Our Hotel Is Open for Business as Usual - Chapter 123

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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 123.

“I’ve twisted my own fate.”

At those words, the Wet Person rested his chin on his hand.

“Your words grow sharper with each passing day.”
“I would be grateful if you could interpret it as a sign of our friendship.”
“A sign, not a token?”
“Shouldn’t we be satisfied with even that much?”

Lee Yeon-woo lifted the earthenware pot from the tray.

“Tonight’s dinner is kimchi stew.”
“Sweet things are nice though.”
“Simple sugars are unsuitable for sustained energy supply. You and I maintain a formal contractual relationship, and as your staff member, I have an obligation to prevent your nutritional imbalance.”
“Who serves kimchi stew to a Water Ghost?”
“Now that you mention it, there’s some logic to that.”

It was my own oversight in failing to meet global standards. I reflected on my mistake.

“However, there’s no law saying a ghost shouldn’t eat a balanced meal. Don’t go around eating innocent people, and since I’ve added plenty of the meat you enjoy, eat without complaint.”
“If there’s meat in it, that’s a different story.”

Splash―!

The Wet Person, who had been sprawled in the water, finally crawled out. Dripping wet, he squelched across the floor and settled himself at the table Lee Yeon-woo had prepared.

He furrowed his brow at the water pooling across the floor.

“Table manners and all that.”
“Fish die when they dry out.”
“But you don’t die from eating kimchi stew?”
“You’re the one who keeps providing meals, so why are you complaining?”
“Because you do nothing but unpleasant things without offering anything in return.”
“I’m innocent.”
“I saw the Student Rooms completely flooded with water.”
“Caught red-handed….”

Slurp.
I eat quite convincingly.

“This tastes good.”
“So Korean cuisine actually suits my palate.”
“Was I being tested?”
“Next time, shall I try braised short ribs?”
“I’m fond of any meat, really.”
“Since I’ll provide it, please leave the ordinary people alone.”

Don’t torment those young friends with bright futures ahead.

* * *

“Do you really think that’s possible, our friend the Captain?”

Inside the car rattling up the Mountain Road.

“About the Dokkaebi.”
“Theoretically, it’s possible.”

Hyun Si-gyeong, who was driving, answered Nak-do Master’s question.

“Dokkaebi and Sentient Species are different kinds, but since both deal with the mystical, it’s difficult for them to consume each other. If a Dokkaebi eats a Sentient Species, it becomes contaminated, and if a Sentient Species eats a Dokkaebi, it causes indigestion.”
“When you compare contamination to indigestion, the latter seems overwhelmingly trivial, though~….”

But I understood.

“It’s similar to how Sentient Species don’t get along well with each other—I understand.”

To be honest, I don’t know much about the native Dokkaebi. There are only two in all of Korea, and since they mimic humans while remaining devoted to their own lives, they don’t spread calamity like ordinary Dokkaebi do.

All I know is that they’re the original bearers of the Dokkaebi name. Beings with self-awareness and an instinctive command of mystery, aligned with both The Artist and the Sentient Species. Simply put, they’re somewhat less harmful.

“That said, it doesn’t mean they absolutely cannot be consumed. Both Dokkaebi and Sentient Species follow the rule that the larger, stronger, and more resolute entity can devour the weaker one.”
“Why would they go to such lengths to consume each other if they know they’ll both be hurt?”
“It could simply be a matter of poor relations, or in the case of Sentient Species, they might covet the other because they judge them to fit well with their ‘narrative’ or ‘stage’ or some such thing.”
“True, the Labyrinth does have that aspect—striving toward a more ‘perfect performance’…”

Whoooosh—
As autumn approached, the raindrops fell heavy.

“From the perspective of a foreign Sentient Species, consuming a native Dokkaebi yields considerable merit. At minimum, they can incorporate it into their own ‘performance,’ and moreover, such Dokkaebi display an intense vitality and will that never dies easily even when consumed, which is why—”

He continued.

“They excel in both quantity and quality beyond what one could reasonably abandon.”
“So they’re highly practical.”
“With luck, they could become an even stronger Labyrinth—there’s nothing to waste. However, no matter how slowly one digests them, the Sentient Species suffers severe aftereffects.”

He added further.

“Those aftereffects diminish both entities. Even the youngest Labyrinth knows it must avoid this for survival. That’s why most Labyrinths consume only ‘humans.'”
“What about sorcerers?”

Nak-do Master shrugged.

“Don’t they also rarely get consumed?”
“They’re in the position of ‘won’t eat’ rather than ‘can’t eat.'”
“Ah… so it’s a matter of pickiness.”

I’d seen cases of sorcerers becoming offerings often enough that I wondered. I worried I’d been misunderstanding something. Still, as someone claiming to be an advisor, wouldn’t it be embarrassing to harbor incorrect knowledge?

“So then?”

Nak-do Master scratched his head with the barrel of his gun and asked.

“What would be the most favorable outcome?”
“Being human, they lose their humanity, and—”

Thud.
An eye rolls across the floor.

“Because he is not human, he has preserved his humanity.”

If he truly was a being divided into ‘two’, then theoretically it was possible. I had never seen such a case before, but if that place truly was connected to the Foundation, and if the gazes of countless souls accompanied him there….

“However, in this case, what matters is how the entity ‘Lee Yeon-woo’ responded to his own transformation. Even if we succeeded in separating ‘The Devil’ from the ‘Experimental Subject’, we still don’t know which side’s power will be stronger.”
“Well, I get the gist of it.”

Nak-do Master nodded.

“So it’s a race against time?”

That was essentially it.

“A war of attrition like this is certainly harder on a Dokkaebi who retains humanity than on a human who has become the Labyrinth. That ‘human-like’ nature actually makes people truly… weak, doesn’t it?”
“….”
“And since the two can’t be completely separated either, it must be quite the predicament, no? Since the human aspect has already fused with the Labyrinth, Lee Yeon-woo—essentially the same entity—couldn’t possibly escape. In the end, that ‘Hotel’ must be maintained, so that Dokkaebi who doesn’t want to kill innocent people will certainly….”
“….”
“Ah— aha ha…! Yes, that’s how it would be!”

He tapped The Hanging Man’s shoulder with a chuckle.

“My goodness, you must have had quite the entertainment for a while, haven’t you? Come on, let’s watch together.”
“….”
“But from that friend’s perspective, hasn’t it become even crueler? In any case, these Labyrinths would rather kill cleanly, but instead they torture an innocent youth—body and soul alike—with false hope. The quality is truly abysmal~.”
“….”
“How fascinating….”

Isn’t it exquisite?
Fate, that is.

“Even a young Labyrinth can be so cruel.”

Nak-do Master laughed in a thin, drawn-out manner.

* * *

The dark, dim dawn.

Leaning against the guest room door, Seme opened his mouth to speak.

“In a typical Labyrinth, you see.”
―I’m listening.
“Everything I see, hear, and encounter is fake. It’s merely illusion and a recreation of sensation.”
―Why is that?
“Because it’s nothing but a story.”

The youthful voice continued steadily.

“Whether it was created based on actual events or crafted through an impressive tale, the Labyrinth is ultimately nothing more than a grotesque reenactment—a play of what once was.”

Thud.
The back of his head touched the door.

“But the food in this place was real.”

That was strange.

“Normally, phenomena and objects within a Labyrinth are illusions so exquisite they’re indistinguishable from reality. In a way, it’s only natural. The same amount of energy simply circulates endlessly within it.”
―So there’s nowhere to escape to.
“More precisely, there isn’t enough surplus to escape with.”
―Not enough surplus?
“Unless it’s a Labyrinth so vast and deep that humans continuously pour in from the outside, no Labyrinth would tear away its own flesh just to deceive a mere human.”
―That makes sense. A Labyrinth isn’t stupid, after all.
“So it’s actually the opposite.”

The Labyrinth doesn’t expend energy to feed on humans.

“It creates illusions from its own flesh, manifesting delicious food that humans will want to eat. Then, the being that consumes the Labyrinth’s flesh becomes bound to that Labyrinth….”
―And ultimately becomes an offering?
“Usually, yes.”

Seme’s pupils shifted ever so slightly.

“That’s why this Hotel is even stranger.”

He whispered the question into the empty air.

“Why isn’t the food in this place fake?”

My words held truth. No matter how much one consumed the food here, they never became bound to it. That meant every morsel of food and every drop of water in this Hotel was entirely ‘real’.

“There are many perplexing aspects, but if that’s the case, the primary question becomes: where exactly does the resource corresponding to this ‘food’ come from?”
―Are you suggesting the Hotel receives energy from outside itself?
“But for energy to be flowing in from somewhere, this Hotel would need humans. And it doesn’t have any.”

Seme and Rawi were merely extraordinarily unlucky to have been caught up in this. According to my reaction and the Tasteless Guest’s words, it was likely an exceedingly rare occurrence.

Yet a Hotel of this scale could never operate on such a minuscule number alone.

“This part is equally strange—no matter how I look at it, this Hotel is structured to use humans as resources. Just look at the Dokkaebi that I call the Monster Guest.”

They would gaze intently at Seme and Rawi, wondering if there was some way to toy with humans without violating the Hotel’s ‘rules’.

“Looking at other things too… the very fact that clueless Human Guests can arrive at a Hotel where Monster Guests visit—doesn’t that give you that impression?”
―It’s certainly disadvantageous for the Human Guests.
“From the start, it was a structure designed to mock humans. Like any Labyrinth, it was a Labyrinth that either ensnares you before you notice, or draws you in with a dazzling facade.”

That’s the structure. That’s the system.

“And that’s how they squeeze humans dry….”

That’s how they create ‘resources’.

“But it’s not doing that.”
―I see it the same way.
“Then it must be obtaining such ‘resources’ from inside, not outside. But I don’t see any such element. It’s simply a ‘Hotel where Dokkaebi visit’, as you said.”

In other words, this Hotel is self-sufficient in ‘resources’. Within itself, in some manner. Continuously.

“Self-sufficient, you say….”

Seme’s eyes rolled, turning to look at Rawi leaning against the wall.

“What do you think?”
“I just wish they would leave that position.”
“This wouldn’t even count as a secret meeting.”
“If you forget about this again, that’s not my problem~”
“You look angry about something.”

Rawi exhaled deeply before answering.

“I don’t know either. What I ‘see’ is just the atmosphere. I can’t read the specific structure or story within it.”
“Then at least tell me about that atmosphere.”
“…A long time ago….”

He looked down at Seme, who was crouching.

“…You spoke about the Clock before, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. I said it would probably be the foundation of this Hotel.”
“I… saw something in the flowers of the Rooftop Garden.”
“What kind of something?”
“….”

Rawi shrugged.

“Something like a person.”
“…I see….”

Seme blinked.

“That’s not particularly surprising.”
“Is the Labyrinth always like this?”
“It couldn’t be.”

He spun his finger in a circle as he explained.

“About that Clock I mentioned back then—why do you think it’s called the ‘Clock’?”
“Well, that’s….”
“I heard it from the person who saved me the second time.”
“A passerby?”
“That’s right.”

Seme folded his fingers again and continued speaking.

“Actually, it was created to turn back time.”
“….”
“And apparently, many people were broken in that process.”

Rawi exhaled a long sigh.

“Are you saying what I saw was one of those ‘broken people’?”
“Were they alive?”
“I’m not certain.”
“The fact that you can’t say for sure suggests they might be those ‘people who ended up in a fate worse than death’.”
“This Hotel is truly unbearable.”
“I agree.”

Seme leaned his head against the door once more, then gazed up at the Ceiling where the lights refused to turn on. A light that should have illuminated if there were ‘people’ present….

“….”

Swish,
He lowered his head.

“…but it can’t be the answer.”
“I know what you’re about to suggest.”
“There are several reasons, but historically, humans have been the only energy source for the Labyrinth.”
“Couldn’t this place right now be an exception to that?”
“I’ve considered that possibility too.”

This Hotel, this Labyrinth, is far too anomalous. Excessively vast, deep, and expansive. It feels as though Labyrinths that should ordinarily be scattered across the world in isolation have all overlapped here.

But that couldn’t be the reason.

“Why do you think humans were ‘historically’ the only energy source for the Labyrinth?”
“Because they’re easy to manipulate and have plenty to extract?”
“That’s not entirely wrong, but….”

Seme closed his eyes.

“You thought this Labyrinth was entangled with that ‘Clock,’ so you viewed this place as one massive energy source. Like a wealthy person whose bank account overflows with money—spending a little wouldn’t even show.”
―An amusing analogy, Seme.
“It was an attempt to lighten the mood of the situation, in a way.”

He let out a soft laugh.

“But no. Even if it’s composed of such vast souls and narratives as you’ve witnessed, it cannot create such a ‘genuine’ thing through its own energy alone.”
“…What’s the reason?”
“It’s a matter related to the form of energy.”
“Form?”
“For example, if you put blood that’s already coagulated into a person’s body, a normal transfusion wouldn’t work, would it?”

That’s what I mean.

“The form of the energy itself has already changed. There might be exceptions due to cosmic events, but by my understanding, ‘coagulated blood’ cannot return to being ‘fresh blood.'”
“…But doesn’t that ‘Clock’ have the ability to turn back time?”
“That’s why I said it was a cosmic event.”

Unfortunately, the Clock has been shattered for a long time already.

“If a new ‘Clock’ had been created, the entire world would be in an uproar—the scale would be massive enough that I couldn’t possibly be unaware of it. Even if this Labyrinth were entangled with that ‘Clock’ and used its power, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not?”
“As I keep saying, energy whose form has already changed is just that….”

Seme wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees.

“I’ve spoken so grandly that the ‘Clock’ might seem like some kind of omnipotent miracle, but that’s not really the case. In the end, it’s just an object that requires ‘resources’ to ‘operate.'”
“….”
“Why do you think so many ‘broken people’ were created when the Clock was made?”
“….”
“…Because that much ‘energy’ was necessary to turn back time.”

To put it simply.

“It all comes down to equivalent exchange.”

Without sacrifice, there is no gain.

“This Hotel is already a world created from the Clock’s debt. What more could possibly be offered? Especially when no one is even crawling into this place right now?”
“…Uh….”

Rawi, whose mouth had been moving, continued speaking.

“…Could it be that for Lee Yeon-woo….”
“It’s possible.”
“…Or it might not be?”
“Well, that would be far too inefficient.”
“Inefficient?”
“More precisely, it wouldn’t be cost-effective. It would be like kidnapping a frost mage just because you wanted ice. The probability that the Clock’s power doesn’t even exist anymore is far higher.”

It’s been broken for a long time, after all.

“So I’ve been thinking about it.”
“You said you didn’t know.”
“Be quiet. I’m still deliberating whether this is even real right now.”

A beat late, Seme continued.

“…If Lee Yeon-woo really is still a ‘person’….”

If he’s still alive.

“That could certainly become a ‘resource.'”
“Lee Yeon-woo?”
“The fact that the food we consumed is ‘real’ means it carries the possibility of a future. In other words, only energy that actually exists—not illusion—can become real within the Labyrinth.”
“Pardon?”
“The Labyrinth is already a closed narrative, a dead star. Observation is possible, but it cannot serve as additional fuel. Those countless souls you saw exist in the same state, so they cannot become that kind of ‘real.'”
“Could you summarize that?”
“Which is why, ultimately, to create something ‘real,’ we need something alive.”

He whispered softly.

“Something that possesses a future, possibility. And if we factor in this Hotel’s structure as well….”

Slowly, Seme lifted his head.

“….”
“All I need is for Lee Yeon-woo to provide the ‘resources’ necessary to keep this Facility running.”

That would work.

“Then it doesn’t matter if The Human Guest never enters. The Hotel General Manager said he’d accept any rational opinion, so there’s no reason to refuse such an operational method.”
“…Is that even possible?”
“Why couldn’t it be? It’s perfectly ‘rational.'”

Seme laid out the points methodically.

“First, with no outsiders entering, unnecessary conflicts can be reduced. By making fluctuation rates more predictable, we can cut maintenance costs. After all, outsiders are variables too.”

If the ‘System’ were like a machine, it would naturally dislike variables of any kind.

“Lee Yeon-woo, you do leave periodically, don’t you?”
“…Well, I can’t always be where you can see me….”
“While you’re gone, we could just drop dead, couldn’t we?”

Seme understood the sincerity behind Lee Yeon-woo’s promise to ‘help.’ Rawi likely understood it too. Yet he was not always by their side.

Even though there were more reasons to be than reasons not to be.

“Perhaps… during those ‘invisible times,’ Lee Yeon-woo is doing something that could better guarantee our safety.”

I’m busy pulling my hair out managing the hotel, but Seme and Rawi couldn’t possibly know that.

“That’s what I concluded.”
“To summarize,”

Rawi, finding Seme’s logic sound, organized the argument.

“Lee Yeon-woo is substituting for the ‘Human Guests’ that would be needed to maintain this Hotel, isn’t that right?”

More precisely, Lee Yeon-woo was paying the price that should have been borne by this Hotel—the suffering, negative emotions, or perhaps something beyond that which aligned with the Labyrinth’s purpose.

Considering what would have happened to them had Lee Yeon-woo not existed, one could dare to imagine.

“…But….”

Rawi’s expression grew clouded.

“Is that even possible…?”
“The Deep Waters don’t have a fixed depth, do they?”
“You didn’t seem to be struggling that much though?”
“Some people just don’t show it.”

Seme asked, feeling a hollow emptiness as the voice from beyond the door fell silent.

“So? Does it sound convincing?”
“….”

Soon after, Rawi’s brow furrowed.

“…I’m not sure….”

* * *

…So this was,

“….”

In the end.
Surprisingly.
All of it.

“…?”

It had happened because Lee Yeon-woo hadn’t explained the Nightmare.

“Forgive me, but I’m feeling rather strange all of a sudden.”
“Then make me another peach tart.”
“Was it starvation rather than drowning….”

[Sixth Sense]
‘Someone is talking about you.’

“There are far too many things that don’t add up.”
“Who are you talking to, friend?”
“Please don’t interrupt my conversation with myself.”

And so Lee Yeon-woo’s narrative became all the more acrobatic.

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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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