The Warning Came True
The broadcast had ended. The screen, now stripped of its 【LIVE】 indicator, fell into a silence so complete it felt like a lie. The chat that had poured down like a waterfall only moments earlier, the viewer count that had climbed past a thousand—everything stopped at once. All that remained was a frozen frame of the default avatar staring blankly forward.
Lee Un took off his headset. Only then did he register the heaviness in his shoulders. It was always like this after looking too deeply. Better than the days when he would drift in a daze for weeks, but his mind still felt waterlogged, heavy as soaked cotton. Today, though, that weight was far lighter than usual. Had he been alone, the pull would have dragged him under without end. But the eyes beyond the screen had anchored him here, in this world.
“……Hey.”
Saetbyeol was watching him closely from the side.
“What?”
“What the hell was that?”
“What was what?”
“Don’t play dumb. You don’t talk like that normally. All cold and commanding, dropping the polite speech. Anyone listening would’ve thought you were possessed.”
Lee Un glanced down at his own hand. It wasn’t shaking. Only the fingertips felt a little cold.
“……I’m not sure either. When I get immersed, the way I speak just changes.”
“Hmm.”
Saetbyeol rested her chin on her hand and looked him up and down. Then she suddenly let out a small laugh.
“But honestly? It was kind of cool.”
“……”
“The guy who usually acts like a total pushover suddenly flips a switch in front of the camera and radiates presence. Total gap-moe. I liked it.”
Instead of answering, Lee Un looked at the soju bottle.
“……Want another glass?”
“Oh. You’re offering first. That’s new.”
Saetbyeol popped the cap off a fresh bottle. She poured for him with practiced ease, then filled her own glass. Outside the window, the world was completely dark. Most of the lights in the apartments beyond the officetel had gone out, leaving only a few scattered glows. Beneath the stand lamp in the room, the bowl of jeonghwasu gave off a faint shine.
A strange atmosphere settled between them. She was the one person who had always seen him—the one who had stayed beside the boy who spent his life suppressing what he was.
“……You.”
“What?”
“You’ve always been like that. Ever since we were kids. Whenever I saw things other people couldn’t and got scared, everyone else would run away. But you stayed right next to me.”
“Yeah, I remember. You did that all the time.”
“You never ran. You’d stand beside me, looking around with me, glaring into the dark and asking where it was.”
Saetbyeol let out a soft laugh.
“That’s right. Back then I really thought I was going to fight a ghost.”
“……Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Why didn’t you run? Everyone else was terrified.”
Saetbyeol looked at him for a moment. Their eyes met. Whether from the lamplight or the alcohol, her face was faintly flushed.
“……Because you were scared.”
“……”
“Your face had gone pure white, but your fists were clenched so tight they were shaking. You were trying so hard to hide it that it was even more obvious. If I got scared too, it would’ve been harder on you. So I acted brave. Truth is, I was terrified.”
Lee Un turned her words over in his mind. The old manshin’s warning that the line between seeing and being seen had blurred. The caution that looking alone would pull him in. From the very beginning, long before hundreds or thousands of eyes could become anchors, Saetbyeol had been the one holding him steady. She had been his only anchor.
“……Saetbyeol.”
“What now?”
“Thank you.”
Her chopsticks stopped mid-air. Normally she would have brushed it off with a disgusted “Why are you being gross all of a sudden?” but tonight she couldn’t. Beneath the stand lamp, the air between them had frozen in a delicate tension. They were sitting close. Past the cold chicken box, their knees were nearly touching.
“……Um. Hey.”
Saetbyeol looked away first. She picked up the soju bottle and shook it for no reason. It was almost empty.
“We finished the liquor.”
“……Looks like it.”
“……Should I go buy more?”
“……”
“……Never mind. You have to stream again tomorrow. The momentum’s good—make sure you turn the broadcast on tomorrow too.”
Saetbyeol stood up, laughing loudly on purpose. So he didn’t stop her. He only followed her face with his eyes as she rose, without meaning to.
“I’m going. Lock the door properly.”
“Yeah. Get home safe.”
At the entrance, while putting on her shoes, Saetbyeol paused for a second. Without turning around, she said,
“……You were cool today. For real.”
The door closed. Lee Un stared at the closed door for a long time after she left.
“……”
A faint smile rose to his lips.
Lee Un only saw the post the next morning. Saetbyeol had sent him the link. He scrolled slowly through the comments. Believers, skeptics, people sitting on the fence. It was exactly like the chat window yesterday. It didn’t matter. Whether they believed or not was their business.
One thing caught his eye.
『He said he’d post proof he really uses that alley.』
The alley Lee Un had seen when he looked deeply last night. Everything else had been visible, but that single spot had been pitch black. Something had been blocking the view, a dark surface. He didn’t know exactly what it was. But one thing was certain. That place should not be entered.
That evening, Kim Seonghun gripped the steering wheel and hesitated at the fork in the road. JonberWins—the owner of the nickname that had been singled out and called during last night’s broadcast.
Work had been impossible all day. Even during meetings, even while eating lunch, those hollow eyes kept floating into his mind. Don’t go there. The low, sunken voice refused to leave his ear.
“This is insane. I’m really letting one concept broadcast mess with my head.”
Swearing out loud didn’t help. Rain was falling, just as forecast. The wipers whipped back and forth but the view stayed blurred. The fork appeared. The usual shortcut. A narrow alley barely wide enough for one car, despite the wide road running parallel. A road he could have driven with his eyes closed.
His hand had already flipped on the turn signal. His body moved first. Then yesterday’s words rang clearly in his head.
“That place alone is pitch black. Like a bottomless well.”
Seonghun turned the signal off. He didn’t know why. His back had simply gone cold. He turned the wheel to go straight. As expected, the main road was jammed. Caught at a red light in the pouring rain, Seonghun muttered another curse.
“See? I should’ve just taken the alley.”
Then he heard sirens. Fire trucks and ambulances tore through the rain, racing in the exact direction he had planned to go.
His phone chimed with a short alert. A disaster message.
Ground subsidence has occurred in the area around △△-ro, ○○ District. Vehicles trapped. All nearby vehicles, please detour immediately.
Seonghun’s hand froze on the wheel. Ground subsidence. The exact words the shaman had spoken last night, only the location changed, now glowing on his screen.
While taking the detour, Seonghun caught sight of the alley from a distance. The entrance was cordoned off with police tape. Flashing emergency lights bled across the rain. The middle of the narrow alley had completely collapsed. A passenger car lay half-buried, nose-down in the gaping asphalt mouth, while rainwater poured into the black void.
On the radio, a breaking report said heavy rain over several days had burst an old water main, washing away the ground beneath. The driver had been rescued but was critically injured. The accident had happened around seven in the evening—exactly when Seonghun passed through that alley every single day.
The hand resting on the steering wheel began to tremble. All he could hear was the rain. Even when horns blared behind him, Seonghun couldn’t move for a long time.
Lee Un saw the news right before he started the stream. Saetbyeol had sent the link along with a message. He looked at the accident photos. The collapsed asphalt. The black hole swallowing rainwater. It wasn’t surprising. It was exactly what he had seen yesterday.
He pressed the stream button.
【LIVE】. Viewers: 0 → 500 → 1000.
Saetbyeol hadn’t even needed to drop the coordinates. The moment the broadcast started, viewers flooded in. A large donation alert flashed on one side of the screen.
JonberWins donated 100,000 won: Hyung, thanks to you I made it out alive. It’s late, but here’s the fortune fee.
The chat window exploded. But Lee Un’s gaze did not linger on the donation. Beyond the vacant avatar, his voice sank like a stone into a well.
“……There. The one with the nickname Lilac_03.”
The chat froze for a single heartbeat.
“It’s you.”