"It just keeps raining on this mountain."
"Tell me about it."
The director, seated in the passenger seat, looked out the window.
"Even for the monsoon, this is excessive."
The two hadn't forgotten their purpose in coming here. Securing filming locations.
But today they'd wrapped things up early. The roads were rough to begin with, making travel time long. To hit the 7 p.m. they'd mentioned, it was better to start back early.
"Still, arriving at exactly seven is going to be tough, right?"
"The GPS says 7:20."
"That should be close enough."
She recalled the worried faces of the two staff members.
"Those kids, all the trouble they go through tagging along with us."
"I feel like it's been ages since I heard you say that."
"Oh, hasn't it? Up until I quit documentaries, I thought I'd never do this again."
And yet the main topic inevitably surfaced.
"The seventh floor—what do you think it was?"
"Sorry, but I'm already exhausted."
Tracking down villas hidden across the mountains was no easy task. And then having to stay on guard at their lodging on top of that. Between the actors and this, bad luck had clearly latched on to this summer.
"…At least we can say for certain that a dangerous guest is on the seventh floor."
"Right. We'd reached the conclusion that the 'rain-loving guest' seems to be staying on the seventh floor."
"He said it's a soft opening, so there can't be many guests. I don't know if it was specifically that guest who called him, though. He clearly said 'there are many guests on the seventh floor because of the rain.'"
"Come to think of it, he never actually said 'the seventh floor is dangerous, don't go there.'"
"And yet the situation was shaped to make us think exactly that. I believe he may have said it deliberately to keep us from going to the seventh floor."
"You mean, the 'lots of people on seven' thing? Could be."
The General Manager, Lee Yeon-woo, was a person adept at handling people. Even when the situation didn't call for it, conversation with him felt easy. That was his social skill at work.
"The seventh floor… the seventh floor…."
And then there was the summons.
"What could the summons have meant?"
"It's a bit odd that it was the General Manager who went, not a regular staff member. Put differently, it means the situation was one that only the General Manager could handle."
"It could be that an event of that caliber happened, or it could be that someone specifically called for the General Manager."
"Aren't both situations strange?"
An incident that specifically required the General Manager was strange, and a guest who was merely staying at the hotel summoning the General Manager was equally strange. He was the owner, no less.
"I keep thinking this, but for the owner of a hotel, he doesn't seem to get that kind of treatment. He appears to have plenty of authority, yet somehow…."
"Mr. Yeon-woo?"
"Yes. Normally, you don't summon an owner like that."
"It makes me curious how someone treated that way can even be the hotel's owner in the first place. Running the hotel alone should keep him busy enough, and yet he doubles as General Manager too."
"For a hotel of that scale, you'd typically only do one role."
"No—maybe he isn't the owner?"
"Should I revisit the dictionary definition of 'owner'?"
"That's not what I mean."
The director waved a finger.
"Just because someone is an owner doesn't mean there's only one."
"…A co-owner?"
"Exactly. From the start, he said he'd merely been entrusted with the hotel's operation."
"Then it would be a case where the capital provider and the operations rights holder are separate. The actual owner of the building and assets is someone else, and Mr. Yeon-woo might only hold the operating rights."
"That's common enough. In those setups, the asset holder usually has more power."
The director nodded after a moment of thought.
"Then a rough picture starts to form."
"Aren't there cases where the building owner and the operator are nearly equal?"
"Does this look like one of those?"
"Ah…."
The writer's face went blank.
"Can't we just grab Mr. Yeon-woo and run?"
"And the other staff? You're going to kidnap all of them too? That could make things even worse."
"I know, but it's so unsettling I just had to say it."
The man looked like a college student at the most generous estimate.
"I don't understand what they're doing, taking a kid who's barely grown and putting him there. That 'summons'—nothing weird happened to him, right? If the real owner is someone else, then in the end he's just another kind of employee…."
"That's why we're calling it early and heading back."
Because they were anxious—anxious.
"The word 'summons' sounded profoundly unwholesome."
The red-stained cotton gloves still lingered in her mind's eye.
Director Lee Seon-hae had completely abandoned any expectations of the hotel since that moment. She'd seen too much. The world runs with a staggering cruelty in its corners.
If a cruelty can be imagined, it is being enacted somewhere—an indifferent structure that warrants that much certainty.
"I'd love it to have been nothing, but if it were nothing, the General Manager, Mr. Yeon-woo, wouldn't have gone—a regular staff member would have. You know, the ones who brought our breakfast."
"Exactly. Room service is handled by regular staff, so what additional reason would the General Manager have to go? The guests at this hotel don't seem normal, which makes it even more unsettling."
Even during a soft opening, there had been chances to see other guests. But some stared into empty space. Some were crying. Some stared directly at them.
"Those were really not people in their right minds…."
At his disgusted tone, the director looked at him.
"Doesn't it really feel like a mental hospital?"
"Hospitals at least treat people. This is just cramming the insane into a building."
"I always thought a facility like this would surface eventually."
"Why?"
"Among the wealthy, nobody neglects appearances, and yet even in those families, dangerous individuals emerge. Not just someone a bit off mentally, but genuinely dangerous cases."
There are people born lacking something. It could be reason or emotion. If the intellect were simply clouded, basic care would suffice.
But there are also people whose intelligence is intact and whose sensibilities are peculiar, and people whose reason is clouded while aggression runs high. They could exist anywhere as members of society.
"Ah, this is a really sensitive subject."
You can't condemn the condition itself. And shouldn't.
But the hotel's guests grew increasingly unsettling. They didn't seem to be staying for ordinary reasons.
"Right, and that's why it's a hotel, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Guest care is possible, but there are no cumbersome procedures for coming and going."
"…And it's in the middle of nowhere, truly ideal for keeping up appearances in every way."
Thoroughly fed up, in any case.
***
They thought a great deal during the drive. What the summons might have been about. Whether there was a serious problem. If so, how to respond. Whether to pretend not to know again.
"Ah, there he is again. Mr. Yeon-woo!"
"Please don't raise your voice in the lobby."
"Was I too loud? I'm sorr—"
"……."
"…Huh."
And so they were caught off guard.
"…Mr. Lee Yeon-woo!"
The lobby of a hotel in soft opening.
Almost no guests, and the wide lobby was quiet. With even the staff holding their breath, a raised voice would naturally carry.
"General Manager?"
"……."
"…Er…."
The writer expressed his bewilderment with silence; the director shared the feeling.
Bewildered. Exceedingly so.
"…He definitely didn't see us?"
"…Rather than didn't see, we were technically within his field of vision."
"Then why no reaction?"
"It seems like he can't hear us either."
"That's odd."
The General Manager, standing at the counter as always. Looking now at the lobby clock, now at the counter monitor. Not spacing out, either. Clearly working.
And yet he didn't register their presence.
"……."
"Mr. Yeon-woo."
The director approached him at a steady pace.
"Mr. Yeon-woo, can you hear me?"
She passed the front entrance.
"We've just gotten back."
She passed a lobby pillar.
"It's… raining a bit outside."
She passed beneath the chandelier.
"We said we'd talk at seven, right? Sorry for being a little late."
"……."
"Ah, maybe it wasn't quite a promise? How embarrassing. You must be tired—is this a good time?"
"……."
"…Mr. Yeon-woo."
Past,
and past,
and past.
Only when the distance had closed enough that a slightly exaggerated reach could touch him—
"Um, Mr. Yeon-woo?"
"……."
At last, his gaze found them.
"…Ah, you're here."
A dry expression for a fraction of a second, then a smile taking shape.
"I've been calling since the front entrance."
"……."
"…Are you not feeling well?"
"No."
A denial that came instantly, as if on cue.
But the silence that followed.
"……."
"……."
A mouth clamped shut as if he didn't know what to say—or perhaps knew, yet couldn't bring himself to speak. A gaze swaying between faint confusion and deep self-reproach.
Then words that sounded forced out.
"Truly, I'm fine."
"……."
"Truly."
Sadly for the man who tried, it didn't sound fine at all.
"……."
…What a wretched hotel.
***
The writer's mind raced.
'Inattentional blindness, selective inattention….'
Attention-based perceptual failure.
In simpler terms, a state of being so intensely focused on something that other things go unregistered. The causes, naturally, were many.
Turning over related material in his mind, Writer Hong Gyeong-yeon followed the General Manager.
"If you would, this way…."
He led them to the first-floor lounge.
"I apologize for not providing a more distinguished setting. As I've mentioned before, our hotel is currently in soft opening, so available facilities are extremely limited. It is an unintended discourtesy."
He rang the bell, and staff brought tea.
"Writer, you seem to favor teas of a delicate floral profile, so today I've prepared peony tea for the occasion."
"…It's been a while since I've had peony tea."
"Contrary to its flower language of shyness, the fragrance is quite bold and deep. I hope my modest judgment has met your tastes."
Thin white porcelain. A translucent ceramic cup. The golden liquid within gave off a gentle glow. The aroma—less sweet than rose, more subdued—eased body and mind.
'Is this another kind of social skill?'
Once again, a staff member set down the General Manager's chair and departed.
He sat.
"Perched in the mountains and caught in the monsoon, the air is quite cold despite midsummer. As before, I've prepared a warm tea. I do hope it suits both of your preferences."
"Oh, this is wonderful."
The director offered her trademark easy chatter.
"This is my first time having peony tea."
"Is that so? The peony, as magnificent as it appears, is also a medicinal herb of many charms. Particularly in weather like this, it can be quite helpful for one's health."
"Oh, really?"
"It is known for its excellent effects on blood circulation, muscle-spasm relief, and anti-inflammatory and calming properties. It may sound like the usual promotional copy, but it is also said to benefit the complexion."
The Manager said this with a smile and added:
"An effect the Director hardly needs, of course."
At that, the director looked at the writer.
"Drink up, Writer. You've been looking rough lately."
"We're rusting together, so why single me out?"
"Our writer's skin is so… hm? Lately, hm? A little, you know?"
"Oh, come on."
A faint herbal scent hung in the air.
"There's a hint of something herbal, almost like traditional medicine?"
"Yes, thanks to the root being used as well. The peony root can require caution depending on one's constitution, underlying conditions, or interactions with medication…."
The Manager gazed at the teacup before him and gave a thin smile.
"This tea has been blended with adjusted concentration and balance so that both of you may enjoy it comfortably. It's not potent enough to serve as proper medicine, but it is quite safe for gently soothing a body worn out by a rough itinerary."
The writer took a sip.
"……."
A subtle sweetness and a faint earthiness. A charm different from rose. As promised, a trace of bitterness and herbal astringency came through. But it was clean.
'…Even the peony tea I had before wasn't that cheap.'
Not mass-produced. Handcrafted at minimum. Seeing things like this, one felt keenly that this was a space built for the upper class. This wasn't tea you served just anyone.
'And yet, why would the owner of such a place….'
Hong Gyeong-yeon looked at the General Manager.
"Was the tea to your liking?"
"…Ah, it's very good."
"I'm relieved that my selection didn't cause discomfort to such distinguished guests."
"No, not at all…."
He recalled what had happened earlier.
'Unfortunately, that was no mere lapse of attention.'
Attentional impairment was nothing special on its own. It happens when one is absorbed in something, or when the stimulus falls outside the expected range. Or when the situation is so familiar that exceptions go unnoticed.
But Lee Yeon-woo had been working at the time. He'd been surveying his surroundings, and his faculties appeared sharp. And yet he failed to register Hong Gyeong-yeon and Lee Seon-hae in his field of vision. Or registered them without recognizing them.
'Visual agnosia….'
The primary cause.
Damage to a specific area of the brain.
"I must apologize for the discourtesy in the lobby earlier."
"…Ah, sorry?"
"You both still seem worried, so I've taken the liberty of speaking first, at the risk of being forward."
"…I'm sorry, did it show?"
"Not at all. It's been a long time since anyone showed me genuine concern, and as a person rather than a manager, it was gratifying. But a hotel should be a place of rest—it wouldn't do for your hearts to be uneasy."
"That, well."
The General Manager wore his characteristic smile. A smile that put people at ease.
"You need not trouble yourselves too much. I had pressing business that demanded my full attention, and as a result I failed to notice your arrival."
He adjusted his glasses and added:
"Thinking it over, it was clearly my negligence. I apologize once again."
"No, that's—"
As Hong Gyeong-yeon fumbled, the director spoke on his behalf.
"When someone's a bit busy, that can happen. Please, it's nothing to apologize for."
"Thank you for your kind understanding. As attending to guests is my duty, I will take special care not to cause concern with such oversights in the future."
At Lee Yeon-woo's words, Hong Gyeong-yeon thought privately:
'That's not the kind of thing resolve alone can fix.'
No—actually, he wasn't sure.
'There are too many possible causes.'
Stroke. Traumatic brain injury. Encephalitis or other infection. Hypoxic encephalopathy. Brain tumor or post-surgical complications. Which of these was it? Or was it another condition altogether?
'He looks fine on the surface, but he covers so much with clothing.'
At least his head looked uninjured. It didn't seem like he'd taken a blow to the head. Then again, even that wasn't certain. He was no doctor, and he hadn't been able to examine Lee Yeon-woo closely.
The director, watching the writer, pinched the bridge of her own nose.
"…Listen, I'd originally planned to discuss something else today."
She smiled with a somewhat weary face. He thought he'd heard a faint sigh.
"Let me be a bit honest."
"……."
"I don't think you realize how loud we were at the front entrance. You don't seem inclined to tell us about it, the way you kept your hands from us last time…. But at this point, even total strangers like us can't help but worry, you know?"
"…You saw something unsightly."
"You couldn't see what was right in front of you or hear what was being said to you."
"Is that so."
"Something that could worsen your condition that much happened in those few hours, I take it."
A fastball, straight and true. The writer was aghast, but the director paid no mind.
'Not an ordinary victim.'
For a typical victim, the man was remarkably sturdy. Not physically—mentally. Or in judgment and capacity for action. A person this solid wouldn't be moved by coaxing or soothing.
'What you need to get information from someone like this isn't evasion—it's aggression.'
Or a deal, but right now they had neither information nor goods to bargain with. So she had to eliminate his room to evade. Corner him, and he still might not talk.
"You were summoned to the seventh floor, and from what I can tell, something happened there. You could stand in the lobby with that commanding presence and that'd be more than enough—why would you take those heavy steps to go see some guest?"
She employed provocation as well.
"You're worried we'll cause trouble, aren't you?"
"…Yes."
See—she'd known it.
"Then talk to us."
The other side was evasive and defensive, yet showed goodwill toward them. The odds of backlash from an aggressive approach weren't zero, but they were low.
That made it all the more pitiable. Even in this state, he was worrying about Lee Seon-hae and Hong Gyeong-yeon. That was why he'd agreed so readily. How calculatingly and genuinely kind could one person be.
"We know our place, we know how the world works. It's true we're curious about this hotel and want to poke around, but the moment it feels dangerous we'll bolt without a second thought. We have that much survival instinct."
"Given both of your illustrious track records, I find that 'survival instinct' somewhat dubious."
"Oh, fair enough. But look—we quit documentaries and went into fiction film. Doesn't that tell you something? We changed lanes because we thought we'd die living like that. Give us a little credit."
"I wonder…."
Lee Yeon-woo gazed at her, and then—
"Nothing happened."
He added, with a light smile at his lips:
"All I did was play with a guest who likes water for a little while. It got my shirt a bit wet, but nothing a good drying won't fix."
"……."
"I do care for our guests, but watching the two of you fixate on such a dangerous pastime is a bit hard for me. Don't you agree?"
…A guest who likes water.
"So you're acknowledging this hotel is dangerous."
"It's a shameful thing for a manager to admit, but I felt that much honesty might encourage you to be a bit more cautious. Was I wrong?"
"How embarrassing—you know us too well. Seen a lot of troublemakers, have you?"
"Life tends to do that."
That was as far as they'd get for now.
'Push any further and it gets dangerous.'
She had to know when to step back and be satisfied. If she didn't want to make an enemy.
'The rest, I think our writer more or less figured out.'
Whatever he'd deduced, the writer's face had gone ashen. The man really did wear his emotions on his sleeve. The director shrugged.
"You must be tired. If it's too much, how about this—shall we push today's conversation to another time?"
"Would you? I'd thought even this time, sitting across from you both, was a perfectly meaningful conversation…."
"Would there be someone who'd be unhappy if we talked any longer than this?"
"……."
Another brief silence and denial.
Lee Yeon-woo's gaze drifted behind Lee Seon-hae and Hong Gyeong-yeon for a moment. Seon-hae glanced back, but there was nothing. And his voice continued.
"…Of course not."
"You always pause at the most telling moments, don't you?"
"I am… quite flustered myself."
"So are we."
"Haha…."
"You look tired."
"I am."
At last, an affirmative.
"I suppose it's because the weather is a bit cold."
No—only half of it, perhaps.
"It doesn't seem that cold a day to me."
"Today it feels cold."
"It can, I suppose."
"I think I was too hasty this time. I wanted to give our valued guests a proper welcome, but my condition only led to further discourtesy. I'm deeply sorry."
"Now, if you say it like that, where does that leave me?"
"Might I humbly ask to defer this precious occasion just a little? The next time we meet, I wish to attend to you both in proper form…."
"……."
"I beg your generous understanding."
The world is a difficult place.
"Let's do that."
And a bewildering one.
'…This busybody streak of mine.'
She'd thought she'd kicked the habit, but people really don't change easily.