The Anomalous Restaurant [1]
The professor’s gentle voice drifted from the front of the lecture hall like wet cotton slowly coming apart. “So, what the poet is trying to convey in this work is…”
I had my tablet propped on the desk, eyes fixed blankly on the blackboard, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Is she really okay? My gaze slid naturally to Do Ga-bin sitting beside me. In that hellish Backrooms yesterday, she had willingly played bait to save me. The iron door slamming shut as she shoved me through, the hinges buckling, her stifled scream—they were still ringing in my ears.
When I’d mistaken her for a monster and hurled myself at her with everything I had, she must have taken a brutal hit. My own elbow was already blooming with a deep purple bruise that throbbed every time I moved. How could she possibly be fine? Maybe she was just pretending so I wouldn’t feel guilty. Or maybe she was forcing herself to endure the pain to keep me calm.
She was my savior. Without her, I would have starved to death in those endless corridors or been ripped apart by that grotesque creature. Gratitude, guilt, and worry tangled together so tightly that focusing on the lecture was impossible.
The moment class ended, I grabbed Do Ga-bin and steered her toward a quiet lounge where students rarely went. The instant I confirmed we were alone, I asked urgently, “Ga-bin, are you really not hurt anywhere? Tell me the truth.”
At my deadly serious tone, her eyes widened. Then she burst into a soft chuckle and spun once on the spot like it was nothing. “Huh? I’m perfectly fine. I may not look it, but I’m crazy quick. While you were passed out, I dodged all over the place and got away.”
“For real? You avoided every single one of that thing’s attacks?”
“Obviously. How many years do you think I’ve been dealing with anomalies? I’m an excellent runner, thank you very much.” She shrugged proudly.
Only then did the heavy weight of guilt crushing my chest begin to melt, just a little. Thank god. If she had gotten hurt—or worse—because of me, it would have become a trauma that haunted me for a long time.
I let out a deep sigh of relief and finally voiced the practical fear I had been desperately suppressing. Ha… I’m so glad you’re okay. But I’m seriously losing my mind here. Just thinking that I could get dragged into a place like that again at any moment is driving me insane. I don’t even know where or how it’ll happen today.
At my heartfelt lament, Do Ga-bin gave my shoulder a light smack and comforted me with a bright laugh. “Come on, don’t get so scared. Didn’t I tell you yesterday? Anomalies aren’t something that ends after one encounter. There’s a cooldown, you know.”
“A cooldown?”
“Yeah. Even for someone like me who basically lives with anomalies attached to her constitution, the shortest gap I’ve had was two months. For risky cases like mine, it’s usually once every six months. Sometimes it’s over a year. Normal people might only experience it a few times in their entire lives. Though they might see ghosts more often. So for the time being, you can stretch out and sleep soundly. My experience guarantees it.”
At least two months. That was a relief I could breathe with. Hearing the confidence in her voice finally loosened the nerves that had been stretched tight as wires.
Yeah. For now, I can just live my normal life.
That evening.
Sizzle—! The cheerful sound of oil boiling rose alongside a rich, greasy aroma that hit me square in the face. In the kitchen of a fairly large pub located in the university district’s one-room village, I was frantically checking the fryer while knocking out order after order of snacks.
“Ga-in! Add one order of french fries for table two!”
“Got it!”
The hall beyond the kitchen was packed to bursting with the raucous laughter of college students enjoying Friday night and the blaring sound of some idol’s song. The oily floor, the clatter of dishes, the sweat sliding down my back—normally this part-time shift would have left me exhausted, but today it felt impossibly precious and warm. This was perfect reality. This was peaceful daily life.
Do Ga-bin’s assurance of “at least two months” had been working like a powerful talisman. The nightmare I experienced yesterday already felt unreal, like a scene from a movie. Maybe it really was just a terrible dream. Yeah, that was a nightmare. This is reality.
Just as the memory of sprinting madly down those corridors with Do Ga-bin was starting to blur—
Ding— Ding—
The POS machine in the hall rang twice, signaling new orders.
“Ga-in, can you check the—”
“I’m bu—”
My voice, which had habitually turned toward the hall, cut off in mid-air.
The noisy chatter that had been loud enough to rupture eardrums, the outdated idol dance track—everything vanished in an instant, as if someone had yanked the power cord. In their place came a strange string melody from somewhere. It sounded like elegant classical music, yet the notes were grotesquely off-key, a skin-crawling waltz that scraped at the nerves the moment it reached your ears.
Huh…?
A chill slithered down my spine. I set down the tongs I’d been holding and slowly turned, peering through the pass window into the hall beyond the kitchen.
And I forgot how to breathe.
The cheap plastic tables and liquor bottles that defined my workplace had completely disappeared. Instead, a dark red carpet the color of blood covered the floor, and a massive chandelier cast a dim glow over an antique, high-end restaurant.
Yet what shocked me more than the sudden, unreal transformation was the fact that the space wasn’t empty.
In front of numerous round tables adorned with elegant candlesticks sat pitch-black humanoid figures so dense they seemed to drink in the light itself.
Clink. Slice. Smack. Crunch.
Between the elegant yet bizarre classical melody came the unpleasant mingling of utensils clashing and wet, bursting sounds. The black figures gripped forks and knives, greedily slicing and devouring something unidentifiable on their plates. Whatever it was dripped blood steadily. It didn’t look like any normal ingredient.
This wasn’t like the Backrooms, where empty space simply replicated itself into infinity. This was a cannibal restaurant where inhuman entities feasted.
I ducked swiftly beneath the pass window and clamped both hands over my mouth.
Even the sound of oil boiling in the fryer now felt like noise that could cost me my life. Cold sweat poured down my body. The only thing echoing in my head was a desperate, bitter resentment toward one person.
…You said the shortest cooldown was two months. Do Ga-bin, you crazy con artist.
The resentment lasted only a moment. The terror that followed was immediate.
What had Do Ga-bin said? To escape an anomaly, find the real space and repeat the action you were doing before you were pulled in? But this place was completely different. Was that method only for the Backrooms? Then how—how was I supposed to survive?
I was holding my breath, curled up and shaking, when—
Ziiiik— Tick.
In the now-silent kitchen, a mechanical sound sliced through the air. The receipt printer connected to the POS machine was spitting out a new order.
“Hup!”
I reflexively stopped breathing and stared at the white slip of paper.
Did this mean one of the monsters out in the hall had placed an order? Was I supposed to cook for them? …If I did, could I escape?
With trembling hands I reached out and carefully tore the slip free. But the moment I saw what was written on it, my mind went completely blank.
It wasn’t human language. It looked like corrupted error code, like fragments of text an AI had mangled on purpose. The characters were clearly printed on paper, yet the black shapes wriggled and constantly changed form before my eyes. The only readable part was the chilling option: “Lots of Blood.”
I had no way to understand this order, let alone cook it.
While I stood frozen, clutching the slip, I heard it.
Thud. Thud.
Something was walking across the red carpet in the hall. The footsteps were steady and heavy. I couldn’t tell whether a customer had grown impatient waiting for their food and was coming into the kitchen itself, or if an entirely new monster whose role was head chef was approaching.
What was certain was that if I didn’t get out of here immediately, I would come face to face with it.
Where do I run?
Even in extreme panic, I wracked my brain for a way to survive. The kitchen of the college-town pub where I worked was shaped like a U for the owner’s convenience since he also ran the neighboring shop. If I went through the back hallway, it connected narrowly to the kitchen of the tripe restaurant next door.
Yes. Next door. The neighboring kitchen might not be part of this anomaly yet.
Clinging to that slender thread of hope—that it might still be untouched, peaceful reality—I decided to bet my life on that thin lifeline rather than die here.
Thud. Thud.
The footsteps had almost reached the kitchen entrance. I flattened myself against the floor and began crawling carefully, timing my movements with the sound of oil spitting in the fryer. Every nerve was focused on avoiding the tongs and plastic containers scattered across the floor.
My heart hammered so violently I thought it might burst through my ribs. Afraid even my breathing would be heard, I clamped both hands over my mouth and dragged my body like an animal, inch by inch, toward the dark hallway where the kitchen bent in its U-shape.
The moment I rounded the corner and entered the hallway leading to the neighboring shop, I saw a massive black shadow slide into the kitchen entrance behind me. Right before the shadow’s owner could turn its head, I swallowed my ragged breath and hid completely in the darkness of the corridor.
The back door leading to the neighboring kitchen was right in front of me. I prayed desperately that beyond it lay reality—the stench of pork and the sound of people laughing.
With trembling care, I reached for the doorknob.