The Ferryman of the Underworld (1)

The moment we passed through the Gates of Hell, a new world unfolded before us.

The garish colors of flame and the acrid smoke were gone, replaced by a darkness so complete and so still it felt like a lightless cavern deep underground.

It was an entirely different world from the one we'd seen standing outside that door.

So the whole point was to test our courage right up to the very end—whether we'd dare to step inside.

Just recalling the terror I'd felt before entering the Gates of Hell made me grind my teeth.

Whether this was something the Curator had staged, or something the Museum itself had done of its own accord, I had no real way of knowing how this tower's systems worked.

But one thing is certain—it's going to keep toying with visitors' hearts like this, every step of the way.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a new sound reached me: the quiet trickle of flowing water.

A river stretched out from my very feet all the way into the distance.

Despite the total absence of light, the surroundings were surprisingly visible.

Well, it was all a fabricated space conjured by the tower anyway, so debating the physics of it seemed pointless.

The river Dante saw when he passed through the Gates of Hell—

"Hey, watch it. What if you fall in and something weird down there takes a bite out of you?"

The middle-aged man gestured sharply for me to get back.

I did as he said and took two steps behind him.

Jang Siwoon eyed the black river with visible unease, then turned to me.

"This feels like… you know, one of those rivers from Greek and Roman mythology."

"That's right. This river is the Acheron. The one you were talking about."

"So after the Gates of Hell, we're in Greek mythology territory now?"

"Yes. If we cross this river and head underground, Cerberus shows up too."

"The dog with the three heads?"

"That's the one. Though I don't remember exactly which floor he appeared on."

"Then isn't it just Greek and Roman mythology, plain and simple? You said it was different earlier."

Jang Siwoon tilted her head, genuinely puzzled.

Hard to blame her. Dante's Divine Comedy is a work built by weaving together multiple cultures.

"It borrows a great deal from Greek mythology, yes. But precisely because of that, some of the details connected to the Gates of Hell are different. Dante's poem is a story about him meeting figures from mythology and real philosophers as he descends through—"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard the explanation just fine."

The middle-aged man cut me off mid-sentence, scowling, and even waved a dismissive hand as though the whole thing bored him to tears.

"So, have we actually arrived in Hell?"

"Not yet. The Acheron is the river that connects the world of the living to Hell."

The river between the living and the dead.

The door behind us, the river ahead—nowhere to go either way. I was just starting to wonder what we were supposed to do next when—

A gray circle materialized in the empty air in front of the three of us.

The circle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠swirled slowly, growing wider and wider until it unfurled like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rippling curtain of cloth.

"The Curator!!"

The mass of robes settled onto the ground, and a whitish plaster statue revealed itself within.

The Curator swept back his robes and began clapping with those soft, pliant human hands.

Clack. Clack. Clack—

The palms slid past each other on contact, producing a grotesque, off-kilter applause.

Presumably because his arms weren't properly attached in the first place.

When the applause ended, the Curator raised both arms high.

The dried-up leaflet hovering above his head unfurled into a long ribbon of parchment.

Shhhhff—

"—!!"

The name of the 1st floor exhibition was written across the top of the leaflet.

And then the Curator, calling each of us by name as visitors, announced our quest success.

Joy bloomed across every face at once.

Just as I thought—entering through that door was the right answer!

I'd managed to protect not only my own life, but the lives of the two who had followed me on faith.

Relief surged through me, and I clenched my fist.

"Thank you. Because of you, Jisan, we're alive."

Jang Siwoon expressed her gratitude in a flat, toneless voice, without so much as a twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Still, she even gave a little bow—so by her standards, that counted as maximum effort.

"Thanks. You really went through a lot."

The middle-aged man—Go Gyumin—clapped me on the shoulder too.

The irritable, snappish attitude from earlier had vanished entirely; his whole manner had changed.

It's a little funny, honestly… but he followed me here even while doubting me, so it was worth it.

He read situations fast, which would make him useful. No reason to hold a grudge.

A bit of grumbling was nothing compared to placating my old department head—hardly a challenge.

The Curator rolled the leaflet up and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tucked it inside his sleeve.

Then he stretched both hands out over the black river.

Sliiiiide—

A ferry boat rose up from beneath the water and bobbed gently on the surface. A long oar lay inside it.

The boat held no pooled water whatsoever—not even a trace of dampness.

The Curator boarded it without a hint of ceremony, picked up the oar, and then simply stared at us in silence.

"…You mean we're supposed to cross that?"

Jang Siwoon swallowed hard and whispered to me.

The river stretched into darkness so deep there was no telling where its far edge might be.

"Hey, didn't you say it was something like the River of Three Crossings?"

"More or less. Which means it's the river of the dead—…the living can't cross it."

I'd made a point of speaking as quietly as I could, but the Curator had apparently heard every word from across the water.

He boards the boat alone, then tells us we can't cross the river. Wonderful.

The faces of Go Gyumin and Jang Siwoon crumpled instantly.

"What's this now? You're telling us to turn back?"

"This isn't one last fake-out, is it? We say we're crossing, and then we all die."

No—the penalty for failing the quest isn't death. It's being bound to the tower. And…

I was still lost in thought when Go Gyumin jabbed me in the ribs.

"Kim, we're crossing, right?"

…Kim?

The sudden shift in how he addressed me threw me off for a second, but he wasn't wrong, so I nodded right away.

"…Yes. As long as we don't abandon hope, the quest won't count as failed."

"……."

"In the Divine Comedy too, Dante's party insisted they had to cross, and that's how they got the boat."

At first, the ferryman refused to let the living board the vessel bound for Hell.

"But the ferryman's refusal was a kindness."

Because the river was meant only for the souls who belonged in Hell.

"So the logic is—we are not people who were meant for Hell in the first place. Something like that."

At my words, Go Gyumin and Jang Siwoon both nodded.

Perhaps because I'd cleared the quest, their trust in me had climbed a notch.

Even so, the thought of boarding a boat bound for Hell still made them anxious, and they chewed their lips in silence.

"Ugh… I don't know anymore. Fine, let's go! Listening to Kim hasn't cost us a thing so far."

"I'll board first this time. I'm worried you might trip again."

And so Go Gyumin and Jang Siwoon boarded the ferry.

Despite the boat's rocking, both of them kept their balance and sat down without incident.

Go Gyumin did grumble loudly about how the Curator's robe had brushed against him while he was climbing in, and how disgusted he was by it.

Now it was my turn.

The Curator was staring straight at me.

No face to look at, of course—but I could tell from the orientation of his body.

"I'm crossing. No matter what."

I spoke my decision clearly and deliberately, my face set with resolve.

The Curator stepped back a single pace, clearing the way for me to pass.

The instant my foot touched the ferry, the floor swayed beneath the pull of the current.

Go Gyumin hurriedly grabbed my wobbling frame and steered me into the boat.

Once he'd confirmed all three of us were seated, the Curator began to row, slow and steady.

The boat parted the dark waters and glided forward.

The river stretched on and on, showing no sign of ever touching solid ground.

"This leads to the 2nd floor, right?"

"…Probably."

Once again, I couldn't offer absolute certainty.

But Go Gyumin didn't snap at me this time.

"Why did you follow me, anyway? …You said you didn't trust me."

It was a boring stretch of time anyway, so a little curiosity seemed harmless. Might even ease some of the tension.

"Did I? Even back then, you looked like you had more of a chance than the ones getting left behind, Kim."

Go Gyumin tossed the words out as if they were nothing.

Looking more closely now, I could see that the creases between Go Gyumin's brows had been carved there from the start.

So that's why he looks so fierce even when he isn't frowning.

Jang Siwoon shrugged, evidently unconvinced by whatever memory he'd invoked.

"Your face, your tone—neither one gave anything away, though?"

"I'm rotten, that's why. Useless to anyone, and a temper like a wildfire on top of it. Don't grow up to be an old man like me, Student."

"……."

He'd thrown plenty of tantrums back in the forest, but with him roasting himself like that and owning up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to it, there was nothing left to say.

The mood had gone awkward, so I glanced over at Jang Siwoon to change the subject.

Since the three of us were heading to the 2nd floor together, a little information exchange seemed in order.

"You're not a high schooler, right? College student?"

"Yes. Second year of university."

"Mind if I ask your major?"

Depending on her field of study, she might or might not be a help in climbing this tower.

"Physical education major."

"Ah… that explains it!"

No wonder she was exceptionally fast and strong. Now that I thought about it, her reflexes had been sharp too.

Between her round, soft features and the hoodie with loose, baggy pants, I'd never guessed—

She probably had more muscle than I did. No, of course she did.

Naturally she'd be far more solidly built than someone who spent all day glued to a keyboard like me.

I was the kind of guy who didn't just run slowly—I'd tripped and faceplanted all by myself in the forest.

Remembering how Jang Siwoon had stared at me back then, half in pity, made my face burn.

Either way, Jang Siwoon being a PE major was fantastic news.

It's called a museum, sure, but nothing guarantees every quest will be a brain teaser.

When a quest came down to raw physical ability, I absolutely wanted her on my side.

"I'm just an ordinary office worker."

"Ah, I see. Hmm, what to call you, then. We've already talked, but is it okay if I keep calling you Jisan?"

"Oh, yes, yes. Call me whatever's comfortable."

Anyway—between the face and the tone, he just invites misunderstandings. He's not actually a bad person.

Better late than never, I exchanged a brief round of introductions with Jang Siwoon.

Then I turned to look at Go Gyumin.

A surprisingly elegant name attached to a man with a fearsome face.

"So—"

"Nope, not a word."

The moment Go Gyumin glared at me, I swallowed the rest of my question and turned away.

I'd found the courage to voice my opinion during the quest, at least.

I hadn't had a single friend since my school days, so casual, personal conversation had always felt clumsy and stiff to me.

Judging by his face alone is a bit unfair… but a detective? A loan shark?

"Mister Go—"

Jang Siwoon spoke up in my place.

Tall as she was, with Go Gyumin's menacing scowl, she hadn't shown an ounce of fear of him this whole time.

"What's with 'mister'? You'll have me sounding like some old-timer."

"There's no other name that fits. So—do you have a job, mister?"

"No."

"Right."

Each of them delivered exactly one line, then clamped their mouths shut.

The exchange was so abrupt, so ruthlessly efficient, it could have been a comedy sketch.

And there I was in the middle of it, the only one who couldn't adapt, blinking like a fool.

Ah, that reminds me—

The people I'd been too rattled to remember came to mind.

The visitors who'd stayed behind at the forest's starting point. And the middle-aged woman and young man who had followed us, then dropped away at the end.

"The ones who chose to stay behind—will they be all right?"

I had just turned to ask Go Gyumin and Jang Siwoon when—

"AAAAAGH—!!"

"?!!"

A human scream tore into our ears like a blade.

A horrific shriek—the sound of someone writhing in agony.

"Wh-what is that? What's making that sound?"

"The floor… it's coming from the river!"

The voices rose from beneath the water, yet they didn't echo at all.

They reached us too clear, too distinct—surgically vivid.

The black river rippled, then heaved violently, rocking the ferry from side to side.

Paralyzed with terror, we all clutched the boat with both hands.

"Ugh, aaaah—!!"

"AAAAGH! Save me! AAAgh…!!"

Those are the voices of the two who fled in front of the Gates of Hell…?!

Goosebumps raced across my skin at the wailing of the middle-aged woman and the young man.

My whole body trembled, and my grip on the boat nearly slipped loose.

And then, after those two voices, the screaming became a chorus.

"KYAAAH! Oh god, it's terrifying!!"

"I don't want to die!!"

I couldn't bear to listen to that desperate wailing any longer.

I had no desire to spectate as people screamed themselves to death—to watch their suffering writhe and twist like entertainment.

In the end, I couldn't hold on, and my hands let go of the boat.

In that instant, the urge to clamp both palms over my ears surged up through me. And then—

"HYEEK—!"

At Jang Siwoon's shrill cry, my head snapped around.

The river had surged, splashing water onto her pant leg.

No—no, it wasn't splash. The water from the river had risen in a solid mass and taken the shape of a human figure.

…A wet, blackened hand, reaching out from the water, had seized the hem of Jang Siwoon's trousers and begun to pull.