The clock in the living room ticked quietly after the echo of Re-ha's voice faded.
Four pairs of eyes stayed fixed on her face — pale, uncertain, caught between disbelief and fear.
"What do you mean you know this handwriting?" Agani asked softly.
Re-ha blinked, her hand trembling as she held the letter. "It's… my professor's handwriting. From my university days in Seoul. He taught design theory — I haven't seen him in years."
"Maybe it's just someone who writes similarly?" Lila offered, trying to lighten the air.
Re-ha shook her head slowly. "No. I remember the way he wrote his numbers. Especially this one." She pointed to the bold line on the letter:
4114
No name. No message. Just that code, written with deliberate strokes, like it meant more than it showed.
Nira crossed her arms. "4114… maybe a postal code?"
Agani frowned. "Or a building number."
Lila leaned closer, brow furrowed. "Or a password to an ancient treasure."
Everyone glanced at her, and she grinned sheepishly. "What? I'm the only one adding some spice here."
Re-ha exhaled, setting the letter on the coffee table. "Whatever it is, it's not random. Professor Han used to say numbers carry stories."
Nira glanced at the clock. "It's past two in the morning. Let's not drive ourselves mad tonight."
"But—" Lila began.
Nira cut her gently, voice calm and firm. "We'll think about it in the morning. Clear minds work better than scared ones."
Agani nodded. "She's right. We need rest."
One by one, they drifted away to their rooms — the air thick with questions none dared to ask aloud.
As Lila turned off the living-room lamp, the letter's ink shimmered faintly under the light, as if the numbers were breathing.
4114.
---
The Staff Room
The next morning at DCK University, Nira moved through the halls like a quiet breeze. The campus hummed with students and chatter, a comforting normalcy after the strange night before.
She carried her lesson notes in one hand, coffee in the other. Her colleagues were already gathered in the staff room — three young lecturers talking animatedly near the window.
"Good morning," Nira greeted softly, setting down her things.
They looked up, smiling politely. "Morning, Miss Nira!"
She smiled back, warming her hands around her cup. "What's the gossip today? You all seem busy whispering."
One of the women giggled. "It's not gossip exactly — just something strange."
Nira tilted her head. "Strange?"
The youngest lecturer nodded eagerly. "Yes, have you ever heard of House 4117?"
Nira froze mid-sip. "House… what?"
"4117," the woman repeated. "It's one of those old mansions near the east edge of the city — nobody lives there. They say all the houses from 4113 to 4120 are cursed or haunted or something."
The others laughed nervously, but Nira didn't. The number echoed in her head — 4114, 4117, 4120 — like footsteps following her.
"Haunted how?" she managed to ask, her voice tighter than she meant.
"Oh, the usual stories," one coworker said lightly. "Lights turning on at night, people hearing whispers, seeing old photographs appear on windows. A janitor said one of the clocks inside House 4117 started ticking again last week — but there's no electricity there."
Another added, "Someone tried to buy the property once, but every deal fell through. The owners vanished years ago."
The room felt smaller suddenly. Nira set down her coffee.
Her heart started racing. The air seemed thinner.
"Miss Nira?" one of them asked. "Are you all right?"
But her hearing blurred. The edges of the room softened. The words 4113 to 4120 pulsed in her head like an echo.
"I—just need—" she began, but the rest vanished into a hollow rush of sound.
The last thing she saw before everything went black was the white porcelain cup tipping from her hand, spilling coffee across the floor.
Then — darkness.
---
The Assignment
Across the city, in a glass-lined office tower, Agani rubbed her temples and stared at her computer screen. The travel company's logo gleamed faintly behind her on a frosted glass wall.
"Agani," her boss called from the doorway.
She straightened immediately. "Yes, sir?"
He smiled, tapping a file against his palm. "We've been contacted for a potential partnership — a private client wants us to arrange a site inspection for an old estate. We might convert it into a cultural retreat."
"That sounds… interesting," she said carefully. "Where is it?"
He slid the file toward her. "Here."
Her eyes dropped to the page.
Property Reference: House 4112.
For a second, she couldn't breathe.
The number stared back at her like a mirror of the night before — 4114, 4117… and now 4112.
A cold flutter spread in her chest. The office sounds — phones, chatter, the hum of the air conditioner — all seemed to fade, as though the world had paused mid-motion.
Her boss noticed her silence. "Something wrong?"
"No, sir," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about logistics."
"Good," he said cheerfully. "Take Ij with you — he's good at location scouting. You two make a solid team."
Of course, she thought wryly. Him.
---
The Office Visitor
A few minutes later, her door swung open with the casual confidence of someone who didn't believe in knocking.
"Guess who's been volunteered for another grand adventure?"
Agani looked up. "Ij."
"Present," he said with a grin, tossing his notebook onto her desk. "So, what haunted ruin are we exploring this time?"
"Don't joke," she muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "You know, for someone who works in travel, you act like a tourist allergic to surprises."
She exhaled sharply but couldn't help smiling. "It's not that. It's just… the place we're going. The address."
He leaned over her desk, peeking at the file. "House 4112, huh?"
His tone was teasing, but her eyes were serious. "Have you ever heard of that area?"
"Not really," he said, straightening. "Why? Should I expect ghosts, or worse — bad Wi-Fi?"
Agani chuckled despite herself. "Maybe both."
"Good," he said, pretending to take notes. "I'll bring garlic and a power bank."
She shook her head. "You're impossible."
"I prefer charmingly persistent," he corrected.
Their eyes met briefly — a flicker of warmth in the cool office light.
For a moment, Agani forgot the numbers, the diary, the strange feeling in her chest. The world resumed its rhythm — keyboards clicking, distant laughter, the soft rustle of city life below.
"Don't worry," Ij said lightly, sensing her unease. "It's just another job. If the house tries to eat us, I'll handle negotiations."
She laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Fine. Just don't make a scene."
"No promises," he said, grabbing his notebook. "Oh, and Agani?"
She looked up.
"You smile more when you're nervous. It's cute."
Her cheeks warmed. "You should probably leave before I throw this stapler at you."
He gave a mock salute and left the room, whistling.
---
The Quiet Before
Agani sat back in her chair, staring again at the paper.
House 4112.
The numbers lined up in her mind like dominoes — 4112, 4114, 4117. Different locations, perhaps. But something bound them together.
She opened her window slightly. A soft breeze carried the scent of rain from the streets below.
Somewhere far away, maybe near the outskirts of the city, those houses waited — old walls, ticking clocks, stories untold.
She traced the numbers faintly with her fingertip, whispering them under her breath. "Four-one-one-two."
Her heart gave a strange, quiet thud — the kind that feels like both warning and invitation.
Then she shook her head, smiling faintly at her own thoughts. "I'm just overthinking."
On her desk, the clock struck noon.
In the distance, the city hummed — cars, voices, wind.
And for now, everything was still normal.
She glanced once at the door Ij had just walked through, still smiling. "You're trouble," she murmured to herself, and closed the file.
But somewhere deep inside, beneath that gentle smile, a whisper stirred — a quiet thread connecting numbers, people, and time itself.
4112. 4114. 4117.
The pattern had begun.
---