Amid the chaos of this lethal ghost story, a sliver of hope emerged—a survival ticket.
Not an illusion. Not a dream.
'If you present the lost item mentioned in the announcement to station staff, they'll guide you out…'
A lifeline.
But the lost item itself was grotesque:
"The left eye of a male in his twenties with blood type A."
"Did it say… a male in his twenties?"
"Blood type A," Go Yeongeun muttered, her face ashen. "Blood type… A."
Silence thickened. Even the air felt heavy with dread.
…Should I stay quiet?
If we escaped at the correct station, everyone could survive. But revealing this now might spark panic—or worse, a frenzy.
Yet the others clung to the announcement like a lifeline.
"We should still try to find it," someone insisted.
"Right. What if it's our only chance?"
They began interrogating each other:
"How old are you?"
"30s. Blood type B, so I'm safe."
"Same here…"
Then their attention turned to me.
"Kim Soleum-ssi…?"
"AB," I lied smoothly.
I'm actually type A. No need to paint a target on myself.
"Baek Saheon-ssi, what about—?"
"Wait."
A man across from us raised his hand, jaw tight. "I… I fit the criteria. Type A. 24."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
[This stop is Anger, Anger Station.]
The announcement crackled. The station staff would be here.
The volunteer palmed his sweating neck. "Is… is anyone else—?"
"No," someone said.
"Shit."
Baek Saheon, standing beside me, sighed. "You're type A?"
"Y-Yes."
"Unlucky."
Then—
Crack.
Baek Saheon's smartphone smashed into the man's left eye. A wet, visceral crunch.
"Ghk—!"
[The doors are opening.]
Baek Saheon vaulted over the writhing body and lunged through the train doors.
"Wh-what the hell—?"
"AAAGH!!"
"You psychopath!"
The others' delayed screams erupted behind him.
Baek Saheon snorted.
"Morons. If trading one eye buys escape, take the deal."
"...!"
"The announcement said disembark—not survive."
He'd parsed the rules perfectly:
—If you've found the lost item, please disembark at the next station and hand it over to the station staff.
A brutal interpretation, but logical.
"Can't expect critical thinking from sheep waiting for a hero," he added, voice dripping with contempt.
"What?!"
He strode away, confidence radiating—no one would follow.
He was right.
They'd all witnessed the consequences of wrong choices.
"That… monster…" Go Yeongeun's face flushed crimson.
But clarity struck me like a slap.
Of course.
His nickname in
[The doors are closing.]
Baek Saheon smirked back at the train, triumphant.
Even with stolen vision staining his hands.
'That bastard…'
But here's the twist:
'It wasn't necessary.'
While chaos reigned, I stretched toward the overhead luggage rack.
'There.'
My fingers closed around a hidden crevice. A small lens case.
Inside:
A single eyeball.
Its label:
[Type A / Female / 27 / R]
'Lost items aren't your own losses—they're someone else's.'
The announcement was a twisted scavenger hunt. Multiple "lost" eyes hidden aboard. Some survivors had escaped by sheer luck, grabbing random ones.
'Baek Saheon just joined their ranks.'
But what if he learned his brutality was pointless?
The doors sealed. As the train lurched forward, I locked eyes with him through the window—and raised the lens case.
The eyeball stared back.
His face contorted.
—!!
[The train is now departing from Anger Station.]
I glanced at his victim—left eye destroyed. Baek Saheon had eliminated a rival "lost item."
'He assumed only one would work.'
Self-preservation? Understandable.
But cruelty? Unforgivable.
I turned away.
Somewhere behind us, fists hammered glass. Distant screams—human?—echoed as the platform vanished.
[The lost item has been successfully handed over to the station staff.]