Episode 30: Rage
They're actually letting ordinary people in? What kind of idiots run this hospital?
Small-time YouTuber Kim Juhyeong boarded the bus bound for Korea University Hospital, sneering at the place in his mind. He had only one goal: to film something that might go viral.
In a YouTube landscape that had long since turned into a blood-red ocean, he had jumped in with no real gift for talk and no original content of his own—just the half-hearted thought that if he couldn't land a job, he might as well become a YouTuber. Reality had been merciless.
Ten hours a day of editing, wringing his brain dry, and the view counts still sat in double digits. Lately he had switched to churning out AI-generated videos with slapdash subtitles, targeting the elderly.
The videos were pure chaos—everything from rants slamming the current administration and declaring that Korea was completely finished, to nationalistic fluff about K-weapons that supposedly left America stunned and Japan trembling.
Still, the numbers were decent enough that, unlike before, he had a modest side income. Combined with part-time work, it covered living expenses for now.
But who the hell wants to say that out loud? And the part-time gigs are a pain in the ass.
While other people bragged about the KOSPI hitting six thousand and throwing money-copying parties, his own bank account stayed empty. He had cursed the world more than a few times, wishing it would just collapse, and even pumped out AI videos titled things like "KOSPI Heading for 60,000—Why You Should Borrow Money to Buy Right Now." Of course he was too chicken to actually borrow and invest himself.
"Next stop, Korea University Hospital. Korea University Hospital."
Already here.
It didn't even have to be video. Just a photo of that Seol Ayeon kid for a thumbnail would guarantee views. Snagging a shot of some famous celebrity or influencer would be even better. Today was day one. The early bird got the worm. Famous people were more likely to show up on a weekday than on a crowded weekend, right?
Free meals, and Jongno was less than thirty minutes by bus. Worth the investment. And the decisive factor: he might call himself a YouTuber, but he was basically unemployed.
…Damn, a lot of people.
That explained why almost everyone on the bus was dressed in black. They kept saying youth unemployment was at a historic high—how bored did you have to be to show up somewhere like this on a weekday afternoon?
Wide age range, too.
Young people like himself, middle-aged types who looked like they had some years on them, even elderly folks whose wrinkles were plain to see. He was freshly reminded just how massive YouTube's reach really was. Following the crowd into the annex building, Juhyeong found himself face-to-face with massive men in black suits blocking the entrance. Earpieces in, radios in hand—they looked like ushers. Or maybe security.
"Hello. Are you here to attend Soyun's funeral?"
Among the hulking, muscle-bound men, a relatively shorter one with a gentler face stepped forward as spokesman. He handed out information sheets and pens, asking people to read, sign, and then form a line.
What is this, identity verification and a consent form?
The form boiled down to: "Any nonsense inside and you will be subdued." "All electronic devices, no exceptions, must be surrendered before entry; if found during inspection, entry denied." "Devices will be returned upon exit."
…I'm screwed.
"Please surrender all electronic devices."
They had come prepared—metal detectors and everything. Ushers? More like bodyguards.
"Ladies, please line up over here!"
—Beep!
"Excuse me. I'll need to check your bag."
"Oh, yes. Sorry."
From the bag of the woman being checked beside him came a telephoto lens the size of a cannon—exactly the kind celebrity stalkers used.
"…Ahaha, sorry. I just thought maybe Athlete Min might show up…"
The female guard watching this scrunched her previously expressionless face and answered in a voice like ice.
"You read the consent form and signed it, correct? Please go back the way you came."
"What? No—I spent over five hours getting here! Unnie, can't you just look the other way this once?"
"Will you walk out on your own, or do you need to be dragged?"
"…Excuse me?"
"People are waiting behind you. Leave. Yuna!"
"Hey! What kind of law is th—wait… huh?"
"Yes, Team Leader Park!"
A woman… right? Taller even than Juhyeong's 175 centimeters, muscles visible under the women's suit, a scar across her left cheek. She strode over looking like she had stepped straight out of a comic book. Was that scar actually from a knife?
"Handle this one."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"W-wait, I—I'm sorry! I'll go!"
Watching the woman flee in panic, Juhyeong neatly revised his plan: free food only. No heroics.
After surrendering his phone and stepping inside, he was startled by how spacious the place was. Following an attendant's instructions, he accepted a single chrysanthemum.
"We do not receive bows. Please go into the inner room, offer a brief greeting and the flower, then come out. Staff will give you a lunch box. Find an empty seat and eat, or take it with you if you're in a hurry. There's also a small token of appreciation—please take one."
Whoa, free meal and a gift? Coming here was the right call.
"Thank you for sharing Soyun's final moments with us."
"Ah, yes…"
Feeling a twinge of guilt, Juhyeong answered a little blankly. In his hand was a single chrysanthemum. But how could it be this quiet? The building was huge, and just as many people filled it. Yet the silence was so complete it raised goosebumps.
The only sounds were the faint noises of people eating and the attendants' voices. Everyone seemed determined not to make even the smallest sound, and Juhyeong's body instinctively shrank in on itself. Was this what a funeral felt like?
…My grandfather's funeral wasn't like this.
His father, as chief mourner, had shared drinks with friends in the early morning hours and talked quietly. Juhyeong tried to push down the uneasy feeling as he waited in line.
Ah, whatever. Just grab the lunch box and the gift and leave. I don't think I could swallow food in this atmosphere anyway.
His turn came. Because of the crowd, he entered the prepared room with five other mourners.
"Ah."
The sound escaped before he could stop it; he immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. The child he had seen on YouTube lay in the coffin with a peaceful smile. Outside the coffin, chrysanthemums left by visitors were arranged in neat order.
"Thank you for coming."
Soyun's father, who had been standing, bowed his head. The mourners bowed in silence. Juhyeong had enough sense to dip his head quickly as well. Starting from the front, people began placing their chrysanthemums in the remaining spaces.
Only then did he notice the girl kneeling in prayer in the far right corner of the room. Rare white hair. Black mourning clothes over a hospital gown. Eyes closed, a string of prayer beads in one hand, palms pressed together—she did not move at all. So that was the other child who had appeared in the videos. What was she feeling right now?
—Sniff.
—Ahem. Ahem.
People who already knew the whole story from YouTube made strange little sounds, fighting back tears. Juhyeong felt something different. Sacred? The word didn't quite fit. Grand, solemn—something in that neighborhood. Before he knew it, he spoke.
"Um…"
"…Were you calling me?"
Eyes still closed, the girl answered. It was not the voice he had heard on YouTube. That one had been cold, completely stripped of feeling, a little low. This voice sounded… angry, somehow.
"Uh, I—just… hang in there."
"Yes. Thank you."
Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, Juhyeong couldn't manage anything more and left the room. On his way out he glanced back without thinking. The girl was still motionless, still praying.
"Thank you. Here's your lunch box. Will you eat here?"
"…"
"Sir?"
"Huh? Oh—yes, yes."
"Here you are. Enjoy your meal."
Damn, I should've just said takeout.
The scene kept replaying in his head; he hadn't answered properly. He regretted it but lacked the courage to ask for packaging, so he sat at an empty single seat.
Inside the bag was a luxurious lunch-box case and a bottle of water. The case belonged to a hotel. The main dish was galbi.
Hell yeah.
Juhyeong celebrated inwardly while carefully opening the box without making noise. The insulated case kept everything warm. So what if the place was creepily quiet? A lunch box this good forgave everything.
—What the…?
—Who is that person?
Cancel that last thought. Murmuring rose from the entrance. Drawing attention in this atmosphere? What on earth was happening? Juhyeong postponed the delicious galbi and turned toward the noise.
"Ha?"
This was a funeral hall. Basic attire for attendees was black. At the very least a dark gray or navy. Hadn't the Korea University Hospital YouTube post itself begged people to wear black, even if not a full formal suit? Flashy accessories were obviously forbidden. Anyone with common sense knew that.
So what the hell was that person? A light-colored trench coat, a short skirt, gleaming sunglasses. Gaudy hairpins, bracelets, rings. Bright brown hair falling to the waist. And the finishing touch—high heels that went click, click, click. She looked ready for a fashion show, not a funeral.
"Did you not see the post? Please leave. Basic dress etiquette exists for a reason. Yuna. Handle it."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Unbelievable. A mother can't even come to her own daughter's funeral?"
"…What did you just say?"
Team Leader Park of the security detail, hired by the hospital director, let out a blank sound before she could stop herself. In five years of protection work since leaving the military, the number of times she had been truly flustered could be counted on one hand. Right now she was extremely flustered.
So the person who had shown up in this completely inappropriate outfit was… Soyun's mother?
"Shall I show you my ID?"
She removed her sunglasses with a smile. Astonishingly, she looked exactly like an adult version of what Soyun might have grown into.