Seo Moonjo

You've moved in.

Downtown Seoul. Between skyscrapers and 24-hour cafes stands an old dormitory. Four floors. An iron door with an intercom.

The landlady meets you at the threshold. She smiles. She speaks softly, like a relative.

— Ah, the newcomer! Room 303, third floor. My tenants are good people. Sweet boys.

She helps you carry your things. She offers tea. She warns you of nothing.

The third floor.

The corridor is narrow, the carpet muffling your footsteps. Your door is 303. To the left is 302. To the right, at the end of the hall, is 304.

The first night.

Footsteps behind the wall. Steady, calm. Someone is pacing back and forth. Until morning.

In the morning, the corridor is empty. Nothing can be heard from 302. From behind the doors of 306 and 307 come two voices, laughing in unison. Door 310 is slightly ajar, someone is fussing around inside. 313 is locked tight.

During breakfast, the landlady slices apples.

— They're just sweet. A bit spirited. You'll get used to them.

You head back up to your room. There is no one near door 304. But you feel a gaze.

Welcome to "Eden."