Chapter 60

It was still a little early in the morning, and sunlight streaming through the blinds painted golden stripes across the detective agency.

Creak. Creak.

The rocking chair I sat in emitted a pleasant creaking noise that echoed around.

That rhythmic sound with every rock inexplicably soothed my mind.

A morning like any other: golden sunlight reflecting off my yellow suit while sitting in the rocking chair.

From a corner of the room, the TV blared loudly about some ‘Gyeongyangsan Temporary Camp’ in Incheon.

Not an everyday occurrence, but for these times, it wasn’t too surprising that Korean authorities had abandoned control over a village.

The discordant harmony between the incessant TV noise and the tranquil indoor atmosphere created an odd vibe.

This uneasy, chaotic feeling?

It was the essence of the Yellow Detective Office.

Bang Bang!

A hammer-like knocking on the door.

“Senior, we’re here!”

Before the echo faded, Junior No. 1 and Junior No. 2 burst through the door.

After quite some time, Hyejin finally joined as Junior No. 2 to work at the office.

Junior No. 1 was already busy enough alone, but with No. 2 added, the chaos tripled.

Juniors 1 and 2 dropped their bags and noticed a stack of documents on the wooden table.

“Senior? Did we get a new case?”

Junior No. 1 began scanning the documents placed alongside the questionnaire on the wooden table.

Turns out it was a trendy survey about golden dreams making the rounds lately.

Something felt off about those golden dreams, so after much effort, I managed to obtain some data.

Specifically, I begged that shady guy for materials related to the golden dreams.

“Sudden occurrence of golden dream surveys? Never heard of it.”

“I just thought it might be related to a case, so I asked for the data.”

It’s not yet in the news.

Reports are surfacing about multiple people having consistently vivid golden dreams.

While possibly connected to group hallucinations caused by objects, upon reviewing the data, it didn’t seem to indicate a clear case.

The juniors exchanged the documents and discussed them.

“Golden-filled joyful dreams. Sweet foods, dancing, singing—it’s oddly a happy mass hallucination. But since it’s a dream, there aren’t many solid clues.”

“Definitely object-related, but strangely non-harmful. From interviews, people actually seem regretful they can’t remember the dream.”

Using the juniors’ chatter as background music, I closed my eyes in the rocking chair.

A peaceful morning without cases at the detective’s office.

***

Thump. Thump.

The endless heartbeat echoes.

Thump. Thump.

In the deep underground lab, the director sat with eyes closed, listening to the pulsating sound.

The never-ending heartbeat, blood seeping across walls, the thick scent of iron filling the basement—everything made it feel like being inside an animal’s stomach.

Since meeting his son at the graveyard, the director suffered from recurring headaches.

And when he closed his eyes, familiar hallucinations appeared.

These visions were reviving forgotten memories, becoming increasingly vivid.

A pristine isolation room, the smell of disinfectant, an IV stand.

A white bed. A frail woman lying on it.

The metallic whirring of ventilation fans.

Just a fragment of an old isolation room.

‘That woman’ spoke.

The object grants wishes and hope—never lose hope in the object.

And the director responded.

Responded.

What did I say…?

Can’t recall.

“It’s probably nothing important.”

“Just a trivial matter like my name.”

“Let’s conduct research. Research to save humanity.”

Obsessively pacing back and forth, the director couldn’t stay still.

The small orb hovering above his hand intermittently emitted strange lights.

The persistent headache refused to subside.

Clang!

The sound of a cane striking the ground halted the director’s compulsive behavior.

“Then let’s begin the experiment.”

“Does the object truly manifest from humanity’s desires? Let’s verify this by testing the wishes of tortured individuals.”

Numerous researchers spread out from beneath the director, armed with torture tools, heading toward the isolation rooms.

From the quiet isolation chambers came horrifying screams filled with pain.

***

The usual familiar isolation room.

Omff.

I grabbed a jelly and popped it into my mouth, chewing slowly.

The cloud-like softness of the bed enveloping my body, cushions supporting my back, and the perfectly cozy blanket.

On the bedside table lay rich chocolate and rainbow-colored jellies.

The noisy TV endlessly broadcasted stories about a camp in Incheon.

And resting on my lap was the ghost cat.

A typical day at Sehee Research Institute.

Far removed from the spectacular clashes with objects, it was a humble daily life.

Meow.

As I stroked its back, the cat occasionally meowed softly, initiating conversation.

Mostly tales of adventures—battling formidable foes or narrowly escaping powerful objects.

But it seemed the cat was running out of stories.

After all, it kept repeating the same ones—like the fifth retelling of the “fight against six Dobermans at the crossroads.”

“Hey, you’ve told that story five times already!”

Realizing I read her mind, the cat looked genuinely shocked.

Its mouth wide open, standing dumbfounded.

Wow, cats can make such expressions too.

Meow.

Shocked, the cat cried out, “It’s time!”

“For what?”

Meow!

The cat declared loudly, “It’s time for a new adventure!”

Meooow!

“And I’ll explore the most dangerous place!” With that, the cat proudly marched toward the isolation room wall.

And then leapt over it, disappearing.

The TV showed footage of the government-abandoned ‘Temporary Gyeongyangsan Camp in Incheon.’

Surely it’s not heading there, right?

***

The temporary camp at Gyeongyangsan Mountain in Incheon.

Rumors painted it as a place where demons could live.

Portrayed as a haven for thieves, criminals without refuge, mountains of illegal weapons and drugs.

Media influence ran rampant.

Emphasizing lawlessness, showing dusty children, weary residents, portraying it as a space where evil deeds occurred daily.

Though labeled a “camp” or a “criminal den,” Gyeongyangsan Camp was a vast city with a dense population.

What started as tents and temporary shelters had long transformed.

Narrow winding alleys connected bustling areas where children played, merchants sold goods, elders reminisced together.

Even now, closing my eyes brings vivid images of laundry lines stretching between tents, colorful fabrics fluttering in the breeze.

But those days have become ancient tales.

Something is wrong with ‘Gyeongyangsan Temporary Camp.’

Under the blazing midday sun, fear chilled me to the bone.

Children’s laughter rang out.

Mothers chatting while hanging laundry.

Distant cries of fruit vendors calling out their wares.

Yet I couldn’t mingle with them.

I merely hid in the shadows between buildings, holding my breath.

The landlady who rented out tiny rooms has changed.

She swore she’d never sell before dying!

The butcher uncle who always greeted me kindly no longer recognized me.

The laughing children looked eerily hollow.

Everyone was in their place, yet somehow not.

Just one month away, and everything feels strange.

Too strange.

It sent shivers down my spine.

Even in broad daylight, it grew colder.

Are they playing a prank? Ignoring me? Secret camera?

But my instincts warned me not to speak, not to reveal I noticed something off.

I rubbed my goosebumped hands together.

“Big sister, what are you doing?”

My heart nearly leaped out of my throat.

Turning around while calming my racing heart, I saw a gap-toothed child smiling brightly.

But something was different, clearly different.

Hiding my tension, I replied naturally.

Like a tourist.

“Just resting after getting tired from walking. Didn’t expect the camp to be so large.”

“Ah, so you’re a tourist?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Ah, I see.”

The child smiled widely, turned around, and left.

Phew… Breathing hard.

I almost threw up.

Feeling dizzy.

Of course.

That child was my younger brother!

What in the world happened in just one month?