Our Hotel Is Open for Business as Usual - Chapter 102

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 102.

The world is divided into countless layers.

“Broadly speaking, there are three of them.”

The world where humans live.
The world where mages dwell.
The path where artists traverse.

“There’s also the world where Dokkaebi live as an exception, but that’s a natural disaster in the truest sense, so we’ll skip that….”
“….”
“The human world appears peaceful at first glance, but that’s merely a thin shell. In truth, monsters called Dokkaebi breathe and live in the spaces between.”
“….”
“But the mage’s world is hell. Death in this Gap is not a choice—it’s the structure itself. The Dokkaebi don’t even pretend to be civilized; they ravage mages without restraint….”
“….”
“Even mages among themselves are too busy devouring one another.”

One day, the Righteous Warrior who had saved Seme spoke thus. And Seme asked in return.

“Then what about the artist’s world?”
“They don’t remain in places already made.”
“Do they have a choice?”
“Artists are the strong ones.”

I couldn’t remember the Warrior’s face.

“They create the ground beneath their feet and the sky above their heads with their own hands.”

But yes. He looked exhausted.

“This world is divided into countless layers, yet all paths ultimately lead to death. The difference lies in this: humans cannot see that path, mages walk upon it, and artists give it a name.”
“Give death a name?”
“It’s possible because death is not their greatest fear.”
“How could that be?”
“Because they’ve gone mad over something without form.”
“Something without form….”

Seme looked at the Righteous Warrior.

“Are you like that too, sir?”

How old had he been? What were his eyes like? His expression?

“Have you gone mad too, sir?”
“…Who wouldn’t….”

The only thing I could remember was that he was terribly exhausted.

“So go mad—at least as much as everyone else does.”
“Why?”
“Because then death won’t frighten you, and perhaps… you might become an artist.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“Where in this world is anything not horrible?”
“That’s true.”

Seme looked up at him and asked.

“Where will you go now?”
“I don’t know.”

The one I had arbitrarily named the “Righteous Warrior” dragged his heavy feet forward.

“I don’t… anymore….”

How long had it been since I walked with him, parted ways, and stood alone?

“….”
“….”

Seme had seen his face skin taxidermied in the estate of a madman who collected “Heroes.” His gaze, still bleeding as if alive, stared into the void with crystalline clarity.

It was in the estate of the employer who had hired Seme after he became a mercenary.

“Hmm? Ah, isn’t it magnificent? My masterpiece. I was fortunate—I picked up a Knight Order Remnant.”
“You picked him up, I see.”
“That expression, as if he died while still alive, is absolutely breathtaking… I was so determined to preserve it exactly as it was that I sought out a master craftsman. What do you think? Doesn’t he look alive?”
“Yes.”

There was no difference from how he had been in life.

“Indeed.”

Perhaps his “Hero” had already been dead even then.

Seme had received commissions from that employer many times. The reasons were simple enough. He was temperamental—if fortune smiled, he paid generously, and whenever he spoke of trivial matters, it was always accompanied by a meal.

There was no employer like him in the Timgae for mercenaries. Yet….

“Ah.”
“….”
“I’ll need to find another place.”

In the end, he too was taxidermied on the wall beside the “Hero.”

“Resentment accumulates when you keep witnessing it.”

Because of this, Seme could no longer accept commissions from such individuals. He naturally sought out other employers. Again and again. Watching death repeat itself endlessly.

“Your skills seem quite competent.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“Have you never considered registering with our Guild?”
“Well, I’m hesitant.”
“Caution is a valuable asset.”
“So it seems.”

Death in this place is never tragedy. A person’s life, suffering, and final struggle are merely a line in statistics. A number in a report. Defined only as a loss of resources.

The survivors proceed indifferently to their next task. Because they must survive. Sacrificing today for tomorrow, sacrificing tomorrow for the day after.

Indeed.

“….”

And so Seme could recognize how fortunate he had been.

“…I wish I’d known that sooner, Ser-sang.”

He murmured his younger brother’s name, thinking the same thought each time.

The village where Seme was born had been decent enough. The residents were close-knit. Perhaps it was only Seme, a provincial fool who knew nothing of the world beyond the village, who harbored such pointless discontent.

No, that much was certain. There was no other way the world could be this crimson.

“No one stops it….”

Whether they lacked the leisure to feel, or had simply forgotten how to feel.

Seme had adapted to that very structure—one that absorbed every scream as expense and resource. In a world where death and flesh became so commonplace they grew tedious, where no one spared a glance for anyone else.

Betraying. Being betrayed. Killing. Nearly dying.

That was how I had lived.

“….”

…So what is that?

For the first time in ages, Seme wanted to ask the Righteous Warrior.

That face—alive while dead, dead while alive—now burned away into nothing. To that phantom already consumed by flame.

You were the first person to teach me something I didn’t know.

‘What exactly is that?’

Human?
Sorcerer?
Artist?

Or perhaps a Dokkaebi.

‘How would you have defined it?’

You knew far more than I ever could.

‘Were you trying to tell me to trust nothing?’

He had repeated it to me countless times, like some form of indoctrination—how arid and indifferent this world truly was, and how deep and languid the blood flowing beneath it ran.

‘But what am I supposed to do….’

Seme watched the pallid gentleman approaching them.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting so long.”

There was always an air of refinement in his demeanor—a seemingly austere yet absolute kindness that came from one who understood precisely how to make others lean upon him.

It was hard to believe this was someone who had passed through that infernal landscape….

“Has anything troublesome occurred?”
“How are you faring, Lee Yeon-woo?”

All the bloodstains they had seen just before the elevator doors closed had been completely erased.

“I understand you sustained considerable injuries.”

Though ‘injuries’ hardly seemed the right word for what had happened.

“Yet you survived.”
“Promises exist to be kept, do they not?”
“I’ve heard that some exist to be broken.”
“That too is an amusing notion.”

Lee Yeon-woo, having spoken thus, gazed at Seme before bending at the waist, his characteristically stoic expression meeting the eyes of those seated on the sofa.

“I understand it must be difficult to trust me.”
“You’re already sounding rather petty.”
“I’m well aware you must have been terrified. Despite the sudden crisis, you’ve all managed admirably thus far. So I won’t insult you with false assurances that this place is safe.”

He extended his hand to Seme.

“But from here on, I’ll be the one to guide you.”
“….”
“…Do you need assistance?”

…A hand I shouldn’t grasp.

‘Of course.’

From the start, there were plenty of reasons to suspect him, and whether intentional or not, Lee Yeon-woo had needed to display a ‘disheveled state’ before them—that blood-soaked appearance.

‘If there’s one thing Dokkaebi and artists share, it’s pride that far exceeds any average.’

He wasn’t as young as Rawi, an artist still finding his way. With Lee Yeon-woo’s level of skill, what kind of resentment he might harbor for the shameful display forced upon him by their hands—Seme couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Yet disturbingly.

“….”
“Are you anxious?”
“…Yes.”

I couldn’t stop him from appearing like a ‘good person.’

“I’m afraid of what kind of mistreatment I might face.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Is this a continuation of the promise we made in the Underground Hunting Ground?”
“As I just said.”
“I see.”

Seme grasped the hand Lee Yeon-woo offered.

“I’m counting on you.”

There was only one plausible reason for taking this hand: I had no choice but to take it.

‘They’re all watching this way.’

The staff had always been that way. Ever since arriving here, every Dokkaebi in the Lobby had been the same. In this place, Seme was more than an uninvited guest—I was a foreign object. Something to be removed and disposed of.

But the only reason that doesn’t happen is because of Lee Yeon-woo standing right before me.

‘If I let go of this hand, I have no idea what catastrophe might unfold.’

It was a universal maxim—do well when you’re able to do well.

‘But there’s no other reason beyond that.’

To be precise.

‘I have no grounds to believe I can continue relying on this person.’

It’s simply.

‘Simply….’

As I’ve been saying all along, I just want to.

“….”

…This is serious.

Once a Dokkaebi enchants you, there’s no escape.

* * *

“Director, we have a crisis.”
“Ssidang, didn’t I tell you to send it in writing or call me?”

The Director ground her teeth as she spoke.

“I still have trauma from Hong.”
“Even if you sent it in writing or called, Rumi wouldn’t stop her head from exploding anyway.”
“There’s such a thing as mood, you know—look at my heart racing. Did a Labyrinth break out somewhere else?”
“A cooperation notice came down from Headquarters.”
“At this point, I’m starting to hate the very word ‘notice.’ What am I supposed to do?”

The Secretary Director ignored her and extended the documents, continuing.

“Tarot Card 12, ‘The Hanged Man’ Hyun Si-gyeong has formally submitted an official dispatch request to the Resonance Bureau.”
“Damn it, now something bigger has blown up.”

The Labyrinth Organization caused trouble whenever they were bored, but the Arcana members were different. The Director, having read the documents presented by the Secretary Director, asked a question.

“Where is that Tarot Master right now?”
“He’s in the Meeting Room at the Gangwon Provincial Government.”
“Ah, these bastards really don’t give me a moment’s rest. This is elder abuse.”
“There’s no one in the Timgae who would consider you elderly.”
“These kids have no respect for their elders.”

The Secretary Director, cleanly ignoring her words, asked a question.

“Shall I bring him in?”
“Just one person came?”
“Two people have arrived.”
“Who’s the other one?”
“Nak-do Master.”
“Is that so?”

The Director raised one eyebrow.

“That fellow from ‘Finding Joy in the Way’?”

A renowned assassination consultant in the Timgae. Recently, reports had come in that he’d killed several artists, apparently because his hands had grown idle. To the Director’s question, the Secretary Director added a note.

“He doesn’t particularly care for that title.”
“That’s news to me. Why? What’s his reason?”
“Apparently, he’s not particularly poor.”
“Well, that’s… quite something.”

Few people in the Timgae used their real names.

Because of this, in the Korean Timgae, one either used a title created by oneself or an acquaintance, or officially received a formal name from the Name-Giving House. When fame grew, nicknames given by others—like “Finding Joy in Poverty”—would attach themselves.

For reference, his original title had been Nak-do.

“If you really hate it that much, go to the Name-Giving House and get a character. That should neutralize things a bit.”
“I don’t want to offend a famous assassination consultant.”
“You’re the Secretary Director of Gangwon Provincial Government, and you’re afraid of a mercenary?”
“I’m strong in direct confrontation, sir, but assassination is my weakness.”
“Actually, I’m not great with assassination either.”

For reference, the more brutal and fierce one’s track record, the more understated their nickname tended to be. In the Korean Timgae, there was a belief that when you gave someone a name, they would live up to it.

“What if I curse while talking?”
“That’s why I keep telling you to reduce the cursing, sir. It won’t make you live longer.”
“I’ve lived damn long, so what nonsense is that?”

The Director of Gangwon was 115 years old this year.

“Damn brats. No successors coming up, no successors.”
“It seems you’re quite fond of Yoon Manager.”
“What do you expect from someone in the Operations Support Division dealing with data?”
“Exactly. The Administrative Division doesn’t get out to the field much, so they’ll live longer, won’t they?”
“Artists from outside who join the Resonance Bureau—none of them have their heads on straight.”
“That’s a provincial bureau too.”
“Looking at his face, he doesn’t have the appearance of someone who’ll live long, no matter how I look at it.”
“That’s unfortunate.”

The Director’s eye for reading someone’s lifespan was quite accurate.

“Will you go yourself?”
“Should I send Min instead?”
“Min is a bit… well, you know.”

He was the most obsessed with physical training at Gangwon Provincial Government. Just because muscles grow in the body doesn’t mean the brain shrinks, but perhaps because his body is strong, his mind has become lazy. Day by day, he loses the ability to filter his words and actions.

“I think it’s best you go yourself, sir. You’re already acquainted with the Arcana members.”
“You’re coming with me, you bastard.”
“I have a fox-like fox and a rabbit-like rabbit waiting for me at home.”
“Looking at what you keep at your place, they’re neither foxes nor rabbits. Get your head straight, you fool. Both of you are wearing out this poor old man.”
“I really don’t want to…”
“You call yourself a damn civil servant, so why do you ignore your superior’s words?”
“Ugh…”

The Secretary Director was seized by the Elder’s branch-like, gaunt and elongated arm. The heavy frame of an adult man was dragged along as effortlessly as down feathers. The Secretary Director’s posture naturally became more composed.

The Director opened the Meeting Room door without hesitation.

“I heard that Tarot Master came here.”
Squeak…
“Damn it, that bastard brought a whistle again. I’m losing my mind.”
Squeak.

Captain Hyun Si-gyeong, whose face bore its characteristic expressionlessness, watched her from behind with the whistle still in her mouth.

“This is our Secretary Director. You saw her face when we first met, didn’t you? Do you remember?”
Squeak.
“Right, right. I came down as soon as I received the cooperation notice, eager to see you… but here’s the thing.”

She pointed to the middle-aged man with an affable impression standing behind the sofa where Captain Hyun Si-gyeong sat.

“Is this the Nak-do Master I’ve only heard about?”
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you, Master~”
“Look at that composure, eh? A young man with good nerve, this one.”
“Ah, I’m a bit too old to be called young.”
“You have decent self-awareness too.”

Usually, someone like that isn’t in their right mind.

“We’re supposedly a Government Agency, so we don’t accept assassins.”
“Oh my, such hurtful words. Who doesn’t take assassination requests these days?”
“Here. Right here in front of you. Oh, I’m so scared I’m going straight to heaven.”

At that, the Secretary Director whispered.

“Director, heaven might be a stretch given your character.”
“What did you say, you bastard? Can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
“My apologies.”

He stood composedly behind the Director.

“….”
“So, I’m asking with Director authority.”

Thunk.
The Director set the documents down on the table.

“―What do you mean the Foundation spawned offspring?”

She truly did not care for the Foundation.

* * *

Rawi enjoyed observing.

In a sense, he was a pervert, though he’d heard that all artists were deranged perverts in their own way. In that regard, Rawi was obsessed with “seeing.”

“Come this way, please.”

He gazed at the key held in Lee Yeon-woo’s hand.

“I’ve arranged accommodations for you through the staff. Room 9 on the 12th floor.”
“Room 1209?”
“Yes, that’s correct. It would be wise to remember it well.”
“Um….”

Rawi asked with a subtle smile.

“You seem quite familiar with this place.”
“I’ve stayed here for a long time.”
“I see.”

And when one gazes long enough, things become clearer. Stare at the night sky and its constellations emerge. Stare into someone’s eyes and their emotions reveal themselves.

Rawi perceived information and truth. Like most young artists, he didn’t understand the mechanism—he simply saw it. It was intuition, or perhaps big data, depending on how one looked at it.

“Won’t you stay with us, Senior Lee Yeon-woo?”
“Having such a suspicious person nearby would only make you uneasy.”

But this person….

“…Oh my, what a disheartening thing to say.”

It was hard to see clearly.

‘What was he trying to say?’

Cold sweat pooled in the palm of my hand pressed against my back.

It sounded like a joke, like a veiled jab at their wariness, or like words spoken without any emotion whatsoever. His lukewarm face—neither smiling nor expressionless—held nothing definite.

He was as murky as water diluted with water.

‘Yet his features aren’t blurred at all….’

Even as he muttered nonsense under his breath, Lee Yeon-woo’s pace remained steady.

“….”
“Are you alright?”
“…Ah….”

Rawi rolled his gaze sideways and laughed.

“Of course.”

Isn’t he a truly strange person?

‘He’s definitely suspicious.’

An odd atmosphere emanated from him.

‘Like there’s something more lurking beneath, like a hidden mastermind in a movie.’

Everything was suspicious—the grace that flowed from his gestures and movements, the way he acted with such flawlessly bizarre precision, as if harboring some secret agenda.

“….”

But.

The image of Lee Yeon-woo drenched in blood remained vivid before my eyes.

Rawi, uniquely gifted in observation, could not possibly overlook it—the traces of him being handled like a toy scattered throughout. Yet Lee Yeon-woo had ultimately returned to them unscathed….

Ah, how frustrating.

‘…Looking at it, if someone with the means to recover ended up in such a state, just how much must they have endured? The fact that they’re asking about our condition after experiencing such a situation because of us is almost miraculous.’

Even if it was an act, it was impressive.

‘My senior seems quite uncomfortable as well.’

But what mattered was that he showed goodwill toward me. Even if everything he displayed was theater, there was nothing wrong with that. The more often I saw him, the more I would come to understand his true intentions.

‘That must be it.’

I could think of it that way.

‘Yes, let’s do that.’

Ignoring the throbbing in my head, I followed the figure in the black coat, and it wasn’t long before we arrived at Room 1209. Rawi gasped as he looked beyond the door that Lee Yeon-woo opened himself.

“Insane.”
“That’s quite a strong reaction.”
“Why is it this spacious? You could play soccer in here.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

With those words, Lee Yeon-woo stepped back.

“Then I’ll see you later.”
“Huh? Where are you going?”
“Back to my room.”

Seme, who had been silent all along, asked.

“So you do have a room here.”
“It hasn’t been just a day or two.”

Lee Yeon-woo’s words didn’t seem like a lie, yet strangely, they didn’t seem like the truth either.

‘As if both were neither right nor wrong.’

Lee Yeon-woo continued speaking.

“You’ll find it far more comfortable to rest here than in the Hunting Ground. Since this room has been assigned to you, you won’t need to worry as much about uninvited intrusions as you would there.”
“So there’s still a chance of intrusion, then.”
“That’s true of any hotel. If someone harbors ill intent, they can descend into depravity anywhere. We simply trust in the Hotel’s rules and the courtesy of our guests.”

Lee Yeon-woo finished speaking and offered a slight bow.

“Rest well. Perhaps later….”
“….”
“…I too shall return after I’ve had some rest.”

Whether he had smiled or not remained unclear.

“….”

Rawi couldn’t quite reach a conclusion.

“…Senior.”
“Should we look around a bit?”
“Now?”
“We never know what might be here.”
“Surveillance cameras, perhaps?”
“Dangerous items, for instance.”
“That too, but…”
“We can talk about it.”

Seme shrugged slightly.

“Later.”
“….”

The intent behind that gaze was far too clear.

“Fine, whatever.”

Rawi was happy to let it slide.

It seemed the other had plenty they wanted to say as well.

* * *

Upon arriving at the Manager’s Quarters, Lee Yeon-woo rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Your guard has lowered somewhat, hasn’t it?”
“Yes!”

Coco’s affirmation came without hesitation.

‘How curious.’

A faint weariness flickered across his consciousness as he changed into fresh clothes. Lee Yeon-woo examined his shirt—pristine and unwrinkled, betraying no sign of fatigue—and murmured softly to himself.

“What happened while I was away?”
“…?”
“No, wait. The staff said nothing unusual occurred.”
“….”
“Coco?”

Coco gazed at Lee Yeon-woo with hollow eyes. They had always been hollow, but something felt different now. He found himself reflexively turning inward for self-examination.

“….”
“….”
“…Ah.”

Was it because of what happened just before entering the Elevator?

“Yes.”
“I apologize—I momentarily overlooked it. At that time, I was quite heated by the meddling of the Wet Person and that mysterious monster guest.”
“Mm.”
“But if we’re being fair, haven’t I saved you many times? I protected you throughout the Hunting Ground where threats were constant. What made the incident at the Elevator different? Mere accumulation? Or perhaps my injury?”
“Yes? Yes.”
“Your guard lowers when I’m injured?”
“Yes?”

Coco pondered for a long moment before answering.

“Yes!”

Lee Yeon-woo fixed his gaze upon Coco on the desk.

“I would appreciate it if you simply told me when you don’t know something.”
“Ying.”
“Please don’t feed me clumsy or incorrect information.”
“Ying!”
“I can’t possibly become any more foolish than this.”

The loss of emotional big data had already slowed my situational awareness. In the past, I would have grasped the entire arc of the current situation long ago. Now I had to piece together memories and information one by one to reach a conclusion.

“Your words don’t make sense. You’re saying my guard drops only when I’m injured? That’s a suspiciously questionable assumption about the character of my guests.”
“No?”
“That’s your standard, Coco—not a human one. Generally speaking, people don’t possess such sentiments. While some may have a tendency to enjoy others’ suffering or distress, that’s hardly universal….”

Even as Lee Yeon-woo said this, his expression grew subtle.

“….”

…Does my guard really drop when I’m injured?

‘…If there was a moment when my guard would drop, the only thing I can think of besides the Elevator incident is nothing. Until then, the trust dynamic had been fairly consistent….’

If I looked for differences, it really came down to Lee Yeon-woo’s injury alone. The only thing that distinguished now from before was that Lee Yeon-woo had become visibly drenched in blood before us.

“…Perhaps that might be the answer after all. I know the truth, but from their perspective, I must seem suspicious—like some incomprehensible force of strength.”

Even though I was really just a burst acorn jelly.

“Yes.”
“It’s all the more regrettable hearing affirmation from your lips.”
“No?”
“But it’s worth testing. Certainly, an incomprehensible weakling would put them more at ease than an incomprehensible force of strength. In a sense, I’d appear far more harmless.”

It wasn’t that I enjoyed Lee Yeon-woo being hurt. I felt genuinely uncomfortable and repulsed by the thought.

‘But if it could truly put their minds at ease, there’s no reason I couldn’t do it.’

Though it wasn’t a healthy approach for everyone involved. But survival mattered more than health, after all. And it didn’t seem like this side would suffer psychological trauma from being injured a few more times.

“Besides, I’m already in a position where I need to lie anyway, so this won’t be a bad substitute for an apology I can’t voice. Even if I get injured a few times, there’s practically no actual damage.”
“Yes!”
“Still, this penalty has so many inconvenient aspects….”

Lee Yeon-woo pressed his tired eyes with his fingers.

‘Ever since the Tasteless Guest’s penalty, it feels like the buffer that used to cushion me has been torn away.’

I was never naturally kind to begin with. I’d lived by covering my sharp nature with reason and social grace, but now that my emotions were broken, unfiltered, cutting words threatened to spill out unconsciously.

Just as they had with the two Mias in the Underground Hunting Ground.

“Drawing boundaries isn’t easy either.”
“Let’s die!”
“Why do I keep learning only these kinds of words.”

Lee Yeon-woo ran his hand through his hair.

“I feel my personality is quite loose.”
“No?”
“I’d be grateful if I don’t appear to be a multiple personality.”
“No! No!”
“Social life is truly this difficult.”

It often felt more troublesome than the water affinity penalty.

‘I can’t immediately sense what the right answer is.’

A large portion of the ‘knowledge’ I’d accumulated since infancy had been lost. Even reading the students’ moods—now I had to repeat hypothesis and experiment.

But there was no major problem.

“…In the end, it’s my specialty.”

Research, you see.

“That said, I have no intention of taking any immediate action.”
“Yes? Yes.”
“For now, let’s keep it in mind.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”

* * *

“….”

From atop the desk, Coco gazed at Lee Yeon-woo and rolled about in a contented sprawl.

“…?”

Something….

Something that didn’t quite feel right.

What could it be.

“….”
“Coco, shall we create my ‘room’?”
“…! Yes!”
“We can renovate the existing Room 14—that should work nicely.”
“Yes!”
“And finish exploring the Hotel.”
“Hehe.”

The dear player was becoming increasingly one with this place. Satisfied by this pleasing direction, Coco swiftly erased the doubts from moments before.

As always, Coco settled upon Lee Yeon-woo’s shoulder. The Black Cat’s smile was radiant.

“It has been quite some time since we’ve seen that expression.”
“Yes!”
“As you wish.”

The two departed from the Operator’s Lodging once more.

For it was not only Seme and Rawi who required a grasp of the situation.

“….”

As I stepped into the Private Elevator, I muttered to myself.

“…So, what exactly was wrong with our guests?”

The back of my hand, still bearing the mark of that kiss, felt uncomfortably sticky.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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