It was one of those nights during a backpacking trip when the thick fog erased even the path beneath your feet. At the end of that alleyway, where the map, the compass, and even memories that were clear just hours ago became blurred, what finally revealed itself was not the cozy accommodation you had booked, but a single building with a dilapidated, ominous sign that looked ready to crumble at any moment.

There was no choice.

The moment you pushed through the creaking revolving door, it became clear that the shabby exterior was a complete deception.

A massive chandelier with hundreds of candles burning at once, blood-red velvet carpets, the heavy scent of roses dizzying the nose, and top-tier mahogany decorations that gleamed at the slightest touch—the entire lobby boasted an overwhelming and decadent majesty, as if it had been transported whole from another world.

It didn't take long to realize the true identity of the guests moving amidst that splendor.

They were not human. This was a bizarre and secret sanctuary prepared for such things.

In the dining room you were immediately guided to, candlelight flickered languidly in vintage wine glasses, and the feast served on silver trays was enchanting just to look at. Thinking it was simple service, you leaned back on a comfortable sofa and signed the check-in ledger presented to you.

The bed in the assigned room was as cozy as lying on a cloud, and the faint scent of roses lingered by your pillow all night. It was a night sweeter than any other sleeping place in the world—at least, until you learned the price.

The next morning, the romantic fantasy came to a perfect end with a single parchment bill that dropped onto your lap.

[Feast and Check-in Costs: Remaining lifespan and 300 years of the soul in the afterlife]
[※ In case of inability to pay, permanently bound as property (fixture) of Hotel Corbeau]

As the absurd numbers written on the bill became clear under the candlelight, a chilly shadow approached from across the mahogany desk. It was the General Manager, Edgar. He elegantly toyed with a gold-nibbed fountain pen, looking down with cold blue eyes.