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The Reaper, who had lost interest in the “coin that measures luck,” now turned his curiosity elsewhere, poking around the car here and there, almost to the point of being a distraction to the driver.

Fortunately, he quickly lost interest in the car and curled up in the back seat to quietly fall asleep.

But perhaps it was just an unlucky day for him. Just as he was on the easy drive to the destination, a variable emerged.

There was a stalker.

Though they seemed to make some effort to follow discreetly while keeping their distance, it was a rookie-level tailing job.

Looking back at the tracker, it appeared to be a reporting vehicle from ‘Daily Object.’ I heard that this broadcasting company had connections with Sehee Research Institute in various ways, but I had no dealings with them whatsoever.

They probably saw my vehicle coming out of Sehee Research Institute and were following it to see if there might be something newsworthy.

An amateur stalker could easily be shaken off with just a little time, but they didn’t seem worth the effort.

Rather than bother to shake them off, I decided to ignore them and hurried to the Sinkhole Relief Camp.

I didn’t have time to deal with a fool of a third-rate reporter.

Neither did I have time for leisurely business.

*

As I followed the detective’s vehicle, which had recently gained some fame, I arrived at the ‘Sinkhole Relief Camp.’

Indeed, the comfortably living detective couldn’t shake off the seasoned stalking skills of a two-year-old reporter trying to survive fiercely.

Should I just quit journalism and become a detective instead?

Isn’t it absurd that such a guy is famous as the number one detective in such a blue ocean?

On the other hand, the journalism world was an evident red ocean that was hard even for me to navigate.

Nowadays, there are so many media outlets making money off the Gray Reaper that earning as I used to has become far more difficult.

What was needed in times like this was a ‘big scoop.’

Chasing after the detective’s vehicle that left Sehee Research Institute, I struck gold.

The destination being the ‘Relief Camp’, which was off-limits under the dubious pretext of ‘Object Accident!’

It was truly a place fitting for high-risk, high-return.

The detective coming from Sehee Research Institute entering a restricted zone reeked of great news.

*

Upon arriving with the detective, and gazing down at the Relief Camp, it was not a pleasant sight.

Butterflies, butterflies.

Butterflies everywhere.

The camp, which was surrounded by walls blocking access like a fortress called the ‘Songpa District Sinkhole Relief Camp,’ was filled with butterflies.

Butterflies on the ground. Butterflies in the doorways.

So many butterflies, they were as vivid and ghastly as mayflies sticking to a convenience store in high summer.

However, one thing didn’t quite make sense.

Why build these physical walls when ethereal butterflies are flying around?

With these useless barriers in place, it was clear that the butterflies had also heavily swarmed the Sehee Research Institute.

The detective seemed to know about the presence of the ethereal butterflies; shouldn’t he point out how useless these walls are?

*

Time was running out.

The time limit was about 48 hours.

In 48 hours, the Korean government planned to carry out missile strikes and shelling against the camp and sinkhole to resolve the butterfly crisis.

The government intended to proceed with an attack, believing that all personnel within the camp had already perished.

But why was that the time limit?

It was because of the facts that Watson had informed me.

If the missile attack were to be launched into the sinkhole in 48 hours, it would trigger the emergence of the Reaper and countless objects.

And currently, Seoul lacks the capacity to defend against that.

I wanted to prevent the missile attack, but a baseless claim wouldn’t be accepted.

However, from the government’s stance, they were helpless as well.

As time passed, the number of butterfly-infected individuals was increasing exponentially, and it was evident that delaying by even a week would lead to a staggering number of infections.

From the government’s perspective, it was a choice between certain doom through butterfly infection or the uncertain invasion of the Reaper.

In other words, the government was in a situation where they could not afford to procrastinate.

So the time I managed to negotiate with the government was 48 hours.

If I could eliminate the instigator behind the butterfly crisis within that 48 hours, the missile attack would be called off.

This request was the most challenging and time-pressured task I’ve undertaken while doing detective work.

Thinking back, it always seemed to be this way.

Whenever I followed the information Watson provided, a tremendously difficult commission awaited me.

And it was always a huge commission that was hard to give up.

As I looked at the gas lamp ‘Watson’ held in my right hand, I thought it was another suspicious object.

*

I received word that the detective from the blue ocean would storm into the camp with soldiers in about 24 hours to search for something.

How did I obtain that information?

Money can accomplish anything.

It’s a fact that everyone knows in the red ocean of journalism.

So, there was only one thing for me to do.

To first infiltrate the camp and find out what item the detective was looking for.

Whatever that item was, it was surely going to be a scoop.

Even if I couldn’t find it, it wouldn’t matter.

I could just hide and follow the detective again to catch the scoop then.

Would they really mobilize soldiers to search a place that nobody could enter or exit because of a blockade?

My instincts as a reporter were ringing loudly.

*

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

The soldiers’ vigilance was solely focused on preventing anyone from leaving the camp.

As I discreetly sneaked into the camp, the atmosphere felt off.

The camp was quiet, but it wasn’t asleep.

It was a very peculiar sensation.

No one among the camp’s residents seemed to be sleeping at this late hour.

Well, that might be understandable.

However, the real problem was that they were just staring blankly at me.

I couldn’t feel any intelligence in the eyes of the camp residents, and their gaze seemed quite strange.

To put it metaphorically… yes, it was like the eyes of a shark.

There was hardly any emotion, just an unsettlingly vacant stare.

Perhaps because of the camp’s atmosphere, my shoulders began to sag, and I felt increasingly drained.

What on earth was I putting myself through in the middle of the night?

Cough, cough.

While I roamed around wondering if there was something unusual, I heard a coughing sound.

Looking in that direction, I saw a container house with its door wide open.

Entering the container house where the coughing sound had come from, I found a boy lying on a bed in a pitch-black room without a single light.

He had sunken eyes, dark circles, and an extremely fatigued expression.

“Ah, haha. Are you normal, uncle?”

The boy said with a faint smile, followed by a bloody cough as he spoke.

“Uncle. Is this a nightmare? When will I wake up from this dream?”

The boy said something utterly incomprehensible.

What nonsense is this kid babbling? Just as I was about to say that, the boy began to vomit blood violently.

“Ugh! What, what is happening?”

The boy, as if determined to expel everything inside him, was spewing blood, leaving only shriveled skin behind.

Gasp, gasp.

I couldn’t breathe properly at that horrid sight.

I felt my hands and feet go icy, probably from the shock.

As I took a moment to collect myself, I found I had to scream once more.

“AHHHHHHHHHH!”

Seeing the blood scattered across the floor flow back into the boy’s body, causing him to swell again, I couldn’t hold back and rushed outside.

“This is insane. What the hell is going on? Is this the reason the government imposed a blockade?”

“Then you should inform us! What happened to the citizens’ right to know?”

“If it’s such a dangerous place, you should let us know!!!”

The camp, which had appeared quiet and peaceful at first glance, completely transformed its impression.

It looked like a scene from a horror game.

The sticky stares were unyielding wherever I moved.

And only now did I realize that these creatures were gradually surrounding me.

It’s terrifying.

I can’t even tell whether the people in this camp are human anymore.

From way far away, slowly. The encirclement aimed at me was inescapable.

Before I could even reach the small hole I entered through, I became completely trapped, unable to move.

It felt like being crammed into a crowded subway, tightly surrounded while everyone stared intently at me.

A man approached slowly before gripping my shoulder tightly, almost painfully.

“W-what are you doing now? You know actions like this can be regarded as assault, right?”

But nobody responded to my words, they only kept smiling.

Kck, kck, kck.

With an eerie choking laugh, they started dragging me roughly.

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

I struggled to escape by flaunting my fame, but it was all in vain.

Rather, there was an eerie atmosphere about it.

It felt as if these folks weren’t reckless criminals giving up on everything, but something fundamentally different.

As I reached that realization, I began to feel confident.

These creatures aren’t human.

Now that I looked closely, they didn’t have human-like expressions.

Their faces were contorted strangely.

It was hard to express in words, but if I had to describe it, it was like their expressions were spinning around.

I couldn’t even fathom how one could make such a face.

At that moment, blood began spewing from my mouth like a broken faucet.

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

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!”

The image of that emaciated boy came to mind.

I tried to halt the blood flowing from my mouth, but it just kept gushing out incessantly.

I felt the strength leave my limbs, collapsing like empty skin.

With the cold creeping in, my vision began to darken.

In that obscured vision, it seemed like I caught a glimpse of the ‘Gray Reaper.’

‘P-PLEASE, SAVE ME.’

But those words couldn’t form into language, they scattered.