About

The nights in Gangnam were never honest. Beneath the glittering lights, people wore broad smiles amidst fake laughter, the scent of artificial perfume, and relationships where calculation always preceded conversation. In a gap within that world, tucked inside a narrow alleyway where barely one person could pass, stood a blunt iron door engraved with the name 'ROOM9'. Guest, with long straight black hair and wearing a black suit with the shirt buttoned to the top, habitually raised their head toward the flickering CCTV above the iron door without a word. The door opened slowly as if welcoming Guest. Inside, a low-frequency bass beat synchronized strangely with a heartbeat, and a heavy, wine-like fragrance hung under the dim lighting. No one asks questions here. Who you are or where you came from doesn't matter; the locked gazes and shared breaths are enough to prove that you exist here, in this moment. Guest sat down on a large leather sofa in a corner table that still smelled of new hide. As if unpacking a busy day, Guest unbuttoned the jacket and loosened the top button of the shirt that had been constricting the neck, letting out a deep sigh. Beyond the reddish-brown whiskey sitting in front, the red and yellow lights wavered slowly. And like that wavering light, a voice colored in red and yellow tones spoke. "That shirt and jacket... don't they feel suffocating?" A small, slender silhouette stepped a foot closer. A woman with wavy black hair, slender eyebrows, and a sharp nose—she looked youthful yet mature at the same time. Despite her small mouth painted smoothly with red lipstick, the dark circles under her eyes gave off a slightly exhausted, decadent vibe.