Page 13 of Break Room

Back in my flat, I stopped in my tracks. Two fresh hint cards lay on my desk, as though they’d been waiting for me. My mind spun, trying to connect the dots – the strange conversation I’d just overheard, the insulting comments they’d made about me, and now, the sudden arrival of these hints.

Apparently, I was the first in this game to hide inside a cabinet to eavesdrop – and the first to break the cabinet door in the process.

Whether it was the damage itself or my lack of care in attempting to fix it that had raised eyebrows, I wasn’t sure.

But none of that mattered compared to the fact that I now had two hint cards at my disposal.

I couldn’t forget how they’d described me. Off-putting. He probably doesn’t even realise he’s weird – and never will. Without a second thought, I tore open both hint envelopes, circled the ice-cube drawing on each without hesitation, and slipped them into the wooden box outside my door.

Moments later, what I pulled out was unlike any of the previous hints.

It was heavier, bulkier. I carried it back to my room, and under the light, I realised what it was: the wing mirror of a car, detached from its frame.

My face stared back at me, and just beneath my reflection, a familiar warning was etched into the surface of the glass:

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

As I carefully peeled away the film covering the letters, the message transformed into something else entirely.

He is watching you more closely than he appears to be.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

My face was stiff with tension, every muscle betraying the unease I couldn’t suppress.

The silence was so unsettling that I feared someone else might suddenly pop up in the reflection.

An eerie sensation crept over me, and I felt goosebumps prickle along my arms. My hand trembled as I reached for my phone, holding it up to scan the QR code beneath the warning.

I took a deep breath and pressed play on the audio file.

The moment the altered voice began to speak, I flinched.

I had assumed all previous voices in the hints had been perfectly disguised, but even through the modulation, a familiar voiceprint was undeniable.

Despite the altered tone, I knew exactly who it was.

‘I’ll refer to him as “Ice Cube” here. You mentioned having a slightly creepy encounter with him. Could you tell us more about that?’ the production team prompted.

‘I’m a big fan of cola. Even at work, I only drink cola.

Every morning, I start my day by filling a cup with cola and large ice cubes in the break room and bringing it back to my desk to sip on throughout the day.

But, you know, as you drink, the ice melts, and it gets watered down, which is really annoying.

I once mumbled this casually, just kind of muttering it to myself at my desk.

Then, the next day, Ice Cube – this guy we’re talking about – started freezing cola ice cubes in the break-room freezer.

Every morning, he’d hand them to me, saying they’d keep my drink from getting diluted.

We weren’t close or anything, and I didn’t want people to get the wrong idea, so it made me a bit uncomfortable.

I thanked him, of course. But here’s the thing – it became a daily routine.

One evening, when I was working late, I happened to notice him alone in the break room.

He was pouring cola into an ice tray. And not just any cola – it was the exact brand and flavour I drink.

That’s what creeped me out. I never left my cans in the fridge.

I’d always toss them straight into the trash after pouring my drink into a glass.

So I started wondering . . . Was he digging through the trash to figure out what I drink?

On top of that, he was spending his own money to make those ice cubes for me every single day.

I don’t know . . . It just didn’t feel right.

Especially in this day and age – who does that? ’

The witness sighed deeply, then continued:

‘And that’s not all. There’s a coworker who drinks dolce lattes – you know, the ones with condensed milk that supposedly help with digestion?

Well, one day, Ice Cube went out and bought another ice tray just to make coffee ice cubes for her.

That’s when everyone else finally caught on to what I’d been saying. They realised he’s just . . . creepy.’

I found it bizarre how they had twisted my small acts of kindness into something sinister.

Everyone dislikes how watered-down their drinks get when the ice melts.

I’d learned the flavoured-ice-cube trick from my older brother, and since my coworkers didn’t have someone like him to show them these things, I’d thought I’d share it by doing it for them, no strings attached.

Sure, I might’ve checked the trash a couple of times to figure out their preferences, but it wasn’t anything shady.

I’d just thought it was more thoughtful to offer silent gestures of consideration than to make a big show of asking.

Making cola ice is easy, but the dolce latte ice cubes?

Those took effort. I’d half-freeze the cubes, add sweetened milk midway, and then freeze them again to get the taste just right.

It was time-consuming, but I didn’t expect anything in return.

To me, it was just a thoughtful gesture – an act of goodwill.

Even here in this game, I’d made it a point to pay attention.

Walking the hallways, checking delivery bags and noting down preferences for future reference.

Didn’t they appreciate how happy everyone had been when we had that bunsik for lunch?

How I’d gone out of my way to order extra danmuji and even separated the broth from the noodle?

But now, it felt like all the effort I’d put into scouring leftover plates and how much they’d left behind had been entirely for nothing.

I recalled the time I’d jotted down ‘hates green peas’ after poking through Cake’s empty jjajangmyeon bowl with a pair of used chopsticks, only to look up and see her standing there.

She’d smiled at me, even saying, ‘Thanks for your hard work.’ (Though, come to think of it, her eyebrows didn’t seem to smile with the rest of her face.)

The clock was creeping past midnight, and the world outside was pitch black, with all the streetlamps now off.

My reflection in the window stared back.

My face was blank, with no emotion. Was it because I was unfazed by all this?

Or had the blow from overhearing Tumbler and Cake’s conversation in the break room already numbed me, helping me to regain my composure faster?

I couldn’t shake that haunting phrase: He probably doesn’t even realise he’s weird – and never will.

But I forced myself to gather every rational thought I could, desperate to drown out the unnecessary noise of self-doubt.

Cake had twisted the story to make it seem like I was infatuated with her, offering hints unprompted, when all I’d done was casually suggest we exchange one.

Why would she go out of her way to lie about something so easily disproven once the show aired?

If her goal was to make Tumbler jealous, she could’ve mentioned an admirer from the outside world, not a member of the cast. Behaviour like that wouldn’t help her win – nor would it help her reputation after this was all over and the show aired.

In the end, wasn’t the truly unsettling person the one who tells unnecessary lies for no apparent reason?