The Uneventful Neighborhood – Chapter 2

Convenience Store, Back Alley.

…

Pocket money by snagging people? It’s simple.

First, you spot a person. Honestly, this is the most important part. If you’ve never seen a person before, it’s hard to tell what’s a person and what isn’t.

Don’t try to distinguish them by whether they look bizarrely unusual or act awkwardly. That won’t work. Some of the residents around here have those traits too. If you mistake someone for a mimic or get tangled up with folks from a different cultural sphere, it’s a headache waiting to happen.

The most crucial trait of a person is that they act like they can’t see us. Probably because they actually can’t. Anyway, after dealing with them a few times, you get a feel for it.

Second, you catch the person. If it’s just the two of you, it’s easy. Just nab them with a quick grab. But weirdly, people are more likely to show up in places where residents gather in droves. Guess they don’t like being alone either. In a bustling spot like the middle of a market, where everyone’s buzzing around, they stand out even more because they act like no one’s there. Most residents ignore them because they don’t want to get involved.

Anyway, if you just nab them outright in a crowded place like that, it draws attention. What if you get blood on a nearby resident’s clothes? They’d throw a fit and demand compensation. So, you start by talking to them. No matter how dense they are, once you speak, they notice the residents. That’s how you hook them first.

And third, the cleanup. This part can be tricky if you don’t know the trick. Ideally, after talking, you lead them somewhere deserted, but they’ve got brains too and don’t follow easily. In that case, keep some cheap snacks like candy in your pocket and offer them one.

Do they take it? Don’t be shocked, but there’s a really high chance they will. None of the residents around here would fall for such a dumb ploy, but for some reason, these guys take the stuff without hesitation. After that, it’s easy. [You take it back.] Forcing them to pay a price for what you gave them isn’t illegal, and there are plenty of parts you can claim as payment. So far, I’ve snagged one person a week with this method. Never failed once…

…

So why’d you fail today?

…

Ugh, that damn Mister. Stop asking useless questions and wipe off this pollen properly! I’m practically paralyzed from the antennae down and can’t move a thing. I bolted right away, even wearing a biochemical suit, so how the hell did it seep inside? That guy’s a real monster…

…

Guess I won’t be snagging people starting next week. I gave you some emergency cleanup, but it’s not nearly enough, and I’ll need to soak in a detox tank for about three weeks to get this poison out. Anyway, don’t pull stunts like that in public, kids. Hunters and other residents don’t skip these cheap tricks because they don’t know them.

Clothing Store

Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot that I smell like flowers.

The first ones to point it out were my coworkers. They said I’ve been giving off a floral scent recently and asked if I’d started using some kind of spray. Some asked if I’d gotten into perfumes, while others wondered if I’d suddenly started taking better care of myself. Of course, I don’t do either, so it just feels unfair.

But it’s not just my coworkers saying this. I hear it when I go out to meet clients, and as the year-end approaches, with more gatherings and drinking parties, the first topic that comes up is the flower smell. At this point, it’s getting weird. I don’t wear perfume, and I haven’t changed my soap or shampoo.

I tried sniffing myself, but to begin with, my sense of smell is dull, so I can’t pick up scents well. I can only detect strong or bad odors, and if a smell is even slightly faint, I often miss it entirely. Plus, people generally have a hard time judging their own body odor, so no matter how hard I try, I can’t even guess what this supposed floral scent coming from me is.

It’s a relief that it’s not something like fish or food waste, but still, I worry it might give others a bad impression. I discreetly asked a coworker who’s really into perfumes, bribing them with some pastries from a famous bakery, and this is what they said:

“I swear I don’t use any perfume or anything. What’s this smell like? Is it, like, a harsh, cheap perfume or something?”

“No, it’s definitely not that. The smell coming from you, Taeyool, is… how do I put it? Like flowers from a deep forest? Or like the scent of dried flower bookmarks you find in old books at an antique shop? Oh, but it’s not artificial—it feels like fresh, living flowers. It’s like walking under a blooming tree. But not just any tree, like one that’s a hundred or two hundred years old.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, now that I’m saying it, I don’t even know what I mean. But seriously, this isn’t perfume? If there’s a perfume like this, I’d buy it and wear it myself. I thought maybe you were wearing it because you’re seeing someone and have good taste.”

I don’t know if they just have a poetic way of speaking or if the smell is genuinely hard to describe, but it doesn’t sound like a bad review. It’s definitely a unique scent, though.

Where could this smell be coming from? I’m certain I started hearing about it more often after I moved, but I have no guesses about its source, so I decided to let go of my curiosity and just forget about the smell.

People only find unfamiliar scents interesting for a day or two anyway. As time passes, they get used to it, and the topic of the smell, which sparked interest at first, quickly faded.

But there was one person who kept noticing my scent: the owner of the café I often visit. I casually asked why I never see the part-timer anymore and why he’s running the place himself, and he said the part-timer had to switch from weekend shifts to weekdays due to personal reasons. That makes sense. I don’t have time to come here on weekdays, so I always show up on weekends.

“You’re giving off that floral scent again today, sir. I always think it’s such a peculiar smell.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been hearing that a lot…”

“By the way, I heard there’s a powder that’s great for getting rid of odors, so I got some. Want to try it?”

“Huh? No, I’m not really desperate to get rid of it.”

“But you might change your mind. I’ll give it to you as a freebie, so try sprinkling some on when you have time. It might be best to do it when you’re alone.”

The café owner said this and forced something into my hand. He called it a freebie, but to me, it felt like he was practically shoving it at me. I thought maybe a café’s deodorizer would be something like ground coffee bean waste, but surprisingly, it was some mysterious white powder. Not a spray like Febreze, but a powder? Never heard of such a thing. Is this some cheap, hard-to-sell deodorizer?

That owner, he looks friendly enough and is pretty well-groomed for his age, but there’s something unsettling about him. I stuffed the powder deep into my bag and forgot about it.

Time passed without incident. The days grew colder, and I was more focused on buttoning up my collar and shoving my hands in my pockets than admiring the crisp sky. The temperature had dropped so much that I could barely stand it without a jacket, so I wandered around the downtown area to buy some winter clothes.

This area has plenty of restaurants, but there are even more clothing stores. I usually buy everyday clothes at outlets or the men’s section of big marts, but sometimes browsing clothing stores like this and picking out stuff is kind of fun.

It’s been a while since I moved here, but this is the first time I’ve shopped for clothes at a place like this. While wandering around looking at clothes, I was drawn to a thin puffer jacket on a mannequin and stepped boldly into the store. Yeah, I wanted something like that. It’s too early to wear a long puffer, and a half-length coat isn’t enough to keep out the chill.

I decided to try it on, and if it fit, I’d buy it. As I opened the store door, a bell jingled, and a wave of warmth hit me. Are stores already turning on heaters? Well, it’s been pretty cold lately, so it’s not surprising. The subtle chill outside made the warmth feel welcoming.

But something was off. This didn’t seem like the store I’d seen through the glass door. Even the employee standing in front of me wasn’t the woman in a cardigan I’d glimpsed behind the mannequin…

“Welcome, sir! The suit you ordered last time is perfectly finished. Would you like to try it on in the fitting room?”

For some reason, it was a young man in a department store-style uniform, standing with his eyes closed. A suit I ordered last time? I didn’t come here for a suit. I’ve never even been to a store like this, so there’s no way I ordered anything.

But I wasn’t the only one confused. The young employee sniffed the air, looking perplexed, and tilted his head.

“Uh, hold on. Huh?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I’m so sorry. Really sorry. I’m blind, so I mistook you for another customer just by smell.”

“Smell?”

I was inwardly startled to hear about smells again after a while. So, by smell, he means… the flower scent? I can’t smell it myself, but since everyone says it’s such a distinct scent, it’s not impossible that someone could identify people by it.

“Yes. For a moment, I thought you had the same scent as one of our regulars… I only realized you’re someone else after sniffing more closely.”

“Oh, I see. That can happen.”

“I’m sorry for the mix-up. But, with all due respect, could you please leave? This store doesn’t sell clothes suitable for you. And I don’t think you’d be able to pay the price.”

What? I just came to buy a puffer jacket, and he’s talking about a price? I was dumbfounded and looked around the store, only to flinch in surprise. I hadn’t noticed until now, but this was a tailor shop. The interior looked so upscale that getting a single suit made here would probably cost hundreds of thousands of won.

‘That’s weird. I came to buy a puffer jacket, so why am I in a tailor shop? Am I so tired lately that I keep walking into the wrong places?’

Saying I didn’t seem able to pay the price felt like they were shooing a broke guy out of a luxury store, but the employee’s demeanor was so polite that I couldn’t argue. Plus, getting mad at someone who’s blind felt wrong. I wondered how a blind person could work at a tailor shop, but it’s a diverse world these days. If he’s capable of working despite visual impairment, that’s probably why he’s here.

Then, I heard the door open behind me. A faint floral scent brushed my nose, and the employee’s face lit up.

“Ah, now you’ve really arrived. Here’s the suit you ordered last time.”

“…Why are you here?”

A familiar voice rang out. Mister was looking down at me with an utterly bewildered expression. I didn’t know how to respond. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here either.

Did I mix up the door with the store next door? I was about to make some lame excuse like that when Mister seemed to decide he needed to talk to the employee first and stepped forward.

“Thank you. Can I try it on?”

“Of course! Let me know if anything feels off.”

“I’ll go try it on then. …Hey, you, sit here for a bit. Don’t wander off somewhere weird and cause trouble again.”

“You’re together? No wonder you had the same scent… Oh, please sit here.”

The employee, still wearing a polite smile, guided me to a nearby sofa. I sat on the luxurious sofa and waited for Mister. He took a shopping bag from the employee, went into the fitting room, and soon came out in the suit.

‘Wow, he looks cool.’

Maybe because the suit fit perfectly, he looked completely different from usual. Muscular guys often struggle with suit fits because of their build, but this custom suit looked amazing on him. The line from his broad shoulders down his back was sturdy but not bulky, falling cleanly instead.

The employee checked the suit by feeling it with his fingertips, and Mister looked in the mirror, giving a satisfied smile.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Is there anything uncomfortable?”

“It’s fine. Clothes from here usually fit well. I was pressed for time, so I’m glad it turned out this good.”

Mister said this and glanced at me. He must’ve found my dazed staring amusing because he let out a small chuckle. He went back to the fitting room, changed, and when the employee repacked the suit, he gestured for me to follow. I hurriedly left the store with him.

‘That’s weird. Where’s the store that was selling the puffer jacket?’

I thought I’d walked into the wrong store by mistake, but for some reason, the men’s clothing store I’d seen earlier was nowhere near the tailor shop. Did the tailor shop have two exits? Maybe I came out a different one, and that’s why I can’t see it?

‘Hmm, whatever.’

Well, I’ll probably stumble across it again if I keep wandering. I decided not to make a big deal of it. By the way, that Mister looks pretty sharp in a suit. I couldn’t help but glance at his shopping bag, and he responded a bit awkwardly.

“It’s for a cousin’s, uh… wedding? Something like that.”

“Your cousin’s wedding? Oh, that’s why you got the suit.”

“Yeah. I don’t usually like those kinds of events, but it’s been like 40 years for them, so it’s a big deal. These days, there aren’t many occasions like that, so I have to go whether I like it or not.”

“Your cousin’s getting married for the first time at 40? That’s definitely worth celebrating.”

“Uh, yeah. Something like that. I didn’t have anything formal to wear, so I got a suit made.”

He was oddly evasive, so maybe there’s some story behind the wedding? Or maybe he’s not on great terms with them. I don’t know, but prying would be rude, so I nodded vaguely and let it slide.

“Anyway, Mister, that suit looked really good on you. You seemed like a totally different person.”

“Really? Well, that shop does make good clothes. The last suit I got from there lasted a long time too.”

Come to think of it, is Mister married or not? The random question popped into my head. Given his age, it wouldn’t be surprising if he was, but somehow, he gives off the vibe of someone who wouldn’t be, and that wouldn’t be surprising either.

I kind of hope he’s not married. Because, well… My thoughts started veering into embarrassing territory, so I cut them off and looked at Mister. Now that I was paying attention, I noticed a strange scent coming from him. It was like…

“Right, this smell is your smell, Mister.”

“Huh? What smell?”

“The flower smell. I just realized, but you really do have a nice floral scent. An old flower smell.”

It hit me only after mulling over the employee’s words. The scent everyone said was coming from me was actually his scent.

Maybe because we’ve been meeting so often, it rubbed off on me? I leaned in and sniffed him. It was a truly unique and fascinating scent. Deep and distant, yet vibrant and alive. I couldn’t tell what kind of flower it was no matter how much I sniffed, but that didn’t matter. I just wanted to keep smelling it.

The man himself didn’t seem aware of it, just staring wide-eyed. He seemed more flustered by my sniffing than anything.

“Uh, what…? Really? Is it, like, good?”

“It’s a good smell. Not just because it’s your smell, but it’s definitely one I want to keep smelling.”

“Is that so? Uh, then. What should I say? I mean, you smell like… meat? Warm, kind of savory.”

“Oh, I had galbi at a company dinner yesterday. Is that smell still lingering?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Is that a compliment? Or is he just flustered and saying whatever? Either way, I didn’t expect to figure out the source of the smell like this. Honestly, I was kind of happy. Thinking that a bit of Mister’s scent had rubbed off on me made me feel like we were closer somehow.

Does this Mister like wearing cologne? Or is it just his natural scent? I wondered if some of my scent had rubbed off on him too, but if my scent is just yesterday’s galbi, maybe it’s better if it doesn’t.

“Anyway, uh, your smell isn’t bad either.”

“Thanks for saying that. Do you like charcoal-grilled galbi, Mister?”

“I’m not a fan of the smell of burning wood. Or meat, for that matter.”

“Oh.”

“But I like the smell coming from you.”

“Is that your way of saying you like me?”

“You keep saying shameless stuff with that bold face?!”

Clearly flustered, the man quickened his pace and then vanished at some point. He ran off again. I’m so used to it by now that it’s not even surprising.

‘Now that I think about it, I should’ve asked what food he likes. It’d be nice to eat something tasty together sometime.’

I looked around in case I’d spot Mister, but he was long gone. Still, it wasn’t a total loss—I found the clothing store I’d passed earlier and bought a white puffer jacket and thick navy cotton pants. At least I accomplished my original goal, so it was a decent outing.

Clothing Store, Back Alley.

…

Hey, I’ve got a question.

…

What’s up?

…

If someone says you smell like flowers, is that usually a compliment?

…

A compliment…? What’s the exact vibe, though?

…

Well, they said it’s a nice smell. Like, they want to keep smelling it.

…

Then it’s a compliment, right? I mean, for folks like us, a flower smell is just a flower smell, but I heard it feels special to non-plant types. If those kinds of people said it, it’s probably a compliment. These days, everyone’s sensitive about smell-related comments, so people are careful with their words, but older folks still use that kind of compliment a lot.

…

That guy didn’t seem that old… Anyway, that’s a relief. Oh, and one more thing, just to check. What about telling a non-plant type they smell like meat? Is that a compliment?

…

No matter how you try to spin it, that doesn’t sound like a compliment… Uh, I mean, are you planning to eat them?

…

W-Wait, eat them? Are you crazy? Guess I shouldn’t have asked. Uh, thanks anyway.

…

The man, looking like he’d just messed up, hurriedly headed home. Seriously, that Mister’s been acting weird lately. The young man muttered to himself as he diligently swept the fallen leaves in front of his house.

He’d heard that after 40 years, a distant colony had finally produced a new seed. It’s a huge deal since both sides are so short on hands. Given their species’ traits, finding a suitable mate to bear seeds is tough, and even if you find one, merging bodies to carry your kind’s seed is no small decision. That colony’s probably in full festival mode right now. When the [Harvest Ceremony] comes around, Mister will likely represent their neighborhood to offer congratulations.

Their own colony hasn’t had seed news in nearly 70 years, which is worrisome. When will they finally see a new seed? Even though their species is long-lived, it’d be better if the population grew. Hoping he’d one day meet a good mate himself, the young man finished cleaning.

Subway Station

“I’ll be gone for a few days. It’s for that cousin’s wedding I mentioned before.”

Two days ago, while walking along the stream as usual, Mister told me this with a serious expression. His face looked like a parent dropping their kid off at daycare before heading to work, which was a bit comical but also warmed a corner of my heart.

“For how many days? Are you going far?”

“It’s not far, but I have to help out with some things there.”

“Wedding stuff…?”

“Other stuff. It’s kind of hard to explain in detail.”

I don’t know the specifics, but it seems the wedding is just one part of it, and he’s going to help with some family matters. Since he seemed reluctant to explain further, I didn’t press him. Anyway, the important thing is something else. The fact that I won’t see him for a few days, and…

“You came all the way here just to tell me that? Worried I’d be lonely?”

“I wish it was just that, man.”

He flinched and stepped back but didn’t deny it. That made me the happiest. A relationship where he goes out of his way to tell me he’ll be gone for a few days is definitely not a trivial one. As my face flushed red, he looked at me with a strange expression, then sighed and ruffled my hair.

“I came because I’m worried. Worried you’ll get into some weird trouble.”

“Trouble? What do you mean? I’m not the type to jaywalk or anything.”

“Not that kind of trouble… Anyway, remember what I told you last time.”

“What…? You mean the thing about not giving or taking stuff?”

“Why is that the only thing you remember? I definitely said more.”

He didn’t just ruffle my hair but kept patting my neck and back too. The unusually excessive contact made my face feel hot. It felt less like patting and more like he was smearing something on my back, but such minor details didn’t seem to matter.

“I didn’t have high expectations for you to begin with, so I’ll say it again. If a stranger—or even someone you know—talks to you, it doesn’t matter. They could be a mimic. Anyway, if someone speaks to you on an empty street with no one else around, you absolutely have to pretend you didn’t hear them.”

“Mimic…?”

“Did I say mimic? I mean, it could be someone who looks similar. That kind of detail doesn’t matter. The point is, if you’re on a street with no one else around and someone talks to you, you have to act like you didn’t hear them.”

This Mister says weird things sometimes. I was a bit puzzled, but it felt almost like jealousy, which wasn’t entirely bad. So, he’s saying not to respond if anyone other than him talks to me, right? Depending on how you interpret it, it’s a heart-fluttering comment.

“Don’t even say no. Don’t get mad and tell them to leave you alone. Just pretend you didn’t hear. Better yet, wear earphones all the time. Play music loud. Then you really won’t hear, and it’ll be safer.”

“Are you that bothered by me talking to other people?”

“It’s not that I’m bothered, it’s that I don’t know what kind of mess you’ll get into. It’s bad enough you give and take stuff with just anyone, but you might end up causing a huge incident…”

So, in the end, he’s worried I might do to others what I’ve done with him. I grinned, and Mister glared at me before smacking me on the back. It hurt quite a bit since he put some force into it.

“Ow!”

“Just be careful. I don’t think anything will happen in just three or four days, but you never know. Guys who can smell you probably won’t come near, but… don’t cause trouble. Got it?”

He repeated his warnings several times before disappearing as usual. Not seeing him for a few days was disappointing, but his obvious concern made the disappointment and sadness fade a bit.

The next day, I went to work as usual and immediately drew everyone’s attention.

“Taeyool, got a date today? What’s with you all of a sudden?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Your flower scent is way stronger than usual. You said it wasn’t perfume, but are you actually wearing something?”

Not just the department head but others were exchanging similar looks, so I was inwardly flustered and tried sniffing myself. Even my nose, which usually can’t pick up subtle scents, caught a faint floral smell.

No wonder people were glancing at me on my way to work. Was it because of my contact with Mister yesterday? I borrowed some FeXreze from the break room and sprayed it, but it did nothing to mask the scent.

“Man, I could empty this whole can, and it wouldn’t help. It’s useless. How much perfume did you use?”

“I swear it’s not perfume! Is it really that strong?”

“It’s making my head spin. It’s almost uncomfortable to get close. No offense, but the smell makes my limbs tingle and my legs feel weak… By the way, Taeyool, don’t you have an off-site meeting today? What’re you gonna do?”

What did that Mister do to me, even if he was worried? While hesitating in embarrassment, I remembered the powder the café owner gave me to remove odors. Luckily, I found it quickly after rummaging through my bag. It was a glass jar the size of an ink bottle, filled with fine white powder.

“Is that a deodorizer?”

“That’s what I was told. I don’t know if it’ll work, but let’s see.”

I pinched a bit of the powder with my fingertips and lightly sprinkled it on the sleeve of my dress shirt. I had no idea how this was supposed to deodorize, but I figured it was better than nothing. Honestly, I didn’t expect much…

“Whoa, really? It actually worked. The smell’s definitely faded.”

“With just that little bit? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. There’s still a bit of the scent, but it’s way better than before.”

Are they messing with me? A tiny pinch of powder got rid of a smell that Febreze couldn’t touch? I thought my coworkers were playing a prank, but they were genuinely amazed, staring at the powder from the café owner.

“Where’d you get that powder? If I could buy some, I’d use it at home. My cat’s litter box smells awful…”

“I got it from someone, so I don’t know exactly where it’s sold. But you’re not joking, right?”

It was suspicious, but it was a relief that the smell had lessened. After getting confirmation from my coworkers that it was fine now, I headed out for my meeting. People still glanced at me, but they didn’t react negatively like the ones this morning.

‘Should I sprinkle more? The place I’m going to has a formal vibe, so they probably won’t like perfume smells.’

I seriously considered it but decided against it. More powder might get rid of the smell, but I didn’t want to put some weird white powder from an unknown source on my body. Doesn’t white powder usually scream drugs? Of course, I don’t think the café owner would give me actual drugs, but it still felt uneasy.

And that wasn’t the only reason. Sprinkling a ton of powder to completely erase the smell would mean wiping away Mister’s trace too. That felt like a shame. He said he’d be back in a few days, but he might not have time to come see me right after the wedding. Maybe he has his own circumstances and we won’t meet for a while. If so…

‘Let it be. It’ll probably fade on its own with time, right?’

It might be stubbornness, but I went to the client without adding more powder. As expected, they didn’t seem thrilled about the floral scent, but I grinned shamelessly and got the job done. I’ve always been told I look a bit clueless, so even if they gave me looks, I’d smile and play dumb, and they’d usually give up.

Luckily, I had no other plans besides the meeting, so I got to leave work earlier than usual. It felt a bit uneasy to leave so early, but after weeks of constant overtime, a day like this should be fine, right?

[Next station is XX Station, XX Station.]

After a few stops on the subway, my neighborhood’s station was announced. I decided to stop by the café on my way home to ask about the powder and got off the train. Maybe because of the time, the station was pretty empty, with no rush-hour commuters. A few elderly people and a couple of leisurely-looking college students got off and headed up the stairs.

‘I wish the bus was this empty. Then I could sit.’

I usually stand on the bus, so I sometimes want to sit and casually look out the window. I strolled up the stairs toward the ticket gate. Now that I think about it, should I stop by the donut shop in the station? I’m going to the café, but I don’t plan to buy anything there, and besides, the bakery items at the café are different from the donuts sold here. Station donuts are oddly greasy and sweet but addictively keep you eating.

I’ll eat donuts at home while watching TV. With that thought, I climbed the stairs absentmindedly. I tapped my transit card at the gate, and it beeped as the fare was deducted. Where’s the donut shop again? I was blankly looking around when I realized something.

‘Huh?’

There was no one in the station.

Even the convenience store and phone case shop were completely empty.

It felt like I’d stepped into a ghost station. I jokingly call this area rural, but this station, a few dozen minutes by bus, is decently sized with a fair amount of foot traffic. Even if I missed rush hour, it shouldn’t be this deserted.

Plus, it was weird that not only the passengers who got off with me but also the shop staff were gone. Sure, staff are human too, and if there are no customers, they might step out to the bathroom, but it’s odd for every shop to be empty. Just in case, I went to the donut shop, but it was the same—no one.

‘I don’t know what’s going on, but this feels bad. I need to get out.’

There’ll probably be people outside the station. I tried to reassure myself, but I couldn’t help the nervous sweat dripping down. As I instinctively raised my shirt sleeve to wipe my forehead, I noticed another oddity.

‘It’s damp.’

The left sleeve of my dress shirt was strangely wet. Not from wiping sweat—I hadn’t even touched my forehead yet, but it already felt clammy and sticky. Like I’d spilled a sweet drink on it. Thinking it was weird, I glanced at the sleeve and saw a suspicious stain.

It was a sap-like liquid, a mix of green, purple, and dark reddish-brown. Something you’d never pick up in a subway station.

‘What… what is this?’

In my panic, I nearly lost my balance. As I steadied myself by grabbing the wall with my right hand, I felt another anomaly. A squishy sensation at my fingertips. I was sure I’d touched a solid concrete wall.

It pulsed like I was feeling a blood vessel, and when I pressed harder, it pushed back with a vague elasticity. Plus, it was oddly warm. I’ve never touched a living creature’s guts, but if I did, wouldn’t it feel like this?

But before I could be shocked, I felt something bizarre. When I touched the wall with my left hand, it felt normally solid. Yet my right hand still felt that unsettling squishiness.

Why was I only feeling this with my right hand? To be precise, my right thumb and index finger. The other fingers and my palm felt a slightly firmer wall. Just to check, I touched the wall with the back of my right hand, and this time, it felt like regular concrete.

I tested the wall with other parts of my body. Someone might think I was a lunatic rubbing up against the wall, but since no one was here, it didn’t matter. After various experiments, most of my body perceived the wall normally.

Except for two spots. One was my right thumb and index finger. The other was…

‘My left shirt sleeve. When I touch the wall with it, it feels squishy like my right hand.’

Plus, the green and purple stains were even darker. I hesitated, unable to bring myself to touch the stains. What was going on? The wall felt like grotesque living tissue, but that sensation was only in specific spots? Why?

‘My left hand is fine. My right sleeve is fine too. So it’s not my hands themselves? Wait, let’s think. The common factor between the parts feeling this weirdness…’

It took a while to dig through my memory for the common thread, but once I realized it, it was clear.

‘The powder.’

Yes, the deodorizing powder I used this morning to mask the smell. I’d pinched a bit of it with my right thumb and index finger and sprinkled it on my left shirt sleeve. That small amount was enough to reduce the smell, so I didn’t bother using more.

Right, maybe this is a side effect of the powder. It makes sense when you think about it. A powder that can erase a smell instantly with just a tiny bit? No matter how you look at it, that’s suspicious. Maybe some chemical in the powder caused a sensory abnormality, making me feel that gross sensation when I touched the wall.

I need to get to that café owner and find out what he gave me. I started heading toward the exit, but suddenly, a voice called out from ahead.

“Is something wrong? Do you need help?”

It was a woman in a station staff uniform. I’m not sure if it was actually a station uniform. I just assumed it was because of the [Helper] name tag, white shirt, navy dress pants, and the cap she wore low.

Perfect timing. Should I ask her why the station is so empty? But I couldn’t. I was about to ask for help, but just before I opened my mouth, I realized something was off.

That station staff, isn’t she standing right in the middle of the passageway? Not at the end or a corner, but smack in the center of a long underground corridor.

Yet, I hadn’t sensed a single hint of anyone approaching the middle of the passageway. There were no doors nearby she could’ve come from, and it didn’t seem like there was a blind spot I missed…

It was like she’d sprouted up in the middle of the corridor.

The moment I realized that, I remembered Mister’s advice. When someone approaches you while you’re alone, you should…

“Do you need help?”

Pretend you didn’t hear. The station staff asked again, but instead of answering, I turned and headed for the stairs. There was an elevator for the elderly nearby, but I didn’t want to take it. Not just because I’m not elderly, but because I’d have to press the button, and I couldn’t predict what that button would feel like.

‘That station staff isn’t normal. Like that kid from the convenience store, or the tailor shop employee… or like Mister said.’

I need to get out of here. Because I have to confront the café owner. I don’t know if he’ll be there or if anyone will be at the café. But there’s another important reason, one that’s hard to call rational but feels critical.

This subway station is her domain. A clear gut feeling, like a flashing warning light, told me that if I could just get out of the station, the station staff wouldn’t follow.

“Why were you touching the wall? Were you looking for the way out?”

The station staff slowly followed me. Her voice wasn’t awkward and was calm, but I felt her words were clearly strange. Who in the world touches a wall to find an exit? Even a visually impaired person would follow braille blocks or ask for help, not writhe against a wall.

“Are you lost and can’t find the way out? Can’t you see the exit at all?”

It’s odd to ask if I can’t see the exit when there are signs pointing to it everywhere. I know the way out. I climb the stairs nearby, turn left, walk a bit, then climb another set of stairs to the surface, and there’s Exit 2. A short walk from there, and I’m at the bus stop. So…

“Not seeing the exit, does that mean you’re a fare-dodger?”

So, I shouldn’t react to the station staff whispering right behind me, practically glued to my back. I can’t say I see the exit or that I’m not a fare-dodger. That would be admitting I heard her voice.

“Are you a fare-dodger?”

I don’t know anything. I don’t understand what’s happening behind me and should act like a clueless idiot who sees nothing. I’m good at that anyway. I’m not the sharpest, and even if I notice something, I’m a pro at playing dumb.

“Are you a fare-dodger? You didn’t pay the fare, did you?”

I can’t say I tapped my card at the gate and I’m not a fare-dodger. Proving it doesn’t have to be with words. Actions can prove it just as well.

I can see the exit clearly. I’ve climbed the stairs, turned left, walked a bit, and there’s Exit 2 right there. Now, if I climb the stairs to the surface…

“Or perhaps, you don’t have the ability to pay the fare?”

But at that moment, my left shirt sleeve became unbearably heavy. I glanced at it absentmindedly, and the sleeve was now drenched in blood and fat, not just stains.

The metallic smell of blood made my stomach churn. The slimy sensation of yellowish fat clinging to my wrist was so creepy I wanted to scrub it off. But I couldn’t move my right hand. My thumb and index finger throbbed like they were about to be torn off, and the other fingers felt like they were being held, refusing to move.

I wanted to collapse or lean on something, but I couldn’t. Not just because of the station staff following me. If I sat down here, my hands would inevitably touch the floor, and I didn’t even want to imagine what that would feel like.

All I could do was climb the stairs. I tried to block out the images that came to mind. The cliché from countless horror movies: the exit that’s supposed to be there, casually blocked by a wall. Those ominous thoughts kept creeping in, but still…

‘Don’t overthink it.’

Worrying about things that haven’t happened is as foolish as it gets. I haven’t done anything wrong or dodged a fare, so there’s no reason to be scared. I touched the wall a bit, but that’s not a big deal, right? Isn’t it ruder to suspect me of fare-dodging just for touching a wall?

Besides, if I think about it calmly, the situation isn’t even that bad. My fingers are numb and won’t move well, but it doesn’t stop me from walking. If someone was really holding me, I wouldn’t be able to walk this freely. Maybe my fingers are numb and sore because of the powder’s side effects. Or because I’m too tense.

My sleeve has something weird on it, but it’s not my blood. I don’t even know if it’s human blood. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone with malicious intent mixed animal blood and fat and smeared it on my sleeve. Sure, that kind of calculated malice is unsettling in its own way, but at least it’s explainable.

And crucially, the station staff is just following me right now. She’s close enough to grab me if she reached out, but she hasn’t seized my wrist or yanked my collar to throw me down the stairs.

Maybe it’s because I followed Mister’s advice? If I’d carelessly responded to the station staff, would I have been caught before getting this far?

‘I don’t know. But… my legs are heavy.’

I tried to think positively, but the tension wouldn’t go away. My calves felt stiff as stone, making it hard to walk properly. If I let my guard down even a little, I’d fall backward and tumble down. The exit is clearly up there. It’s not blocked by a wall or leading to some strange world—it’s the same sky I always see.

Can I walk just a bit more? Just a few more steps…

“Aren’t you the Crow Hunter?”

That’s when it happened. The oppressive weight gripping my body suddenly lifted. The station staff, who’d been following me, stopped in her tracks as if she’d run into someone she was happy to talk to.

“To think I’d meet the Hunter in a place like this. What brings you here?”

Hunter? Who’s that? A Crow Hunter, no less—it sounded like some cringeworthy second-tier job title from a game. I almost stopped to look back but quickly snapped out of it.

This is my chance. If I hurry up the stairs now, I can get outside.

“Me? I was trying to catch someone suspected of fare-dodging. Judging by how they were rubbing against a blank wall or pushing it, they were probably looking for the exit.”

Of course, I was curious. The station staff seemed to be talking to someone, but I wasn’t even sure if there was anyone there. Forget sensing a presence—I couldn’t hear a responding voice. It was like she was talking to thin air.

Is something wrong with that staff member? She’s been going on about fare-dodgers, and now she’s talking to nothing. Maybe she’s suffering from hallucinations or auditory delusions and doesn’t actually mean me any harm. Thinking that way made me feel a bit better.

“Not a fare-dodger? Oh, it was just a broken gate. That does happen a lot these days. Thanks for letting me know. They definitely went past the exit, so it’s not fare-dodging… Still, I was worried. I asked if they were a fare-dodger, and they didn’t even say no, so I was scared I’d let one slip.”

As I finally stepped outside the exit, a clear sky and fluffy clouds filled my view, and my mind felt much calmer. I glanced at my left sleeve, and the stains from earlier were completely gone.

‘Huh? What?’

Was the stain just my imagination? It’s absurd to think my sleeve got smeared with blood just from walking through a subway station. Maybe I’ve been seeing things because of all the recent overtime? If it was real blood, I’d have had a hell of a time cleaning it, so this is probably for the best.

“Hearing problems? Now that you mention it, that could be it! If you hadn’t told me, Hunter, I might’ve nabbed an innocent person. So, about your business… Oh, nothing else? Then I’ll get back to work.”

I don’t know exactly, but it seems the station staff misunderstood something on her own. I took a deep breath to steady myself and headed straight for the café. I don’t know what happened, but since I escaped danger, I need to ask the owner what this powder is.

‘Wait, did I really escape danger?’

The thought crossed my mind briefly, but I pushed it aside. Even outside the station, the streets were still empty. The chairs by the restaurant windows I glanced at were also vacant. But it’s fine. There’s no one chasing me anymore. I’ve definitely escaped the immediate threat, I can see it…

“Even if you were freaking out trying to get out of the station, how can you just leave? If someone helps you, shouldn’t you at least say thank you?”

I froze in place, startled. A voice came from right behind me. Was it that station staff? No, it was a woman’s voice, but it was different. The station staff’s voice sounded older, while this one was younger, almost lively. Plus, it wasn’t stiff like a machine—it had a cheerful tone.

I can’t look back. If I pretend I can’t hear, like with the station staff, I can shake her off. I forced myself to keep walking, but unfortunately, it didn’t work. Because…

“Hey, I saw you at the convenience store before, remember? I know you’re not deaf.”

“……!”

My steps slowed involuntarily. The owner of the voice strode past me. It was a tall woman, not quite as tall as me but close to 180cm. Her face was hard to see under a low cap, but her bright navy uniform with a fluorescent vest was eye-catching.

A police officer? It looked like that kind of outfit. As I hesitated, she blocked my path and spoke.

“Why’d you touch the wall? That’s why the station mistook you for a suspicious person.”

“Uh, I felt something weird on the wall…? By the way, were you the one talking to that station staff earlier? Um, thank you, officer.”

The station? She probably meant the station staff misunderstood me. But something was odd. If she was talking to the station staff, shouldn’t I have heard her voice? Her tone is high and loud—it’s not something I’d miss.

It was a bit strange, but I nodded for now. The officer stared at me with an odd expression before sighing.

“Anyway, sorry for coming late. I meant to get here earlier, but your scent was mostly gone.”

“Huh? You have business with me? Did I commit a crime or something…?”

“No, it’s not that. I was asked personally to check on you. It’s not official police business, so don’t worry too much. But… let me tell you something. This neighborhood is pretty dangerous for someone like you.”

What does she mean by someone like me? A bit clueless and oblivious? By the way, this neighborhood does seem dangerous. If even a police officer in charge of public safety says so, the crime rate must be high.

So far, Mister has helped me avoid big trouble, but if I’d wandered around carelessly on my own, I might’ve gotten caught up in something weird. Even this time, I got out safely thanks to the officer’s help.

But what does she mean by being asked personally? I don’t have any big connections with the police, and there’s no reason for an officer to come to the subway station just to help me…

“Uh, just to check, you said you were asked. Who asked you? I have no idea.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re sharp or clueless. Your behavior earlier suggests you have some judgment, at least.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever, if you didn’t get it, fine. But if you’re the guy that Mister’s head over heels for, you can’t be completely hopeless… I’d recommend going straight home today without stopping anywhere. Don’t even take the bus.”

Can’t she explain things clearly? Before I could protest, the officer vanished. I stared blankly at the air before turning and walking toward home.

I’d planned to go to the café and confront the owner, but I’ll have to do that later. The officer’s words didn’t carry any real authority, but somehow, I felt I should follow her advice. Like when I listened to Mister’s warnings.

‘Right, didn’t the café owner say he’s only there on weekends? It’s a weekday, so the part-timer’s probably there. I wouldn’t see the owner even if I went now.’

I’ll go to the café on the weekend. More importantly, there’s what the officer said. Head over heels—if the Mister she mentioned is the same Mister I know, and if “head over heels” means what I think it does…

My face kept burning the whole way home. All sorts of thoughts popped into my head and vanished, all of them things I’d hate for anyone to know. My lower stomach felt hot, and my insides churned, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. Just incredibly embarrassing.

By the time I got home, I was so physically and mentally exhausted that I collapsed into my room without even brushing off the pitch-black feathers stuck to my jacket.

Subway station, Back Alley.

I just came back from the ticket gate at XX Station. The corrosion critters have eaten away more than half of it. What in the world is ##$##$ even doing?

…….

Do we really have to worry about the ticket gate too? The station takes care of fixing that stuff anyway, so it’s not like we need to bother with it. ##$##$ is already swamped day and night just dealing with the corrosion critters at the intersection, so don’t nag them for no reason.

…….

I get that, but lately, the station’s been so stressed out or something that it keeps mistaking anyone it sees for a fare-dodger and tries to gobble them up. It knows full well that people don’t come here to catch a train, but it still picks fights over nothing… I had to stop it from going after some guy today too. I mean, sure, the walls are practically its own guts, but to go chasing someone down like a rabid dog just for touching them?

…….

That guy doesn’t exactly have a ton of ways to blow off steam, so why’d you stop him? The station’s already got enough on its plate with the corrosion critters and all, so don’t go making things harder for it. And why were you even over there in the first place? Did you have some fieldwork or something?

…….

Not fieldwork, just a personal request I took on. I nearly botched it by being a split second too late.

…….

You boneheaded idiot, can’t you at least keep the phrase “no side gigs for hunters” drilled into your skull? I know everyone’s scraping by on meager paychecks and secretly taking side jobs, but even so, you’re really gonna admit that to your boss’s face? …Wait, what’s that?

…….

The inner petals of [Old Flower]. It’s too valuable to pass up, you know.

…….

Hey, hold on a second. Where’d you get something like that? Even if the deep flowers of the colony are away for the harvest ceremony, if the colony finds out stuff like that’s being traded under the table, they’ll have our heads! I’m telling you, have some sense…!

…….

Have my head for what? I got it directly from the deep flower itself.

…….

The deep flower? You’re saying that Mister plucked it and gave it to you? For real? What the hell kind of deal did you make with him?

…….

It’s not a big deal, so stop harping on me, seriously! You’re always yanking at other people’s hair, whining about your own baldness! He just said there’s this guy who’s got his flower scent on him, and he asked me to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t cause trouble.

…….

What? That’s really all there is to it?

…….

Since people usually show up and disappear around broken equipment that the corrosion critters have chewed up, he asked me to keep an eye out while I’m working. The fact that the guy popped up in the next district was honestly unexpected.

…….

Hmm, now that you mention it, there have been some weird rumors going around lately. They say some guy keeps appearing and vanishing around that Mister. I know there’s barely any working equipment in this neighborhood, but have people always shown up this often around here? Feels like I’ve been seeing them a lot lately.

…….

That’s why I’m saying we should request a bigger budget from the higher-ups. If we hire more hunters and fix the equipment, fewer people will show up, right?

…….

You think I can just make that happen? Unlike artifacts from other worlds, people aren’t exactly classified as harmful species, so our requests keep getting shot down. In terms of danger, they’re about on the same level as blue-eyed butterflies. I’ve even heard talk about turning them into a tourist attraction, like they do in the southern regions down there.

…….

…Butterflies, huh. That’s actually a fitting metaphor. Butterflies do love flowers, don’t they? And the flower doesn’t seem to mind them either.

…….

What’s with the random comment? Anyway, hurry up and get back to work. If you don’t catch at least ten corrosion critters, I’m docking your performance evaluation for slacking off.

Next to the crosswalk, at the fish-shaped pastry stall

As soon as the weekend hit, I rushed to that café like a man possessed, but the one who greeted me wasn’t the owner—it was a part-time worker with a bright, beaming smile.

“Hey, the owner’s not here today?”

“He was around for a while, but now I’m back on duty! I had some personal stuff going on for a few weeks, so I switched to weekdays.”

“I thought you’d switched for good, but it was just for a few weeks, huh?”

“Yep. The owner’s a good guy, so he was understanding about it. By the way, did you have some business with him?”

“I wanted to talk to him about a gift he gave me a while back. But since he’s not here… do you know when his hours changed?”

“Oh, uh, he said he’s swamped with personal stuff for a few days and won’t be able to come in at all. Probably not until next week. If it’s urgent, I could pass on a message for you.”

I wanted to demand what kind of powder he’d given me, but explaining the whole thing to this clueless part-timer felt awkward, to say the least. Even thinking about it myself, it was such a bizarre situation—how could I expect a total stranger to take me seriously? “I sprinkled some powder, and my fingertips felt weird, and there was a bloodstain on my sleeve”—who in their right mind would believe that?

“Uh, it’s not that urgent… Just, um. Could you ask him if the powder he gave me as a gift is really deodorizer?”

“Deodorizer…? You got something like that? I’ll pass it along to him. So, what’s your order? We’ve got a seasonal yuzu tea—it’s homemade and really tasty.”

“Not red bean porridge? …Alright, I’ll take that to go, then. I’m kinda busy today.”

Truth be told, it wasn’t so much that I was busy—it was more that I wasn’t in the mood to linger at the café. Since yesterday, I’ve been feeling under the weather, maybe coming down with a cold. My body’s been chilly, and my nose keeps running. If it weren’t for needing to talk to the café owner, I wouldn’t have even left the house.

The yuzu tea is warm, and somehow it feels like it might shake off this cold a bit. While waiting nearby, the part-timer handed me a to-go cup of yuzu tea along with a small paper box.

“This is on the house. The owner told me to make sure you get it when you come by.”

“Really? Thanks.”

Honestly, I don’t want to take anything else from that café owner. I genuinely thought that, but after accepting all sorts of freebies from the staff before, refusing this one might seem odd. So I took the paper box and the drink and stepped outside.

“Brr, it’s cold.”

The biting wind stung my nose and cheeks, making my whole body shiver. I sipped the yuzu tea as I walked toward the bus stop. It was definitely homemade—pretty delicious. The chills eased up a bit after drinking it.

But for some reason, I had no desire to eat whatever was in this paper box. If I ate it by mistake, I might end up with that same eerie sensation from last time, like my whole body was covered in weird bloodstains. I’m not even sure if there’s actually cake or dessert in here. It feels oddly light—too creepy to even open.

“Still, I kinda want to eat something tasty.”

It’s a bit out of the blue, but I’m craving something sweet—not necessarily cake or macarons, just something sugary. It’s cold out, so ideally something warm would be nice. I’ve already had the yuzu tea, so no more drinks… Even by the time I got off the bus near my place, I still hadn’t figured out exactly what I wanted.

But as I was heading home and passed a modest fish-shaped pastry stall next to a laundromat, it hit me. That’s it. Now that I think about it, I’ve been craving fish-shaped pastries. Ones stuffed to the brim with sweet custard or red bean paste!

“Two thousand won’s worth of fish-shaped pastries, please. A mix of custard and red bean.”

Come to think of it, last time at the subway station, I was so frazzled I forgot to buy those donuts. Maybe I’ve been craving pastries since then. Street food pastries, the cheap kind.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks. Here’s two thousand won.”

This season, it’s good to carry some cash. I took the hefty paper bag. Four pastries for a thousand won, so eight in total. Perfect for nibbling on by myself.

While waiting for the crosswalk signal, I grabbed a custard fish-shaped pastry and ate it. It’s not that I prefer custard—it was just the one on top. The warm, sweet cream filled my mouth, and my mood lifted instantly.

“Now that I think about it, was that whole thing at the subway station even real?”

Eating something tasty put me in a good mood, and somehow the tension eased. The things that had been weighing on me when I went to the café suddenly felt trivial. That creepy station worker who appeared out of nowhere like smoke and followed me, the gross sensation on my fingertips, the bloodstain on my sleeve, and that weird cop who claimed he’d talked to the worker even though I hadn’t seen him at first…

“Maybe I was dreaming?”

Like I mistook a dream I had on the subway ride home for reality or something. Now that I think about it, I remember reading a famous horror post on some foreign site. The guy kept finding creepy blue-eyed butterfly drawings in his house and posted pictures, and someone commented, [Are you sure you’re not suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning?] Turns out, the poster was poisoned, and once the issue was fixed, the butterfly drawings vanished.

These days, with people scarier than ghosts, urban legends like that are pretty popular. People go on about supernatural stuff, only for it to turn out the storyteller was just dealing with some mental health issue.

It might be a stretch, but maybe what I experienced was something like that. I’ve been exhausted from overtime lately, and meeting so many people has been stressful. Plus, moving suddenly meant I had a lot on my plate. I’ve never been good with people, but I pushed myself because it was work, and maybe that wore me down mentally. That could explain why I keep thinking people vanish or seeing things that aren’t there…

“Still, I hope Mister, at least, isn’t some figment of my imagination.”

The moment that thought crossed my mind, the crosswalk signal changed. I strode across as the light turned green. Now that I think about it, where’s Mister right now? Did he make it back from his cousin’s wedding? It’s been three days since the subway station incident, so he should be back by now.

“What’s up? You look kinda down.”

Just then, I felt a soft thump as my face bumped into something. There was no one on the other side of the crosswalk, so I shouldn’t have hit anything. But the voice from above was awfully familiar, so my eyes widened, and I immediately looked up.

“Whoa, when did you get here, Mister? How was the wedding?!”

“Harvest… I mean, my cousin’s wedding was a while ago. I was wondering when I’d run into you, and here you are.”

A large hand ruffled the back of my head. Realizing the spot I’d bumped into was Mister’s chest, I suddenly wondered—for a different reason—if this was a dream or reality.

We couldn’t exactly chat in the middle of a crosswalk, so we hurriedly crossed. Now that I think about it, wasn’t Mister going the opposite way? I felt a bit guilty for possibly interrupting him, but he followed me like it was no big deal. That made me feel bad but also secretly happy.

There were several benches near my apartment complex, perfect for sitting. We picked a warm, sunny one. The breeze was cool on my nose, but my butt was toasty, and sitting shoulder-to-shoulder made my side pleasantly warm.

When Mister glanced at me, I opened the paper bag and sneakily pulled out a fish-shaped pastry. He stared at it with a grumpy expression, like, What’s that?

“Uh, want one?”

“It’s yours.”

“I can’t eat all these by myself anyway. These are best when they’re warm. Red bean or custard?”

“Didn’t I tell you not to do that?”

“Don’t say stuff like that. Come on, just try one. I saw you liked red bean last time.”

When I stubbornly held out a red bean pastry, he stared at it for a moment before finally taking it. He split it in half and inspected the filling closely. Wait, does he not like red bean pastries? Maybe he likes red bean but prefers custard in pastries.

“Should I have gotten you a different one?”

“Nah, this is fine. It’s just my first time eating it… I mean, first time this year.”

“Really? Well, now that you mention it, this is my first fish-shaped pastry this year too. Kinda nice to see them again, right?”

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen many fish-shaped pastry stalls this year. It’s gotten chilly, so you’d expect to see those carts popping up everywhere. But knowing there’s a stall near my place means I can grab some now and then.

I pulled another red bean pastry from the bag and started munching. It was warm and tasty, nothing fancy. Mister, who’d been nibbling cautiously at first, soon wolfed his down, clearly enjoying it. When I slipped him another, he ate that one happily too. I should’ve bought more.

“So, did the cousin’s wedding go well? You mentioned a harvest or something—were you helping with farm work?”

“Something like that. They handle the basics, but you know how harvest season is. The more hands, the better.”

“Makes sense. You seem like you’d be good at that stuff. Tall, strong-looking.”

“Not really. I’ve never actually done a harvest myself… But I helped out a bit and got some fruit. Should last me through the winter.”

“City life makes that stuff tough to get used to, huh? What kind of produce?”

“Uh… Kinda like tangerines. Big ones.”

“It is tangerine season. Now I want some.”

I briefly thought about asking if he had extra to share but kept quiet, not wanting to seem too chummy. Plus, Mister’s weirdly touchy about giving and taking stuff. He even got annoyed about sharing street food like this.

Still, I was secretly thrilled he was eating the pastry without complaint. He has this odd way of eating them—splits it in half and starts from the middle. Most people go for the head, tail, or fins, but I’ve never seen someone eat like that. Almost like it’s his first time.

“Oh, you’ve got some red bean on your face.”

Without thinking, I reached out and wiped it off his mouth. I regretted it instantly. Right, last time I touched his face without permission, he bolted! Repeating the same mistake made my face flush with embarrassment.

But this time, it wasn’t just me feeling awkward. Mister, staring blankly at the finger that brushed his mouth, sniffed it and then licked it.

“…?!”

Wait, what?! My face burned as I yanked my hand back. He seemed to realize what he’d done too, his face turning red. It didn’t seem intentional, more like an unconscious reflex, but still!

“What just happened?”

We couldn’t even look at each other, staring off in opposite directions to cool our flushed faces. Thank goodness for the cold winter breeze. Trying to act like nothing happened, Mister cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Uh, you… You look kinda sick today. What’s with your face?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m just feeling a bit under the weather.”

“No wonder you look like your soul’s half-gone. It’s been cold lately. Take care of yourself.”

He said that and sneakily grabbed another pastry from the bag—this time custard. Instead of teasing him or asking what that lick was about, I munched on the last pastry. The once-heavy bag was now empty.

With the pastries gone, I didn’t have an excuse to keep him here, but I wanted to stay with him a bit longer. Or maybe the pastries weren’t really an excuse? We just happened to share food—it’s not like I lured him with them. He seemed to enjoy them, though…

Anyway, I wanted to stay longer, whatever the reason. Was there anything else to talk about? Like, do you like tangerines, or what’s your favorite fruit—small talk like that? Asking if I could touch his face again or hold his hand felt too forward and embarrassing…

But while I was racking my brain, what slipped out of my mouth was something completely random.

“Mister, you’re not, like, some fake thing I dreamed up, are you?”

The second I said it, I regretted it. It was hardly a great topic, even as a joke. I mean, sure, weird stuff’s been happening, but blurting out something so out-there—what was I thinking?

It’s true I was mulling over that before running into him, but why it came up now is beyond me. Mister looked dumbfounded, his eyes wide as he sized me up. I was too embarrassed to even lift my head, for a different reason this time.

“Are you really sick? Did something happen while I was gone? You’re freaking me out with talk like that.”

“No, it’s not a big deal… I’ve just been feeling off lately, seeing things that aren’t there. A few days ago, I saw some creepy stuff at the subway station.”

“Subway station? Oh, you mean… I’ll have to ask about that later.”

Has Mister run into someone like that at the station too? Or maybe, from the way he said he’d ask later, it’s not him but a friend who saw something. Does that mean his friend also had bloodstains on their hands? I thought about asking but stopped. Maybe it’s just my experience…

“Seeing things all the time sounds worrying. You didn’t take some hallucinogen from someone, did you?”

“H-Hallucinogen?! No way, I don’t do drugs. Sorry for worrying you. I’ve just been out of it lately.”

Look at him, getting all concerned before I even explained what I saw. I didn’t want to worry him more, so I mumbled vaguely. He stared at me with a strange expression, then patted my head with that big hand.

“You’re impossible to leave alone. The second I look away, you get tangled up in something weird.”

“Hey, I’m not that weird. I know I just said something dumb, but I’m not, like, sick or anything. Probably just tired…”

“I get it, so go home already. Don’t stop anywhere weird. And don’t get sick.”

It’s not like I’m stopping anywhere—my place is right here. I was about to say that, but as always, he was gone in a flash. I stared at the empty spot beside me for a while before slowly getting up.

And I’m real. Not some dream or delusion of a person.

For a moment, it felt like those words echoed in my ears, but I couldn’t tell if it was really his voice or something I imagined.

I trudged home, holding the empty paper bag and the still-unopened paper box. My apartment was just steps away, so I’d be home soon. But while waiting for the elevator, something hit me.

“Wait a sec. Hallucinogen?”

Was it because he mentioned “hallucinogen”? Suddenly, I wondered if the powder from the café owner was a hallucinogen. Now that I think about it, he told me to use it when I was alone. That’s a weird instruction for deodorizer, but not so strange if it’s a drug with hallucinogenic properties.

If it was a hallucinogen, it’d explain that bizarre subway station incident. The idea that [the mysterious white powder seemed like a drug] wasn’t just my bias after all. It’s not certain, but finding a somewhat rational clue to explain things made me feel a bit relieved.

“Should I report it to the police?”

I considered it briefly but dropped the idea. It’s not confirmed to be a drug yet. Falsely accusing someone would be a hassle. But I did want to find out what was in that powder if I got the chance.

“Maybe I should ask that cop if I see him again…”

That cop I met near the subway station last time—he’d probably be willing to look into the powder’s contents as a “personal favor.” Feeling a bit lighter, I got home and flopped onto my bed. Eating and lying down isn’t great, but I was exhausted. Too tired to even check what was in the paper box.

“Oh, my right hand smells like Mister.”

I brought my right hand—the one he’d licked—to my nose and sniffed, then fell asleep as is. It felt like he was by my side, comforting me, making my heart warm.