The early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the detective’s office.

Squeak, squeak.

The rocking chair I sat in made a pleasant sound.

The rhythmic creak, something I always heard when I rested, somehow made me feel at ease.

A yellow suit glowing in the golden sunlight, this was the same morning as always.

From the TV in the corner of the room, loud reports were being broadcast about the “Gyeyang Mountain Temporary Camp.”

While it wasn't common for Korean authorities to abandon a village in Incheon, in these times, it wasn’t entirely surprising.

The constant noise from the television and the calm atmosphere of the office created a strange dissonance.

That precarious, chaotic feeling.

It was the feeling of the Yellow Detective Office.

Bang, bang.

The sound of a hammer knocking on the door.

"Senior, we’re here!"

Before the voice even finished, the door swung open, and in came Junior No. 1 and Junior No. 2.

It had taken some time, but Hyejin had decided to join the office and became Junior No. 2.

Junior No. 1 had already been noisy enough on their own, but with the addition of Junior No. 2, the commotion had tripled.

After putting down their belongings, Junior No. 1 and Junior No. 2 noticed the documents on the wooden table.

"Senior? Did you take on a new case?"

Junior No. 1 started inspecting the papers that had been placed on the table, weighed down by a paperweight.

The papers were part of a survey on the trending topic of golden dreams.

Something about it had caught my attention, so I had worked hard to obtain the data.

To be exact, I had pestered a certain black-clad figure to give me the information.

"A survey on these sudden golden dreams? I’ve never heard of it."

"It felt like it could be related to a case, so I requested some data."

The news hadn’t yet covered this.

There were multiple reports of people experiencing dreams completely filled with gold.

I suspected it might be an Object-related mass hallucination, but after reviewing the data, it didn’t seem to be a serious incident.

The juniors passed the papers back and forth as they discussed.

"A pleasant dream filled with gold, sweet food, and singing and dancing. It sounds like a happy collective hallucination. Since it’s a dream, there aren’t many clues because no one can remember it clearly."

"It definitely seems Object-related, but it doesn’t seem harmful. In fact, based on the interviews, people seem really disappointed that they can’t remember the dream."

Listening to the juniors talk as background noise, I closed my eyes while sitting in the rocking chair.

It was a peaceful morning at the detective office, with no cases to work on.

Thump. Thump.

The sound of a heartbeat echoed endlessly.

Thump. Thump.

In the underground lab, deep beneath the earth, the director sat with his eyes closed, listening to the sound.

The continuous heartbeat, the blood staining the walls, the scent of iron that filled the basement.

It all made this place feel like the inside of some animal’s stomach.

Since meeting his son in the cemetery, the director had been suffering from intermittent headaches.

Moreover, whenever he closed his eyes, a familiar vision would appear.

That vision became clearer and more detailed, even reviving memories the director had long forgotten.

A white isolation room, the smell of disinfectant. An IV stand.

A white bed. A frail woman lying on it.

The metallic sound of a ventilation fan spinning.

It was a fragment of an isolation room he had seen long ago.

“That woman” had spoken.

She said that Objects were hope, that they fulfilled wishes, and that he should never lose hope in Objects.

And the director had responded.

He had responded.

What did he say?

He couldn’t remember.

"It must not have been important."

"Just like my name, a trivial thing."

"Research. Let’s focus on research, the kind that will save humanity."

Like someone consumed by obsession, the director spun around in place.

The small orb in his hand emitted a faint, intermittent glow.

The director's headaches were relentless.

Tap.

With the sound of his cane striking the floor, his obsessive behavior stopped.

"Let’s begin the experiment."

"Do Objects really manifest from human desires? Let’s start the experiment to confirm if the wish of someone tortured can give birth to an Object."

From beneath the director’s feet, a horde of researchers spread out, clutching instruments of torture as they marched into the isolation rooms.

In the silence of the containment chambers, horrific sounds and screams of agony reverberated.

The familiar isolation room, as always.

Nom nom.

I picked up a jelly, popped it in my mouth, and chewed.

A bed that enveloped my body like a soft cloud, cushions supporting my back, and blankets that were perfectly cozy.

On the small table beside the bed were rich chocolates and rainbow-colored jellies.

The TV droned on, endlessly reporting about a camp in Incheon.

And on my lap sat the ghost cat.

Life at Sehee Research Institute was comfortable.

It was a simple existence, worlds away from the spectacle of battling with Objects.

Meow.

As I stroked the cat’s back, it occasionally let out a soft meow, sharing stories of its adventures.

Tales of defeating formidable foes or narrowly escaping powerful Objects.

But it seemed the cat was running out of stories to tell.

It was about to begin its "sixth retelling of the story of fighting six Dobermans at the intersection."

Wait, you’ve already told me that five times!

The cat, as if reading my thoughts, looked stunned.

Mouth agape, frozen in place.

Wow, I didn’t know a cat could make that expression.

Meow.

The cat, seemingly offended, cried out that "the time had come!"

What time?

Meow!

The cat loudly declared that "it was time to embark on a new adventure!"

Meoooow!

It announced that "it would venture to the most dangerous place!" and with a proud stride, the cat walked toward the wall of the isolation room.

And then, in a single leap, it vanished beyond the wall.

On TV, the government was showing footage of the abandoned "Gyeyang Mountain Temporary Camp" in Incheon.

Surely, the cat wasn’t headed there?

Gyeyang Mountain Temporary Camp, Incheon.

From the rumors, the camp sounded like a place where demons might live.

It was depicted as a hideout for thieves, a gathering point for criminals with nowhere to go, and a place where illegal weapons and drugs were piled up like mountains.

The influence of the media was undeniable.

The camp was portrayed as lawless, with dusty children and exhausted residents shown in broadcasts.

Some examples were even exaggerated to make the camp seem like a place where evil occurred daily.

Even though they called it a "camp" and labeled it a "den of criminals," Gyeyang Mountain Camp was a vast, densely populated city.

It may have started with tents and temporary shelters, but it wasn’t that anymore.

Narrow alleys twisted through the area, kids ran around, merchants sold goods, and elders sat reminiscing about the past, chatting animatedly.

Even now, when I close my eyes, I can almost see the laundry lines stretched out between the tents, filled with clothes fluttering in the wind.

But now, those memories seemed like stories from long ago.

Something was wrong with Gyeyang Mountain Camp.

Even under the midday sun, I felt a chill, as if my entire body was freezing in fear.

I could still hear the laughter of children playing.

The voices of women shaking out laundry.

The loud calls of merchants selling fruit from afar.

But I couldn’t mingle with those people.

I could only hide in the shadows between the buildings, holding my breath.

The landlady of the tiny room I rented was different.

She had once sworn she’d never sell the place until her dying day!

The butcher, who used to greet me warmly, no longer recognized me.

The laughing, chattering children seemed somehow hollow.

Everyone was in their usual spots, but it didn’t feel like they were really there.

It had only been a month since I’d left, but something was very wrong.

It felt so wrong.

It was terrifying.

Even though it was midday, the cold kept seeping into me.

Was everyone playing a prank? Pretending not to notice? A hidden camera show?

But my instincts screamed at me not to talk, not to show that I had noticed something strange.

I rubbed my arms to try and chase away the goosebumps.

"What are you doing, sis?"

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest.

I tried to calm my racing heart as I turned around to see a boy standing there, smiling brightly, with gaps between his teeth.

But something was wrong. Very wrong.

I tried to hide my tension as I spoke, acting as naturally as possible, like a tourist.

"I got tired from walking, so I’m just resting a bit. This camp is bigger than I expected."

"You’re a tourist, sis?"

"Y-yeah."

"Hmm, I see."

The boy smiled brightly again, then turned and walked away.

Huff. Huff.

I could barely breathe.

I felt like I was going to vomit.

I was dizzy.

But that’s because…

That boy is my brother!

What on earth happened in the month I was gone?