Violet Glow's Hidden Warnings
Under the violet light in the Ghost Story Apartment, letters that had been invisible due to the bright regular lights began to emerge slowly. The text covering one entire wall of the elevator was chaotic and disorganized at first glance, yet it contained astonishingly systematic information. No line breaks, inconsistent font sizes—just scribbled graffiti-like writing. Distinguishing the content wasn't easy, but focusing allowed patterns to emerge.
The first things that caught my eye were numbers representing each floor of the apartment. Next to them were clearly etched 'O' or 'X' marks.
I could immediately understand the ones for the 9th and 1st floors we'd experienced. 9 = X HALLWAY IS SAFE? 1 = X VERY DANGEROUS / CAN’T ESCAPE. Beside the X marks were English words summarizing evaluations of those floors. The others were similar.
7 = X SOUND / BE QUIET 12 = OX MIRROR / USE TO CAUTION
Were there no completely safe floors? What did OX mean? But amid all the X's, there were floors marked with a standout 'O'.
8 = O SHELTER.
The moment I saw the O-marked floor, my gaze locked on. It had to mean a safe place. Right—where there were X's, there had to be O's somewhere. So, head to the 8th floor first? We'd have to tackle dangerous floors eventually, but no need to skip a safe one.
But soon, I spotted a message several times more crucial than the floor info. Among the densely packed warning phrases filling one wall, the only one written in Korean.
"...This is."
Welcome, new resident. I sincerely welcome you to Chungju The First Signature Central Lake Fore Apartment, safe and sound.
I don't know how you got here, but like the outside world, this apartment may look fine on the surface, but it's far from normal. Of course, if you're reading this using one of the UV lights I placed around, you've already realized it's not ordinary.
It's no surprise since the Republic of Korea government collapsed, but each floor and room here harbors entirely different dangers. Some floors have safe-looking hallways, but opening a door unleashes unique disasters. Others are disasters in their entirety.
In fact, most floors are nightmarish spaces you can't survive a day in. Fortunately, not every floor and room is dangerous. There are very rare 'safe rooms' without disaster risks—marked with O for reference.
Some floors are 'highly dangerous' but provide essential survival supplies—marked OX arbitrarily. Floors with just X are risky and offer nothing worthwhile.
If you follow my guide, it won't be completely safe, but you can survive somehow. But if you want more than just survival—detailed info—come to my room on the 8th floor. I'm always there resting on non-exploration days. I'll be waiting.
Beneath it were instructions for entering the 'safe room' on the shelter floor.
"Ugh... Teacher, my arms are starting to go numb. Almost done?"
"My legs are getting shaky too..."
"I can hold out longer."
Rozalia and Elaine sounded strained, while Rone still had stamina. No need to keep blocking the light any longer.
"Okay now. Got all the info I need."
I gestured for the students to stop covering the ceiling. As they lowered their arms, the elevator dimmed back to faint light. Elaine studied my face closely.
"Teacher, what did it say? Your expression looks like it was something huge."
They couldn't read it properly while shielding the light, and even if they could, they wouldn't understand Korean or English like I did.
"Nothing that groundbreaking. Just directions to a safe room. Seems like the hideout of whoever left this."
Their faces brightened at "safe." But I couldn't shake the message I'd read.
'Like the outside world, it's far from normal.'
Outside world? It implied this wasn't a world shaped by my wishes, but a real fragment of existence.
And if so...
'It's no surprise since the Republic of Korea government collapsed.'
The Republic of Korea collapsed... That rattled me, but I couldn't let emotions spiral like last loop and get us killed. Steadying myself, I pressed the 8th floor button.
"Heading to the safe 8th floor first."
The elevator rose quickly. We stepped out before the survivor's 'safe room'—a door between 808 and 809, with no number plate where one should be. Instead, an old marker pen dangled from a string nearby.
I uncapped it and boldly wrote '105' on the door.
"Teacher, what's this?"
"According to the survivor... this room connects to whatever number you write on the plate."
Shining the flashlight—UV light revealed writing: O SHELTER. Below, crudely overwritten: X VOID.
Originally deemed dangerous (X), but reassessed to O after more knowledge? Maybe opening without a number leads to void, but writing one links to that room.
The elevator info said this nameless door connected to other rooms in the apartment—but only safe ones without ghost stories, or 'disasters' in the survivor's terms. Thus, beyond it was guaranteed safe.
Reason for calling it the 'shelter floor.'
I gripped the handle, wrote '105' large, and yanked it open with a click.
Beyond was an ordinary family apartment—but chaotic. Survival gear mixed with household items, traces of desperate, lonely struggles everywhere.
One wall stacked dozens of UV lights like mine; another, canned goods like a mountain. A half-open closet held identically patched hazmat suits—several, repairs matching perfectly. The uniformity felt off, like replicated piles. Even in this ghost-story-free 'safe room,' it was eerie.
"Hmm... No ghost story seems to be here."
Rozalia scanned cautiously. Rone, shoulders tense, muttered,
"Still... don't let your guard down..."
Elaine circled the room.
"No survivor here now, but signs of living are everywhere."
We thoroughly searched the not-so-large 105—no ghost stories, as promised. Instead, in one corner: stacks of worn, fancy elementary-school-girl diaries, contents identical down to handwriting.
Unlike the elevator's simple O/X and words, these detailed each floor/room, plus the survivor's insights.
Huh. 1st floor: dangerous hallway, but all rooms safe—opposite of 9th, safe halls but deadly rooms.
Reading on, exploration notes ended; personal section began.
The survivor: Shin Jong-min. Korean, as expected. Not mere survival—aimed to fully resolve the apartment ghost story.
I'm exploring this apartment searching for the core of the disasters. I suspect somewhere—some floor, some room—holds the nucleus composing them.
No grand purpose or belief. Just... entertainment from disaster-tainted news, or proof I'm still human amid it.
Found a huge hint for resolving this apartment ghost story: four numbers. 7 10 9 3
This is surely a doorlock password. That room holds the sole answer to end the disasters, I believe.
If I die without succeeding, and another survivor reads this, please conquer the apartment in my stead. Prove humans can still strike back in this ruined world.
7 10 9 3... Detailed floor/room info was valuable, but these digits might be the key to solving the ghost story. In this chaotic mess where nothing made sense, a vital clue to where to start.
Would've loved meeting Shin Jong-min, but he was absent. Disappointing—no fellow Korean in ages.
...No. Calm down. This could all be fabricated 'setting' by the Ghost Story Apartment. Don't expect.
We searched more—no gains. He kept all info in diaries. I pored over them for missed details to ease regret.
"Now I see the ghost story's outline. Find the room matching this password, resolve its ghost story."
Still no grasp on the apartment's core ghost story, but solving first—figure identity later.
I was about to suggest hunting that room when—
Grrrooowl. Stomach rumbles echoed. After near-death marches, hunger hit hard. They blushed, averting eyes.
"...Food first, then resume?"
We decided to eat from the shelter's supplies.