Seoul Object Story

Even though the space felt familiar, it was utterly foreign to me.

I seemed to be standing in the middle of one of those dreams that dragged you through a whirlwind of confusion and deja vu.

Nostalgia washed over me like a flood of old memories, a bittersweet panorama playing out before me. Yet, it was an unfamiliar dream, a place not present in my memories.

A few steps ahead, I saw the distinct back of a man.

He wore the same ridiculous yellow suit as me.

Even with his face covered, a strange familiarity gnawed at me—a resonance pulling at the worn edges of my fractured memories.

The slope of his shoulders, the rhythm of his steps—it was all there, persistently beckoning me to recognize him, to remember.

An inexplicable longing welled up inside of me, and I found myself running after him.

But with each step, my feet grew heavier, as if I was wading through molasses. However, every time I took a step, my feet got heavier and heavier for some reason.

Fragments of forgotten memories clung to me like heavy shadows, pulling me down.

With every step, the world around me morphed into something completely unknown.

“Junior, if you rely solely on your instincts like that, you’re going to get hurt, real bad.”

An unfamiliar voice pierced the haze.

I didn’t recognize it. Didn’t remember it at all.

One more step, and the scene shifted again.

“From now on… you…”

The man, now bloodied, thrust something into my hands.

I couldn’t recall this moment either.

No matter how much I ran, the distance between me and the man with his slow, effortless stride, never closed.

At the very last moment, he glanced back at me,

His head was covered in a bloody smoke similar to Watson’s.

And of course… Just as he was about to say something…

I woke up.

***

The city was shrouded in darkness, a shadow as deep and cold as obsidian.

In the dead of the night, when the noisy city had fallen asleep, a sinister crimson light flickered in the the window of a shabby building.

The scarlet glow was from a gas lamp placed on a worn wooden desk. The flames danced and swayed, casting the detective agency’s interior in a haunting ruby hue.

And on such a quiet night, a vivid red flame blazed within ‘Watson’, the gas lamp.