Misfortune Strikes Twice

I had gone into the restroom to relieve myself, but instead of taking care of business, I stood there fiddling with an odd object.

That was how bizarre the lighter was.

A lens?

Tucked inside the flame port was something that looked distinctly like a miniature camera lens. When I pressed down on the ignition button, it didn't give in the slightest. It appeared to be an imitation piece, merely disguised as a lighter on the outside.

Is this some sort of hidden camera?

Just in case, I scrutinized every nook and cranny of the restroom. Nothing else seemed out of place. I wrapped the lighter neatly in several layers of toilet paper and slipped it into my pocket, ultimately walking out without having taken a leak at all.

"Excuse me, Jeong—"

Chime.

The moment I stepped out of the restroom, the customer wearing a ball cap abruptly rose from her seat. But just as she opened her mouth, Boss pushed open the cafe's front door and breezed inside.

"Look at my head! Would you believe I walked right out without my bag?"

The moment Boss made her entrance, the customer abandoned her sentence and headed straight for the restroom. It had certainly looked like she wanted to say something to me.

"Hmm... what should I do?"

"What's the matter?"

"No, forget it. I'll just go tomorrow."

Boss had been heading toward the back office, but she hesitated, glancing down at her watch. She was likely mindful of the fact that my shift was about to end.

"Is it urgent? I can stay a little longer if you need."

"Ah, don't worry about it! It's nothing that pressing. Go on home!"

I considered telling Boss about the lighter I had found in the restroom, but thought better of it. I wanted to verify its true nature for myself first. If my suspicion proved correct and the object in my pocket really was a spy cam, Boss herself would be a prime suspect. She was the one who managed the cafe's facilities, meaning she could easily install and retrieve a camera whenever she pleased. Moreover, she had stopped by the restroom right before leaving earlier.

"All right, I'll be heading out then."

"Yep! You worked hard today! Get home safe."

Boss waved cheerfully with a warm smile. I offered a polite bow and clocked out for the day.

The real problem is motive.

Putting our personal relationship aside for objective analysis, I didn't realistically believe Boss was the culprit. Unless it turned out she was a perverted lesbian harboring a secret obsession with filming female patrons doing their business, it would mean she had installed it to target me. But Boss and I were already sleeping together on a regular basis. From any logical standpoint, she had zero reason to plant a spy cam.

Still, anyone can make a mistake, so I refused to rule out the possibility entirely. Boss might well possess sides I had never seen.

It's not as if perverts walk around with signs plastered to their foreheads, after all.

Even so, the probability leaned far more heavily toward another customer. The restroom was accessible to anyone who walked into the cafe. If someone put their mind to it, anyone could plant it during the morning rush and retrieve it by evening. Judging by how discreetly it had been tucked behind the trash can, the perpetrator likely believed it would never be uncovered. I had only noticed it because of my compulsive fixation on the exact alignment of the waste bin. And even if an ordinary customer had spotted it, almost no one would go out of their way to pick up a stray, discarded lighter from a bathroom floor.

If there's a peeping tom among the customers... would they assume the staff was the only real obstacle?

I considered the situation from the culprit's perspective as I walked, operating under the assumption that this lighter-shaped contraption was indeed a hidden camera. If I were the perpetrator, I would be wary of the cleaning routine. An employee might discover it during a sweep, tossing it into the trash or taking it away. To prevent that, they would have tried to learn when and how the cleaning took place.

Which means they had to be a regular.

Ultimately, most frequent patrons were suspects—the customer who lingered until my shift ended, as well as the regulars who typically arrived after I left. The culprit was almost certainly someone among the cafe's usual crowd.

Let's inspect it if I can, then hand it over to the police.

I intended to dismantle the lighter once I got home. I needed to confirm whether it was a camera, and if possible, examine the footage. If there was internal storage, I could play back the files. With any luck, the culprit's face might be recorded right on it. If the culprit turned out to be Boss, I would talk to her first before involving the authorities. If it was a customer, I would take it straight to the police.

Having reached a conclusion, I stepped inside the bank I had arrived in front of.

Inside my bag rested the envelope of bonus money Boss had handed me. Yesterday, an overpowering impulse had suddenly surged, sending me rushing straight home and leaving no time to deposit the cash.

If I put it into my account, will thirty percent be deducted again?

There were several ways to prevent the foundation from siphoning my funds. One simple method was keeping the money entirely in cash. Yet the reason I had walked into the bank of my own volition was because I had come to realize that the money taken by the foundation wasn't truly a loss. Instead, I had resolved to earn even more and willingly pay an even greater toll. So, I stopped by the branch situated along my route home.

A small crowd had gathered inside, so I waited my turn in front of the ATM corner.

That reminds me... a woman walked me to the cafe back then.

The memory of the day I interviewed for the cafe job suddenly surfaced—the day I had finally accepted just how hopeless my sense of direction was. I had asked a woman on the street for help, and she had specifically pointed out this bank, giving detailed directions on where to turn. Yet I had wandered right past the building anyway, prompting her to sprint after me and personally escort me all the way to Cafe Dalteulak. It was a minor incident, but catching sight of the bank's sign brought it all rushing back.

Whirrrr.

My turn came, and I deposited the cash. Rather than leaving immediately, I stood by the machine and checked my phone. I waited for over a minute, but no withdrawal notification appeared.

What's going on?

I opened my banking app. Aside from the three hundred thousand won deposit, there were no recent transactions. The foundation hadn't deducted a single cent.

Is there a different threshold?

I had no way of knowing. Perhaps it simply took a little longer this time. Deciding I would find out when the time came, I turned to leave the bank.

"Excuse me. Would it be all right if I used the restroom?"

"Ah, of course! If you head out through that door and walk up the stairs, you'll find the men's room right there."

"Thank you. Have a good day."

Unable to hold my bladder any longer, I had asked the bank security guard. Following his polite instructions, I slipped through the side exit leading into the building's corridor. I didn't feel the frantic urgency that had plagued me yesterday. The notion that I might have been captured on a spy cam didn't stir much emotion in me. Yesterday, the crushing sense that something of mine had been taken triggered an impulse so intense it bordered on crisis, but today was different. That was why I could casually visit the bank and tend to my bodily needs first.

It's quiet up here.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, I immediately spotted the restroom sign. Unlike the bustling ground floor of the bank, the second floor hallway was completely devoid of foot traffic.

Bzzzz.

"Hello?"

A call came in just as I was stepping toward the restroom. It was Boss.

"Yes, Boss."

"I just stopped by the bank for a minute. What's the matter?"

Her sigh of relief was palpable even through the speaker. Something felt off.

"Yes."

Had I been moving too casually even after suspecting a hidden camera? Perhaps my lack of emotional reaction had left me dangerously complacent. Deep down, I might have lowered my guard, thinking: Who would realistically target me for a crime like that? Perhaps because of the lingering memories of my past life, I understood that men could be victims of sex crimes only on an intellectual level. I had never truly internalized the reality in this world.

"Yes. And?"

I walked into the restroom while talking to Boss.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

"Ah, I'm fi—"

I was just about to tell her that nothing was wrong when rapid, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor outside. And they were barreling closer by the second.

Whoosh.

A woman's silhouette flashed across the restroom mirror. A high kick trace a flawless, lethal arc through the air.

Thwack!

I caught the reflection and tried to duck, but it was far too late. Her foot slammed squarely into the side of my head.

In an instant, the world went black.

Calling it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mere negligence wouldn't begin to capture just how absurdly out of nowhere the ambush had been.

The very last thought that crossed my mind before consciousness slipped away was this:

Korea truly is a taekwondo powerhouse.

"Pant... pant... haah..."

Park Hyeji, age twenty-three. She had crossed the line.

She stood panting, staring down at Jeongseo collapsed motionless on the cold restroom tiles.

"No. Wait... just wait a second. Whew..."

Hyeji had been terrified by the sheer thud ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jeongseo made when he hit the floor. Her heart leaped into her throat, fearing she might have seriously injured or killed him. Fortunately, he was still breathing steadily.

"Haah... Seriously."

She hadn't intended for things to escalate like this from the start. All she had ever wanted was to get a little closer to him.

By pure chance, Park Hyeji had stumbled across information regarding micro cameras. Later, scouring the internet, she found a forum post claiming to reveal foolproof hidden camera techniques that would never get caught. It had been nothing more than an unhinged delusion penned by some anonymous user. The problem was that to Hyeji, every word had sounded thoroughly plausible.

"Ugh... What do I do now?"

Using micro lenses, she had begun assembling her own hidden cameras. At first, it was mere curiosity. But after field-testing her homemade devices several times, a twisted fetish had awakened within her. That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠random stranger's internet fantasy had transformed into her private thrill. On the subway, in libraries, on public streets—Hyeji had never once been caught. She grew progressively bolder, and then one day, she met Jeongseo.

Obsession and jealous desire took hold of her, until she was entirely consumed by ugly cravings. Casting aside all rational judgment, she had planted a hidden camera inside the restroom of Cafe Dalteulak. It had been the very first time she detached a camera from her own body.

Slap, slap!

"Whew. Pull yourself together."

Hyeji slapped her own cheeks hard twice, then shrugged off her bulky outer coat. Gathering Jeongseo up effortlessly into her arms, she wrapped the coat securely around him. In her grip, he looked just like a sleeping child nestled against her chest.

"This looks a little weird, but... no, whatever. I need to get him out of here first..."

After ensuring Jeongseo's face was thoroughly concealed beneath the fabric, Hyeji ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stepped cautiously out of the restroom, congratulating herself on her luck for not bumping into anyone. She failed to notice a man walking toward her from the far end of the corridor.

And in the spot where Hyeji and Jeongseo had just been, something remained behind.