcing them bit by bit down their own throats.

"If it were possible to turn back time, what would you do, Seon Yuhan?"

"If it were possible to turn back time, what would you do, Seon Yuhan?"

The fingers I had to sacrifice dropped from ten to nine, but this time I successfully sliced one on the paper and reached the Singye Daily.

The two joints of my left ring finger had been sheared off at an angle — I milked the pain a little, and the first aid delayed us — so by the time we arrived, Lee Nahyeon had already gone inside her article.

"So we have to pick one of these articles, right? To edit, or to publish?"

"Yes. Editing seems to change the content, and publishing seems to preserve it exactly as it is."

"But how is any of that supposed to work……"

Hwang Juyeon clamped her mouth shut. Her sly, fox-sharp eyes narrowed even further.

"The one whose publication failed — a Mr. Kim Yongho — and the one showing as editing, Ms. Lee Nahyeon. Neither of them is in this office. What if these people aren't in some other labyrinth, but……"

Even without the diary's help, there were quick-witted people here, which made things easier. Thanks to them, I could lay out my not-quite-speculations about this floor as naturally as breathing.

"But why are all these articles so grisly?"

I glanced off to the right.

"Ah. Here."

Yu Hyeonjae had been studying the photo of the middle school's exterior attached to the article with unblinking focus. Then he spoke.

"I believe that's our alma mater."

"I'm sorry — your alma mater, sir?"

"Yes. Though of course, no such tragedy ever took place there."

"Then don't tell me it's a laby— no, something that's going to happen someday……?"

When Choi Jaeha asked, treading carefully, Yu Hyeonjae's brow creased.

"I'd rather it didn't."

He focused on the article as though committing every word of it to memory.

Watching him, a certain premonition stirred in me.

"Jiho, shall I read it to you?"

Reading through it, there wasn't much information — the investigation hadn't yet properly gotten underway.

"Judging by the condition of the bodies, most died of ingestion — poison, in other words. Apparently there was something wrong with the school lunches."

And if it was most who died of poison.

That meant some hadn't.

"Excuse me."

Yu Hyeonjae turned his eyes from the laptop screen and began, carefully.

"I'd like to edit this article. Would that be all right?"

I knew it.

"I'm not forcing anyone. I can go in alone."

Sending Yu Hyeonjae into this article by himself did sit poorly with me, though.

"I'll go with you. Alone would be dangerous. With several of us, keeping the students from eating the lunches might not be all that difficult."

"Hmm…… I understand how you feel, sir, and yours too, Seon Yuhan."

Hwang Juyeon's voice cut in.

"Still, wouldn't a smaller-scale incident be easier to edit, if we have the choice?"

"I, um…… I think so too. Our lives are on the line, after all…… And Seon Yuhan, you shouldn't push yourself too hard either, you know? Your hand's already in that state……"

Choi Jaeha backed Hwang Juyeon up with a distinctly unconfident air.

Only the silent child Jeong Jiho rolled his eyes back and forth between the adults, who had split off into pairs without him.

"Which is exactly why I said no one is being forced. I will edit this article even if it's alone."

The head of Yuwi Guild let a businesslike smile settle at the corner of his mouth.

Anyone could see it: a stubbornness that would never, ever bend.

"Hwang Juyeon, Choi Jaeha. This restaurant gas explosion article, or the construction site fall article — those look like the smallest in scale."

I called the two over and pointed at the screen.

"I'll be editing the middle school article with the CEO, so the three of you should take Jiho out into the corridor and come back in after. You might get swept in with us for no good reason otherwise."

"Haah……"

The piano tutor let out a long sigh.

"Seon Yuhan, if you're doing this because you're worried about the CEO, then honestly, I'd rather—"

"—No. It's hardly my place to worry about anyone. I'm doing this because I, too, want to fix this incident. I will fix it and come back out. No matter what."

Hwang Juyeon heaved yet another sigh, deep enough to scorch the office floor, and at last nodded.

"Fine. Do it your way. Go on, do it."

"Then be careful, all three of you — and if you come out before we do, head downstairs right away. Don't wait for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us."

And so Hwang Juyeon, Choi Jaeha, Jeong Jiho, and their mannequins filed out of the Singye Daily.

"Thank you for coming in with me."

Yu Hyeonjae moved the mouse cursor toward the 'Edit' button as he offered his thanks.

"Not at all. Two is better than one."

"I think so too."

Click.

"If I were alone, I definitely couldn't▓

Gray marble flooring. Ivory walls smudged with years of handprints. Green placards strung in a row on every door — '2-1', ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'2-2', '2-3'……

The familiar scenery of a school corridor.

First, I looked down at my left hand. This wasn't my body, so all five fingers were intact — no fevered heat, no pain, nothing at all.

And the moment I confirmed the time on my wristwatch, fingers be damned, I broke into a dead sprint.

2:50 PM.

Early enough that the entire student body could have eaten lunch twice over and still had time to spare.

Screech—!

I hurtled to the nearest classroom and wrenched the door open.

"Ah……"

Rows of pitch-black crowns of heads.

Every student was slumped over their desk, asleep.

No. They weren't asleep……

The teacher, too, lay sprawled across the podium in front of the blackboard. Pink foam seeped from the corner of his mouth.

"Why……"

I had assumed, naturally, that I would arrive at a point before the poisoning.

But looking back, it had been an assumption so stupid it bordered on offensive.

The labyrinth is not a place that 'kind' — not nearly.

That subway gas attack article from last time, after all — it turned out that stopping the attack in the front car only set off an attack in the car behind it.

Its whole design — blocking anyone from editing the story the easy way — had been obvious from the start.

In that case, what I had to do now, with 'most' of them already poisoned, was……

"T-Teacher! What do we do, this classroom too……!"

Wham!

Someone seized the edge of the open door and spilled inside.

A girl with her hair tied up neatly, wearing a skirt.

As expected — I couldn't know her name, let alone her face.

"Teacher, the kids, the kids are all……!"

The sentences quivered, on the verge of breaking into sobs.

"The lunches! I think it's because of the lunches…… I ate bread from the school store today. The menu looked awful, so…… You didn't eat the lunch either, did you, Teacher! Right?!"

She must have sprinted the whole way — her ragged, gasping breaths shredded her words into short, broken fragments.

"……Uh."

"Teacher?"

And I realized.

I hadn't heard a single footstep in the corridor.