The Building That Devours People
Their lips parted, and a soft, coquettish voice slipped into his ear like a silken thread. "Shall we go a little further…?"
It was a voice impossible to refuse. That unbearably sweet tone seeped into his ear canal and stabbed straight into his chest. Ah! From her voice alone, Hwan’s reason ignited once more and burned out of control.
He buried his face in her breasts again. He drank in her scent, felt the velvet of her skin, and surrendered to the crushing grip of her body around his cock. In response she gently stroked the head of the man cradled in her arms. Like a mother shielding her child, her warmth and touch felt impossibly tender.
Yet one must never forget that behind that tenderness lurked the act of predation.
"How is it?" Miho asked.
Hwan glanced at her while grinding fresh beans. She seemed displeased by his lukewarm reaction and clicked her tongue. "Answer me. I asked you a question."
Pressed like that, Hwan could only wear an awkward expression. His gaze dropped again to the two scraps of lingerie the naked woman held up. One was black, the other a deep wine-red. Both were shamelessly obscene.
"They’re both pretty."
"Ha! That’s not the answer I want. Pick one. Now."
These moments were always torture. Honestly, both suited her perfectly. The black set looked stunning against her snow-white skin, yet the rich red somehow amplified her intensity even more. Her unnaturally pale complexion seemed designed to complement any color. Still, she demanded he choose only one, and he stood there, lost.
After long deliberation he finally pointed to the red lingerie. Miho narrowed her eyes, then let out a mischievous laugh. "Hehe! So that’s your taste? Pervert."
Hwan shook his head in disbelief. Miho sauntered into the bedroom with her choice. Hwan returned to the drip station—this brew was for her. Her refined palate had long since rejected franchise coffee; this time she had even bought beans so expensive they made his eyes water. Thanks to her, he too had begun to prefer hand-poured cups. The collection of drippers kept growing: simple circles, flower-shaped ceramic, even a heavy brass hourglass model that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. With the chilling rack and all the rest, their kitchen now felt like a high-end café.
And Hwan had grown strangely used to it.
When the coffee was ready she emerged again, still wearing only the red lingerie he had chosen. It looked even better on her than he had imagined—seductive in a way that surpassed even her nakedness. His cheeks warmed.
This time she returned carrying an armful of clothes. "Here! Pick again!"
Oh no. Not again. At this rate they would never leave the house. Father Choi had already asked for another favor, yet here he was, trapped in Miho’s endless fashion show before he could even step outside.
Hwan poured the finished brew into two sensory cups, handed her one, and ventured, "Um… aren’t they both the same?"
"Oh my. You really know nothing about fashion, do you? Honestly, you’d be lost without me." She sighed theatrically, accepted the cup, and took a sip. The light roast gave the coffee a faint reddish hue. Hwan watched anxiously. To his relief, her expression softened into satisfaction.
"Your skill is definitely improving. Seventy points."
"Still only seventy?"
"It’s nowhere near what I can do."
Deciding the scoring was merciless, Hwan shrugged and sipped his own cup. Pleasant nuttiness rose, followed by a clean acidity. He thought it was excellent, but apparently it still fell short in her eyes. Maybe he would never fully understand.
Meanwhile she stood before the full-length mirror again, looking troubled. Choosing an outfit seemed likely to take hours. The entrance was buried under a mountain of unopened delivery boxes; anyone would think they ran a boutique. Most of the contents were eye-wateringly expensive clothes. Of course a few boxes contained his own new wardrobe, but Miho had once declared that if he intended to be seen with her, his previous shabby style had to go. In the end, however, the only expensive “outfit” Hwan ever wore was the priest’s cassock Father Choi had given him.
At this rate, today’s fashion show might never end. Hwan sighed and took another sip of coffee.
Following the navigation Father Choi had sent, they drove to a location not far from home at all. It was a tiny village tucked into the Hwacheon region of Gangwon Province, nestled among thick mountains. The place was even quieter than expected. Only a handful of houses stood, most of them clearly abandoned. When the car stopped in the middle of a rural hamlet dotted with derelict buildings, Hwan stepped out and filled his lungs with the crisp country air, then exhaled sharply.
Miho, however, wore a distinctly displeased expression. Even behind her sunglasses her discontent was obvious. "Why is it always some backwater? I already hate that our house is in the countryside, and every single request has to come from another damn rural village."
Hwan gave an awkward smile, scanned their surroundings once more, and began walking. Miho grumbled but trailed after him all the same.
They arrived at an entrance leading deeper into the mountains. The path was poorly maintained; weeds grew wild in every direction and overgrown trees encroached on the trail. Even beneath bright sunlight the area felt unnaturally eerie.
Before them stood a firmly shut iron gate wrapped in heavy chains. A sign hung between the links.
Hwan’s gaze moved past the gate. The abandoned building visible beyond it looked ready to collapse at any moment, yet its very presence sent a strange chill crawling across his skin.
"What do you think?" he asked Miho.
She lifted her sunglasses slightly and stared at the structure in silence. After a long moment she spoke. "This one feels tricky."
Hwan tensed. Every time she used that word, the situation turned sour.
"It’s a building that devours people… No, not only people. It swallows everything—then converts what it consumes into its own nourishment, growing stronger with every meal."
"The building itself feels… alive."
"That’s not a bad way to see it. Just how many lives has it taken to be this saturated with grudges? That place is already little more than a prison for trapped souls."
Miho’s gaze grew icy. Hwan clenched his fists, unable to hide his own tension. Even without trying, they could both see them: vengeful spirits drifting behind every window, their mournful cries echoing faintly. Each one carried a hatred so thick it was almost palpable. They wandered the interior as though lost inside an endless maze.
"You really shouldn’t go in there."
The sudden voice made Hwan turn. A woman about his own age stood behind them.
"It’s better if you stay away. It’s extremely dangerous."
A heavy silence settled. Hwan studied the woman. Her face held a complicated mix of emotions as she stared at the building—fear, certainly, but also a deep, sorrowful pain. There was clearly a story here.
He turned back toward the crumbling structure. Through broken, grime-smeared windows he glimpsed the lost souls drifting inside, their mournful cries strong enough to trigger headaches and vertigo. Simply standing nearby allowed their dense resentment to spread like a contagion, poisoning the mind’s peace.
The woman approached Hwan with obvious tension, her body trembling faintly. When she reached the chained gate she ran her fingers over the faded sign that still bore a single legible word: Sanatorium. Then she looked at the chained doors and let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry years of untold grief.