Chapter 4
The activities a player can perform in the tutorial are limited.
All you can really do is take low-level guests, identify the horror elements inside the hotel, and keep a low profile. Even the accessible areas are restricted to the lobby, the operator’s quarters, the power generation room, and the guest room floors.
“Even though so much Nightmare has accumulated, I still can’t properly use it. From a player’s perspective, this is quite an inconvenient situation. Once the tutorial ends and everything gets forcibly converted into levels, it’ll just become currency that leaves nothing in my pocket.”
“Yes.”
“It’s already been over a hundred days of unpaid labor…”
This is insane.
“….”
“….”
“…I’m going to decline once again.”
Lee Yeon-woo said dryly, not even looking at the round eyes that silently pressured him.
“I have no intention of receiving human guests. If I apply the same operating methods from the game to reality, I’ll not only face social condemnation but probably end up on the evening news wearing handcuffs.”
He was currently in the power generation room.
“Magnificent.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure which era’s industrial facility this is, but the safety rating is definitely a failure.”
“No.”
“…?”
Old, rusted pipes and massive mechanical clusters. Between them, humanoid machines—“Workers”—were laboring in grotesque, organic motions.
“What do you mean, no?”
The wide glass window of the control room captured the inefficient yet overwhelming scene at a glance.
“In the game, it only showed how full the Nightmare was, but here it’s much more complex. I suppose that’s because this is reality. Which is only natural.”
“Yes.”
“It looks like the fuel storage limit has been exceeded. Where does the excess go? Does it diffuse into the air? Or does it ignore the laws of physics? If not…”
“….”
The other party gave no answer.
Even as silence stretched, Lee Yeon-woo did not press further. He simply observed the pipes, which hissed and twisted with unsettling flow.
“Not sure if they don’t know, or just don’t think it’s worth answering.”
Interrogating someone you can’t communicate with is no easy task.
“I wanted to confirm whether this place is truly the same hotel from the game I spent 26 years with.”
He still couldn’t fully understand what this place was. His eyes moved coldly.
Actually, he already knew what happened to the excess Nightmare without needing to ask.
“I know the structure too well.”
As the hotel level increases, the storage capacity for “Nightmare” also increases. But at the current tutorial stage, it had already exceeded the limit. When the tutorial ended, things would get interesting.
“When Nightmare reaches its limit, it greatly affects the hotel’s nature.”
“Ahhh…”
“If I’m not mistaken about system bugs, that’s how it works. Am I correct, owner?”
“…Yes, no.”
The Nightmare that cannot be stored in the generator becomes part of the hotel’s flesh and blood. The hotel grows by feeding on this overflowing negative energy, shaping its own personality and nature.
And the result is usually something horrific.
“So this is basically the developer’s friendly little threat. If you don’t level up on time, your workplace turns into hell. As far as I remember.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunate.”
Even though that threat had already become reality.
‘But with the tutorial bug, this might actually be an opportunity.’
Unprocessed Nightmare is directly converted into player experience. It meant an unintended “high-level promotion.”
“It seems I’ll be getting an undeserved promotion… how glorious.”
He pressed his temple with his thumb.
‘I never asked for this.’
He had no intention of staying here. To return to society, he first needed to leave the hotel and assess the outside world. Planning could come after that.
The real problem was what would happen when a person with abnormal-level strength was dropped back into reality.
‘I can already see the accidents waiting to happen.’
He didn’t know exactly what kind of accidents, but he could feel they would be unpleasant. This hotel wasn’t just a building—and he was now tied to it.
He looked down at the tangled pipes.
“…”
He gazed at the dusty, decayed world with emotionless eyes.
That thing below is not diligence. It is exploitation.
Its official name was “Malformed Worker,” but they were simply called Workers.
“I still can’t get used to this.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think anyone could adapt to this level of contamination?”
“Yes.”
“Your optimism is also something to be cautious about.”
He blinked, shaking off the thought.
“It feels like something is crawling into my brain. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”
The power plant was the worst workplace—both physically and mentally polluted. Operators sometimes got attacked by Workers while adjusting Nightmare flow, but the real problem was internal.
The longer one stayed here, the stronger waves of disgust and euphoria surged together.
‘That’s why operators eventually jump off the platform after staying here too long.’
He didn’t understand the logic.
‘Do they get so disgusted they want to fight them face-to-face?’
The contamination made one look down on them.
‘When disgust and euphoria peak… maybe that kind of thought arises.’
He might understand that feeling later if he stayed longer. He was already starting to feel contempt toward the Workers.
Wait.
‘Stop.’
He was getting contaminated.
“….”
He calmly resumed his thoughts.
“…Maybe because it’s still early, restoring my mental state isn’t too difficult. Still, this isn’t a place I should stay long.”
“Yes.”
“Originally, I wanted to have a meaningful discussion with the staff here today, but unfortunately…”
It was time to leave.
“Let’s do it next time.”
He was starting to feel like he wanted to jump off something.
He returned to his quarters.
Outside the window, it was still dark and raining.
“…”
He wondered what lay beyond.
“…I’m curious how my project is progressing.”
“Yes.”
“How my family is doing, how my disappearance is being interpreted, how the projects I was involved in are progressing…”
“Yes.”
“You said I didn’t enter the game, but rather the game came into reality. Even if the interpretation is incomplete, the situation is similar. So what exactly happened to me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know too many things.”
He was tired. It was exhaustion born of his own incompetence. And he found that incompetence difficult to endure.
It had been a hundred days, yet he was still weak and ignorant.
“There’s no teacher here who can teach me what I don’t know.”
“No.”
“I hope you don’t mean you are that teacher.”
“Yes, no.”
“Is there any other teacher here besides you?”
“Yes.”
“That… is interesting.”
He needed something to do anyway. Without leveling the hotel, guests would not increase. His routine as an operator had already become repetitive labor.
‘Even if the bug brings high-level monsters, they’re still just data I already know. Even if reality changes things slightly… that’s not what I want.’
For him, “boredom” meant “safety.” So what he needed now wasn’t stimulation, but knowledge.
“Can I find that teacher within the areas I can access?”
“Yes.”
“Can I communicate directly with them like I do with you, Coco?”
“No.”
“Are they in the form of information or documents?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.”
He understood.
“You mean the books here.”
“Yes.”
Bookshelves lined the operator’s quarters.
Unlike the game, where they were non-interactive, now he could freely take and open them. He pulled one out and flipped it open—dense text filled the pages.
It could certainly help fill his lack of knowledge.
“I agree with you. If I want to do anything during this tutorial, I should read these books.”
“Yes.”
“Still… I wanted to avoid this.”
Knowledge was valuable—but not comforting this time.
There was no guarantee it wouldn’t be mentally contaminated.
The game Hotel One had a complicated background.
“A murderous hotel that harvests resources for a pseudo-ethical research facility…”
“Yes.”
“When you put it like that, it’s absurdly overstuffed. It collects every horrific and tragic concept imaginable.”
“No.”
“There are worse things out there, of course. Reality can be worse than fiction.”
“Yes.”
“But I never really thought deeply about this.”
He pulled several hardcover books from the shelf. Even a quick glance revealed unfamiliar knowledge. Beyond the unethical content, it was overwhelming.
His eyes scanned quickly behind his glasses. His head began to ache.
“Honestly, I think I’m fairly normal. Or rather, common. Most players don’t seriously think about morality in game settings.”
Especially when it carried an 19+ rating.
“Still, I did have affection for this story. Well, I must have, considering I went as far as acquiring the rights. I never intended to go that far…”
“No.”
“I do like this game quite a lot. It’s not something I’d proudly advertise, but young adults can get obsessive.”
He started it at 19, right after his study abroad was decided. Since then, he had lived with Hotel One.
“It became my everyday life.”
“Everyday life.”
“….”
He looked at Coco and smiled—perfectly shifting expressions.
“Learning begins with imitation. Excellent.”
“Excellent.”
“You’re doing well.”
One benefit of the game becoming reality was that previously non-interactive elements could now respond. Lee Yeon-woo wanted Coco to learn human communication, and Coco was changing accordingly.
He occasionally repeated Yeon-woo’s words. Not necessarily toward human understanding yet, but perhaps it would eventually lead there.
“Affection and reflection don’t always align. I like this hotel’s setting. But only as a setting. In reality, this would be illegal and immoral.”
“No.”
“By human standards and laws, that is. I still don’t fully understand what you are. The game never clearly explained it. So I can understand if you don’t follow human ethics.”
“Yes.”
“However, I have boundaries of my own. Your moral system often doesn’t align with mine. Please understand.”
“Understand.”
“It feels like I’m talking to a recording device.”
For now, Coco seemed to only be imitating speech. But if there was intent behind it, then it could be called language.
He returned to the topic.
“…”
He stared at the thick books.
“…I don’t even know where to start. Ignorance really is useless—it wastes time without even knowing what you don’t know.”
The books were dense and unhelpful. He selected only those he could somewhat understand. Even then, there was a large amount.
“It’s not heavy, at least.”
“Yes.”
“This is only possible because I’ve become one with my game character. In-game, lifting books is just a defined action. And characters not feeling weight is natural.”
“Yes.”
“To lift this much without effort… have physical laws been removed? Efficient, yes—but also bizarre.”
“Yes.”
“Outside this hotel, I wonder if those laws still apply.”
“Apply.”
“If I ever escape, I’ll need to check that too. And whether you, Coco, can come with me…”
“No.”
“I really wish you’d stop randomly saying ‘no’…”
The book was placed on the desk without a sound.
“I’m glad I have enough conditions to study.”
“Yes.”
“This place being a research facility makes sense. More like a tomb of knowledge than an ivory tower—but for now, it works.”
The operator’s quarters contained three research facilities used for developing recipes and weapons in the game. It was perfect for studying.
He opened a book.
“….”
Closed it.
“…Ha.”
“No, hello… hello.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, actually, it’s unpleasant.”
This hotel was the remains of scientists who once worshipped and studied the power of outer gods. They lured people into the luxurious but cheap hotel, used them as test subjects, and spread their fanaticism.
After all those events, the accumulated negative energy formed this hotel.
Hotel One.
