Chapter 2: Beginning the Museum Climb

The day before I entered the museum.

I was fused with my bed as usual, scrolling through my phone. Until that moment, the exhibition invitation had been tossed onto the desk beside my bed, one careless flick away from disappearing into the pile of other papers.

And then, on this precious weekend, an unwelcome intruder appeared.

Jiiing— Jiiiing—

If my phone vibrates ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on a weekend, that day is guaranteed to be hell. A text or a call—either way, it always comes from the very last person I want to talk to.

"Ha…."

I'd thought this year might pass by quietly, but of course that was never going to happen. I glared at the phone screen, biting my lip.

Then a flurry of texts arrived at the same time.

The amount of unpaid ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠money must have been considerable, because the texts were practically dripping with rage. I didn't know this person at all, but I couldn't help feeling sorry for them. Still, it wasn't my job to pay it back on their behalf, so I blocked the number immediately.

Jiiing— Jiiing—

The phone kept blaring away, obnoxiously persistent. Some nerve. I could've just silenced the ringtone, but somehow I felt I couldn't simply let this slide. I suppressed my fury as best I could and hauled my reason back up from the depths.

"Our Jisan~"

The moment that utterly sunshine-bright, carefree voice hit my ear, my mood curdled instantly. How could anyone be so cheerfully oblivious to the suffering of others? The second that voice I despised lodged itself in my ear, nausea rose in my throat.

"Have you been well? Still lying around the house, I bet?"

"Yes."

"Well, stop that. A young person should be living busier, working harder. It's the age of side hustles—double jobs, triple jobs, you know? Hmm?"

"…...."

The Aunt had been drumming it into me since long before I became an adult: live diligently, live busier. Even when I attended university on scholarships and government aid, she'd curse at me for overreaching my station.

"You need money, don't you? I'm cutting you off."

"You've forgotten how much your uncle doted on you, how hard he worked to raise you! Acting this heartless—do you think your parents and your brother would be pleased, watching you from heaven? Hmm?"

'…Every single time, you cross the line like this. That's why I can't bring myself to respect you as an elder.'

"Hoo, if it were your brother, he'd have been earning properly by now. Honestly, what a…."

The word brother made something in my head snap clean in half.

The only reason I'd tolerated her endless, repeated intrusions was that same debt—whatever gratitude I owed the woman for having raised me. That single reason kept me playing the good, patient fool, answering her calls all this time.

"I was planning to transfer the last of the money right now and then cut the tie."

"Oh my, how can family cut ties so easily?"

"Because if I don't do it now, you'll assume there's more money to squeeze out and come crawling back like a cockroach, won't you?"

"…What did you just say?"

"Stop clinging to me like filth, and get lost, ma'am."

"What—! How can you say such things—!"

Block. Finally.

I threw out the plan of handling this rationally and let out every emotion I'd been swallowing all these years.

"I still behave politely and respectfully toward actual adults. So, kindly, get lost."

"Hey—hey! Kim Jisan!!"

I ignored the ear-piercing shriek and hung up. Even after setting the phone down, the suffocating feeling wouldn't leave, so I drove my fist hard into my chest.

"Ah—my chest hurts…."

Compared to the size of my emotions, my body's durability is sorely lacking. My chest throbbed dully, and the irritation spiked even higher with every pulse. This was exactly why, back when I got that job offer, I hadn't even looked at the working conditions before fleeing that house.

"I should have blocked her ages ago."

Kim Jisan, you idiot.

A call that made my mood go to the dogs—but still, there was a kind of catharsis in it. I'd finally done the thing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd never managed, never allowed myself to do.

'The thing I couldn't do, all this time….'

Then, suddenly, I remembered the exhibition invitation lying on the desk. I picked up the ticket and examined it closely. Truthfully, the information was sparse enough that there was barely anything to read.

"…Might be fun."

Today was the commemorative day I finally shed a human being who had contributed absolutely nothing to my life. So maybe, just for this weekend, it wouldn't hurt to dip my toes back into the art I'd tried so hard to forget. That was what I'd thought.

'To think I could experience this again. …Mom, Dad. I'm sorry.'

I'd made a decision after my parents passed away. That art—this thing that had never fit my circumstances or my means—I swore I wouldn't so much as glance at it again. And yet, in the unlikeliest of places, I found myself standing before such a rich exhibition. I was curious where it might lead.

'Out loud?'

The staff could be listening from anywhere—I didn't see why I'd have to say it in person.

'Saying one sentence to participate isn't hard. …It's just embarrassing, worrying someone nearby might hear.'

Fortunately, the other visitors taking part in the exhibition were quite far from me. I leaned my head toward the Leaflet and whispered in a small voice.

"Hmm… I wish work at the office would get a little easier."

Krzzt—! Krzzt—!

'You know my name?'

Along with a sound like tearing paper, new letters surfaced on the Leaflet. I'd known from the start that my information had been compromised, but to think even the Leaflet my grandfather gave me had my data loaded into it.

Krzzt—! Krzzt—! Krzzt—!

The strange, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠paper-tearing alarm repeated over and over. Seeing my own name floating on the Leaflet made me feel uneasy. And then I realized.

"Wh-what…?!"

The other visitors had all vanished. I was the only one left.

'I knew it—the visitors were staff planted in the scenario.'

I scanned my surroundings again, searching for hidden staff or CCTV cameras, but there was nothing. Sensing danger, I hurried toward the entrance.

'This is absurd.'

The steel door was gone, and a cement wall sealed the entrance shut. No emergency exit in sight either.

'Even for a hands-on exhibit, this is too much, isn't it? No—wait. This has to be a YouTube hidden-camera prank.'

This building was obviously a set dressed up like an escape room. They'd probably used that ear-splitting alarm to cover the sound of the door being walled off.

I desperately tried to reason through my situation, but my trembling hands wouldn't stop.

Calm down. This is not a sealed space. I am safe. Even if I can't see it, the entrance definitely exists.

I gripped my shaking hands and forced them still. Then, taking a deep breath, I pulled my phone from my pocket—to spit in the face of whatever hidden-camera crew was surely watching from somewhere.

'Let's see what happens when Scared Citizen No. 1 summons the authorities.'

But when the screen lit up, text shimmered there that my eyes refused to believe.

'…They go this far for a prank?'

The crew had crossed every line and then some, and my annoyance flared. But escaping this space came first. I had no choice but to play along with this hidden camera as far as it went.

I lifted the crumpled Leaflet and spoke to it.

"I already stated my wish. Now let me out."

It wasn't as if I'd come here to look at some exhibit while begging forgiveness from my dead parents.

The exact same message, repeated. I was going out of my mind. What other kind of wish could a run-of-the-mill office worker possibly have?

"—!!"

Everything before my eyes went white in an instant, and then a vivid scene unfolded. It dredged up my memories and replayed, exactly as it had been, a scene from my own past.

A runaway attempt by an adolescent boy whose heart seethed with inferiority, jealousy, and envy. But the reckless courage needed to blend in among actual runaways—that, I never had. Nowhere to go, I gave up within a few hours and headed home.

I was on my way back to our house, with its stale, musty smell that clung no matter the season, when—

Weee-ooong, weee-ooong—

Sudden noise shattered the quiet of the tucked-away villa village, a place where loud disturbances were rare. Fire engines raced past me and up the narrow hillside road—and not just one of them.

'Where's the fire?'

Even as the lazy thought crossed my mind, something felt wrong. My luck had been rotten all day. Unease quickened my footsteps up the slope. Before long I was sprinting hard enough to lose my breath. And the moment I reached our house—

'…!!'

Black smoke swallowed the sky, and flames roared skyward. The fire, climbing up from the semi-basement, had engulfed the entire villa. …Our house was burning.

Firefighters poured water through their hoses, but the flames showed no sign of dying down. Even as my mind blurred, I charged straight toward that searing blaze. I had to pull my parents out from that pitch-black smoke.

'Mom!! Dad!!'

Firefighters blocked me, saying it was too dangerous to approach. I coughed on the smoke and screamed for my parents until my throat tore—praying, please, please, just say my name back.

If only I hadn't run away from home. If only I'd come home a little earlier. Everything could have been different. I didn't want to remain the worthless son who worried his parents to the very end.

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Light bloomed again, and I was back inside the building.

"Haa…, you son of a bitch…."

Tears and snot streamed down my face. I hurled curses at the empty air, but it gave no release whatsoever. To be forcibly made to relive that accident I'd tried so hard to bury—the emotions of that moment, even the exact temperature of the heat against my face, all of it vivid and raw.

"Ugh—"

Finally, I doubled over and dry-heaved from the surge of nausea. The shock of reliving that memory, and the self-loathing that followed, seized my whole body.

'You want me to wish for something like this?'

My wish, obviously, was for my parents to come back alive. But since that was impossible, I'd wished for the best thing that the office worker Kim Jisan could want instead.

'It's absurd… but somehow, it feels like it might actually be possible.'

The memories dragged out of my head, and this Leaflet that kept spelling out new words. If this was some supernatural phenomenon and not hypnosis…

'I've already cried my eyes dry. There's nothing left to hide.'

I wiped the tears and snot from my face roughly with the back of my hand. I swallowed the bitter bile lingering in my mouth and forced my trembling lips open.

"Is it possible to bring the dead back to life?"

Not even a simple yes—conditionally possible. Conditionally….

'That must mean directly resurrecting the dead is impossible.'

But if it was conditionally possible, then with a little more compromise, it might edge toward fully possible.

"Is turning back time possible?"

"Then—ten years ago?"

On the Leaflet, letters were drawn and erased, drawn and erased again.

"Yes. I don't need anything else."

"It is my true wish."

"I said it IS!!"

I couldn't understand why it kept repeating the same question and tormenting people. Finally losing my patience, I snapped in a way entirely unlike my usual self.

I didn't care if I spent my whole life rolling around in some bottom-tier company, or scraping by in bone-crushing poverty.

'As long as I can go back and change that day's fate.'

The childhood that had hurt so much I ran away from home? It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was going back to before our house burned. If I could erase my mistake and pull my parents out of that house alive.

Festered, rotting emotions? I could carry that kind of pain for the rest of my life, no problem.

Shhhhhk—

"Uh, uh?!"

The Leaflet slipped free of my hand and floated upward. The paper curled and uncurled, and every crumpled crease smoothed itself away. The words Museum of Wishes blazed dazzlingly bright.

Climbing a museum? Just as I was wondering what on earth that was supposed to mean—

A voice came from behind me. Thinking the other visitors had finally returned, I spun around. But—

"?!!"

Was that even a… person…?

It was too uncanny to be called a human voice. It was audible, yes, but it felt as if text was being typed directly into my ear.

'I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. No—wait, the voice isn't even the real problem here.'

The figure before my eyes was far more bizarre than any voice could be.

Walking calmly toward me—a statue.

A headless statue was moving with the smooth, fluid grace of a living human being.