The Anonymous App (5)
What does that even mean?
Falling apart puts me at ease. I like it because I'm broken.
There might be things about her I still don't understand.
I need to figure out what she's actually hoping for. Whether she wants heaven, or wants to fall into hell — honestly, I can't tell anymore.
And I'm hardly in a position to pretend I understand when I don't even know the whole story.
The reply came instantly.
Not that she wants to break — that she has to?
She says it like she's confessing to some crime.
Is this some kind of depression? What kind of person has to keep falling apart?
Huh? No, no — you can't just cut it off there. Hold on.
I type [I hope you find some peace] — then delete it.
What good would words like that do for someone who's already decided, all on her own, that she deserves to be destroyed?
Maybe it's better to just give her the answer she's fishing for. It feels like leading the witness, but there's a chance she'll reply again.
She wouldn't cross every line over a single comment, right? The feed is crawling with people egging her on far worse than this.
I wait, but no reply comes from my sister.
There's so much I don't understand here — I need to go through her activity history in detail.
Wait. What is this post?
Six months back, there are a whole cluster of posts just like it.
They sound like they're about stocks.
Right — my sister placed in a mock-investment competition back in high school, and with Mom's blessing she started trading for real.
There might be a connection. There are too many posts to skim — I'll go through them slowly later.
It's the middle of the night and she's still awake, still online.
At this point she's not even hiding it — she's going straight for the BDSM videos.
Her activity history is crammed wall to wall with video watches, plus records of her reading posts on other users' account feeds.
I follow a few of the accounts my sister has been viewing.
One of them has everything preserved like a museum exhibit — face, ID card, even messenger conversations with close friends.
Her fling, her department manager, her relationship with her own cousin — all of it laid bare, publicly.
And right now, my sister is reading that very feed.
What are you hoping to get out of watching this stuff, sis?
A dizzying thought keeps circling my head — that things I told myself could never happen might actually become real.
...Thank god. I woke up right on time for my usual jogging routine.
No dreams today, at least. I drink some water and head out.
It's already Saturday.
The moment I step into the living room, I sense faint movement coming from the kitchen.
My sister is drinking a glass of water, and she must have noticed me ages ago — she's already looking my way.
"You're up early."
"Want some?"
She gives me a lazy smile and slowly runs her hand down the back of her neck as she hands me a glass of water — but the eyes watching me are cold.
The second I gulp it down and try to slip away, her voice reels me back in.
"Hey. Don't you own any other clothes? You wear the same thing every single day. You look like a total slob."
"Do I?"
Could you cut me some slack on weekends, at least?
For now, the priority is giving a few noncommittal answers and getting out of here.
"Stop dressing only in black and white and actually put together some different outfits. Don't people talk when you go around in the same clothes all the time? It could end up reflecting badly on Mom too, you know."
"I've honestly never thought that far..."
Unbelievable stretch of logic. Why not just say the earth's going to end while you're at it? And this from a girl who spends her nights reading feeds with people's IDs plastered all over them.
"I remember seeing you in something else a while back. Bought it and wore it once, then never again, right? Where did you put it?"
"Your memory's better than mine, apparently. Should I go dig it up?"
Best to just do as I'm told while I'm in this house.
...But why on earth does she remember that?
Back in my room, I open the closet, and it really is nothing but black and white.
I pull out the deep purple shirt I bought two months ago, wore exactly once, and shoved to the back.
I don't want to wear it — but going out in black or white would be a straight-up declaration of defiance, so that's not an option either.
Whatever. Just for one day.
When I open my door and step out, my sister is on the sofa, arms crossed, chin lifted ever so slightly as she looks me over.
"Much better. Keep that up whenever you go out."
"The color's kind of off, though... doesn't really match my image. Or how I actually look."
"Purple suits you — dark, but it works. Pants are still black, though."
"I'll go change."
"Don't bother. You only own, what, two colors of pants anyway?"
She planned this. There's no doubt about it — she's decided to tear into me and she picked her moment.
"I'll order some new clothes after my jog."
"Tell me if you're short on money."
"I've got plenty. Alright, I'm off."
I slip out of the house quickly and check my phone.
Thankfully, she's not online.
To Riverside Park, same as always.
Habit takes over and I switch on Cheat Mode while I run.
I pass the public restroom and search for Ms. Lim Yoonjung — no marker.
I consider pushing on toward the subway station, then give up.
What would I even do if I found her?
I pick up the pace and run.
I have to shake this off.
My deep purple shirt is soaked through with sweat. All I want is to change out of it.
The delivery locker in front of the building is piled high with Arin's orders.
One of the boxes — an overseas direct-purchase parcel — has my sister's name on it.
I gather everything and head inside.
A weekend morning scene that feels familiar and strange all at once.
Mom alone stands in front of the full-length mirror, getting ready for work.
My sister, with the day off, is in gray sweatpants and a short-sleeved t-shirt.
"Your packages are here, sis."
She must have heard me, but she keeps staring at her laptop anyway. Something must not be going her way — she furrows her brow slightly and sweeps her bangs behind her ear.
"Oh my, Jihoon. Did you buy new clothes?"
"No, I bought this two months ago. Didn't really like it, so it's been sitting in the closet."
"It suits you so well, I almost didn't recognize you."
"It's not that dramatic, Mom. Really."
"Go wash up, dear. I'll need to leave for work early today."
"Got it. I'll be right out."
I want to tell her to go ahead and eat without me, but there's an unspoken rule in this house.
The meal doesn't start until everyone is seated.
It is, in effect, the only time the three of us — Arin excluded — sit face to face and eat together.
I can't drag my feet. First things first: peel off this shirt my sister practically picked out for me.
Huh? It's just plain water.
I drink from the pitcher sitting there as always, but there's no lemon flavor.
Shower done, I carry Arin's breakfast and her packages up to her door on the second floor — and one box catches my eye.
A flagship model from a luxury laptop brand.
...Where did the money for that come from?
By the time I return to the table, my busy mother has already started eating.
"Mom, you should really rest on weekends. I'm worried it'll wear your health down."
"Just hearing that puts my mind at ease. Don't you worry about me — the weather's lovely, so go out and enjoy yourself."
The mother-daughter duet continues. Even on weekends, my sister's performance of devotion to Mom never stops.
...I should just be grateful I'm the only one who knows. If Mom ever found out, it would be the end of everything.
"Jihoon, no appetite this morning? You've hardly touched your food."
"Hey. What are you doing? Eat. You're worrying Mom."
"I was just... thinking about something. Sorry."
It's your fault, Kim Chaeyeon.
The moment her target changed, so did her whole way of looking at people — her tone too, swept clean like a stage reset.
...So why do I keep feeling this uneasy?
Breakfast ends, and Mom stands once more before the full-length mirror, checking everything from the cuffs of her suit down to a single stray hair before heading out.
I find myself staring blankly at my sister's back as she walks Mom to the front door.
The door clicks shut, and the moment my sister turns and her eyes land on me, the bright smile she wore seconds ago freezes solid on her face.
The expression of someone who'd rather not waste a single word on you.
She marches into her room and slams the door with pure irritation.
It dawns on me then — even in the real world, my sister doesn't have just one face.
I duck into my room, then come back out to the living room.
TV on, music on, sprawled across the sofa — and I wait for my sister to come out.
Her activity history is quiet, and her account shows offline.
Then, the moment comes — she emerges from her room.
Back and forth, again and again, between her room, the bathroom, the laundry room.
I'm probably not sane either, cataloging her every trip like this.
When she comes out again, I sit up straight.
Her clothes have changed.
Wait — I've seen that outfit before, on an account feed. Long skirt, blouse.
The post said it clearly. No panties. No bra.
No way. It can't be.
My sister goes back into her room, finishes her makeup, and comes out with a small bag slung over her shoulder.
Is she actually going out?
Before I can get a word in, she walks straight out of the house.
Damn it. Something about this stinks.
That dangerous feed she was scrolling at dawn — and the outfit she's wearing now — keep nagging at the back of my mind.
There's still time before Arin's lunch.
I'll turn back by 11:20. If she leaves the city, I give up.
I change my clothes and follow the marker.
She's headed toward the subway station. Where is she going?
A man on the platform blatantly eyeing my sister gets on my nerves, but staying unnoticed myself comes first.
The moment my sister boards, I slip into the adjacent car so I won't be spotted, tracking only her marker.
...We've come quite a ways.
Huh? She's moving.
She's getting off here.
I squeeze out just before the doors close and, blending into the crowd, follow her up the stairs.
XX Station — a busy district where a department store and a sprawling shopping mall connect directly to the subway. It's not far from home.
Is she here to meet a boyfriend? She did dress up to the nines.
I trail her at a careful distance.
In the plaza by the station exit, my sister finally stops walking.
She's waiting for someone. This looks like an arranged meeting spot.
A moment later, a young woman approaches her.
They're too far away for me to see clearly.
My sister greets her with the same radiant smile she saves for Mom.
She looks familiar somehow. That woman is definitely... Jung Yisol?
My sister spent middle school and high school in boarding school.
That's her best friend — the roommate she lived with for six years. Jung Yisol.
I chased her all the way here just to watch her meet a friend.
The two of them link arms, laughing together.
I've never seen my sister this animated in my life.
The pair disappears into the department store.
I hesitate — should I stop here? Following any further will only lead to a foregone conclusion.
Just in case, I sweep the area with Cheat Mode — and another marker appears, moving in lockstep with my sister's.
Name: Jung Yisol
Age: 22
Handle: @ir_sola
Activity: Post uploaded (1 day ago)
Status: Offline
So Yisol is an Anonymous App user too.
It's 11:20 already. I need to head back now.
But that activity history keeps bothering me.
...Just ten more minutes.
I go inside.
The place is packed, which actually lowers my risk of getting caught.
My sister and Jung Yisol browse the displays, grabbing takeout drinks and ice cream, having a great time.
Then a man walks up and starts talking to them — to my sister, specifically, his eyes locked on her.
She blocks him with her hand, so it looks like she turned him down. That's a guess, though.
...It's 11:31. I seriously need to go.
Jung Yisol can't keep her expression in check. Did something happen? If I could just confirm the reason for that reaction...
The man finally gives up and retreats. My sister doesn't spare him so much as a glance.
Now they're wandering into the cosmetics section. Time to head home.
A short vibration buzzes in my pocket.
I curse under my breath and check the screen — the alarm I set for Arin's lunchtime.
11:40? Damn it.
I hail a taxi through the app and hurry out of the department store as fast as I can.
I have to get Arin's lunch ready, and I knew that — I still let the time slip away.
The taxi arrives quickly and I beg the driver to hurry.
But it's already too late. Making it back before noon is impossible.
That has never happened before. Not once.
First things first — I text Arin to tell her I'll be late.
...Yisol's marker is still on my radar.
It'll vanish soon. If I lose it now, I might never get another chance to check.
That's practically a curse.
...But the person Yisol is talking about — why do I have a feeling it's exactly who I think it is?
No, it can't be. I saw them just now, didn't I? Those two are best friends.
The marker disappears, and I can't check any further. Maybe that's for the best.
I have something more urgent to deal with right now.
Just as predicted, I arrive well past lunchtime. 12:08.
I step out of the taxi and walk up to the front door to punch in the lock code —
— and spot Arin standing at the second-floor window.
Between her hood and her mask, her eyes are fixed precisely on me.
A short vibration rings out in my pocket.
My gaze pulls away from Arin and drops to the screen.
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