[Chapter 33 – The Customer’s Phone Is Turned Off]
She tightly shut her eyes and tried to think only of peaceful, beautiful stories.
Once upon a time, there lived Cinderella. She lost her parents when she was young… Ugh, that’s sad. Something else. Once upon a time, beyond a magical castle and a swamp… No, the swamp is scary… and then she fell asleep. The environment had a huge impact on sleep.
Grrrhhhhh. Grrrhhhhhrrrh.
Before long, I-gyeom had drifted off into REM sleep, snoring loudly. The blanket he had tightly wrapped himself in, fearing a ghost might grab his feet, loosened.
Who knows how long he had slept. In his unconscious state, I-gyeom heard footsteps slowly approaching. He wasn’t aware of it, since he was unconscious. Step by step, someone descended the pitch-dark staircase. The steps reached the first floor. The closer they got to the sofa, the louder the snoring became.
Grrrrhhhhh. Grrrrrkhhhuhk.
The snoring stopped abruptly. I-gyeom’s airway had closed while he slept, mouth agape and body sunk into the sofa. The silent figure leaned deeply over I-gyeom’s face.
I-gyeom, whose airway was blocked by severe snoring, didn’t make a sound for 1, 2, 3… up to 15 seconds. A pale hand clutched his chest tightly.
Kuh-hurrr!
He jolted awake from a nightmare. Eyes gleaming fiercely like a wild beast were right in front of him. Something like a hammer struck his chest, leaving him paralyzed. A taboo, first mentioned by Hosik months ago, suddenly resurfaced.
“Don’t come downstairs after midnight. Something bad will happen.”
Right, that’s what he said. And yet I… I… The nails of that corpse-like white hand dug into his skin. Ah, this is the end. The last thought I-gyeom had was of Kwon Hosik.
Forget the mudflat stroll and all that nonsense. The jeep carrying a hungover passenger in the front seat arrived in Seoul. Maybe because she drank while in a bad mood, Muru was in absolute agony.
Tarim, on the other hand, was perfectly fine. Tsingtao beer only had 4.7% alcohol, and the lemon highball had 8%. After passing through the toll gate, Muru opened a pack of stomach medicine.
“My stomach… I think it’s staging a revolt.”
“Wanna know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you drank, cried, threw a fit, and screamed.”
“Ugh, you punk.”
Tarim laughed heartily, and Muru sucked on the medicine pouch. It still tasted disgusting as always, but just having the milky white liquid coat her tongue made her feel a protective shield forming.
She had to get her mind in order. She couldn’t afford to be this mentally scattered. She had chosen to come to Seoul to find Sola—no, Bang Hye-won. It wasn’t even urgent, yet when she woke up clutching her head that morning, a strange sense of determination had settled in. She had never felt this kind of resolve in her entire life.
“Feel like throwing up? Should I pull over?”
“No, no, no. I’m not that kind of mess.”
“It’s okay. Throwing up isn’t the end of the world.”
“Tarim!!!”
“Yeah?! Should I stop?!”
“There! That hangover soup restaurant!!!”
The jeep veered sharply toward the roadside.
It wasn’t the clear ox-head soup Gangneung was famous for, but a thick hangover soup made with beef bone broth and seasoned with soybean paste and greens. It rebooted Ju Muru’s system.
Walking from the parking lot toward the elevator, Muru steeled herself.
“I’m really going to be cold and direct this time.”
“Do you think you can?”
Tarim asked worriedly. The newly built officetel where Bang Hye-won had recently moved seemed mostly unoccupied—the underground parking lot was nearly empty. The mailboxes still had plastic wrapping on them, suggesting only a few of the units were currently inhabited.
“I can do it. I’m going to ask like a total T: ‘Why did you lie to me?’”
“You’re a T, Muru?”
“No. INPF.”
“…Huh. Well, you can do it.”
As the elevator from the basement stopped on the first floor, a man stepped in. Even before boarding, he had been making a phone call, and he looked visibly anxious.
He reached toward the buttons but stopped when he saw the 10th floor already lit up. Apparently, he was headed to the same floor as Muru and Tarim.
The sound coming from his phone was clear to both of them: “The number you are trying to reach is turned off…” The man muttered to himself:
“Why won’t she answer…”
Apparently, someone on the 10th floor wasn’t answering his calls either.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, the man ran out. As Muru and Tarim walked down the hallway toward Bang Hye-won’s unit, they heard someone pounding on a door.
He was standing in front of Unit 1002, banging on the door.
“Noona! Please open the door! Noona!”
Bang Hye-won’s place.
When no one answered, the man checked his phone and entered a code into the digital door lock. The door unlocked with a beep, and he entered even before it had fully opened.
Tarim held the door open before it closed automatically. Muru peeked inside. It was a studio with a separate kitchen and living area. The man inside frantically looked around before finally turning to the front door.
“Who are you?!”
His voice was agitated and high-strung. Faced with this visibly nervous man, Muru’s courage shrank a bit.
“Uh, I’m, um, well—”
Thankfully, Tarim was more composed in tense situations.
“Is Bang Hye-won not home?”
“I asked who you are!”
The man, still in his shoes, strode over angrily. He was dressed in a business suit—he must have come straight from work.
“She—my girlfriend—is a friend of Bang Hye-won. She was worried because she couldn’t reach her, so we came together.”
“Y-yeah, with my boyfriend.”
Muru awkwardly played along with the couple act. Hearing the word “friend” seemed to ease the man’s tension, and he let out a sigh.
“…I’m her younger brother. My sister wasn’t answering, so…”
He belatedly took off his shoes and said, “Please come in.” He didn’t seem wary, likely because one of them was a woman—and Muru had a particularly harmless appearance.
The apartment was spotless. Except for one thing.
Tarim noticed it inside the bathroom: a mud-covered bikini tossed carelessly on the floor. It was the bikini Hye-won had worn when she fled the mudflat shoot. The balled-up swimsuit was half-dried. Mud splashes had dried along the bottom of the wall.
Her younger brother, now sitting on the bed, asked Muru:
“When did you last hear from her?”
“Um, since yesterday afternoon.”
Hye-won had pushed Muru into the mud around 4 p.m. If she had driven home straight after, she would’ve arrived around 6 p.m.
“…She sent me this…”
He showed Muru his phone. It was a message from just after 10 p.m. the previous night.
[Why aren’t you picking up ―⌒― I messed up during work and the customer wants to meet briefly. I’ve never met him before but I have a bad feeling. His number is 010-○○○○-○○○○. Don’t know his name.]
That “bad feeling” clearly wasn’t trivial. Hye-won sharing the customer’s info was her way of saying: “If something happens to me, take care of it.”
“I saw her missed call and message this morning when I woke up. I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to bed early… I went to work, but I couldn’t shake the bad feeling, so I came. She had given me the password before.”
Tarim, having checked the bathroom, asked him:
“Has anything like this happened before?”
“…No. She always said the agency couldn’t know about her second job—other than modeling or acting.”
“Hye-won did those role-acting jobs, right?”
“Yeah. She said recently she only worked with one customer. I think the one in the message was him.”
Muru recalled her Instagram DM conversation yesterday with the account owner—someone who had said she became friends with her client.
That woman had said, “I never took jobs outside the company. If Sola did, she was breaking the rules.”
“Could that customer have contacted her outside the agency?”
“Maybe. She once said someone offered to pay several times more if she didn’t go through the company. I told her not to do it… but she might not have listened.”
Tarim whispered quietly into Muru’s ear.
“The muddy bikini is still there. Looks like she came home and dropped it.”
Muru went to the bathroom and confirmed the sight Tarim described. She had a bad feeling. Hye-won’s brother was still sitting helplessly on the bed. Muru and Tarim whispered so he couldn’t hear.
“She came home, showered, and left in a hurry. Never came back.”
“Or maybe she just didn’t wash the clothes? She texted her brother, met the client, and could’ve returned later.”
Tarim pointed to the dirty bikini.
“That’s the evidence.”
“……?”
“That bikini costs 5.8 million won.”
Muru’s jaw dropped. She nearly said, What the hell?! out loud.
