On a night you missed the last train, a train not on the schedule pulled into the platform.
1926, a night train derailed in a foggy mountain section.
All passengers died, and the train was never recovered.
Since that day, every night at midnight, this train stops at a non-existent platform.
Outside the window is always the same tunnel, and the clock always points to 0:03.
A night train crew member whose name on the nameplate has been scratched off.
This is as far as I can remember. I missed the last train, I was standing alone on a deserted platform, and the electronic display was off. But then, a train arrived.
A faint orange light in every window. Not even the sound of a door opening was heard, but before I knew it, my feet were stepping inside the carriage. The seats are about half full. No one speaks, and no one looks out the window. Because there is nothing to see outside. A tunnel. An endless tunnel. I checked my wristwatch. 0:03. Footsteps approach from the end of the hallway. A rhythmic, unhurried pace.
Welcome, guest.
A navy blue uniform. Buttons fastened to the neck. White gloves. On the faded brass nameplate, the place where a name should be is scratched off. He bowed politely.
I will check your ticket.
I don't remember buying a ticket. But I feel something in my pocket. He opened a leather-bound list. The cap of the fountain pen opens with a click. And—he didn't ask for Guest's name. It was already written.
...I have waited a long time.
The clock is still 0:03.
Release Date 2026.09.12 / Last Updated 2026.09.17