Unfinished Stories

After the case was resolved.

Minhye insisted we celebrate the official founding of 'Team Minjun' and our first flawless victory, dragging us half-coerced to a pork belly joint right in front of the campus.

The air was a thick haze of sizzling grease, the savory aroma of roasting meat, and the boisterous laughter of crowded patrons.

It was a thoroughly mundane, lively scene—the absolute antithesis of the hellish, supernatural horrors we had endured over the past few days.

We claimed a worn, circular metal table tucked away in a corner of the restaurant.

As the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grill heated up and thick slabs of pork belly hit the metal, a satisfying sizzle filled the air.

"Alright, alright! Today marks our team's historic first dinner! Bottoms up on the first glass, no exceptions!"

Minhye shouted, vigorously shaking a bottle of soju.

With her trademark infectious energy, she effortlessly broke the ice.

It was almost hard to believe we had been fighting for our lives just moments ago; we had slipped right back into the roles of ordinary college students.

"Damn, even your grilling posture is on another level, hyung!"

The moment I picked up the tongs, Deokhu let out an exaggerated gasp of admiration.

Behaving like a loyal lieutenant serving his revered general, he showered me with running commentary. Every time I flipped a piece of meat, it was, "Whoa, flawless timing!" and every time I laid down some kimchi, it was, "Ah, what a masterful layout!"

"Hey, seriously, cut it out. You're giving me goosebumps."

"No way, hyung! I have no intention of hiding my profound respect for you! You are my savior and the sole hope of this world!"

Was it because he had stood at death's door on the Jayuro highway, only to be pulled back by the sound of my voice?

Deokhu's devotion seemed entirely genuine.

To him, I was no longer just some eccentric senior who made B-grade horror flicks. I was a real-life fixer of disasters, the hero who had saved his life.

Seyeon was no different.

By nature, she was calm, analytical, and highly rational.

Yet, the way she looked at me now held something new... a profound sense of trust.

"Sunbae, should we grill some garlic too?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"The meat is quite thick, so I think it'd be best to slice it down the middle to make sure it cooks through."

Even in the trivial act of grilling pork, she consulted me and proposed the optimal strategy as if we were executing a critical mission.

Through the Jayuro incident and our analysis of the Doll's House, she, more than anyone, understood that my abilities were not a delusion but a stark reality—and that my judgment could mean the difference between life and death for us all.

Sandwiched between Deokhu's noisy flattery and Seyeon's earnest consulting, I busied myself with the grill.

Watching this play out, Minhye burst into a hearty laugh.

"Wow, Sunbae, you really look like a director now. You've got an assistant director managing the details beside you, and a hardcore fanboy hyping up your every move."

"W-what are you talking about?"

"Hey, it's the truth."

At Minhye's words, we paused and looked around at one another.

In the span of just a few days, we had lived through experiences that felt like a lifetime's worth of trauma. We had stared death in the face together and survived by relying on one another.

We were no longer just ordinary seniors, juniors, or friends. We were a team, bound by a shared, terrifying secret, destined to watch each other's backs.

"Alright, it's all cooked! Dig in!"

I distributed the perfectly grilled meat onto their plates.

Naturally, a chaotic feast ensued.

"Sunbae, you're burning the meat! Flip it, quick!"

"Seyeon, try making a wrap. Put some garlic in, dip it deep in the gochujang."

"Deokhu-oppa, you look like you're about to down three bottles of soju by yourself. You're gonna pass out."

We laughed and chatted, momentarily forgetting all about urban legends, scenarios, and impending doom.

We bitched about our department professors and gossiped about newly released movies.

This is nice...

For some reason, this fleeting moment felt incredibly precious.

Perhaps I was realizing all over again that this mundane, ordinary daily life was exactly what I had fought so desperately to protect—both in those hellish dreams and in our fractured reality.

Even as I joked around, a warm, emotional swell settled deep in my chest.

Once our stomachs were full and three or four empty soju bottles littered the table, a flushed Minhye suddenly held her glass out to me.

"But Sunbae, you need to watch your drinking tonight."

"Huh?"

"What if you get wasted and pass out right here? Are we all going to start the next scenario inside a pork belly restaurant?"

Everyone burst out laughing at Minhye's mischievous joke.

"Oh man, imagine... What if the owner suddenly turns into a mannequin?"

Deokhu teased, mimicking a stiff doll to evoke the Doll's House, earning a disgusted smack on the arm from Seyeon.

"Ugh, seriously! You're ruining my appetite!"

"But seriously, hyung. If you fall asleep drunk, does it start immediately?"

At Deokhu's earnest question, I gave a wry smile and nodded.

"Most likely. Though I don't know if it'll trigger a Full Synchronization or an Incomplete Synchronization."

"Eh, it'll be fine tonight. We're right here keeping our eyes peeled to watch over you."

"My falling asleep doesn't really depend on that. But yes, if I do drift off, you guys will be the ones who have to protect me."

"Don't worry. We'll make sure you get a nice, peaceful sleep."

Minhye said, playfully nudging my shoulder.

The after-party stretched on, the passage of time forgotten.

A mundane yet precious interlude.

For a brief moment, we forgot we were fighting at the edge of the world, laughing and bickering like any other group of friends.

After a few more rounds of drinks, the boisterous atmosphere settled into a quiet lull. Seyeon, who had been silently eating until now, set her glass down and looked at me with a solemn expression.

"Sunbae."

There wasn't a trace of playfulness in her voice.

"You know... I've been wondering about something really fundamental. Why is this happening? Why, of all things, does it have to be your scenarios? The ones you wrote?"

Seyeon's question cast a sudden silence over the noisy table.

Indeed, it was a question I hadn't dared to utter aloud, yet one that had relentlessly plagued my mind for days.

Why did I have to fight this absurd battle?

I fell into deep thought for a moment.

Then, staring at the pork belly sizzling on the grill, I cautiously began to share my theory.

"What do you think an urban legend actually is?"

"An urban legend?"

"In my opinion... an urban legend is an unfinished story."

"An unfinished story?"

"Yeah. Why do you think ghosts or vengeful spirits linger in this world? It's because they died unjustly, because they couldn't say what they wanted to say, or because their stories ended in tragedy. Their tales were never heard, so they could never be properly concluded."

I locked eyes with each of them in turn.

"Maybe that unresolved sorrow and rage creates a sort of rift in reality. And that rift is the essence of the disasters we're facing."

"Ah, I don't know. That's too deep. But why does it have to be you, Sunbae?" Deokhu asked.

I answered his question.

"Because I'm a storyteller."

I let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle.

"Think about it. I'm a self-proclaimed urban legend fanatic. I sympathized with these 'unfinished stories' more than anyone, and I tried to take them and craft them into newly completed narratives—my scripts. Maybe that mysterious entity... The Judge who appeared in my dreams and forced me to become a fixer, is testing my qualifications as a creator."

I recalled the voice I had first heard in my dream.

The three of them nodded silently at my explanation.

It might have sounded absurd to anyone else, but to us, who had already experienced the impossible, it was the most plausible explanation we had.

Since we were on the subject, I figured I should clearly define the rules of our abilities once more.

"That's why sleep is so crucial. The way my ability manifests depends entirely on how deeply I intervene in the narrative."

I picked up two soju glasses to use as a metaphor.

"A deep sleep—Full Synchronization—is like me stepping directly into the prequel of the story as its director. I enter the timeline before the tragedy truly begins, and I completely rewrite the ending into a happy one. Just like we did with the Doll's House. That's why nothing happens in reality."

I pointed to one of the glasses.

"But an Incomplete Synchronization, triggered by light sleep or when I'm awake, is different. That's like a member of the audience jumping straight into a movie that's already playing in theaters. You can't change the ending. The disaster has already manifested in reality, just like on the Jayuro highway. All I can do is desperately scream to the other viewers, 'Hey, that's fake, don't fall for it! It's dangerous over there!' to minimize the casualties."

I set the glasses down.

"That's why we have to aim for Full Synchronization whenever possible. Ending the story before it even begins. That is the only way to keep everyone safe. For me, for you guys, and for everyone else."

As my explanation ended, a heavy silence fell over us like an electric current.

We silently downed the remaining soju ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in our glasses.

It felt as though the sheer weight of the responsibility we had to bear was burning its way down our throats.

"Ah, what's with the gloomy vibe? We came here to celebrate, didn't we?"

As expected, it was Minhye who shattered the heavy atmosphere.

She deliberately shouted in a bright, booming voice, laying fresh strips of pork belly onto the empty grill.

"That's that, and this is this! We need to eat to live if we're going to fight anything! Alright, round two begins! I'll grill this batch!"

At Minhye's spirited declaration, we smiled and picked up our utensils once more.

That's right. I knew how to keep the world from falling apart. There was nothing to fear.

We went back to cracking silly jokes, trying our best to reclaim the atmosphere of an ordinary college after-party, when I let out a long yawn.

Man, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'm exhausted...

I hadn't even drunk that much, but a wave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of drowsiness suddenly washed over me.

Right then.

A dusty old TV in the corner was broadcasting the evening news.

The screen transitioned, and a new anchor appeared.

The very first word of the anchor's nonchalant delivery made my chopsticks freeze mid-air.

Heritage Palace.

The moment I heard that name, I set my chopsticks down.

Damn it... I shouldn't have let myself doze off, not even for a second.