Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Why Doesn't Anyone See Me?
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Ian walked down the corridor, tracing the source of the energy. Ever since leaving the 12th-floor office, he'd been on high alert. A faint but unmistakable presence was rising from somewhere below.
He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for B1.
Ding.
As the doors slid open, a chill rushed in. The smell was distinctly different from the floors above—dust, paper, and the faint tang of old machinery all mixed together.
Ian moved forward.
The basement level housed the document archives and storage warehouse. Hardly anyone came down here anymore. With digitization underway, paper files had dwindled, and visits from employees were rare.
At the end of the corridor stood the document storage room. A metal door bore a sign reading 'Document Storage B-1'.
The energy sharpened, growing clearer.
Ian opened the door.
Creeeak.
The hinges let out a rusty groan. Inside was dark. He reached out and fumbled for the switch.
Flicker.
The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered to life. The way they hesitated for a beat reminded him of the Backrooms.
'.......'
Ian paused for a moment.
Metal shelves lined the room, stacked floor to ceiling with boxes of files. Dust blanketed everything, and the air carried the musty scent of decaying paper.
And in one corner of the room.
Sat an old copier.
That was the source.
Ian approached slowly.
It was an outdated model, the kind no longer used in offices. Probably at least twenty years old. The exterior was yellowed with age, grime caked around the buttons.
The power was off, and the plug was pulled from the outlet.
Yet...
A faint humming emanated from it.
Ian narrowed his eyes at the copier.
Something was inside. No distinct form, but the energy was unmistakable. A tangled mass. Something unresolved. Something that had lingered here, growing bit by bit over time.
'Lingering Resentment.'
Ian recognized it immediately.
A dead person's attachment embedded in an object. He'd seen similar phenomena in the Backrooms. Fragments of consciousness seeping into old items. They were usually harmless, but given enough time, they gained power.
Ian crouched in front of the copier.
He reached out and touched its surface. Beneath the cold metal, he felt a subtle vibration.
"Who are you?"
Ian asked softly.
No answer came.
Instead, the fluorescent lights flickered.
"The document storage room?"
Mr. Kim from general affairs tilted his head. He was a man in his early thirties, in charge of building maintenance.
"Yeah. The copier there. How long has it been around?"
Ian had gone up to the 12th floor to visit general affairs. It seemed best to ask casually.
"Oh, that old clunker? At least fifteen years, I'd say. We meant to scrap it, but somehow it just stayed put."
"Why didn't you get rid of it?"
Mr. Kim gave an awkward smile.
"Well... it might sound weird."
"Go ahead."
"Everyone who tried to move that copier ended up getting hurt."
Ian's eyes shifted slightly.
"Hurt?"
"Yeah, like throwing out their back while carrying it, or getting a finger caught in the gap and tearing a ligament. The worst one..."
Mr. Kim lowered his voice.
"Tumbled down the stairs. Broke his leg trying to clear out the copier."
Mr. Kim sighed.
"So we just left it. Didn't want to risk hurting someone else for no reason. No one uses it anyway."
Ian nodded.
"Any other stories about that copier?"
Mr. Kim glanced around furtively and lowered his voice further.
"...It might sound weird."
"It's fine."
"Someone died in front of it years ago."
Ian kept his expression neutral.
"Died?"
"Yeah. Over ten years back. Collapsed from overwork, and by the time they found him the next morning..."
Mr. Kim shook his head.
"That's why, they say. Anyone who touches the copier after that has an accident. I didn't see it myself—just stories from the seniors."
"Do you know his name?"
"Choi Seung-bin. He was in Product Development at the time."
Ian's eyes shifted slightly.
"Product Development?"
"Yep. Your department. Guy worked like a dog, from what I heard. Late nights every day, weekends too. But upper management never gave him credit."
Mr. Kim smiled awkwardly.
"One night, pulling an all-nighter, he collapsed. Heart attack, they said. By the time they found him... It's like company folklore. But with real injuries, no one touches it."
"Got it. Thanks."
Ian stood up.
Mr. Kim looked uneasy as he asked,
"But why the sudden interest in that copier? Something up?"
"No. Just curious."
Ian smiled and turned away.
Night had fallen. Most employees had gone home. The 12th-floor office was dark, and only the emergency lights glowed in the corridor.
Ian descended to B1 again.
Cool air rushed in as the elevator doors opened. Colder than during the day. And the presence was sharper.
The type that strengthened at night.
Ian walked the corridor. His footsteps echoed off the concrete floor. The emergency lights cast a red hue on the walls.
He stopped in front of the document storage room.
Opened the door.
This time, he didn't turn on the fluorescents. The emergency light was enough. Darkness suited him better anyway. Lingering Resentments activated more in the shadows.
The copier came into view.
The atmosphere was different from daytime. It was faintly glowing. Blue light leaked from the cracks.
Ian approached slowly.
"Come out."
He said in a low voice.
The fluorescents flickered. They were off, but they flickered.
Then the copier began to hum as if powering up. Despite being unplugged. Despite the power being off. Mechanical whirring filled the air.
Whirr. Whirrr.
And slowly.
Something emerged from the output tray.
Paper. A4 sheets. One, two, three. They poured out endlessly.
Ian picked one up.
Handwriting covered it. Blurry, but legible.
"Why doesn't anyone see me?"
"I work so hard"
"Why won't you acknowledge me?"
"Why"
"Why"
"Why"
Ian furrowed his brow.
More paper kept coming. Pouring endlessly from the tray. Piling up on the floor.
Every sheet bore the same words.
"Why doesn't anyone see me?"
And then.
Something rose above the copier.
Its form was faint. A human silhouette. It looked like a man. Hunched back, slumped shoulders. No face visible, but exhaustion radiated from it.
The Lingering Resentment had taken shape.
Ian gazed at the figure.
He'd seen all sorts over tens of thousands of years in the Backrooms. Smilers, Hounds, Partygoers. Some took human shapes, others had no form at all.
But this was different.
This wasn't a monster.
It was just a person.
A person who'd lingered here for over ten years, carrying unresolved regrets even in death.
"......Choi Seung-bin?"
Ian asked.
The figure flinched.
"No one does."
Ian said calmly.
"Ten years have passed. The people you worked with are all gone. No one remembers."
The figure wavered.
"So rest now."
Ian reached out.
His palm touched the figure's chest. A cold sensation. And within it, the feelings poured in.
Loneliness.
Anger.
Sorrow.
He wanted recognition.
He wanted someone to see him.
To acknowledge his efforts.
All-nighters spent crafting proposals. Weekends sacrificed for tastings. Projects completed at the cost of his health.
But no one noticed.
Credit went upward, blame downward. Hard work went unseen. No praise—just taken for granted.
He ground himself down.
Until one night, during overtime.
He collapsed in front of the copier.
His final thought.
Ian's eyes closed gently.
It didn't feel like someone else's story.
Same department. Same work. Same overtime. Different era, but the environment was probably similar. Ian had endured three years of it after joining.
"......I saw."
Ian said.
"How hard you worked. How tough it was. I saw it all."
The figure stilled.
"Yes. Rest now. You've done enough."
Ian's lips moved.
A silent language.
One of the things honed over tens of thousands of years in the Backrooms. Something this world's tongue couldn't express. Syllables no human vocal cords could produce.
■
If forced into this world's terms.
Liberation.
⟨ Liberation ⟩
Something burst from Ian's hand.
Not quite light—it wasn't bright enough. Not quite darkness—it wasn't dim enough. Visible yet unseen, intangible yet felt. A phenomenon defying this world's physics. Existing and not existing at once.
It enveloped Choi Seung-bin's form.
Tzzzzzzzzz...
The air vibrated. Space itself trembled. Metal shelves rattled, papers scattered without wind.
The figure's body began to unravel, starting from the toes. Like morning mist dissolving in sunlight. Ten years of pent-up regret, anger, sorrow peeled away layer by layer.
A sigh escaped Choi Seung-bin's lips.
Not pain... relief.
The colorless light brightened. The figure's outline faded, trapped emotions releasing one by one.
Exhaustion from overwork.
Frustration from lack of recognition.
Loneliness of being unseen.
All melted into the light.
The final words.
And then.
It vanished.
The light receded.
Silence settled over the document storage room.
The copier no longer hummed. The papers on the floor were gone. As if they'd never existed.
The air felt different. The weight that had pressed down for ten years was lifted. Like a dusty warehouse finally aired out.
Ian lowered his hand.
A faint warmth lingered in his palm.
"......You did well."
Ian murmured quietly.
As he turned to leave after a moment of silent tribute, something stirred at his feet.
The shadow rippled.
It was Null.
"It's fine."
Ian said.
"No fight."
Null made a dissatisfied noise. It seemed sulky that its master had handled something alone without it.
"Snack when we get home."
The shadow rippled contentedly.
Ian chuckled softly and headed for the elevator.
He passed through the first-floor lobby and out the main entrance.
The night air was cold. Seoul's night sky hid the stars, but the moon hung faintly—a slim crescent.
Ian shoved his hands in his pockets and walked.
The absorbed memories lingered in his mind.
Choi Seung-bin. Died sixteen years ago working here. Product Development Team.
He'd worked hard. So damn hard.
But no one saw.
'.......'
Ian didn't stop walking.
A thought struck him.
Even just in this building, there were probably people suffering overtime, lack of recognition, burnout. Not dying like Choi, but wearing down bit by bit.
He didn't know what he could do for them.
But.
At least around him, he'd make sure it didn't happen.
1 a.m.
Special Disaster Response Headquarters, sublevel 3.
Han So-young sat at her monitor, sorting data. Seo Jin-hyeok sipped coffee beside her.
"Analysis complete on tonight's anomaly detection."
Han So-young said.
"E-grade or lower Lingering Resentment reaction in Gangnam-gu, but..."
Seo Jin-hyeok turned.
"But?"
"It's gone. Not natural dissipation—purified."
She pointed at the screen.
"Detected at 9:47 p.m., vanished by 10:03. Someone handled it."
Seo Jin-hyeok's eyes narrowed.
"Method?"
"That's the weird part. Not sealing, not destruction. Just... absorbed."
"Absorbed?"
"Felt like it sucked the whole Lingering Resentment in. No match in the database."
Seo Jin-hyeok set down his cup.
"......Our target?"
"Not sure. Location's off. About a kilometer outside the target's estimated range."
Han So-young pulled up a map. Dots marked Gangnam: red for target-related, blue for tonight's.
"Could be the same entity, could be different. Anomaly activity's spiked in Gangnam lately."
Seo Jin-hyeok studied the map.
"......Timing's too convenient for coincidence."
"True, but not enough data to say. Log it and monitor trends."
Seo Jin-hyeok nodded.
"Got it. Keep watching."
"Yes."
Han So-young turned back to her monitor.
Seo Jin-hyeok leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
'An entity wielding Anomalies. One that preys on predators. And now absorbing Lingering Resentments.'
Same one? Or different?
Too soon to tell.