Chapter 25: Sadang Station Exit 4 (1)

[1. I think I'm trapped in Sadang Station.]

Author: Anonymous

Didn't someone post something similar here yesterday?

I've been wandering alone through the Exit 4 corridor for three hours now.

I keep walking forward, but the same corridor just keeps repeating itself.

But... I'm definitely alone here, right? Then why does it feel like I can hear an extra set of footsteps?

└ The footsteps keep getting closer

└ Why won't anyone reply to my post?

└ Is anybody there?

└ Please, someone, say something

└ I can hear it. Footsteps, over and over

└ It's getting closer it's getting closer it's getting closer

***

Su-myeon stood still and gathered his thoughts.

<UTG: Sadang Station Exit 4> — a game based on the tale of the Pied Piper.

The sound of a flute, born from a strange belief that it would guide weary modern people toward happiness and an ideal world.

If you kept following the sound, it would grow louder and louder until, eventually, you crossed over into that "ideal" realm.

The way to escape before that happened was to ignore the flute and every anomaly as much as possible and keep turning back.

Faced with an uncertainty that seemed to have no end, you had to hold on to your sanity and retrace your steps again and again, all the while wishing to return.

"......Most of the posts online said people just found themselves outside eventually."

Han-su looked down at the Heartphone, which had opened what appeared to be an ordinary internet post.

But the post displayed now was different from the one they'd seen back at the station.

"It's changed to another post."

The messages left by someone trapped here had abruptly ended amid increasingly frantic comments about approaching footsteps.

Data that had never been transmitted anywhere, endlessly circulating inside this anomalous space, had somehow drifted into their Heartphones.

'So that part of the setting was real too....'

Su-myeon turned over the game lore that only he could now remember.

He had already decided to stop agonizing over why he alone could perceive and recall these things.

What mattered was that the knowledge worked.

"At the very least, we can't keep moving forward like this person did. Let's go back."

Han-su nodded at Su-myeon's words.

The two immediately turned around and headed back toward the platform they'd come from.

But, as expected, the platform wasn't what awaited them.

"...."

The same corridor leading toward the exit stretched out before them.

A Möbius strip.

The very scenery they'd just turned their backs on had appeared in front of them once again.

Su-myeon paused to examine their surroundings.

A quiet, brightly lit white subway corridor.

A narrow, straight passage coated in a thin layer of dust, filled with the stale, suffocating air of an underground space.

A few old, unremarkable flyers clung to the walls, while a discarded plastic cup rolled lazily across the floor.

Su-myeon's gaze swept over the seemingly ordinary surroundings before stopping at the ceiling.

"Goddamn it."

Su-myeon spat out the curse, and Han-su followed his gaze upward.

"...Is that......."

Between the rows of ceiling lights, a single ceiling panel had been forced upward and shoved halfway aside.

And from the pitch-black darkness beyond it, a pair of eyes gleamed.

"......."

"......."

Had it realized they'd noticed it?

The gaze, eerie in a way completely unlike that of an animal, stared down at the two of them without so much as blinking.

'The footsteps.'

Whatever had appeared at some point and begun following someone from behind—

The source of those footsteps was staring directly at them.

If they continued walking forward, it would probably slip silently down from the ceiling and begin following them from behind.

Without exchanging a word, Han-su and Su-myeon came to the same conclusion.

Never taking their eyes off it, they began backing away one step at a time, retreating the way they had come.

***

Ju-hee couldn't focus on her work no matter how hard she tried.

After going through something that insane, she was somehow expected to return to her ordinary life as though nothing had happened.

How cruel could reality be?

Ju-hee wanted to quit her job and everything else along with it, but she couldn't.

That simple fact drew a weary sigh from her.

"......."

And she couldn't simply convince herself that none of it had ever happened.

Ever since returning from that bizarre hotel, a crucial piece of her life had been missing.

Ju-hee worked for a subsidiary of Shinseong Group, and right now, every aspect of her work had ground to a halt.

Because the division head had disappeared.

With such a key figure suddenly gone without a trace, the entire company had fallen into disarray.

Everyone could sense that something was blocked, that the organization wasn't functioning the way it should, and yet no one could identify what was wrong.

'Our division head is gone!'

Even when Ju-hee protested, the response was always the same.

'We've never had a division head.'

'More importantly, Ju-hee, are you on track for Friday's presentation?'

No one could properly comprehend the situation.

"We've never had one."

That was the closest thing to an answer she could get, and everyone seemed almost determined to avoid discussing the subject any further.

It was far too unnatural to dismiss as a delusion on her part.

And that only made it harder for her to focus on everyday life.

[Ha-min: By the way, did you see this?]

Ju-hee clicked the messenger notification that appeared on her work computer.

[Ha-min: I checked with the Kihoe Group side, and apparently Ki San-hyeok isn't listed anywhere as one of their grandsons.]

Of all the people who hadn't escaped that bizarre hotel, his identity had been the one they were most certain about.

Han-su had even checked through official channels to see whether a missing-person report had been filed.

But San-hyeok had become someone who simply no longer existed.

Just like Ju-hee's division head.

[Kim Young-cheol: I've been looking into a few things too.]

[Kim Young-cheol: There are online communities for people searching for loved ones who've disappeared.]

[Kim Young-cheol: They're just like us — only the person close to the missing individual can recognize that they're gone. Everyone else has no idea.]

Their photos vanished.

Their records disappeared.

The missing person continued to exist only in one person's memories.

It was far too strange to dismiss as mere coincidence.

[Park Du-pal: That's creepy]

[Park Du-pal: But how do those people even realize something's wrong?]

[Ha-min: Whoa]

[Ha-min: What if they escaped from weird places just like we did?]

[Ha-min: Remember what that headless woman said?]

[Ha-min: Once you've gone inside and come back out, nothing will ever be the same again.]

Ju-hee read through their conversation, frustration tightening painfully in her chest.

Ever since they'd escaped, they'd been relying on one another like this, exchanging messages every day as they tried to keep their grip on reality.

But the more they talked, the more hopeless everything seemed.

No matter how hard she tried to make sense of what was happening, she couldn't see any path toward a solution.

Were the missing people already beyond saving?

Was there really anything they could do...?

[Kim Young-cheol: That's actually why I'm planning to talk to those groups.]

Ju-hee let out a quiet sigh after reading Young-cheol's message.

Privately, she doubted that gathering people who had gone through similar experiences would lead to anything meaningful.

Still—

If they pooled their evidence and shared what they knew, perhaps something might change.

For now, that was all she could hope for.

Besides, Su-myeon was exceptionally perceptive.

If he continued helping them, perhaps they could find the people they'd lost—

just as they had managed to escape that bizarre hotel.

Ju-hee clung to that thought as she stared heavily at the messenger window.

Then, all of a sudden, she typed out a message.

[By the way]

[Have Su-myeon and Han-su made it home yet?]

The two of them had said they were going to check out Sadang Station, but at some point, they'd gone completely silent.

After Ju-hee sent the message, the group chat fell quiet.

Normally, Su-myeon would already have chimed in with his thoughts on everyone's speculation.

But he hadn't said a word.

[Ha-min: Hyung?]

Ha-min called out to the two of them, but there was still no response.

Everyone seemed to assume a reply would come at any moment.

No one sent another message.

Ten minutes passed.

Then thirty.

An hour.

Three hours.

What had begun as mild concern gradually hardened into alarm.

Unless he was asleep, Su-myeon had never gone this long without checking the group chat.

[Su-myeon. Nothing's wrong, right?]

Even as Ju-hee typed the words, a cold sense of dread had already settled across the back of her neck.

Something had clearly gone wrong.

"Go, aren't you leaving?"

At that moment, the colleague seated beside her — her supervisor — stood up and picked up his bag.

It was already past six.

Ju-hee hurriedly grabbed her own bag and coat and rose from her seat.

[I'm heading to Sadang Station.]

***

"Everyone's probably realized we're missing by now."

The subway station floor was covered in dust, but Su-myeon no longer cared and had simply sat down on it.

They had been retracing their steps for hours, again and again.

Physically, he was nearing his limit.

"...Most likely."

Han-su remained standing, keeping watch over their surroundings as he gathered his thoughts.

The sound of the flute, which had seemed to grow more distant before, was slowly drawing closer again.

Whatever was pursuing them appeared to be moving faster than they could retreat.

"By the way, why do these keep showing up?"

Meanwhile, Han-su held up the Rose Coin he'd picked up during their forty-fourth trip back through the corridor.

Coins that had never existed in the game were appearing here as well.

"Well...."

How was he supposed to explain that?

After thinking for a moment, Su-myeon spoke.

"Could you give them to me?"

Unlike Su-myeon, Han-su didn't hesitate for even a second.

He simply held out the two coins he'd collected.

As if to repay that trust, Su-myeon chose to show him rather than explain.

He placed the coins against the Heartphone's screen.

They melted into it as though being absorbed.

[Rose Coins: 20]

"How...."

How was that possible?

Han-su swallowed the question and simply nodded.

There was no point searching for a logical explanation.

It worked because this was an irrational place where irrational things were possible.

Here, accepting something was far more efficient than trying to understand it.

[New items have arrived!]

Just then, after absorbing the two coins, the Heartphone vibrated with a new notification.

"What's this now?"

Once again, Su-myeon answered Han-su's question by showing him instead of explaining.

He opened an app Han-su had presumably never seen before.

After a brief loading screen, a product catalog appeared.

<Beautiful Belle's Secret Shop>

[Cyclops Contact Lens (10 coins)]

[Comfortable-fit contact lens exclusively for one-eyed beings. Shows the wearer the truth.]

[Dokkaebi AI App (20 coins)]

[Request specific data and the dokkaebi will output the desired information. However, the cost of information is paid in ■■.]

Two new products had been added to the catalog.

The Tin Woodsman's Heart, which had already been available for purchase, was still there as well.

Every item's description promised extraordinary capabilities, yet Su-myeon couldn't shake a lingering sense of unease.

The idea of putting some unknown object directly into his eye made the contact lens unsettling enough.

And the AI app, with part of its description deliberately obscured, felt just as suspicious.

"Tch...."

Should I buy it or not?

While Su-myeon wrestled with the decision, Han-su stood beside him with an unreadable expression.

In a situation where all he could do was accept whatever came his way, Han-su's greatest strength wasn't thinking things through.

It was protecting the group.

He kept scanning their surroundings, making sure nothing happened while Su-myeon deliberated.

Thanks to him, Su-myeon was able to consider the matter carefully.

And finally, he made his decision.