Our Hotel Is Open for Business as Usual - Chapter 44

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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 44.

“So the Sixth Sense activates even for guests who’ve left the Hotel.”
“Yes.”
“It even broadcasts scenes I’d rather not witness.”
“Yes.”
“Have I lost my mind?”

This ability seemed to have no concept of privacy whatsoever.

“When it was just a game, it wasn’t like this. There’s so much I wish were different….”

Lee Yeon-woo reclined on the bed in the Manager’s Quarters. My eyes burned with pain from staring at the Management Module’s hologram for so long.

It wasn’t just my imagination. I wiped away the tears of blood streaming from my eyes with my hand.

‘My body truly refuses to obey my will.’

My hands, drenched in blood.

“….”

Revulsion washed over me.

This Hotel had not a single proper set of pajamas, and my body shed blood at all hours. My obsession with keeping my bedding and clothes clean seemed hollow against this reality.

Living without dignity—without being truly human—was far more exhausting than I had imagined.

“…sigh….”

I felt like I was losing my mind, but I steadied myself.

“Through my conversation with Baek Mu-jin, one fact has become clear. The background setting of this game has manifested into reality. At minimum, there exists a weight of time corresponding to it.”

Baek Mu-jin had spoken plainly. He smelled the stench of corpses and blood. He heard screams layered upon screams, and even felt prayers directed toward a god that should not exist.

“If he had possessed that kind of superpower, then yes. He….”
“Pardon?”
“The fact that a Major Corporation’s chairman was actually a superhuman is still shocking, but setting aside sentiment and returning to the main point.”
“Yes.”
“What he felt certainly aligns with Ho-won’s background settings.”

A camouflaged hotel erected for the unethical experiments of a Pseudo-Religious Cult. A colossal dungeon born from the concentrated negative thoughts converging there. That was the true identity of the Hotel as explained by the game Ho-won.

“But questions remain. The game is merely fiction, yet for it to be implemented as reality—history that never existed suddenly emerging—is causally contradictory. It makes no sense.”
“….”
“Where did that history originate? Was the story within the game actually real history that existed, and the Hotel from another dimension transferred wholesale to this one? Or perhaps… if not that either….”
“Hello.”

Squish—.

Just as I was about to sink into the quagmire of thought, a soft sensation pressed against my face.

“….”
“….”
“…Please get down.”
“Mew.”
“Mrow.”
“Meow.”

Despite her grumbling, Coco obediently descended. Except for Hotel Management policy, she was quite a reasonable cat. Though that hardly made her a good one.

“…In any case, the only certainty is that the game has become reality.”

So.

“That’s what’s truly absurd about this.”
“Pardon?”
“To me, it was just a game….”

Every gamer has imagined it at least once. How wonderful if the currency and resources in a game were real. How entertaining if this virtual world actually existed.

‘Of course, given this game’s nature, I’ve never thought that way.’

Unfortunately, that fantasy has now become reality.

“I’m not particularly pleased about it.”
“No?”
“That’s unfortunate.”

It wasn’t some other genre—it was a Horror Hotel management simulation. A world brimming with all manner of monsters, malevolent resources, and brutal recipes. This sort of thing would be rather inconvenient if it actually existed in reality.

‘And now I’m one of the co-owners of that very hotel.’

This is absolutely maddening. Lee Yeon-woo wiped his face with a dry hand.

“My body has become a game character, and the hotel’s history and resources all stem from the game itself. Yet here I am, seriously hearing things like ‘devour them’ and ‘you’ve repeated death’… that’s just a bit…”
“A bit…?”
“A bit….”

That was it.

“….”

Honestly, I felt embarrassed.

‘It’s just game lore.’

There was something awkward about claiming I’d actually experienced it.

I had certainly experienced it through the game, but that wasn’t reality. Yet now that fabricated history had become real. I had genuinely died before. Though I did manage to survive in the end.

“I feel like I’m not living up to my age.”
“That’s a bit…”
“You’re quite skilled at using that phrase, Coco….”

The impact was considerable. It felt like hearing that from a friend or colleague—that dismissive “that’s a bit” response.

“It’s not that I lack awareness of reality. I’m not in denial either. I’m clearly cognizant that this hotel, my body, and my circumstances are real.”
“Yes.”
“But as time passes, I find myself viewing myself less as human and more as a game character. Despite my vigilance. As if it were a natural evolution.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps because of that… the situation doesn’t feel particularly serious to me.”

If I were anyone other than Lee Yeon-woo, I would die. Within this hotel, I wouldn’t. And because of that, I couldn’t help but fall into a fundamental quandary.

“How am I supposed to survive?”

It was a reflection on myself and the direction this Hotel should take.

“Hello?”
“Are you asking if my sense of self-identity has already progressed to that point?”
“Yes.”
“If you thought I could resolve that simply by worrying about it now, you’re sorely mistaken, Coco.”

Identity is something that forms naturally as one lives. Just as a kindergartener might shout “I’m a fire truck!” only to become a dutiful taxpayer in adulthood, I too would eventually reach a day when I could define myself.

“The problem is the process of reaching that point.”
“What?”
“Don’t refuse before you’ve even heard me out.”
“Yes.”
“If I ever return to Society, that is.”
“What?”
“Do you have no intention of listening to me?”
“What?”

Lee Yeon-woo ignored him.

“Even if I were to return to Society, my current body makes normal living nearly impossible. Because of this, I’ve had to be extremely cautious the entire time Baek Mu-jin has been here.”

The game system, the Red Heart Experiment ritual, high-level bugs, the Wet Person’s contract….

“With all these settings tangled together, I’ve become vulnerable, wasting most of my time in the Manager’s Quarters. While I could perform tasks remotely through the management module from within my lodging, the moment I step outside, the threat to my survival becomes overwhelming.”
“Yes.”
“That’s only natural for a game like this.”

Hotel One was fundamentally a game where you learned by dying, after all.

“The aftermath of death is problematic enough, but now resurrection consumes vast resources as well… I’ve reached a point where I must avoid death at all costs.”

Lee Yeon-woo added this while checking the management module.

“Even if we’re only accepting monster guests in the open version, that doesn’t mean the environment is suitable for accommodating ordinary humans.”
“No?”
“I won’t hear it. We don’t admit Human Guests. In any case, because of this situation, the Hotel’s resources are accumulating at an excessively slow rate. At this pace, I won’t even be able to secure items to counter the contract penalty with The Wet Person.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore, physical condition improvement research is not a choice—it’s a necessity.”

But what troubled me was this.

“If there’s a problem, and I neglect this body while already having entered the game proper, there’s a significant risk the system will go haywire. With the current operating system, I simply cannot secure research time.”
“Research?”
“Right, the body isn’t my specialty either. There will be plenty of trial and error.”

Yet automating the entire Hotel was still far beyond our current foundation.

“So I’ve been thinking about it, Coco.”
“Yes?”
“In this game, there’s definitely… *cough, gag, retch*—!!”
“No, no, no!!!”

Lee Yeon-woo, who had just vomited violently on the Lodging’s bed, continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

“There’s definitely a ‘maintenance function’ in this game.”

The maintenance function.

A function that pauses Hotel operations and reconfigures new facilities, themes, or conceptual spaces. Hotel decoration—what Lee Yeon-woo affectionately abbreviated as “Ho-deco.”

“Originally, it’s a function only hardcore veterans who’ve played through the closed version would attempt. For general gameplay, it’s a hidden feature that doesn’t matter if you skip it—one that requires conquering the Non-Existent Floors to unlock.”

Running the Hotel was already grueling enough; why would anyone bother decorating? For ordinary players, just managing guests and maintaining facilities was overwhelming. This was truly content for users with nothing else to do.

“However, this… from what I recall….”
“….”
“…isn’t it a function that unlocks only after conquering the Central Control Room?”
“Yes.”
“How unfortunate.”

Lee Yeon-woo hauled his heavy body upright. Sitting vacantly at the head of the bed, he looked exactly like an office worker who wanted to die rather than go to work.

“To activate that function, going to the Central Control Room is a confirmed necessity. The problem is that it’s one of the Non-Existent Floors, so the conquest process will be quite tedious.”
“Is that so?”
“I don’t think we should blindly defend this place just because it’s our own Hotel, closing our eyes and ears to reason. There were unsettling aspects even in the game, and I’m curious what it will be like now that it’s become reality.”

This was what Lee Yeon-woo was worried about.

“Ho-won isn’t a game for those under nineteen, is it?”

It was an old story by now, but death was commonplace and the process was brutal in that game. It was also why Lee Yeon-woo had died so many times during the tutorial period.

“But my body right now is no different from soft tofu, is it?”
“…!”
“I’m saying I can’t possibly endure the high-level cutscenes of a nineteen-plus game with this body.”
“….”
“….”

A heavy silence settled over the comfortable lodging.

“I’m relieved I’m not the only one worried about this.”

I thought I was the only one with too many concerns.

* * *

“First of all.”

Lee Yeon-woo spoke while pacing the 19th Floor Guest Room Floor.

“I understand that dying is acceptable.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ll be revived even if I die, but because the game system is being applied incompletely, there’s a high possibility my already terrible physical condition will deteriorate further after resurrection.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”

Lee Yeon-woo felt like he was going mad.

‘Nothing goes according to my will.’

This Hotel would not let me die. The obsession to keep me alive, to cling to my survival, was palpable against my skin. But if I deteriorated further as the price, that would be problematic.

‘If I retreat any further, that’s just water.’

In truth, my current state was little more than a mass of blood and gore. A few more deaths, and I wouldn’t even be able to maintain a human form.

‘The mere thought is horrifying.’
“Yes.”
“Thank you for understanding.”

Humans are creatures heavily dependent on sight. If I became nothing but a mass of blood, I couldn’t even fathom how the humanity I’d so carefully preserved would deteriorate.

“…So what you’re saying is….”
“Yes.”
“When a player breaks the tutorial through a bug, the character’s pixels become corrupted as a side effect. Let’s apply that to this body. If my real self entered a ‘corrupted pixel’ state, what catastrophe would unfold?”
“That can’t happen.”
“Your speech has become quite fluent all of a sudden. Yes, precisely. That’s it.”

The conclusion was singular: I must avoid death at all costs.

“The problem is, even if I want to survive, the situation might not allow it.”

Muttering thus, I surveyed my surroundings.

‘I’ve secured what I expect to be the most useful tools, but whether I can deploy them effectively in that chaotic situation remains uncertain.’

Still, I’d steeled myself mentally. Now I just needed to enter the ‘event.’

‘…The room still hasn’t appeared.’

I’ve been scanning from above, but Room 14 remains undiscovered. Yet it’s only a matter of time. I was searching for the event location—the place to find the preparations needed to reach the Non-Existent Floors.

“Let’s descend one more floor.”
“Yes.”

We boarded the Elevator. The descent to the 18th Floor was brief.

“My senses have become far sharper than during the tutorial. It’s different from when I was receiving information about the game character indirectly, like a user passively observing. The lack of realism could be problematic, I suppose.”

The Elevator doors opened, and I stepped into the Corridor.

“But the fact that I’ve become ‘aware’ of pain is undeniable.”
“Mm….”
“It’s precisely why I need to improve my physical condition as soon as possible. In a hotel overflowing with ways to die, repeatedly encountering pain and death—even in information form—will inevitably damage my brain. I don’t want that to happen to me.”
“Yes.”
“But humans, you see…”

What pitiful creatures they are.

“You can die from pain that’s too severe.”
“….”
“Yes.”

What’s commonly called shock death.

“Cases where the autonomic nervous system collapses from extreme pain or psychological trauma, causing blood pressure to plummet and death to follow. Or ‘Voodoo Death’—sudden cardiac arrest from powerful emotional shock—psychosomatic death, if you will. Such things are hardly rare for humans.”

I couldn’t predict how effective my shallow medical knowledge would be in this world. But this body is no longer a mere collection of game pixels. Strangely enough, it followed the structure of human anatomy quite closely.

‘Even if I recall every scrap of knowledge I possess, it won’t be enough. I need to think carefully.’

For the sake of dignity.

“So we can’t be reassured simply because it’s perceived as information.”
“Yes….”
“What if I go into shock from information overload? What if I can’t even maintain this form? Or what if I feel overwhelming fear at the sight before me and my heart stops?”

Then I’d degrade from silken tofu to water tofu.

“I’d prefer to avoid such a situation if possible.”
“Coco….”
“I see. Thank you. I’ll take your silence as agreement on your part as well, Coco.”
“Yes….”
“You seem rather dispirited.”
“Mm….”
“Indeed.”

The prospect of me degrading into water tofu didn’t seem particularly pleasant for Coco either. For a wicked monster cat, she was remarkably compassionate, I thought, refocusing my attention on the present situation.

“Though it’s a game made with dot images, Hotel One is a game with cutscenes. I learned about them through countless file repeats, and this game has surprisingly many of them.”

And every last one of them was brutally cruel.

“So what I’m trying to say is.”
“…”
“…This is why I hated leaving my quarters.”

Room 1814.

The door hung slightly ajar.

My gaze lowered.

“…”

…A slender hand, its skin stripped raw, extending from within.

It gripped my ankle with an iron hold.

* * *

“Oh.”

The empty corridor.

“May I eat?”

The Blood-Loving Guest asked. Politely. To the blank wall before them.

“May I eat?”

Receiving no answer, the Guest waited. Blood pooled beneath the wall.

“May I eat?”

Upon it lay a cleanly severed hand. A neatly gloved wrist, crimson with blood. Flesh stained scarlet. Five fingers stretched straight. Mimicking flesh.

Belmarés.

So it was you.

“….”

Ah.

Ah.

“…It would taste delicious….”

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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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