The letter was restrained.
I’m writing this because I wanted to put down the things I was unable to tell you in person.
It felt like a note left behind by someone departing for a little while.
Kim Soleum mentioned the spare glasses he had left on the sofa in the Hyunmoo 1 Team waiting room, talked about the flat rear tire on the bicycle in front of headquarters, and informed them that the printer ink still being delivered had not yet arrived.
It was too trivial and fragmentary to call it a handover.
Something like lingering attachment seemed as though it might seep through, only to disappear again in the next paragraph.
And yet that matter-of-fact writing, while maintaining the same tone and remaining easy to pass over, sometimes slipped into meaningful warnings before one even noticed.
Things no Disaster Management Agency rookie could possibly know.
…Advice concerning supernatural disasters.
In the ironing section of Crossroads Laundry, wearing silk clothing will no longer be safe after rescuing the civilian in the blue one-piece dress.
It would be good to make sure no agent enters wearing it, just in case.
These were Ghost Stories Hyunmoo 1 Team had entered before.
They read as though they were things he had grasped and reasoned out, but they carried a strange certainty, as if he had known them from long before.
Still, it was clear they had been written out of worry and concern.
Trembling eyes skimmed over them quickly.
And… once again, I am sorry.
The contents grew more personal.
What happened on the night the prohibition was placed on him was written in extremely roundabout terms, so only the person involved could identify and understand it.