Our Hotel Is Open for Business as Usual - Chapter 86
—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————
Chapter 86.
This was before Lee Sun-hae returned to that dreadful Hotel.
To guarantee at least minimal safety for his Nephew, who had inadvertently been drawn into a perilous world, Baek Mu-jin provided Lee Sun-hae with foundational materials. It was likely shortly after Baek Mu-jin had returned from the Hotel.
“This is….”
“Don’t worry. It’s safe information.”
“So there’s unsafe information too?”
“For example, there’s information that makes your head explode if you read it.”
“My world has gone mad overnight.”
“It wasn’t quite overnight… but yes.”
He flipped through the materials and spoke thus.
“Have you ever heard of the importance of names?”
“…Names?”
“Humans and spirits are different. In the same vein, Migun and Dokkaebi are different from the living. Unlike humans, who can change their names in any manner while alive, they cannot change theirs.”
“….”
Lee Sun-hae listened intently instead of interrupting, and Baek Mu-jin continued his explanation.
“The character ‘Lee Yeon-woo’ in your story was quite virtuous and righteous. At the same time, he frequently appeared weary and exhausted, and was so… human, as even the young ones you raise could sense.”
“…Yes, he was.”
“I didn’t see him as human.”
He spoke with nothing but certainty, as he always did.
“It’s not that I didn’t witness the Lee Yeon-woo you described. Certainly, that was an existence that could be called by the name Lee Yeon-woo. But, as I said before.”
“…Those who aren’t human cannot change their names, you said.”
“They can be called by multiple names. Especially Korean Dokkaebi, being playful and cunning by nature, often create countless tails to sever or masks to discard.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“You said he wanted to die halfway, didn’t you?”
“….”
I was momentarily at a loss for words.
That had been something I said half-jokingly to calm Lee Sun-hae at the time. And to some extent, she had understood it that way too.
But hearing Baek Mu-jin say it like this, something felt….
“Yes, I did say that.”
“It’s possible he was only half dead.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”
“The child I saw and the child you saw might be different.”
“So that’s….”
What did that even mean?
Was he suggesting a split personality? Or that Lee Yeon-woo was acting at the time? Or maybe… I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.
“….”
Lee Sun-hae, who had been struggling to parse those strange words, finally spoke.
“I was already prepared for the possibility that Lee Yeon-woo might not be human. The Chairman said the same thing—that he was likely a Dokkaebi, not a person. That I survived emerging from a Dokkaebi’s lair.”
“That’s right.”
“The fact that I came out of there with all my limbs intact and my mind sound is a miracle. Yes, I understood that Lee Yeon-woo might be a traditional Dokkaebi or whatever. But what you’re saying now….”
“Tsk.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
He added this:
“I’m not saying you saw wrong.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I didn’t see wrong either. The administrator of that Labyrinth certainly possessed humanity. So he must have been struggling to suppress and purify that twisted Labyrinth even as he reached that state….”
“We’re talking about the same subject, right?”
“But how much longer can he endure?”
Baek Mu-jin looked down at Lee Sun-hae. In his eyes, something seemed readable.
“He’s already half dead.”
“….”
“The younger a Dokkaebi is, the more they despise lies.”
At those words, Lee Sun-hae pressed her lips firmly shut.
“I once read that as a traditional Dokkaebi who was once a young artist. Let’s say the ‘humanity’ you and I speak of originated from that ‘young artist.’ By becoming a Dokkaebi, half would already be lost.”
“…It might not be that way.”
“At the very least, it couldn’t be as much as when they were human.”
Baek Mu-jin’s voice was measured, as though reading from an academic paper.
“But they were already trapped in the Labyrinth in that state. With their humanity obscured, they seemed to have lived for quite a long time in a Labyrinth where humanity could only wither.”
“From what I saw, that wasn’t the case. Dokkaebi or not, they looked like a person to me.”
“They endured. They persisted with nothing but the conviction that they were a person, that they would live as one. That child seemed quite resourceful, but even so, that Hotel-form Labyrinth didn’t appear to be something to take lightly.”
“But….”
“Then a foreign element intervened.”
When they clashed fiercely against each other, fighting to control and taint one another.
“That one sought to save a person in order to remain human, and that formidable Hotel-form Labyrinth wouldn’t simply stand idle in that gap—so ultimately, that child had to die once, didn’t they?”
They died in my place to save Lee Sun-hae.
Baek Mu-jin continued.
“At that moment, I saw the Hotel-form Labyrinth win once.”
“…What happens then?”
“When I saw that ‘half-dead’ child, didn’t I say it before? I didn’t see them as human.”
“That’s….”
“A scale can tilt in any direction.”
Baek Mu-jin spoke.
“A traditional Dokkaebi and a Labyrinth Dokkaebi are entirely different beings. If it’s difficult to grasp, you might as well consider them different races. Traditional Dokkaebi are born somewhat unusually and possess peculiar abilities.”
“….”
“But at the same time, they share the same pulse and power as the Labyrinth. If the Labyrinth were to deliberately taint a young Dokkaebi, it could happen in any way it wished.”
“…Then what?”
Lee Sun-hae looked at the documents in her hands and asked.
“Then what happens to that child?”
“From now on, it depends on what he does.”
“Does he stop being human?”
“If by ‘human’ you mean the humanity of the person named Lee Yeon-woo, then perhaps.”
“The moment someone abandons their humanity, they cease to be human.”
“The scales have already collapsed.”
The scales that once maintained equilibrium had tilted long ago. To abandon the struggle against the Labyrinth merely to save a single person—that was what it meant.
“So go and see for yourself.”
“…See what?”
“What that child has lost.”
“How am I supposed to see that?”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“It feels rather unsettling.”
“If you’re curious, you should look.”
Baek Mu-jin spoke with utter composure, his tone dry and measured.
“You are my nephew, after all.”
“….”
Lee Sun-hae, who had been staring down at the documents, asked a question.
“…What could he have lost?”
“A Dokkaebi wears many tails and many masks.”
“Did you see that in Lee Yeon-woo as well?”
“Faintly.”
“Could you at least give me a rough idea?”
“You’re being stubborn.”
“I think I need to prepare myself mentally.”
“I see.”
Baek Mu-jin spoke as he settled into the sofa.
“Half of him is part of that Hotel, and the other half is the Lee Yeon-woo you knew.”
Lee Sun-hae asked in return.
“…Is it the Hotel General Manager, or Lee Yeon-woo?”
“You could call it that way.”
“So it’s one or the other?”
“It’s both.”
“In the end, it’s a matter of proportion?”
“Now you understand.”
“The Hotel General Manager is….”
My grip tightened slightly on the documents in my hand.
“Perhaps not even human?”
Because I had killed half of ‘Lee Yeon-woo’?
“I….”
“Then go and call out his name.”
“….”
“You want to know who’s sitting before you, don’t you?”
“…Yes.”
Lee Sun-hae affirmed calmly.
“I’m curious.”
“Remember this.”
Baek Mu-jin cautioned her, like an elder from a fairy tale warning of tigers.
“You must call out his true name.”
“…Yes.”
“It must be that name, without fail.”
“Yes.”
And so Lee Sun-hae visited the Hotel once more.
“I will.”
To measure the magnitude of the debt I owed.
* * *
Meanwhile, Lee Yeon-woo possessed no such knowledge whatsoever.
“…?”
Though it didn’t show on my face, confusion still lingered within.
Contrary to Baek Mu-jin’s suspicions and Lee Sun-hae’s concerns, I wasn’t truly half-dead. The multiple penalties had simply created a subtle distance between my current self and the version of me from the tutorial phase.
Had I been aware of this gap in perception, I would have immediately denied it or reassured the other person.
“…Hmm….”
But I knew nothing of this.
This common knowledge among the Scholars wasn’t something you could simply search for. Besides, the Hotel didn’t even allow internet searches.
So I reached my own conclusion.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Why would I be upset?”
“I see.”
But she definitely seemed upset.
‘Usually, calling someone’s name repeatedly like that means you’re about to get scolded.’
Relying on past memories and information rather than present emotions, I interpreted the situation before me. And this was my conclusion.
Lee Sun-hae was definitely angry!
“….”
But why?
‘Did I… do something wrong?’
Perhaps due to how busy I’d been lately, I couldn’t quite grasp it. I tried to recall the context of our conversation and think things through.
‘Maybe I was too caught up in my own thoughts.’
Objectively speaking, my body was hardly in pristine condition. No matter how much I insisted I was fine, there was no way it would appear fine to the other person.
‘The penalty has clearly stripped away my social skills entirely.’
After finishing my moment of reflection, Lee Yeon-woo carefully opened my mouth as though navigating a minefield—then stopped.
“…?”
But what should I do if I really am fine?
‘No, that’s not right. I’m definitely not in a fine state.’
Lee Yeon-woo decided to try smoothing over the other person’s mood first.
“Director.”
“…Yes.”
“Director Lee Sun-hae, your grip has tightened.”
“…So it has.”
“It will leave marks. I don’t want someone who was once a guest at my Hotel to bear such wounds.”
“A guest at the Hotel.”
Oh no.
‘Her voice has dropped.’
Did I choose my words poorly?
But if I were being honest, Lee Yeon-woo had nothing else to say. I couldn’t tell someone I’d only known for a few days, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” Besides, my personality wasn’t affectionate enough for that.
I had thought my choice of words reflected mutual respect for personal space and the appropriate distance of a professional relationship. Yet Lee Yeon-woo was beginning to seriously doubt my own social competence.
“….”
This is like navigating a minefield.
‘No, calm down.’
This too is part of social interaction—I can do this. I can maintain this relationship amicably.
“I’m aware that you brought this up out of concern for me.”
“I’m sorry for being troublesome. I didn’t want to drag out a childish conversation, but you really do understand, don’t you?”
“How could I fail to recognize your goodwill toward me, of all people?”
“Then why are you looking at me that way?”
What exactly did I look at wrong?
“….”
…Ah, is that it?
‘It seems my emotional dullness showed in my eyes.’
I’d assumed that since The Guest hadn’t visited in several days, the accumulated affection would be shallow. But judging by this reaction, the past Lee Yeon-woo must have been far more emotionally expressive and treated Director Lee Sun-hae on a more personal level than I’d realized.
‘It would certainly be bewildering if an acquaintance who’d even exchanged business cards suddenly acted like a complete stranger.’
To avoid being rude, Lee Yeon-woo chose the most courteous response possible.
“…Do I perhaps seem unfamiliar to you?”
“….”
“I see. I understand.”
Now this reaction made a bit more sense.
They would feel the alienation, and understandably be anxious about it. Especially since this was the first time seeing Director Lee Sun-hae since that ominous incident at the Aqua Park.
‘Beyond their concern for my condition, this obvious change could lead them to think I harbor ill feelings toward them.’
Lee Yeon-woo carefully chose his words before speaking.
“Since that day, my condition has undergone some changes. It’s not just the matter with Director Lee Sun-hae—I have various responsibilities to attend to. In the course of managing those… I fear I may have startled you.”
“If I say something like this and then apologize, you’ll probably be genuinely angry this time.”
“If you insist, then perhaps an explanation rather than an apology would suffice. What I wanted to convey was simply that I had no intention of causing you to misunderstand or feel burdened by unwarranted guilt.”
Lee Yeon-woo drew a clear line with a measured and resolute tone, ensuring the other person wouldn’t feel unfairly blamed or scrutinized.
“It’s true that I’ve become more callous, but I want to make clear that this is not your fault. The consequences arising from my own actions and choices are mine alone to bear through to the end. So there’s no need for you to feel anxious or carry this burden.”
As he spoke, he lifted the corners of his lips. Yet even that seemed mechanical, and Director Lee Sun-hae merely smiled awkwardly.
It was regrettable.
‘I wish I could put her at ease.’
Having lost the emotional resonance I once possessed, even calming another had become difficult.
“….”
Lee Yeon-woo felt the need to speak more directly.
“But truly, it’s fine.”
“Yeon-woo, I—”
“I’m not lying.”
“So….”
“I’m not unaware of my own changes either.”
“….”
“Still, I dare say—it’s fine.”
Not denying the transformation itself, yet infusing sincerity into my words.
“Because I too am striving not to lose myself.”
Lee Yeon-woo had not yet abandoned the dream of returning to society.
* * *
From him came the scent of water.
“….”
And the scent of blood.
“….”
Honestly, something was off.
Neither body nor mind appeared normal. When they shook hands, the grip was cold—devoid of any warmth. Even accounting for the gloves, this made no sense. Not in the height of summer. Not for someone wearing a sleeveless suit.
But those words.
“I’m also making an effort not to lose myself.”
“…I see.”
At his words about making an effort, Lee Sun-hae found herself wanting to be foolishly reassured. Even knowing that wasn’t what it truly meant.
“Lee Yeon-woo.”
“Yes.”
“Lee Yeon-woo.”
Only then did he respond.
“Yes.”
That was his answer.
“….”
“….”
“…Take care of yourself.”
There’s nothing I can do right now.
It’s because you’re still holding on.
—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————