Chapter 6
Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Wallet Clues and a Close Call
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I took a moment to calmly sort out the situation without panicking.
She'd probably tried to skip the password hint by leaving it blank.
But the input field wouldn't advance until something was entered.
With an annoyed look, she'd jabbed in a single period and moved on.
Sherlockian indeed. One clue tells all. If it hadn't been utterly useless info, she would've felt smug about it.
-Yeah, you always nail the stuff that doesn't matter.
...If Potbelly Uncle knew, he'd have laughed his ass off for ages. That weird drawl echoed in my ears.
Sigh. Anyway, the computer's a dead end.
Even if I crack the password, I'll have to dig elsewhere.
It felt like I was playing an escape room game.
The main difference? Unlike those games with guaranteed hints and solutions, this room offered no such promises.
Looking around the room again, the original owner's belongings caught my eye.
I'd been overwhelmed by the flood of info at first and hadn't had time to examine them properly, but now I could take a closer look, one by one.
Of course, the pills and wet wipes on the desk were off-limits.
Honestly, they were too creepy to even glance at.
But there was no need to poke around those unsettling items—far simpler things were right there for the taking.
Like the phone and wallet on the shelf next to the decorative liquor bottles.
Right. This was the place to start. It wasn't an exaggeration to say a phone held the true personal info of modern life.
It contained all sorts of personal details, relationships, direct chat logs, and often photos in the gallery that tracked her movements.
I could even infer a lot just from the names in her contacts.
A staple in detective novels.
I picked up the black phone on the table. A Galaxy.
I'd half-expected an iPhone, but it was a standard Galaxy.
It looked like a pretty recent model, but the case was simple and functional.
Between that and her rough clothes, I got the sense she wasn't doing her looks justice.
Or maybe she pulled it off precisely because of her face.
Turning it over, I saw a card wallet attached—no decorations or patterns at all. It gave a faint glimpse of the owner's personality.
Of course, none of that mattered.
The real prize was something else.
If the owner was as sloppy as me, the last eight digits of her phone number might be the computer password.
That's it! Years of detective novels from Sherlock onward paying off!!
"Fuck..."
And no way would a phone this important lack a pattern lock. Self-loathing choked my words.
Getting burned again stung.
This time it was an 8-digit PIN to boot. I could've at least tried brute-forcing a pattern, but an 8-digit code? No chance.
"...C-calm down."
I muttered to myself, trying to regain composure.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Couldn't count how many times I'd thought that today. Sadly, it had never worked.
Before, panic had left no room for proper despair, but grasping a lead only to lose it hit hard mentally.
Even forcing a concrete plan amid the confusion and hardship...
Now that was blocked too, forcing me to confront just how hopeless things were all over again.
"Ah... I could really go for a smoke."
With a wry chuckle, I shoved back from the chair and stood.
Too frustrating to bear.
I'd given the place a rough once-over, but no cigarettes, not even a lighter.
I patted down the pockets of the hanging coat—nothing.
Guess I'd have to buy some outside... Better than holing up in this room digging alone. Time to head out and face whatever came.
Truth be told, the world beyond the door was a bit scary.
But charging ahead blind had to be faster than flailing in empty fantasies.
Okay. For that, I'd need money and ID...
I turned my gaze to the wallet. It looked thick even at a glance.
Opening someone else's wallet without permission felt off... Nah. Technically, this body was the owner.
It's mine then. Can't call it theft if I'm just checking my own stuff.
"...???"
With that self-justification, I flipped it open and immediately saw why it was so thick.
It was stuffed with 50,000-won bills.
One, two, three... twenty.
Twenty 50,000-won notes, crammed with a few 10,000s and 1,000s besides.
First time seeing a wallet carrying that much cash.
...No way. Cleanup fee for the body?
Exactly the kind of thing a woman about to off herself would do.
"...No!!"
Thinking about it, I was the one stuck cleaning up.
No one could blame me for taking the fee.
Source didn't matter—I was grateful either way.
One survival essential sorted for now.
Not sure how long it'd last, but at least I wouldn't be scraping by on a single cup ramen like in some disaster flick.
Just like securing water and food when shipwrecked in a jungle, drifting into modern society meant grabbing cash and ID first.
In civilized life, everything for food, clothes, and shelter came down to money.
No clue how much food was in the house, clothes were in the closet sure, but rent might be due. Money was critical.
If this were some clichéd regression webnovel, a status window might pop up: Possessions +1,034,000 won.
Just needed ID now, and I could go buy smokes.
"...Kang Ji-min."
So that's her name?
I pulled the license slotted in the wallet and learned the body owner's name.
Class 1 Ordinary to boot. Rare for a woman, right?
I had Class 1 myself and used to tease friends with Class 2 as gay or whatever, but if my little sister got her license, I'd recommend Class 2.
Age... Born 2001.
Two years younger than me, born '99, so 25. Young. Bright future young.
Too young to understand why she'd made such an extreme... choice.
"...Anyway, not a minor."
So no one to bitch if I chain-smoked.
The sunset filtering through the blinds had turned a dusky blue at some point.
Twilight shifted from orange to navy, flipping suddenly to black at some tipping point.
The digital clock read 8:30.
Factoring in the growing chill, this place was probably late summer edging into fall too.
Or maybe chills from the drugs? Might need to rummage the closet for something to throw on.
I crammed my feet into slippers and stepped into the hallway.
And that's when I realized I'd almost fucked up bad.
-Beep-beep
Only after stepping into the hall and hearing that sound.
Did I remember I had no idea what the front door code was.
"?!?!"
I jolted and grabbed the handle again, but it went beep-beep and locked.
"...N-no, wait?"
Cold sweat broke out.
My mind went blank white, mouth babbling nonsense—thought I was really fucked... but.
Thank god, I remembered the villa resident card in the wallet.
Swiped the card key on the lock, and it beeped again.
"O-it opened."
It opened, but... wasn't that a seriously close call?
If I'd left without the wallet, I might've ended up homeless right there.
Parents or relatives might exist here unlike my old world, but without contacts, no way to reach them.
I patted my racing chest, headed for the elevator, then turned back to the door.
"Room 702. 702..."
Forget that, and it wouldn't end as a joke.
Get it together. Please. This was basically being shipwrecked in modern society.
Stepping outside, it was a bit chilly. Too flustered to think of grabbing the coat.
A single t-shirt might be too thin. No clue on the season. Late summer back home, but fall here?
"Nah."
The home screen showed the date, right?
I fished the phone from my pocket: September 18, 2020.
"..."
Not 25, but 20.
A number loaded with meaning. Real rich.
But my brain was already overloaded—no more burdens.
For now, shove all those hypotheses about the 2020-to-2025 gap into a corner.
...At least I wasn't kidnapped and knocked out with drugs going backward in time. Time doesn't flow backward.
"Euchah..!!"
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and stretched out my arms.
...The more I thought, the more I craved a smoke. Buy cigarettes first, think later.
"Let's see... Born 2001 in 2020..."
20-year-old freshman. No problem buying smokes.
One cig won't screw anything up.