Whir— Clunk.
Within a room entirely coated in white paint, from floor to ceiling and all six walls, a lone printer in the center hummed as it churned out sheets of paper.
Whir— Clunk.
With nowhere left to stack, the papers cascaded onto the floor, spilling across the tiles.
Upon closer inspection, something appeared to be scrawled across their surfaces.
[…Hello?]
[Is anyone there?]
Whir— Clunk.
Yet another sheet spilled forth.
[There was definitely a printer here…]
[I can’t see anything!]
[Please! Is anyone there!]
[Help me!]
A desperate plea echoed through the very characters on the page.
Whir— Clunk.
[Please…]
[…]
Whir— Clunk.
[]
No further words appeared.
Whir— Clunk.
****
I currently found myself inside a company building.
Not a company from some urban legend, but a truly ordinary, mundane corporation.
If a surveillance camera were to capture my image, the police would undoubtedly arrive to apprehend me for trespassing.
While capturing me would, of course, prove impossible, my evasion would only stir greater controversy.
Should the Management Bureau ever witness such footage, my greatest secret—the ability to exit these confines—would be irrevocably exposed.
Though I had taken the precaution of wearing a mask, the Management Bureau was hardly so dim-witted as to be fooled by such a simple disguise.
Under no circumstances could I allow myself to be caught on camera.
And yet.
“Why is the closest door *here*?”
Despite being told this was the nearest entrance, it still required another five minutes of walking.
This meant five minutes of maneuvering as if I were starring in a spy thriller.
Fortunately, I had memorized the building’s layout.
While I knew the locations of the surveillance cameras, the real problem was that I had never actually practiced avoiding them.
Given a camera was positioned directly ahead, I had to circle around to the back.
From there, I needed to ascend two flights of stairs, but a camera midway forced me to climb only one floor before heading to the opposite staircase.
After opening that door, pushing through a veritable waterfall (TL Note: A metaphor for a towering pile of documents), and then crossing a precarious log bridge (TL Note: A metaphor for spilled double clips) teeming with ‘alligators’ below, what awaited me?
The printer room.
“I never imagined I’d find myself here.”
Not only were its functions quite limited, but the risks involved were also rather demanding, meaning there was little reason to visit it during the game.
Had I not made such a strange contract with the Library of Label, I probably would never have come to this place in my entire life.
“Well, what can I do? I *am* an urban legend (TL Note: ‘괴담,’ referring to the narrator’s identity as a supernatural entity or phenomenon).”
The printer before me appeared, at first glance, no different from any standard office printer.
The all-white room felt as though it were disrupting my autonomous nervous system, yet I knew this was merely an illusion.
Having sought out another urban legend only a few hours after the last, my fatigue-laden senses were likely playing tricks on me.
In any case, the only true urban legend within this room was the printer itself.
I bent down and picked up a sheet of paper scattered across the floor.
[There n.. o t…]
The writing was smudged, rendering it impossible to decipher.
It seemed to have been created at least three years ago.
“You must have suffered greatly.”
‘The Printer of ■■,’ its name lacked permanence, changing periodically.
Some days, it was ‘The Firefighter’s Printer’; on others, ‘The High School Student’s Printer.’
This time, I had no idea whose printer it was.
I placed the Library of Label, which I had brought with me, onto the printer’s scanner.
Though I couldn’t comprehend the underlying principle, the entire book was scanned without needing to be opened.
Soon, a white light glowed, signaling the start of the scanning process.
It still seemed no different from a typical printer.
Whir— Clunk.
With the whirring and clunking of the printer, sheets of paper began to emerge, one by one.
The first sheet was entirely colored a deep, leather-like brown, but as more pages followed, a variety of textures and hues accumulated, stacking up from the bottom like a 3D printer at work.
After about ten minutes, these papers had transformed into a complete book, an exact replica of the Library of Label.
“It’s convenient, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could replicate various *types* of things, not just paper?”
While it might seem capable of copying anything, in reality, as a printer, it was limited solely to paper-based items.
However, anything paper-related was replicated perfectly, encompassing every detail from handwriting and paper type to the sense of wear and tear.
Conversely, its inability to replicate anything beyond paper made its purpose truly ambiguous, turning it into a place one would scarcely bother to visit.
“Shall I head back now?”
I tucked the Library of Label under each arm and turned towards the door.
Whir— Clunk.
At that very instant, the sound of the printer echoed once more.
However, unlike before, it was now a scream—a cry of anguish, as if someone were shrieking in despair.
[Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.Help me.]
These were not words I had printed.
This was the final utterance of a printer user.
“This person, at least, hasn’t gone insane.”
What exactly was the risk I had mentioned earlier?
The Printer of ■■ devours people.
Of course, as my current well-being attested, it wasn’t an automatic occurrence; it only happened after using the printer beyond a certain threshold.
Since most people perceived it as nothing more than an ordinary printer, they would unknowingly use it until they were consumed.
Whir— Clunk.
[Please continue using the printer.]
If it were merely a matter of being devoured and then it ended, that would almost be preferable.
Instead, these souls remained trapped within the printer, forced to sing for their replacement for years on end.
Whir— Clunk.
[Please continue using the printer.]
[Please continue using the printer.]
[Please continue using the printer.]
The messages seemed to implore someone to use the printer.
Why had this never happened when I was using it, only to begin as I prepared to leave?
“Ugh. This leaves such a bad taste.”
This victim, imprisoned within the printer for so long, had come to a grim realization.
They understood that someone else had to take their place for them to finally be free.
That was why they had waited quietly for someone to use it, only to seize the chance when I tried to depart.
“This is precisely why I despise this place.”
If they had simply gone completely mad and fallen silent, it wouldn’t have mattered.
But to witness such a lucid yearning for freedom left an undeniably bitter aftertaste.
“Still, it’s not as if I can offer myself up to be devoured instead.”
Whir— Clunk.
“Hm?”
[Please…]
“Oh, honestly, don’t make my heart soften.”
In truth, there was one more method.
A truly simple method, one anyone could perform.
However, it came with a crucial condition: the person had to be someone who had never entered into a social contract, meaning the police wouldn’t apprehend them regardless of any illegal acts they committed.
As it happened, I was an ideal candidate, having never been caught on a surveillance camera, and not being human, I had never made a social contract.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
I extended a tentacle from my shadow.
“Consider yourself thanked.”
*Bang!*
With a powerful spark, a single sheet of paper fluttered weakly onto the now-shattered printer.
[Thank you.]
Presumably, the soul had now departed the printer for a better place.
While the company’s Owner would undoubtedly suffer a massive headache, the freedom of one soul was a price that could be justified.
“Huh? There’s one more sheet underneath?”
[You son of a bi—]
Hmm.
Was this the printer’s last will?
It hardly seemed worth remembering.
Ignoring the malice directed at me, I exited the printer room.
Now, I had to retrace the exact same path I had just taken.
“Ah…”
****
Perhaps it was the blue lighting, but the plastered walls, as if stripped of their carefully concealed essence, appeared pallid and faded.
“No, this isn’t it…”
A woman, striking in a white lab coat—a sight rarely encountered in everyday life—bent over a table.
Beneath her microscope lay a substance, a perplexing amalgam of black and blue.
It was the sample her friend, Park Se-jin, had entrusted to her yesterday.
“Hmm… it seems to have several different substances clinging to it.”
The brown appeared to be an unidentified fragment of meat, the black a piece of stone.
“Then what is this green liquid?”
She carefully detached a small portion of the substance and immersed it in several reagents, yet it yielded no reaction whatsoever.
This implied it was a material never before discovered.
Yoon Seo-yeon meticulously reviewed every paper and report she had read recently.
Among them, a recent report caught her eye.
–
Records of The Urban Legend Shop
3. Products
3-1. Brief Dream
.
.
.
–
“A wiggling green pill, you say…”
Seo-yeon entered the storage room located behind her lab, a space prepared exclusively for her.
“Here somewhere… Ah! Found it.”
Seo-yeon had been allocated only one ‘Brief Dream.’
Her original intention was to research it later, but her mind was already completely consumed by the ‘Brief Dream.’
She sliced the pill with a scalpel, then placed the oozing green liquid, along with her sample, into the component analyzer.
After approximately ten minutes, the analyzer beeped, displaying a combination of English words and numbers that would be incomprehensible to a layperson.
Yet, at the very bottom, a phrase that almost anyone could understand captured Seo-yeon’s attention.
Match Rate: 98.7%
Just then, her phone vibrated with an incoming call.
It was Park Se-jin.
“Ahem. Hello?”
“Another wild goose chase today. The Shop really looks like it won’t open until next week.”
“Oh… again?”
“Yeah. So don’t get your hopes up too much.”
“Right, I understand.”
“Anyway, have you found anything new about that sample?”
“…”
“Hello? Yoon Seo-yeon?”
“Oh. What did you say?”
“I asked if you found anything out about the sample.”
“No. Nothing at all.”
