The Unsettling Feeling
An uneasy feeling washed over him. _This feels strange..._ It was definitely strange. No, not strange—unsettling. What connection could there be between that case and Younghoon? It had sounded like a murder investigation, after all. Surely not Younghoon... He shook his head vigorously, dismissing the thought. Younghoon and Heeseon had no reason to hate each other. Sure, the relationship had entered a lull, maybe even headed toward separation, but at least the Younghoon he knew would never do such a thing, nor would Heeseon. Still, he had asked his friend if anything had happened, only to find the detectives unwilling to share details, which only deepened the frustration. “Due to the ongoing investigation...” They didn’t even ask about his relationship with Heeseon or whether something odd had been going on between the two. Did they really suspect Younghoon of cheating? The nonsense questions kept coming, and the anxiety only mounted. Younghoon and Heeseon hadn’t even answered their phones. He sent messages through the app, but there was still no reply. The “read” status hadn’t even vanished. The more he waited, the more uneasy he became.
Just as he was about to set his phone aside, the convenience store door opened. He instinctively turned his head, fearing it might be the detectives again, but it was just a regular customer. Rehaek let out a long sigh and finally lowered his phone to attend to the guest. Yet his mind remained glued to the screen, hoping Younghoon or Heeseon might message him at any moment.
After finishing his shift at the convenience store, he immediately returned home. The fatigue from the long day made him yawn repeatedly. As usual, he checked his phone, only to find no replies. Even the “read” indicators remained. He tried calling once more, but again there was silence. _They’re probably busy, it’s fine._ He headed to the kitchen, poured some water into a pot, and placed it over the gas stove. Cup ramen and a pack of kimbap would have to do for dinner tonight. At first he had thought it was enough, but after days of the same monotonous food, he was sick of it. Still, he had no choice—hunger outweighed everything, and with no salary day in sight and even the afternoon shift canceled, money was extremely tight.
The water began to bubble furiously. He poured it over the cup ramen according to the dotted line and topped it with kimbap. While waiting for it to cook, he called Younghoon again. After several rings, there was nothing. No answer. Even the chat remained unread. What on earth had happened? He tried calling Heeseon next, but the same result. _What is going on? Why is this making me so anxious?_ He scratched his head irritably, staring at the screen in silence, then opened the messenger app and invited both of them to the group chat.
“Hey! Why aren’t you replying? What are you two doing? I heard the detectives are looking for you both.”
He waited for a while, but again nothing. The “read” status still hadn’t changed. Annoyed, he turned his phone off. In the silent house he stared at the cup ramen, then turned the screen back on and began scrolling through internet communities. The markets buzzed with strange incidents these days. No matter which one he visited, there were wild rumors. The internet was always full of hype, exaggerating even trivial things to stimulate dopamine. Fake news was especially common; he usually skipped them, but some stories still caught his eye.
Especially a case that had just occurred near the warehouse district on the outskirts of Seoul. Another one at a nearby motel had become a hot topic. Had it leaked? Or was it fabricated? The details were surprisingly thorough. A couple’s room at a certain motel had been flooded with blood, yet no body had been found. No victim or perpetrator information had been released yet, but the media was running nonstop updates. The articles offered little concrete detail. He scrolled through the comments. Some claimed the area had once been a shady red-light district and wondered if gangsters were involved. Others described amateur sleuths “beating the drum and banging the gong” like detectives in comics—talking about how the killer might have hidden the body or still lurked in the motel.
He skimmed the comments with little interest. There simply wasn’t enough information. He closed the app, finished the lukewarm ramen, and tried calling Younghoon once more—still no answer. The unease only grew. Why were the detectives searching for Younghoon and Heeseon? A dark thought surfaced: the victim who had vanished with that enormous amount of blood… could it be Heeseon? In that case, Younghoon, who had been with her last night, would be the prime suspect. “No… impossible… haha… what was I thinking?” He shook his head vigorously, rejecting the idea. Younghoon could never be the killer. He had never even fought anyone. The thought was absurd. So why were the detectives hunting them? The question refused to leave his mind.
—An uneasy feeling.—
By the time evening had passed, it was already seven o’clock. As usual, Rehaek sat in front of his computer. On one side of the monitor, a game streamer’s video played. On the other, he browsed job sites. Nothing appealed to him. Short-term summer jobs were ideal, especially evening shifts. But they had all been filled by the time he looked. He sighed, closed the window, and felt a wave of regret. If only he had searched earlier… Yet it wasn’t his fault. The place had closed without warning due to interior renovations. Truly, his luck was rotten.
He let out a long yawn, then pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Ash from his monitor had grown into a spiky cactus shape. _At home, all I do is smoke._ The landlady had complained about the smell, but he paid it no mind. Smoke curled lazily upward. He lay back in his chair and switched the game broadcast to full screen. “Those people look so lucky… playing the games they love and earning money.” He let out a heavy sigh. _Maybe I should try streaming too?_ Gazing at his outdated PC, he clicked his tongue. Modern games wouldn’t run smoothly on this machine, and broadcasting would require even more. Even if he scraped together the money, there was no guarantee it would succeed. Thousands of streamers already existed, and the ones with under ten viewers numbered in the hundreds. This was a red ocean. Finding steady viewers was difficult, and rushing in blindly was like playing with his life. He didn’t even have enough for next semester’s tuition, let alone an expensive rig.