The scent of sugar, vanilla, and warm dough filled the cozy space of the café kitchen. Choen sat at the side table, a soft dusting of flour on her sleeves as she watched Dokkaebi move silently beside her mother, assisting with the batter. He was careful and precise, his sleeves rolled up, the corners of his mouth tight with quiet concentration.
Her mother, unusually at ease around him, passed him ingredients without complaint—an unspoken truce in the rhythm of baking.
Choen leaned back, absentmindedly sipping warm tea, her gaze drifting to a stack of papers near Dokkaebi's phone. They weren't just receipts. She could make out official-looking documents—medical bills, a report card, old letters written in harsh pen strokes.
Then, buzz.
A message lit up on his phone screen beside the documents.
Choen didn't mean to look. But her eyes flicked over the glowing preview before she could stop herself:
"I know mom's attitude hurts you, but she's still our mother… I just wish she'd stop blaming you. You didn't deserve it."
Her breath hitched. She looked away, heart sinking.
Before she could gather her thoughts, another buzz.
This time, an incoming call. Dokkaebi wiped his hands on a towel and glanced at it briefly.
"Choen," he said softly, turning to her. "Can you answer that? Just tell her I'm… busy."
She froze. "Me?"
He nodded once, without hesitation.
Choen reached for the phone slowly, heart pounding at the trust he had just placed in her. That quiet, casual kind of closeness—it startled her more than any grand gesture could.
"Hello?" she said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I'm Choen."
There was a brief silence, then a warm voice replied, "Ah, so you're Choen. Hello, I'm Dokkaebi's sister—you can call me unni if you'd like."
"I—of course, unni," Choen said with a polite bow, even though she wasn't sure the other woman could see it. "How are you?"
"I'm okay. Just wanted to check on my brother. Is he doing alright?"
Choen hesitated. "He's quiet… but he's helping us bake today."
A soft laugh. "That sounds like him. Quiet, but trying. Has he ever told you about what happened… to our youngest brother?"
The question cut through the conversation like a blade.
"No," Choen said carefully. "What happened?"
There was silence for a moment.
"Our younger brother died," she said finally. "He was murdered. By a woman—she was mentally unstable. They called her a psycho. But she wasn't just any woman. She was the wife of a man who used to work in your father's company… the one who was accused falsely. He ended his life. And his wife… she lost her mind."
Choen felt the blood drain from her face.
"That… can't be a coincidence," she whispered.
"I thought you should know. Not many people connect those dots."
When the call ended, Choen returned the phone to the counter silently. Her mother didn't notice the shift in her expression—too focused on frosting a cake.
But Dokkaebi noticed.
He caught her eye as she backed away from the kitchen.
Choen nodded slightly at him—just enough to say, thank you—then turned and walked out.
Back in her Secret Room
She shut the door behind her, the familiar scent of old files and dust filling her senses. She moved to her wall of pinned notes and documents, staring at the tangled lines she had mapped out.
She added a new name. A new clue.
False accusation. Dead employee. Psycho wife. Revenge?
But just as she reached to pin the note—there it was.
A spider.
Small, black, and still.
It sat in the center of her desk, unmoving, as though waiting for her.
Her breath caught in her throat. It was the same kind that had followed her before. The same shape. The same place. Again.
The pattern was no longer a coincidence.
This was a sign.
And she was getting closer to something—something that didn't want to be found
"If you're still here, drop a vote to help Choen solve her mystery 💥"