Chapter 1. A Rainy Thursday Evening
Chapter 1. A Rainy Thursday Evening
The air was humid, and a light rain had begun to fall.
The glass at the lobby entrance was covered in moisture, making it hard to see outside. The camera pointed at the parking lot was also blurry from the humidity.
Noticing something odd on the parking lot monitor, I looked closely. A dark object was lying at the entrance. Zooming in, I saw that a recycling trash bag beside the entrance had fallen over and was blocking vehicle access.
I expanded my telekinetic field to the parking lot and set the fallen trash bag upright. On a normal day, the strange sight of a fallen trash bag rising on its own would have been clearly captured on camera, but on a day like this, even if someone replayed the footage, it would be hard to notice.
10:15 p.m., Thursday.
It was time to close short-stay service and start accepting overnight guests.
“Auntie, two rooms checked out on the 3rd floor and one on the 2nd!”
The short-stay guests who had come in since early evening were gradually leaving.
After informing the cleaning team which rooms to clean, I headed to the elevator to collect the room keys left behind by departing guests.
The keys for Rooms 302 and 304 were there, but the key for 203 was missing.
In cases like this, it was almost always left inside the room.
I hurried up the stairs and opened Room 203 with the master key. A wave of heat rushed out.
If you fill the bathtub with hot water while leaving the bathroom door open, the whole room becomes humid like this. On an already damp day, poor ventilation could lead to mold on the wallpaper.
I opened the window, set the air conditioner to power cooling mode, and quickly scanned the room. Fortunately, the room key was on the table in front of the TV.
I retrieved it and returned to the counter.
This was always the time of day when short-stay guests left in a rush and overnight guests poured in. I couldn’t leave the counter unattended for long.
As soon as I returned, the phone rang.
The extension number showed Room 102.
“Yes, front desk.”
“Please bring more towels.”
“Yes, of course.”
I went around the corner of the first-floor hallway, placed two towels in front of Room 102, rang the bell, and returned to the counter.
On the CCTV, the door opened slightly and a hand reached out, groping around. Even after fumbling for a while, it missed the towels by a few centimeters. Just as I was about to move the towels with telekinesis to help, the hand withdrew.
Then the door opened wider and a naked woman leaned halfway out, looked around the doorway, and picked up the towels.
She probably thought no one saw, but CCTV cameras covered every corner of the motel hallway in real time.
That’s what the robes in the rooms were for…
At that moment, a dinging sound rang out as room keys were returned, and guests began leaving in earnest.
It took three cleaning staff about 10 to 15 minutes to clean one overnight room, but only 3 to 5 minutes for a short-stay room.
By midnight, they still had 29 short-stay rooms left to clean.
Considering travel time and restocking supplies, the schedule was tight.
To let the cleaning team leave on time, I needed to check out short-stay guests as quickly as possible. I called the rooms whose time was nearly up.
“Please prepare for checkout.”
“…”
They hung up without answering.
I was always polite and kind, but most guests disliked checkout calls.
“Do you have a room?”
“Yes. Standard is 60,000 won, deluxe 80,000, VIP 100,000.”
“No short-stay?”
A couple in their mid-20s. Their flushed faces made it obvious they’d been drinking.
“Short-stay is only available before 10 p.m. Right now, only overnight stays are possible.”
The man frowned at my answer.
“Let’s go. Too expensive.”
The woman tugged his arm, but after hesitating, he pulled out his card.
“One standard room.”
Thanks to impulses that overrule reason like that, the human race survived.
Suddenly thunder roared. The dark sky flashed and heavy rain began pouring down.
The guests who had just gone upstairs made a great choice. Otherwise, they’d be drenched by now.
Life was built on small choices like these.
While I was lost in thought, the lobby door opened.
A man came in completely soaked, water dripping from his body.
He wore a black suit and carried a large hiking backpack.
“One room.”
A dry voice and a cold impression.
He didn’t look like an ordinary customer—more like a gangster.
“Staying overnight?”
“Overnight.”
Still, I smiled politely.
“That will be 100,000 won.”
I quoted the VIP rate.
Not petty revenge for his tone. Small rooms should be left for budget-tight young couples. He looked like he wouldn’t mind a pricey room.
He tossed two 50,000-won bills on the counter, took the key and amenities I handed him, and headed to the elevator.
I wiped the wet lobby floor and laid out a mat. The tile floor got slippery when wet.
If a guest slipped and got hurt, it would be a headache.
While wiping, I glanced at the 3rd-floor monitor and saw him enter Room 310. I wondered what was inside that big hiking bag. He clearly hadn’t been hiking.
Short-stay guests quickly left and the number of rooms needing cleaning piled up.
Six short-stay rooms still hadn’t checked out.
That was manageable.
The remaining guests had come in late, close to 10 p.m., so they could stay until midnight.
Chanhyeok said he started pushing guests out from 11:30 even if they came at 10.
After the cleaning team left, any remaining rooms were cleaned by the counter staff on duty. Chanhyeok hated cleaning and tried to push guests out before the team left.
But I didn’t rush late-arriving guests. Cleaning rooms wasn’t hard for me.
While coordinating cleaning, selling rooms to guests escaping the downpour, and watching the parking lot, I felt like an orchestra conductor.
The cleaning team burned through their final sprint before clocking out.
They were hitting two-minute cleans—insane speed.
Midnight.
“Ring ring…”
The cleaning team called after finishing their last room.
“Yes, Auntie. Good work. You can clock out.”
“Isn’t there a lot left? Won’t it be tough?”
“Not much left. Don’t worry.”
“Alright. Good work! We’ll shower here and head up.”
They showered in the last room, changed, and returned to their rooftop dorms.
Most of the foreign cleaning staff were Mongolian, Joseonjok, or Koryoin.
These days many came from Southeast Asia too, but our motel preferred staff who looked indistinguishable from Koreans.
Some guests reported cleaning staff as illegal residents. Our motel hadn’t had that issue, but the owner was sensitive about it.
It might be a full house tonight because of the rain.
More guests used lodging apps nowadays. Since our motel didn’t, weekday occupancy had dropped. The owner disliked apps because fees cut into profit.
A car pulled into the parking lot.
A typical middle-aged affair couple. More like them followed, and soon the lot was full.
Only four standard rooms remained, and they still needed cleaning.
Time for me to step in.
I packed a black trash bag, a basket of amenities and linens, grabbed the tablet connected to the CCTV, and headed to the 5th floor.
When leaving the counter for long, I had to watch CCTV and run back if a guest arrived. I could cover the whole building with telekinesis, but that had a serious side effect—learning too much about guests’ private lives.
So the tablet was more practical.
Short-stay rooms were usually clean. Chanhyeok said one room took him about 10 minutes.
The hardest part was changing bed sheets.
Official policy required replacing sheets, duvet covers, and pillowcases. This was called bedding, and even experts took over 10 minutes. Beginners needed 20 to 30.
But I was the only one here who followed the manual. Others just dusted and smoothed wrinkles to make it look new.
When exposés about unsanitary hotels appeared on the news, owners lamented that honest businesses suffered.
Yet judging by the laundry volume, over half the bedding was reused.
If everyone truly followed the rules, laundry costs would double and more staff would be needed. So “follow the manual” wasn’t the owner’s real intention.
Still, I always replaced bedding properly. It was also good telekinesis training.
I lifted the blankets with telekinesis, stripped covers and sheets, removed pillowcases, and fitted fresh ones mid-air. Trash flew into the bag, and the hairdryer and comb lined up neatly.
Room cleaned in 30 seconds.
A dry rag flew into the bathroom and wiped moisture.
Supply closets were in each hallway. I noted we needed green plum drinks and canned coffee.
I couldn’t use telekinesis in the hallway due to cameras.
Usually the supply trip took longer than cleaning.
I restocked drinks and towels, gathered dust and hair telekinetically into the bag.
Sparkling clean.
Cleaning finished.
1 minute 18 seconds. The supply run took longer than cleaning.
Still faster and far higher quality than the cleaning team. Without hallway cameras, I could do it in 50 seconds.
I waited 8 minutes 42 seconds watching TV and the tablet before moving to the next room. My “official” time was always 10 minutes per room.
Every morning the owner and manager reviewed footage.
If they learned I could clean in under 2 minutes, they’d probably fire the entire cleaning team and keep only me.
No—definitely.
After selling the last rooms, I turned off the sign. First weekday full house this year.
Chanhyeok’s claim that rainy days raised people’s libido might be true.
Then the door of Room 310 opened.
On the monitor, only the lower half of the man was visible. He was in his underwear. After standing briefly, he carried a chair to the ceiling inspection panel.
He opened it, checked inside, then placed a backpack into it.
Because of the camera angle only his lower body showed, but with my telekinetic field expanded, I could perceive his movements clearly.
What was that?
I’d seen news about workers stuffing trash or waste into ceiling panels in new apartments. Something similar?
Curious, but I let it go.
The manager would review the footage tomorrow.
Not my concern.
Now that things were quiet, it was time to train.