His eyes darted around, taking in the tired decor. The wallpaper, a faded floral pattern that might've been charming a decade ago, now looked like it was giving up the fight against time. The edges near the floor were peeling slightly, curling like old leaves. The carpet was a dull shade of brown, likely chosen to hide stains rather than for aesthetics, and had seen more foot traffic than it was probably designed for.
The reception desk sat at the far end, a sturdy, scratched-up piece of wood that had clearly endured years of impatient travelers leaning on it. Behind it was a young clerk, slouched over their phone, eyes glued to the screen with the kind of focus that Eun-jae could only describe as determined indifference.
"Great," he thought, lips pressing into a thin line as he adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "Another shining example of customer service. I bet they're just dying to help."
His shoes squeaked slightly against the polished floor as he approached the desk, the sound echoing faintly in the otherwise quiet space. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, its blades wobbling a little with each rotation, as if it was as exhausted as the rest of the room. The lighting was dim but warm, casting a yellowish glow that made everything look softer, less defined.
"Hello," Eun-jae said, his voice cutting through the silence. It came out polite but edged with a touch of hesitation, like he wasn't entirely sure what kind of reception he'd get.
The clerk's head snapped up, startled, as though they hadn't expected anyone to actually talk to them. For a moment, they blinked at him, their expression hovering somewhere between curiosity and mild annoyance, before finally gesturing toward an old-fashioned phone sitting at the edge of the counter.
"Can I make an international call?" Eun-jae asked, his fingers brushing against the phone's worn cord.
The clerk shrugged. "Sure. You'll have to pay upfront, though."
Nodding, Eun-jae reached into his pocket and pulled out the black credit card Caesar had given him. The sleek, glossy surface of the card almost felt out of place in this rundown setting, its golden accents gleaming under the flickering light above the counter. He glanced at it for a moment, his expression a mix of reluctance and resignation.
"Might as well use it," he thought. "No point carrying this thing around like a useless souvenir."
Sliding the card across the counter, he picked up the phone, the cool plastic pressing against his ear. The dial tone buzzed softly, filling the quiet as he punched in his mother's number from memory. As he waited, he tapped his fingers lightly against the counter, his nails making a faint, rhythmic clicking sound.
The lobby felt unnervingly still, the only other noise coming from the hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of the front door as someone passed outside. Eun-jae's thoughts began to wander as the seconds stretched on.
"What if she doesn't answer? She's probably worried sick by now. She's always worried. And now I've given her even more reason to freak out." He frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'll tell her I lost my phone. Yeah, that's believable. And technically true."
The line clicked, breaking his train of thought, and a familiar voice came through.
"Hello?"
Relief washed over him like a wave, his shoulders sagging slightly as he leaned against the counter. "Hello, Maa, it's me—Eun-jae," he said quickly, his voice softening.
"Eun-jae!" His mother's voice immediately brightened, though it carried an undertone of worry. "Where have you been? I've been trying to call you, but nothing went through… Are you okay?"
Eun-jae winced, guilt pricking at him. "Yes, I'm fine, Maa. I just… lost my phone. That's why I haven't been able to get in touch. I'm sorry."
"Oh, it's okay, honey," she said, her tone gentler now. "I was just worried, that's all. I hope you're eating well, though—I don't want you to grow lean, okay?"
Eun-jae couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Always with the food, Maa. It's like she thinks I'll waste away the second I'm out of sight."
"I am, Maa. I'm eating well," he reassured her.
"Good. That's what I like to hear," she said, warmth evident in her voice. "Okay then, I won't keep you from your work. Take care of yourself, and I love you."
"I love you too. Bye, Maa," Eun-jae replied softly before hanging up.
For a moment, he stood there, his fingers still resting on the receiver. The tension that had been coiled in his chest since he walked into the lobby seemed to ease just a little.
As he slid the card back into his pocket, a thought struck him. Turning to the clerk, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me, miss," he began, his voice steady. "Do you know where I can get piercing rings around here?"
The clerk blinked at him again, her gaze flickering to his face. He could feel her lingering stare, and his brows furrowed slightly.
"What is it now? Do I look that weird? Is it the lack of piercings? Ugh, maybe she's just bored."
"There's a shop a few blocks down," she finally said, pointing vaguely toward the street outside. "You should find what you need there."
"Thanks," Eun-jae muttered, turning on his heel and heading for the door. The cool evening air hit him as he stepped outside, the faint hum of traffic filling the streets.
His fingers brushed against his jaw absentmindedly as he walked. "First stop: piercings. Second stop: food. And third stop…" He scowled. "Finding Caesar so I can throw that damn credit card back in his smug face."
Eun-jae strode into the small, cluttered jewelry shop, the faint smell of metal and disinfectant filling the air. His sharp eyes scanned the display cases, zeroing in on exactly what he wanted. His fingers tapped impatiently on the glass as he waited for the clerk to finish up with another customer.
When it was finally his turn, he didn't waste any time. "I want angel bite rings and a nose ring," he said, his tone decisive, almost daring the clerk to question his choice.
The older man behind the counter raised a brow but said nothing, simply retrieving the items Eun-jae had pointed out. They gleamed under the dim shop lights—small, silver hoops that matched the sharpness in Eun-jae's gaze.
With a quick exchange, Eun-jae slipped the jewelry onto his face right there at the counter. First, the angel bites—one on each side of his lower lip, perfectly symmetrical. Then, the nose ring—a small hoop that added just the right edge. He turned to the mirror hanging on the wall, his smirk growing as he took in his reflection.
"Back to the old me," he thought, running his tongue over his bottom lip to test the feel of the new rings. The sharp, rebellious look suited him, and he couldn't help but smirk a little wider. "Yeah, Caesar can choke on this. He's not the only one who can turn heads."
Leaving the shop with a lighter wallet but a renewed sense of self, Eun-jae headed back to the hotel. The dim, cramped hallway greeted him like an unwelcome guest, the carpet worn and the walls stained with years of neglect. He wrinkled his nose as he opened the door to his room.
"This place reeks of dust," he thought, grimacing as he stepped inside. The musty smell clung to the air like a second skin, and the thin layer of grime on the furniture made him second-guess every surface he touched.
After locking the door, Eun-jae shrugged off his shirt, tossing it into the corner carelessly before heading to the bathroom. He grabbed the rough towel hanging on the rack, drying his hair as he stared at himself in the cracked mirror. The rings on his lip and nose caught the light, making him smirk again.
"At least I look decent, even if this place is a dump," he thought, wrapping the towel loosely around his waist. The mirror fogged up from the steam of his quick shower, and he swiped a hand across it to clear the view one last time before stepping back into the room.
The bed creaked under his weight as he flopped onto it, lying on his back and staring at the peeling ceiling above him. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and he let out a long breath, stretching his arms above his head.
His mind wandered as he lay there, trying to ignore the faint itch in his throat from the dusty air. "Why do these places always feel like they've been frozen in time since the 80s?" he mused, his eyes tracing the water stains on the ceiling. "It's like they want you to suffer just for existing."
Still, the soft hum of the night outside the window and the faint buzz of the ancient overhead light started to lull him into a sense of calm. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself relax, his fingers idly drumming against the side of the bed.
Eun-jae groaned softly as his stomach growled again, an embarrassing sound that seemed to echo in the quiet room. "Alright, Eun-jae," he muttered to himself, rubbing his belly. "You've got the look back, but apparently, the look doesn't come with a full stomach."
He threw on a loose hoodie, slid into his sneakers, and made his way downstairs to the reception desk. Leaning casually on the counter, he shot the receptionist a charming yet tired smile. "Excuse me…me again," he said, dragging out the last part with a mix of self-deprecation and sass. "Do you know any food vendors around? Like, anything remotely edible in this area?"
The receptionist blinked at him, clearly trying to figure out if he was being serious or sarcastic, before finally pointing him toward a nearby restaurant. Eun-jae thanked her with a quick wave, mumbling, "Bless your soul," as he headed out the door.
When he arrived at the restaurant, his hopes immediately plummeted. The sign above the door was flickering like it hadn't been replaced since the early 2000s, and the windows were so fogged up he couldn't tell if they were from steam or just grime. He pushed the door open, and the faint smell of stale oil hit him like a wall.
Taking a seat by the window, he glanced around and sighed. "This restaurant looks just like the hotel—old, tired, and possibly a health hazard," he thought, his sharp eyes scanning the peeling wallpaper and the cracked linoleum floor. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, flickering just enough to be annoying.
When the food arrived, his jaw nearly dropped. The soup looked like it had been microwaved one too many times, the dumplings were pale and soggy, and the side dishes looked like they'd been sitting out for days. He stared at the bowl in front of him like it was a personal insult. "Is this supposed to be food??"
He picked up the spoon hesitantly, scooping up a bit of the soup and giving it a sniff. It smelled faintly like dishwater, but his hunger pushed him to take a sip. The taste hit him immediately, and he gagged, barely stopping himself from spitting it back into the bowl. "SHEESH, what the hell is this? Did they season it with regret and despair?"
He set the spoon down with a dramatic sigh, glaring at the bowl as if it had personally offended him. "Ever since I arrived in this country, it's just been one thing after another," he grumbled internally, crossing his arms as he stared out the window. "First, I almost got kidnapped. Then, I nearly got shot. Oh, and let's not forget the explosion that almost drowned me. And now, to top it all off, I'm stuck with the most useless partner in existence—Caesar, the human skyscraper."
His thoughts trailed off as he suddenly realized something. "Wait, speaking of that walking building, where the hell is he? He just disappears whenever he feels like it and leaves me to fend for myself. What is he even doing right now? Meditating on top of a mountain? Staring at his reflection in a lake? Knowing him, he's probably doing something equally useless."
With a huff, Eun-jae grabbed one of the dumplings and stuffed it into his mouth, more out of spite than hunger. The dumpling was as bad as he expected—chewy in all the wrong ways and filled with a mystery meat that he didn't want to think too hard about. "Fantastic," he thought sarcastically, chewing with a grimace. "This is exactly the five-star dining experience I deserve right now."
He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he gazed around the room again. "This trip is cursed. That's the only explanation. Maybe I pissed off a deity in a past life or something. Or maybe the universe just hates me. Either way, I'm officially done."
Eun-jae let out another sigh, pushing the bowl of soup away and signaling the waiter for the bill. "If Caesar doesn't show up soon, I'm charging him for emotional damages," he thought, shooting a glare at the empty chair across from him.
After what felt like an eternity, Eun-jae finally finished his meal. He pushed the plate away with a sigh, his stomach full but his mood anything but satisfied. "What was that even supposed to be? Food or a dare?" he thought, wrinkling his nose at the remnants of the overly greasy dish. The whole experience had been a culinary disaster—a soggy mountain of fries buried under an avalanche of mystery sauce that tasted vaguely like regret.
He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, letting his eyes wander around the shabby restaurant. The walls were plastered with peeling posters advertising cheap beers and questionable "specials," and the fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly, adding to the ambiance of mild despair. "This place is one health inspection away from being shut down," Eun-jae muttered to himself, shaking his head.
He stood up and stretched, feeling the satisfying crack of his spine. "Well, at least I won't starve to death," he mused as he headed toward the counter, where a woman with a neon manicure and an even louder attitude was glued to her phone.
"Ring me, please," Eun-jae said, his tone polite but clipped. He just wanted to get out of there and forget this place ever existed.
The woman finally looked up, snapping her gum so loudly it made his teeth clench. "That'll be 3,500 rubles," she said, her voice monotone as if she'd recited that exact phrase a thousand times today.
Eun-jae blinked, then blinked again. "3,500 rubles? For this? Is she serious? Did I accidentally order a side of gold flakes or something?" His lips parted in disbelief, but he quickly shut them, deciding not to make a scene. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out Caesar's flashy black credit card like it was some kind of magic wand.
He slid the card across the counter, watching as the woman took it with the same enthusiasm as someone handling a used tissue. She swiped it with a dramatic flourish and frowned. "Declined," she announced, smacking her gum for emphasis.
"Excuse me?" Eun-jae said, his voice rising slightly.
"Declined," she repeated, slower this time, as if he hadn't understood her the first time.
Eun-jae's jaw tightened. He picked up the card and examined it like it might suddenly reveal why it had betrayed him. "This has to be a mistake. There's no way this obnoxious card with its golden trim doesn't work. Isn't that the whole point of it existing?"
Not wanting to argue, Eun-jae turned to leave, deciding he'd deal with Caesar and his useless card later. But as he reached the door, something caught his attention. The woman was leaning over the counter, whispering to two police officers who had just entered. Her perfectly manicured nail pointed directly at him.