Chapter 2: Coffee, Coffee, Blood
***
The sound of the door opening made Seonwook look up.
A man wearing a black cap pulled low and a mask stepped into the inn’s entrance.
“Welcome.”
“……”
The man stood at the door for a moment before taking a step toward the counter where Seonwook was.
“Room 203. One man, right?”
Why the informal speech?
Seonwook stared at the man’s eyes, barely visible between the brim of his cap and the mask. It was still early spring, cold without the sun, yet sweat beaded on the man’s temples and between his brows. His gaze was unsteady.
He’s practically advertising himself as suspicious…
Seonwook swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape and deliberately flipped through the ledger slowly.
“Two-zero-three, two-zero-three… Let me see…”
As Seonwook squinted and mumbled, running his finger along the ledger, the man remained still. The rustling sound of him shifting his weight from one foot to the other was faint.
Finally, Seonwook looked up and nodded. The man immediately headed up the stairs. Seonwook closed the ledger with a thud and returned to his book.
A short while later, a muffled thud, thud echoed from above.
Seonwook rested his chin on his hand, moving only his eyes as he continued reading. The scene in the book was unfolding at its peak—a young noblewoman watching a gardener at work, her sharp chin lifted in an attempt to hide her flustered expression.
After a moment of silence, the man from earlier rushed down the stairs and left through the door.
Seonwook watched the man’s fleeting figure, then turned his gaze back to the book.
The jingling of the bell on the door faded, and silence returned. It was past 4 a.m.
Seonwook’s eyes traced the sentences on the page, lingering on one spot. The gardener turned around, startled, and the noblewoman, trying not to show her surprise, lifted her chin sharply. The gardener turned, and the noblewoman lifted her chin. Again, the gardener turned, and the noblewoman lifted her chin.
As Seonwook’s eyes circled the same spot, the rhythm of the earlier thud, thud echoed in his mind.
He sighed and closed the book with a snap, stepping out of the counter room.
He climbed the stairs slowly to the second floor and stopped at the entrance of the hallway. The narrow corridor, lined with rooms on either side, was dimly lit, giving off a reddish glow.
A dark stain seeped out from under the door of Room 203.
“Is that soy sauce, cola, or coffee?”
Seonwook muttered dramatically.
“Coffee, coffee, blood. Coffee, coffee, blood.”
He hummed softly, adding a bit of rhythm, and stood in front of the door.
The room, the hallway, the entire building—everything was silent.
Seonwook stared at the dark brown door, then raised his hand and knocked lightly twice. At the second knock, the door creaked open slightly. The small stain visible from the outside was much larger inside.
Seonwook pushed the door open with his fingertip, revealing its full shape. A pungent smell wafted out, and a man lay in an odd position near the door. A pool of blood had spread beneath him, reaching toward the doorway.
Seonwook gazed blankly at the scene inside the room, then furrowed his brows.
Ugh, this is such a hassle…
He sighed again.
***
Blood in the darkness
appears in many forms—
soy sauce,
cola,
black bean sauce,
spicy noodle soup,
stew,
coffee.
The reason vampires
only roam at night
is to savor it better.
***
Seonwook pressed each word into his notebook, then read it aloud repeatedly.
Not bad, right? It’s kind of realistically unreal… what’s the word? Avant-garde?
“Wow, shit, avant-garde. Avant-garde.”
He was pleased with himself for recalling such a difficult word. It was all thanks to diligently reading the Korean dictionary.
As he pondered a title, the innkeeper, Deokman, burst through the door.
Seonwook quickly wrote “Gourmet” as the title and checked the time.
He showed up in 20 minutes after someone died in the room. A man who never once kept to his shift change time.
“Did you leave everything untouched?”
Deokman, looking flustered, leaned into the small window of the counter room and whispered urgently.
Seonwook closed the notebook and nodded indifferently.
“Did you clean up the mess in the hallway?”
Seonwook nodded again.
“Answer properly, you little brat.”
“I left everything as it was and cleaned up the hallway.”
Behind Deokman, the door opened again, and someone entered.
As their eyes met over Deokman’s shoulder, Seonwook’s widened.
Director Hwang!
It was the man he had met in the underpass near the train station about three months ago when he first arrived here.
The man who had seemed like a perfectly maintained garden. The man with a face like a flower from a fantasy. The man who had struck him with inspiration like lightning, making him write his first poem before disappearing.
Seonwook unconsciously sucked on the inside of his mouth, tasting blood, and swallowed.
Director Hwang looked exactly as he had before—like a flower. His suit was immaculate, not a speck of dust on it, his hair neatly combed, and his indifferent gaze shifted away from Seonwook as he strode up the stairs.
Two men carrying large bags followed behind him—his cleanup crew, it seemed.
Deokman hurried after them, leaving Seonwook alone.
Seonwook pressed his face against the small counter window, watching Director Hwang’s legs disappear up the stairs. He was stunned by the unexpected situation.
“No way…”
Seonwook covered his mouth, taking a sharp breath. Goosebumps suddenly rose all over his body.
“It was fate, damn it.”
Muttering, he plopped into his chair, trying to organize his chaotic thoughts, and pulled out his notebook.
The first poem he had written that day was still perfect upon rereading. And on the first page, next to “Art,” “Director Hwang?” was still written.
“This is insane.”
Seonwook closed the notebook and chuckled.
The world is vast yet small. And they say people with connections always meet again—it seems true.
Director Hwang and Deokman returned downstairs shortly after. At the sound, Seonwook quickly looked toward the stairs.
Deokman, who had rushed down first, flung open the counter room door.
“This kid found it, but he’ll answer anything you ask.”
Deokman spoke to Director Hwang but kept his eyes fixed on Seonwook, his expression warning him not to mess around and to spill everything he knew.
Director Hwang slightly bowed his head and stepped into the counter room, filling the small space with a new scent.
Seonwook’s mind conjured an image of a sea in the polar region he had never seen.
At the moment just before dawn, an eerily still sea with a massive iceberg floating in its center. The iceberg, carved into a conical shape, glowed quietly with different colors from every angle.
That was the scent that filled the room.
Following Seonwook’s gaze, Director Hwang stood with his hands in his pockets, slowly looking around the room.
Seonwook stared blankly at his face.
What kind of person is this? He looks like the most expensive, beautiful, and handsome flower among flowers.
The counter desk was cluttered with a small notebook, a tattered Korean dictionary, a novel, a snack bag, a drink can, and various bits of trash. As Director Hwang’s gaze swept over them, his brow twitched slightly. Even that movement, that brow, seemed impossibly refined.
Seonwook slowly turned his chair toward Director Hwang, and the old swivel chair creaked.
Director Hwang met Seonwook’s eyes, then looked down at the sound of Seonwook scratching his thigh. Seonwook unconsciously spread his legs wider.
“Did you see his face?”
Director Hwang asked, his voice as gentle and composed as before, his expression indifferent.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
