Chapter 22

The Reaper who had lost interest in the ‘coin for gauging luck’ now turned that interest elsewhere, aimlessly poking around inside the car as if looking for something.

Unfortunately, it was to the point where it was interfering with the vehicle’s operation.

Luckily, the Reaper also quickly lost interest in the car and curled up on the back seat, quietly falling asleep.

But was it just a bad day?

What should’ve been a simple drive to the destination was interrupted by an unexpected variable.

There was someone tailing us.

They seemed to be putting effort into maintaining a distance and trying to stay covert, but their skills were amateur at best.

When I checked back, it appeared to be a reporter’s car from “Daily Object.”

I’d heard this broadcasting company had many entanglements with Sehee Research Institute, though I personally had no connection to them.

It seemed they saw my car leaving Sehee Research Institute and decided to follow, probably hoping to find some kind of scoop.

Even though shaking off such an amateur tail wouldn’t take much time, it didn’t seem worth the effort.

Rather than the hassle of losing them, I decided to simply ignore them and hurry to the Sinkhole Relief Camp.

No time to waste on some third-rate journalist.

Time was already short for the request.

***

Following the detective who’d been bragging about being famous lately, we arrived at the ‘Sinkhole Relief Camp.’

As expected, the comfortable life of a detective isn’t enough to shake off the experienced trailing skills of a two-year veteran reporter.

Maybe this reporter should quit journalism and become a detective instead?

If this guy is the number one detective, isn’t this field too much of a blue ocean?

On the other hand, journalism has become a clear red ocean even for me.

Nowadays, there are too many media outlets using the Gray Reaper to boost their views, making it harder to earn money like before.

In situations like this, what’s needed is ‘one big hit.’

So when I followed the detective’s car leaving Sehee Research Institute, it turned out to be a jackpot.

The destination was the ‘Relief Camp’ which had been declared off-limits under the dubious pretext of an ‘Object incident’!

A place fitting for high risk, high return.

Seeing the detective from Sehee Research Institute heading into a restricted area certainly smelled of a major scoop.

***

Arriving together with the detective and looking down at the relief camp, the sight wasn’t pleasant.

Butterflies, butterflies.

Everywhere you go, butterflies.

Looking down from the barriers encircling the ‘Songpa District Sinkhole Relief Camp,’ the camp was filled with butterflies.

Butterflies on the ground. Butterflies on doorframes.

Too many butterflies, alive and disturbing like midsummer gnats sticking all over a convenience store.

But something didn’t make sense.

Why build such a physical wall when spectral butterflies can fly through?

This useless barrier must have allowed the butterflies to spread to Sehee Research Institute.

Didn’t the detective, who seemed aware of the spectral butterflies, realize this barrier was pointless?

***

Time was running out.

The deadline was in approximately 48 hours.

In 48 hours, the South Korean government planned to launch missile and artillery attacks on the camp and sinkhole to deal with the butterfly situation.

The government assumed everyone inside the camp was dead and intended to proceed with the attack.

But why is this the deadline?

Because of information Watson gave me.

Watson said that if missiles struck the sinkhole in 48 hours, hungry ghosts and numerous objects would emerge.

And current-day Seoul doesn’t have the capability to defend against that.

Though I wanted to prevent the missile strike, claims without evidence wouldn’t be accepted.

But the government had its own reasons.

The longer they waited, the more rapidly butterfly infections would increase. If they delayed even a week, countless people would likely get infected.

For the government, it was a choice between certain doom via butterfly infection or uncertain doom via possible ghost invasion.

Thus, the government couldn’t afford to wait.

The 48 hours I negotiated for with the government was the best I could get.

Destroy the mastermind behind the butterfly incident within 48 hours, and the missile attack will be canceled.

This was the toughest and most urgent case I’ve handled since becoming a detective.

Come to think of it, it always happened this way.

Whenever I followed leads given by Watson, incredibly difficult cases awaited.

Massive cases that were hard to abandon.

Looking at the gas lamp ‘Watson’ in my right hand, I thought it was indeed a suspicious object.

***

About 24 hours later, rumors reached me that the so-called blue ocean detective entered the camp with soldiers, searching for something.

How did I get the info?

Money makes everything possible.

That’s common knowledge among red ocean journalists.

So my job was clear: infiltrate the camp first and find whatever the detective was looking for.

Whatever it was, it was bound to be a great scoop.

Even if I failed to find it, hiding and tailing the detective again could yield results.

Why deploy soldiers to search a sealed-off area where no one can enter or leave?

My journalistic instincts screamed loudly.

***

Infiltrating the camp to find the scoop wasn’t difficult.

The soldiers were focused solely on preventing exits, not entries.

Once inside, the atmosphere of the camp felt off.

The camp was quiet, but not sleeping.

Strangely, none of the camp residents were asleep despite the late hour.

Sure, it could happen, but the real problem was their blank stares.

The eyes of the camp residents showed no trace of intelligence, resembling shark eyes.

Emotionless, unsettlingly hollow gazes.

As I wandered through the eerie camp, my shoulders slumped and my energy drained.

What sort of hardship is this at midnight?

Cough, cough.

While searching for anything unusual, I heard a coughing sound.

Looking toward the noise, I found a container house with its door wide open.

Inside the pitch-black container, a boy lay on the floor.

He had massive dark circles under his eyes and looked extremely exhausted.

“Ah, haha. You’re normal, right?”

The boy weakly smiled, then coughed up blood while speaking.

“Uncle, is this a nightmare? When will I wake up from this dream?”

The boy started talking nonsense incomprehensible gibberish.

Just as I was about to ask what he meant, the boy began spitting out blood uncontrollably.

“Aaah! What, what is this?”

The boy, spewing everything inside him, was reduced to a shriveled leather husk.

Huhk, huhk.

Breathing became difficult at the horrific sight.

My hands and feet were ice cold from shock.

Regaining my breath, I couldn’t help but scream again.

“Aaaaaaaah!”

Watching the blood on the floor re-enter the boy’s body and inflate him again, I bolted outside.

“Crazy! Crazy! Is this the reason the government quarantined the area?”

“Shouldn’t they inform the public about such danger?”

“This place is dangerous!!!”

The camp, seemingly peaceful at first glance, revealed its true nature.

It was like a scene from a horror game.

Sticky gazes followed me wherever I went.

And only now did I notice – they were slowly surrounding me.

Scary.

I couldn’t tell if these camp residents were human anymore.

From far away, moving slowly, their encirclement was inescapable.

Before reaching the hole I entered through, I was completely immobilized.

Surrounded tightly like in a packed subway car, they stared at me blankly.

A man approached and grabbed my shoulder painfully.

“Wh…what are you doing? Do you know this counts as assault?”

But no one responded to my words, just smiling eerily.

Clack, clack.

Making strange choked laughter sounds, they began dragging me roughly.

“I’m a famous Daily Object reporter! You’re making a mistake!”

Trying to use my reputation to escape the crisis didn’t work at all.

Instead, an even stranger atmosphere enveloped me.

These weren’t reckless criminals but something fundamentally different.

Realizing this, my certainty grew.

These beings aren’t human.

Their expressions were wrong.

Twisted in unnatural ways that defied description.

Suddenly, blood gushed from my mouth like a broken faucet.

No matter how hard I tried to stop it, it wouldn’t cease.

“No, no no no no!”

Remembering the emaciated boy, I tried to stop the blood flow from my mouth, but it just kept spurting endlessly.

Strength left my limbs and I collapsed like an empty husk.

Coldness enveloped me as my vision darkened.

In the fading vision, I thought I saw the figure of the Gray Reaper.

“Sa…save me.”

But the words dispersed into nothingness.