Chapter 14
Lee Yeon-woo remained wary of Director Lee Sun-hae’s curiosity.
“I always thought that whenever I came across their articles in their prime. That person, they’re not meant to live a normal, peaceful life,” he said.
Too intense a life often brings its own losses.
“At the same time, I sometimes thought that the essence of that reckless-seeming curiosity might actually be a desperate conviction to protect someone… or something along those lines.”
He considered that to be the way Lee Sun-hae showed ‘good intentions.’ Even in places where life itself could not be guaranteed, they would insist on stepping in, labeling it ‘curiosity,’ and broadcasting it to the world.
“Like a journalist driven by a sense of duty, or a meddlesome activist,” he mused.
He wasn’t remarkable enough to judge someone else’s intentions recklessly, but he was old enough to read the stubborn sincerity behind them.
“That person, contrary to appearances, has an unusual streak when it comes to protecting those around them.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a famous story. Even when entering the treacherous strongholds of the Mexican cartel, they would go to great lengths to protect the victims. In the end, it’s all to save people, isn’t it?”
The struggle to expose the cartel’s size and brutality, the interviews with insiders, documenting human trafficking sites—it was all perilous.
“It’s certainly sensational, but,”
Even while repeatedly putting their own life at stake, Director Lee always prioritized the human rights of those involved.
“Not exactly the ideal conviction for a documentary filmmaker,” he added dryly.
This troublesome concern now was, undoubtedly, just an extension of that same ‘curiosity.’
“Come to think of it, I’m also one of the kidnapping victims they have to protect,” he admitted.
“Yes.”
“Well, it feels odd to acknowledge that out loud. Bitter, even.”
“No.”
Meanwhile, Coco was rolling around on his thigh. Lee Yeon-woo didn’t bother shooing the cat away. The feeling of Coco’s fur alone made it worth sacrificing some thigh freedom. An exceptional, mischievous monster cat.
“The problem is the impact if this hotel’s existence were to become known outside,” he said.
Why wouldn’t he want help to leave this place? But he had long given up on that thought. There was no way to communicate, and the more critical issue was the danger itself.
“I still don’t fully understand the situation between me and this hotel. Bringing a third party in under such circumstances could turn into an uncontrollable disaster.”
“Yes.”
At the very least, he understood the minimal rules. Even though it was reality, the system felt familiar. But if outside law enforcement got involved here, it would introduce unpredictable variables. He didn’t want to risk that.
“If it were just my own life at stake, I might consider it,” he admitted.
Until he understood the essence of this hotel, he resolved to avoid outside contact. More precisely, he wouldn’t rely on anyone’s help. Even thinking about it, Coco wouldn’t stay still if he tried.
“So, for now, I’ll focus on studying. There’s nothing more disastrous than an ignorant administrator. I cannot afford that fate.”
“Yes.”
“Learning makes people humble, but ultimately, it gives one the power to control and shake the board. I need at least one shield to withstand this disaster.”
“A shield!”
“My, my words grow grandiose with each passing year,” he said as he rose.
He stood before the thin, angular glass pane on his desk, slowly unwrapping the blood-soaked bandages. Warm drops of blood slid down the transparent slide glass.
A small plop sound.
“…Well then, shall we start again?”
The first question:
―Why do I die and come back to life?
“Finally, you’ve returned,” said Hong Kyung-yeon, and Director Lee laughed.
“Scared?”
“Do I look scared right now? I smelled blood from that person.”
“Still, the gloves look clean now, so at least some treatment was done.”
The man’s attire was once again flawlessly arranged, his posture impeccable, his speech polite, and manners ingrained.
“How do I describe it… like a figure in a classical portrait?” asked the writer.
“Director, the ‘classical portraits’ you often look at are usually Western works, right?”
“That’s racial discrimination,” she retorted.
“You sent a person to the brink like that?”
“Well, nowadays art is so complex, I don’t really know,” he admitted.
“I don’t know modern art well,” she said.
“Then you haven’t truly seen proper art… anyway.”
Director Lee Sun-hae smiled.
“I still thought it matched oil paints well.”
The portrait was the result of thousands of revisions.
“I would have said it looked more like ink,” she commented.
“Like an ink-saturated intellectual?”
“No, just… the beauty of emptiness,” she explained.
“A person does look blank, I agree,” he said.
If you had to put it into words, it was deliberately left blank, nothing drawn in.
Yet beneath that polished social exterior, a fleeting fatigue shimmered through. The director recalled the man’s dry gaze from the lobby.
“….”
Indifferent, cold, but faintly worried…
“…Hah…”
She let her laptop rest on the table. It was full of material on potential filming sites she had scouted that day. None were particularly compelling.
“Aren’t you glad?”
“Huh? Glad about what?”
“You were still reluctant, weren’t you?”
Director Lee often saw such people.
A refined exterior concealing emotion, a gaze stripped of feeling, a mask of a polite smile. Carefully maintained distance, smiling but not smiling, considerate yet hiding their true intention.
“…It’s probably intentionally performed, though,” he said.
Yet he still showed emotion.
“That felt strangely like consideration.”
“Showing emotion intentionally?”
“Ah, I almost laughed. Remember? They looked at us like complete troublemakers.”
“Well, except we’re adults, so maybe not much difference…”
“Watching them consistently, it’s clear they don’t like us visiting this hotel.”
“Perhaps they just don’t like outsiders entering a secret facility.”
“Sure, but it felt more like watching kids who might stumble on asphalt. A protective gaze,” he clarified.
“I didn’t sense that,” said the writer.
“Because you kept avoiding their gaze.”
The director’s smile turned uncertain.
“They don’t seem like bad people…”
“Or you’ll get hurt again. You’ve been there before.”
“But those kids weren’t bad either.”
“If they hurt people, they’d be bad.”
“They did their best for us even in a desperate situation. Let’s shelve our Mexico story for now?”
“I was talking about Italy, but yes, let’s do that.”
“But they really didn’t seem like bad people.”
“Well…”
The writer sighed.
“They seemed to be hurt themselves, but we wouldn’t have known.”
“You think it was just blood? Someone else’s blood or blood packs?”
“Possible. We could only guess what exactly happened at dawn, never saw it firsthand.”
“Trust my instincts. I never fail at detecting malice,” said Lee Yeon-woo.
“Just the fact they didn’t push us away in the hotel suggests they weren’t bad,” said the writer.
“Circumstances matter. We’ve seen threats before, haven’t we?”
“Ha…”
Hong Kyung-yeon closed their laptop.
“Shall we call the police?”
“Do you think that would help?”
“Worth a try, no?”
“But someone could get hurt.”
“Are we saints? Should we save every endangered person? You got badly hurt back then and switched to filmmaking. Remember?”
“Then why are you here with me?”
“Uh… just… that…”
The director laughed.
“You care too, don’t you, Hong?”
“…I’m curious what kind of hotel this is.”
“Indeed, opportunities to inspect this place are rare.”
Their curiosity was the largest factor. Being in this compact facility was astonishing. To those addicted to danger, it was like a theme park.
“Hong may deny it, but I’d say it’s not entirely untrue,” he thought.
Secondly, he admitted:
“…I’m worried.”
“…Are they really adults?”
“…They said so themselves. Tall, big frame, strong bones. Definitely an adult.”
“Hmm, well.”
“Look at how they treat us; that takes social skill. Many thirty or forty-year-olds wouldn’t show that level of composure.”
“So, you’re saying they’re more mature than most adults?”
“Yes.”
“But still…”
“Going on too long?”
“…Yes.”
The writer rubbed tired eyes.
“…If they’re not adults, this wouldn’t work at all.”
He wondered too. Youthful face, tall and well-built, but little flesh. Hong Kyung-yeon knew that type.
“They also seemed to eat poorly,” she said.
Good bone structure, muscle intact, but no real fat. Usually, people accustomed to insufficient meals were like that.
“Maybe they just don’t eat much or enjoy meals. Even with minimal fat, you can tell they’re healthy looking… enough to notice they’re thin, no more.”
The director shrugged.
“Doesn’t it feel odd? Dieting like an idol? In a remote forest hotel? As a general manager?”
“There are other cases too. Hyperthyroidism, depression, compulsions, trauma, gastrointestinal diseases, and so on.”
“…?”
Wait a minute.
“…Most are serious issues.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mostly illnesses.”
“Thinness isn’t always due to that, right?”
“They definitely skip meals.”
“Even with meals aside, there’s serious concern.”
She recalled the hands she had put on the white gloves.
“The gloves were soaked in blood. That’s a lot of bleeding. There must have been damage to vascular-rich areas. Your thoughts?”
“Could be their real blood. As I said in the car earlier.”
“The bleeding could come from cuts, palm, finger joints, or near the dorsal artery. Deep cuts could explain the blood loss. Partial amputations were also possible.”
“Anything else?”
“Don’t know, I’m not a doctor. Just repeating what I said in the car.”
“Painful, right?”
“Of course.”
“That’s hard to even describe.”
“Even small cuts don’t usually bleed that much. Tight clothes could absorb some blood. The hands might not be the only injury site.”
If the car estimate was correct, the injury was recent, so hemorrhagic shock was possible.
Even as a game character, the bleeding might be exaggerated, but they couldn’t know for sure.
“On a scale, 7 to 9. Severed nerves or amputations could be close to 10. Exact details unknown, but blood loss suggests severe trauma.”
“Explain in simpler terms.”
“Pain makes talking difficult. Hard to focus, breathe, or cry. Consciousness could blur, fainting possible.”
“But they didn’t show it?”
Odd.
“They handled guests, managed the situation, kept perfect posture. That’s… strange.”
“But…”
“Tough for adults too, right?”
“…If it’s not their blood, or if they’re fully grown….”
“Hong Kyung-yeon,” the director interjected.
“They’ve been adults for a long time. You know that.”
“….”
The writer couldn’t argue.
He recalled vast research: rare genetic diseases, slowed cellular aging. Staying youthful in appearance but fully grown physically was biologically near-impossible.
“Sure, if early twenties, and careful with lifestyle, one could appear youthful. Not impossible.”
“Early twenties… is that really old enough to endure this kind of pain?”
“No, not saying that…!”
“Did they really look like a young adult male maintained by genetics and discipline? I’m unsure; I’m sharp-eyed.”
Director fiddled with his phone.
“No actor could maintain such youth. Natural limits exist. Fat under eyes, laugh lines, neck wrinkles—they age. He looked truly tired, dark circles, sunken cheeks. Didn’t look like he ate well.”
“….”
Silence.
“…Could they really not be an adult?”
“Even with generous estimation, maybe a college student.”
Director smiled.
“They could still be an adult, though.”
“But the body tells the truth. Tension in facial muscles, controlling breath, shifting weight—if they can hide all, that’s skill.”
“That’s skill, yes.”
“Not just endurance. Smiling while handling us. Not blocked expressions or extreme patience. Not adrenaline-induced excitement either.”
“…Conscious dissociation likely.”
“Conscious dissociation… separating pain from perception entirely. Requires extreme prior exposure to pain, full emotional control, ingrained values, and controlled adrenaline.”
“Intelligence agents, special forces, mafia, torture survivors. That’s all I can think of. Writer, your thoughts?”
Director Lee Sun-hae looked at the writer.
“Which fits best?”
“…Mafia?”
“This is Korea.”
“Organized crime, then?”
“Could high-level business have created such an organization?”
“Collaboration issues… losing face if organized crime ran the hotel?”
“Huh, of course not.”
Confusion reigned.
“So what really is it? Why so composed?”
“And I noticed something else odd.”
“What?”
“The staff,” he said.
The director paused briefly.
“They don’t talk.”
“They don’t talk? Why—ah, ah?”
“They don’t open their mouths at all.”
“….”
“…Why is that?”