Five Hundred Million Won

"Ah. I need to buy trash bags."

The thought flashed, and I threw a cardigan over my shoulders, tugged a hat down low, and stepped outside. One glance at my phone and the gallery was still in an uproar. Fortunately, public opinion had swung to Ghost Story Poker's side.

The gallers' grave-digging really was something else. Whether any of it was true, I couldn't say. If it was, the one-click plagiarist didn't have a prayer left.

Or did he? Spin up another alt and he's fine?

Bonk.

"Ow."

I'd walked straight into a streetlight. Without the hat, my forehead would be wearing a bruise. Never look at your phone while you walk. I ignored the wisdom of my elders, stuck a cigarette between my lips, and went right back to the screen.

"Was the convenience store always this far?"

I should have reached it by now. I turned right, and a single sheet of paper was stuck to a darkened entrance.

Dead. So this was a convenience store the neighborhood had declined to choose. A shame.

"Haa."

I decided to keep walking. There's a convenience store down every alley anyway, isn't there? I was dragging my feet along when—

"Meow!"

Some cat was sprawled flat under a truck.

"Hehehe. Wanna go eat Churu with Uncle?"

"(Hiss!)"

"...You hate me that much?"

Cloudy, even in autumn. Day after day that felt like a lonely death wasn't far off. I'm human too. I needed a refresh. A refresh. Mischief got the better of me, and I flopped down on the pavement beside it.

"Let's communicate!"

"KYAAAAK!"

"(HAAAAAK!)"

And so a dialogue with the cat began. You never know. They say a second life comes with a bonus perk. Maybe my hidden class was Druid.

"KYAOOOOO!"

"(Meow.)"

It was not. Maybe my brain was too pickled in web novels. In the end the cat dropped its tail and bolted. I felt as if I'd contributed to a great victory for humankind.

"...Fuck."

I was hauling myself up in a ruined mood when—

"(Chik.)"

Some animal cry reached me. And that sound? That was the voice of a rodent with oversized incisors! Which meant...

"Don't tell me it was tearing into a rat down there?"

Goosebumps raced over my whole body. But human beings are built to find curiosity more interesting than fear. I peered deep under the truck.

"Huh?"

A squirrel lay there, collapsed. Blood was even running from its shoulder.

"Hm."

Looked like the cat had bitten it. I'm not a vet. What was I supposed to do? I don't have money. I didn't even know how much of Doona's death benefit would come through.

"Still..."

Maybe it was because I'd just lived through someone's death. Pointless pity sent me crawling under the truck to pull ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the squirrel out. It didn't even struggle. It only looked at me with both eyes.

"Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes also into you."

Maybe it was Squirrel-sensei's pitch-black eyes, but a shitpost fell out of me all on its own. Naturally, nobody laughed.

"But I don't know how to treat animals?"

I did not, from there, sprint to an animal hospital and beg them to treat a wild squirrel. I did not. I simply bought red antiseptic at the neighborhood pharmacy and dabbed it on. It wasn't a baseless act. In my first life, when the dog I was raising got hurt, I'd seen the vets paint on the red medicine. Anyway—so long as it doesn't get infected, a wound is bound to heal!

"Live long, Squirrel-sensei."

And so the red antiseptic went on the squirrel's wound.

"Sturdy little tail. Heh."

I enshrined the creature inside a cardboard box nearby, and even poured water into a paper cup.

"I've done everything I can do, yeah?"

"(Chik.)"

I stood. It chittered as if it had understood me. I wouldn't know. Humans walk a human road. Wait—why did I come out here again. Right. Trash bags.

I bought the trash bags and immediately dumped a load of cigarette butts into one. I was sitting on the sofa, wiggling my toes, when a thought arrived.

"Why haven't those insurance bastards called?"

I was fairly sure Doona had a policy. So why the silence. Just in case, I checked my texts and KakaoTalk.

"Oh! Of course!"

Nothing but spam. Bitter enough to kill me.

"I'm hungry."

Ordering in felt a little wrong.

"Guess I'll drink a Dr. Pepe."

I resigned myself to being pickled in mass-produced goods, drank, and scrolled the gallery.

"Hoo! Ha!"

A theatrical expression of refreshment. The cigarette came free with it. Even so, the place needed air. I cracked the front door and opened every window.

That was when it happened.

Ding-dong.

"What, an insurance agent?"

Were house calls standard? What if they got aggressive? I ditched the cigarette and hid the ashtray. Just in case: phone in one hand, kitchen knife in the other. Fully prepared, I headed for the entryway.

"Who is it?"

"A friend of Doona's."

"Which friend of Doona's?"

"Uh... Baek Seoyeon."

Wait a second. Baek Seoyeon? Why was that one here?

"The door didn't seem to be shut, so..."

And her, of all people. Back when I worked at the company, she'd been famous for being incredibly rude.

"Excuse me a moment."

"W-wait! Stop!"

The most useless word in the world.

Stop.

Naturally, the effect was minimal. Baek Seoyeon threw the door wide open. Our eyes met. An awkward current eddied between us.

"Um... you are Doona's older sister, right?"

"This is trespassing..."

It's the middle of the day. A weekday. Why was the woman who ought to be buried at the company standing at my door?

"And what is that kitchen knife?"

Ah. Suspicion pooled in Baek Seoyeon's eyes, the look you give someone who's come unhinged. For the record, I am perfectly sober.

"Home-defense weapon."

"?"

I answered with complete honesty.

"Ah... right... okay."

"Well. Come in, then."

I strolled to the kitchen as if nothing were amiss, put the knife back, and showed Baek Seoyeon to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sofa. She looked this way and that. Then, as if she'd caught a scent, she snuffled like a dog.

"You smoked, didn't you."

"Nuh-uh."

I felt guilty for no good reason. No—I'm the only one living here now. What does it matter? And this is a detached house. No neighbors to harm. I sat on the sofa pretending none of it touched me, and Baek Seoyeon sat as well. She was holding something. A plastic bag, with a shape inside it.

"First time seeing you since the funeral."

"Yeah."

"Mm. To introduce myself again, I'm Baek Seoyeon. Doona's friend."

She held out a business card. Her manner was remarkably polite. I took it.

It had been a long time. I'd had a card like this once, too. Memories came sprouting up, one after another.

"Uh... you know how to receive a business card?"

"Pardon?"

What was she talking about. Know how to receive a card? What did that even—

Ah.

There's an etiquette to exchanging cards. You don't cover the name. You offer it so the other person can take it easily, with that small consideration built in. The receiver takes both edges, carefully. I must have done it without thinking. In this second life, the only cards I'd had cause to accept were Doona's. A habit worn into the body is a frightening thing.

"I learned it from my sister."

"Ah. Of course Doona would..."

I mumbled past it. It wasn't anything. Baek Seoyeon kept glancing around, as if she didn't want to be here—the attitude of someone who meant to hand over what she'd brought and leave. Fair enough. She hates the smell of cigarettes. Back at the company, if I was in the smoking room, she used to grab me by the head and drag me out.

"Um, I have something to give you."

She held out the bag.

"What is it?"

"Things that were in Doona's office."

Close enough to come and go from the office? So they hadn't been mere business partners. I wanted to know what kind of relationship it had been. In my past life, she was someone I knew. In this life, she knew my little sister. Of course I was curious.

But before that!

"Mind if I check what's inside?"

"Go ahead. They're Doona's things."

I looked through the bag first. What could be in there.

"..."

"It really was just luggage."

I took the things out of the box. Exactly four personal effects: a laptop, a tablet, a glasses case, and a picture frame.

"This photo... I was wondering where it had gone."

Before I even had to search my memory, I knew it. A picture of me and Doona.

"How did you and Doona know each other?"

Baek Seoyeon's lips moved. All that came to mind was that wildfire temper, and I couldn't make it fit.

"Well... Doona helped our family a great deal."

News to me.

"Helped you how?"

That was already three years ago, she said.

So those nights my sister came home late...

And thanks to that, the eminently capable white-hat of our Lonabel—Ms. Baek Seoyeon—took to drinking with Doona now and then.

"I'd heard there was an older sister... You're very different from what I imagined."

"And what did you imagine?"

"Someone sharp and impressive, like Doona."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She seemed to have relaxed; she shrugged. I decided to let the chronic rudeness pass.

"Do you have any sense of why Doona... left like that?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. Was she wondering if I was the reason?

"Hard to say. I'm really curious about that myself."

Having someone else suspect me for no reason did not feel especially good. I was already more than enough person to think that way on my own.

"I see. And I don't know whether it would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠help, but I'd like to cover a little more of the funeral costs."

"Out of nowhere?"

"Because thanks to Doona, my brother gets to smile every day."

"Mm."

The mannerly thing is to refuse an offer like this. I was in no position to be mannerly. The goddamn insurer still hadn't called, and the payments I had to settle right now were already a mountain.

Ring-ring.

"One moment."

A call had come in. Shameless as it was, I answered.

"Yes, hello?"

"Yes?"

A collections officer...? The ones who claw debts back? Thinking I might have picked up the wrong call, I looked at the screen.

"That's correct. And?"

It was already the fourth day since my sister died, and I learned that my sister—who could not possibly have had debt—had debt. And the sum, of all things—

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Five hundred million... won?"

Hoo. Can't breathe.

I saw Baek Seoyeon off. She looked shaken, too. Serious enough to answer even my nonsense in earnest. Once I was sitting there alone, my head ached.

Doona had been in debt. She wasn't the sort. I had no idea what the debt was even for. But if I renounced the inheritance, everything in Doona's name would be fair game for seizure. I'd already seen more than enough red stickers, courtesy of my parents.

"Haa."

This house was no exception. Right now it was in Doona's name. In a word: renounce?

"Starting tomorrow, I'll be sleeping at Seoul Station."

And if, instead, I made up my mind to pay the debt?

"I dodged the CSAT, though."

How about I start cramming to be a patent attorney, beginning today?

"Pfft... fuck."

As if that would work. Selling a kidney would be faster. What was the going rate for one these days—two hundred million, maybe? Not even in the ballpark. I got up. Tomorrow's me could handle today's disaster. I was fucked either way, so I might as well enjoy the life I had left today. With that in mind, I dug through my phone. The bottom of the portal was papered over with every kind of news.

The difficult words were beyond me. And so I went somewhere exactly at my level.

Maybe something had changed. Huh?

Reading the gallery does not, for the record, make me an idiot.

"My whole world is wallpapered with talk about me."

Inside the real-time Novel Gallery—the GOAT, crammed full of tactical nukes—I had become That Fixed Nick. This was exactly why I'd hated running a fixed nick. It's just that I write too well, you see. All I did was say what was right, and just like that you're a beloved fixed nick? Still. Enough of a meltdown to flip the whole gallery? Something smelled wrong, so I opened a post at random.

The platform had taken a hard line? On the off chance, I searched the concept posts.

"Someone's bound to have summarized it."

And of course they had.

I put a cigarette in my mouth. I needed to get calm.

"Hoo."

I looked out the window and let the smoke go. In truth, having your fixed nick turned into an idol like that is no good. Worst case, blameless me eats a ban. The gallery's in chaos; they'd tell me to rest a few days and come back. Even so... Maybe it was because the platforms, and the gallers, felt like they'd recognized me in their own way.

"Doesn't feel bad."

And besides...

Hatube.

"Please. What kind of streamer am I."

Streaming is something I should be satisfied just watching. Since when do I have a way with words.

"And the moment I say that, it has to play out like a cliché, doesn't it?"

That evening, I genuinely ate a fixed-nick ban plus an IP ban.

The crime of the King of Kindling burning too bright. My world came down. Only a three-day ban, was it? And what was I supposed to do with my life through all that eternity?

"Wait. They said Hatube, didn't they..."

A certain comment floated up. Hatube.

"It'll be fine, right? I'm pretty!"

So I chose. I would take the viral storm as it stood and try my hand at broadcasting.

"I've got a debt to pay... don't I?"