An Unfamiliar Ceiling

An unfamiliar ceiling always carries an ominous meaning. Of course, "unfamiliar" doesn't just evoke negativity—it can also hold anticipation for something new. But the moment it pairs with "ceiling," it fills with nothing but dread. A prime example is the emergency room ceiling. You know that feeling when your mind clears but all you can see is the ceiling? Another is the boot camp ceiling. Your body is free, but your mind is shackled—do you know that sensation?

In short, an unfamiliar ceiling means "you're fucked."

"Where the hell am I..."

Even in this strange environment, I was surprisingly calm. Maybe because it was so far beyond normal that my head had gone ice-cold instead.

My bedroom ceiling is sky blue. But the one above me was pure white. The walls were white too. So impeccably clean it felt alien, like not a speck of dust was allowed. The floor was covered in yellow wood-patterned linoleum. If even the floor had been white, I'd have suspected I was in a psych ward. I thought about peeling it up to check for white tile underneath but didn't bother.

Next, I turned my head ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to scan the room. It was small—about 5 pyeong by eye. The only furniture: the bed I was on, a wardrobe, a fridge, and a desk with a powered-off monitor on it. Not a computer—no tower, just the monitor alone. I went closer and checked; oddly, no power button. Tapping it did nothing, so I looked elsewhere.

On the desk beside the monitor was a small notebook.

"Guard Rules Booklet…?"

I flipped it open casually to the middle and froze.

"...What?"

I rolled my eyes to the next page.

"..."

I quietly closed the notebook. I needed time to sort my head. Too much info at once freezes the brain.

Suddenly, my heartbeat thrummed loud in my chest. Reality, which I hadn't felt until now, crashed in. Looked like I'd been kidnapped to some godawful place.

I retraced my last memory. Weekend, binge-reading a novel I'd shelved, then bed. Ordinary as ever. No point dwelling on it. Plus, I'm a light sleeper. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠If someone broke in, I'd have woken up.

So, only one conclusion: isekai transfer. Not reincarnation or possession—my familiar hands and arms proved that. No mirror, but close enough.

Come to think of it, one key check missing. I pinched my cheek. It hurt.

Humans adapt, they say. Or maybe it's resignation. Either way, I cooled off fast.

Per the notebook, I was at some school, assigned as a security guard. So this was the Guard Room?

I opened the wardrobe: black guard uniform and cap hung inside. And a notice.

The last one was grim, but who does that anyway?

The uniform had a name tag: 'Choi Kyung-bi'. Not mine. And a guard named Guard? Lame naming sense, whoever it was.

Fridge next. Not food—just a plastic water bottle. And another notice.

Fridge as trash can? Someone might freak, but okay.

I took the bottle, opened it, sniffed. Normal. Sipped—plain water, colorless, odorless. Put it back, closed the door, opened again. Brand new bottle.

I stopped thinking. Only the firmly shut white door left.

Truth is, I'm a coward. Always avoided horror. Bad for the heart, ruins sleep. Even a kiddie horror comic from elementary school haunts me. Life doesn't let you dodge forever, but I never imagined facing it like this.

"Haa..."

Sigh escaped. Door scared me. My imagination fueled terror. Ear to door, eyes shut—silent.

Only option: man up and go. Hand on knob, deep breath.

Then, from outside: knock ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knock.

"Hrk...!"

Hyper tense, my heart dropped. Froze, swallowed breath. After 10 seconds, again: knock knock knock. Sounded farther—like the wall ahead.

Not for me? Then a voice. Woman's, soft and clear.

"Anyone home?"

Definitely at my door. Brain raced: go out? Stay? What's the play?

Guard Rules Booklet. Flipped from front—basic rules, then location-specific. No special situations.

Knock knock. Knock knock. Urging me. It knew I was here.

Couldn't judge. Worst imaginings unavoidable either way. Reframed: act and die, or not and die? I picked act. Passivity's too unfair.

Deep ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breath, turned knob, pushed. Wouldn't budge—pull door. Calmed ragged breath, pulled.

Outside was bright, normal. Peered out: woman beyond glass window, startled.

"Oh, you are here? ...Whoa, what's with all the sweat?"

Touching my skin, realized I was soaked in cold sweat.

"You okay? Mind if I come in?"

"N-no... I'm fine."

Her eyes full of genuine worry. Harmless vibe eased me. Scene was peaceful—no instant death. Safe for now.

Finally scanned around. Tiny Guard Room: shelf with off monitor, "guard log" file, chair. Glass window to outside.

Beyond: wide entrance hall. School, right? Probably Central Entrance. Odd having guard post attached.

Outside bright—daytime. Playground visible. She waited patiently.

"Sorry. Nightmare."

She relaxed. "This school's got bad vibes, they say."

"Seems so. I don't usually get them."

Chitchat made prior panic feel silly.

"First shift today? What's your name?"

Scratch that. Name? Can't say real one. Recalled uniform.

"Choi Kyung-bi."

"Guard? Your name's Guard?"

"Yeah. Kinda weird, huh?"

She pondered, snapped back as I stared.

"Oh, sorry. Song Ha-yeon, second-year Korean teacher."

"Nice to meet you, Ha-yeon."

Subtly eyed her. Not typical teacher look: white shirt, blue tie, gray jacket—like office worker. Brown bob, simple charm. No way she meant harm.

But I don't drop guard on looks.

"Hey, did you knock earlier?"

She blinked. "Right! Guard—er, Mr. Guard? The Annex door's creaking. Can you check?"

"Annex door?"

Guards do that? No experience. No threat now; follow for layout intel.

Opened Guard Room door—and my hand froze on the knob.