Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#124Reader Mode

T/N: Happy Turkey day! （＾∀＾●）ﾉｼ

#124

For a second, Seojun’s heart skipped a beat, like a record skipping and landing on an eerie note. His stomach clenched, a knot of anxiety tightening with each passing moment. Through the dusty truck window, a face stared back at him… Camry’s face, or an unnervingly close copy. The resemblance was uncanny, even down to that distinctive mole. But it was more than just that. It was how her features mirrored Camry’s so exactly, yet not quite perfectly, like a picture taken from a slightly different angle.

A shiver prickled at the base of his neck, spreading into a wave of goosebumps that crawled over his skin—a cold ripple that had no business being there in the humid afternoon. It vanished as quickly as it came, carried away by the breeze rustling through the trees. Seojun blinked hard, trying to shake the feeling, his focus snapping back to the scene in front of him. Across the truck, Camry playfully swatted her friend’s hand away with the familiar exasperation that only comes from years of friendship.

“Sorry about her,” Camry said, giving Seojun an apologetic smile. “She’s always acting like I need a personal bodyguard or something. I’m Camry, by the way.”

“Seojun.”

“Cam-ry!” Leimia’s voice stretched the name into a dramatic whine as she grabbed Camry’s arm again, a little too tight. It wasn’t a protective gesture. It was possessive. She shot Seojun a look that could cut glass as he awkwardly shook hands with Camry over the truck’s open window.

Leimia’s over-the-top pout was worthy of a reality TV star. But the intensity of her glare was dead serious. Her look screamed it without her having to say a word: Seojun had just crossed a line.

As the eerie feeling faded, Seojun started noticing the differences. At first glance, Camry and Leimia could have passed for twins, but now the contrast was obvious. Leimia had a sharpness about her – her features more defined, her jawline strong and angular. She carried herself with a kind of fierce energy, her raised eyebrows practically daring anyone to challenge her. Camry, on the other hand, was completely different. She seemed relaxed and approachable, from her easygoing posture to the warmth in her smile. It was hard to imagine her being anything but friendly.

Thinking back, Seojun almost laughed at himself. How could he have ever thought they were twins? Now that he was actually looking, it seemed ridiculous.

“Cell service is basically non-existent out here,” Camry said, waving a hand towards the sprawling wilderness. “But see that place over there? The owner said he’d try making some calls for us. So yeah, we’re stuck in the world’s most scenic, and probably most boring, nature-filled waiting room.”

“Place?” Seojun leaned forward, checking out the surroundings. His eyes landed on a charming, rustic building nestled among the trees.

It had a vintage vibe, with a weathered sign above the door that read Alice. The sky-blue background was faded but still vibrant enough to catch the eye, featuring a silhouette of a dancing girl, her dress fanning out like a fairy-tale moment caught in time.

Before Seojun could get a better look, the door opened, and a wave of warm, inviting air rushed out, carrying the delicious smell of sugar, butter, and all things comforting.

A man appeared in the doorway, looking like the very definition of small-town hospitality. Broad-shouldered and middle-aged, his tanned face was creased with a lifetime of easy smiles. His flour-dusted apron and worn-out gloves spoke of hours spent working – kneading dough, rolling pastry, creating something amazing.

He stood there for a second, hands on his hips, sizing up the small group like he had some big announcement to make.

“Folks! I’ve been trying to reach the authorities, but it looks like that landslide has us all stranded for a while. Repairs aren’t happening anytime soon.” He paused, letting that sink in before breaking into a wide grin. With a sweeping gesture, he pointed towards the open door.

“But hey, why not come inside and wait? It’s warm, the coffee’s brewing, and I’ve got fresh pastries hot out of the oven!”

The man’s announcement rippled through the stranded travelers like a breeze through tall grass, sparking a wave of murmurs and restless shifting. Somewhere in the group, a voice piped up – half-joking, half-suspicious:

“Sounds like someone’s trying to make a quick buck off our bad luck!”

The man’s eyes twinkled as he gave his floury apron a confident pat. “Well now,” he drawled, his voice as warm and comforting as fresh bread, “would that really be so bad?”

His good-natured response got chuckles from the crowd, easing the tension. For a moment, the frustration and helplessness in the air gave way to something lighter, maybe even optimistic.

But not for Seojun.

The place might as well not have existed for all he cared. He looked past it, scanning the treetops and the fading light, searching for anything that even remotely resembled a motel. Nothing.

All he wanted was somewhere to crash, to stretch out and escape his cramped truck for the night. The thought of another night squeezed into his pickup made his muscles ache just thinking about it. He couldn’t help but envy the drivers of those big rigs with their fold-down beds and spacious cabs. Luxury on wheels, compared to what he had.

“Haa…”

His breath fogged up the window just as the first raindrops started falling. Hesitant at first, then steady. They splattered into tiny, shimmering droplets before running down in winding trails. Above, the sky was heavy with clouds, darkening with the promise of a downpour.

On the porch, the owner clapped his gloved hands together, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he watched the storm roll in. “Well, looks like business is about to pick up!”

Of all places to be worried about sales…

Seojun clicked his tongue. Judgment, he realized, came so easily to him now. It surprised him how quickly this quiet ruthlessness had become second nature. It felt as natural as breathing.

“Camry! We need to get in there before all the good seats are gone!” Leimia’s voice cut through the drizzle, and she used her knuckles to nudge Camry firmly in the back. The determined push made it clear seating was a serious matter.

“Good seats? In a restaurant? That’s what we’re worried about?” Camry glanced over her shoulder, half-laughing at Leimia’s intensity.

Leimia’s expression turned serious, her eyes narrowing like she was about to drop some profound truth. “Camry, even when things seem equal, the world always finds a way to decide who’s first and who’s second.”

Camry blinked, surprised for a moment, then her lips curved into a thoughtful smile. “Well, when you put it that way…”

She turned to Seojun, her warm gaze breaking through his thoughts. “See you inside, Seojun?”

“Huh? Oh… yeah, sure,” he mumbled, more out of reflex than anything else. He watched them as they headed towards the building.

Leimia’s heels clicked sharply against the ground, allowing her to match Camry’s height as they walked side by side. Their strides fell into a rhythm, forming a silhouette against the darkening sky.

Do all friends act like that these days?

Seojun tilted his head, the question lingering in his mind as he watched them. With no close friends of his own to compare, he had no idea if that kind of possessiveness was normal or just plain weird.

“Whatever, it’s not my problem,” he muttered, dismissing the thought as he focused on more immediate concerns.

After parking his truck, he grabbed his wallet and climbed out. His legs felt shaky as he stretched, his stiff muscles protesting the hours of driving. The ache in his back reminded him how much he hated long drives, but the relief of moving was enough to keep him going. Because of this, he was the first one at the entrance of Alice.

Despite his earlier complaints about the place’s remote location, curiosity got the better of him as he stepped onto the faded green doormat. He paused for a second, the door handle cool and solid in his hand, before pushing it open.

The restaurant was small yet airy. It had this knack for feeling both intimate and spacious – welcoming without being crowded. The place radiated a quiet charm, like a snapshot from a slower time, every detail carefully preserved. Above, warm, amber lights hung low, their golden glow pooling on the polished wood floors like melted honey.

The air was filled with comforting aromas that enveloped you: the buttery sweetness of fresh pastries mingled with the rich, earthy scent of brewing coffee. Along the walls, glass jars packed with dried herbs and vibrant spices served as both decor and a testament to the kitchen’s skill. Every corner spoke of dedication, of someone who poured their heart into this place as much as into the food.

Pastoral…

The word popped into Seojun’s head, uninvited and unwelcome, dragging a shadow of fear in its wake. His shoulders tensed, and the restaurant’s cozy vibe suddenly felt suffocating. Memories flooded back… dark, disturbing images from the Invisible Man’s isolated mansion. He recalled its gruesome secrets, the eerie silence, and the crushing weight of things no one should have to endure.

He shuddered. Some places didn’t just stick in your memory… they burrowed deep, leaving scars that never fully healed.

Seojun took a deep breath. Pushing aside his initial admiration for the restaurant’s ambiance, he scanned the room for a good spot. He settled on a table far enough from the door to avoid the flow of traffic and noise, but not so close to the restrooms that it would invite awkward stares. Sinking into the cushioned chair, he let out a soft exhale.

His attention shifted to the kitchen, drawn by the rhythmic sounds of activity. The sizzle of food cooking, the steady chop-chop-chop of knives on cutting boards, and the occasional splash of liquid in a pan blended into a surprisingly calming soundtrack. For a split second, a pale elbow flashed into view between the stainless steel fridge and the counter, disappearing as quickly as it appeared, like a shy ghost.

While Seojun was wondering what they were cooking, the cheerful chime of the entrance bell made him look back towards the front. A rush of damp air swept in, carrying muffled conversations and the fresh, earthy scent of rain. People started trickling inside, their damp jackets glistening under the warm restaurant lights. They moved with a restless energy, shaking off raindrops like birds preening their feathers.

The previously quiet restaurant seemed to come alive with the new arrivals, its cozy atmosphere expanding and shifting to accommodate the lively presence of seven more people, including the owner.

The group naturally paired off as they entered, their laughter and chatter weaving a new rhythm into the space. Seojun, however, remained the outlier—silent, solitary, and observing it all like someone watching a movie he wasn’t part of.

Leading the pack were Leimia and Camry who looked like sisters. Leimia’s arm was still casually, possessively linked with Camry’s. Their contrasting personalities complemented each other, like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together.

Following them were two men who looked like they’d been plucked from completely different worlds and dropped into this scene by some cosmic prank.

The first man had a magnetic presence that needed no introduction. He drew attention effortlessly—tall, classically handsome, and radiating the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown up surrounded by things that cost more than most people’s houses. His light brown hair, artfully tousled, looked both deliberate and relaxed, and the easy smile on his lips seemed like a permanent fixture.

Even Seojun, whose fashion knowledge peaked at clean sneakers, recognized the man’s tailored suit as the kind of high-end, custom-made piece that came with its own private fitting room.

Beside him, the shorter man seemed to shrink with every step, his hunched posture practically begging not to be noticed. His clothes didn’t do him any favors either—a red-and-green striped shirt that sagged on his skinny body, paired with jeans so outdated and ill-fitting they awkwardly cropped above his ankles. His hair looked like it had staged a rebellion, sticking out at odd angles as if both gravity and styling products had given up.

Perched on his flat nose were thick glasses, their oversized lenses magnifying his wide, anxious eyes until they looked almost cartoonishly owlish. His pale skin practically blended with the white walls, and he moved with a nervous energy, like someone bracing for an unexpected attack. After a moment of indecision, he reached out with trembling fingers, lightly tugging at the taller man’s perfectly tailored jacket.

“H-Hugh, Hugh. Let’s sit over there. P-please, over there.”

The taller man—Hugh, apparently—looked down at him with a smile so indulgent it was almost royal. “If that’s what you want, my sweet Oliver, then that’s exactly where we’ll go.”

The words were so warm, so genuinely affectionate, that they turned Oliver’s pale face crimson, the blush spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears. It was like watching a diamond and a rough stone walk the same path, but there was no mistaking the tenderness in Hugh’s gaze as he gently steered Oliver to a table.

And of all the tables Oliver could have chosen, it had to be directly across from Seojun. He immediately ducked behind the menu he’d picked up, holding it like a makeshift shield. From behind its cover, Seojun couldn’t resist peeking at the pair, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Hugh had settled into his seat with effortless grace, while Oliver fidgeted beside him. The smaller man adjusted his chair multiple times before finally staying still, his hands restless and uncertain.

Brothers? Maybe… but that doesn’t feel quite right. A gay couple? Possibly. Hugh’s affection and Oliver’s nervous energy makes it hard to tell.

Before he could settle on an answer, the cheery jingle of the door chime snapped his attention back to the entrance. The final pair had arrived—and they were hands down the most eye-catching yet.

The woman made her entrance first, exuding a self-assurance more at home on the red carpet or high-fashion catwalks. Her partner, though, was a stark contrast. The guy looked like a walking anatomy chart who’d discovered the gym. His navy tank top strained against a sculpted physique, muscles flexing with every move, intentional or not.

But despite his intimidating build, there was something almost boyishly charming about him. Neatly styled brown hair, a rounded nose, and a soft jawline gave the impression of an overgrown kid who’d stumbled into a superhero’s training regimen. A gym bag hung casually from one shoulder, unzipped to reveal a jumble of containers filled with white powder. Seojun knew at a glance they were protein supplements.

But when his gaze returned to the woman beside the muscle-bound man, Seojun’s jaw almost dropped.

He’d always thought of himself as immune to exceptional beauties. Growing up around Christina’s saintly perfection and countless run-ins with pretty boy Henry’s androgynous good looks that left people speechless, Seojun figured he was unaffected by such things.

But the woman at the door shattered that notion with one glance.

Her forehead, peeking out beneath gently swept bangs, seemed to luminescence like moonlit jade. Chestnut waves framed her face effortlessly, catching the light in a way that seemed unfairly perfect. Her heart-shaped features were delicate yet flawlessly balanced, as if sculpted by an artist who refused to settle for anything less than perfection.

Yet it was her eyes that truly captivated. Emerald irises, so vivid they glittered against white sclera, pulled you in with an almost supernatural intensity. They weren’t just stunning—they were a snare, luring you deeper the longer you gazed.

Her outfit only amplified her presence. A far cry from her partner’s gym-rat getup, her look was subdued yet sophisticated. Tailored black pants, a well-fitted jacket, and a crisp white shirt hit the sweet spot between professional and polished. The sole embellishment was a set of delicate bracelets stacked on her wrist, adding a touch of effortless allure that somehow made her even more unattainable.

Seojun didn’t notice he was gawking until the dry itch in his eyes forced a blink. He came to his senses and ducked behind his menu again, scolding himself under his breath.

No. Stop. Christina is in a league of her own. A living saint. Comparing them… it’s disrespectful. Even entertaining the thought feels wrong. I need to reflect on that.

Seojun lowered his gaze to the poorly taken photo of a waffle on the menu. Since he was here, sitting idly would just make him stand out, and standing out was the last thing he wanted right now. Like it or not, he had to order something.

As Seojun browsed the menu, his eyebrows twitched in quiet disapproval. Bacon and fried eggs. Sausage and hash browns. Massive burgers. Syrup-drenched pancakes and sugary soft drinks. Every item seemed designed to sit heavily in his stomach.

The more he looked, the more he craved something simple and comforting. A steaming bowl of gukbap (rice soup) sounded perfect—a soothing soul food to settle both his stomach and his nerves. Even better, a piping hot serving of spicy yukgaejang (beef soup) with a shot of soju would’ve been the ideal remedy for the day’s fatigue.

But, naturally, he couldn’t request something off-menu.

With a resigned sigh, Seojun waved down the owner and put in an order for the mushroom soup. It felt like the safest choice, so he tacked on a waffle and some orange to make it a meal.

“The waffles!” The owner’s face lit up, beaming with pride. “My wife works magic with anything flour-based. You’ve got great taste, sir!”

He added a playful wink, his enthusiasm so contagious that Seojun caught himself wondering if the soup would measure up. Based on the owner’s whirlwind multitasking—juggling orders, schmoozing with patrons, zipping between tables—it was obvious he was handling the workload of an entire staff solo.

Well, in a spot this remote, hiring extra help probably costs more than the place makes in a month.

Seojun nodded politely as the owner moved on, his animated charm now aimed at Hugh and Oliver’s table. Nearby, Camry’s voice drifted through the diner, blending into the cozy buzz of activity.

“Leimia, I’m hitting the restroom to freshen up. Go ahead and order for both of us.”

“Sure thing. We’re getting our usual, right?”

“Of course… of course. We always end up picking the same things, don’t we?”

The conversation barely registered with Seojun, fading into the background as his mind wandered back to his own table and the mushroom soup he’d just requested.

Would it be any good? He wondered if the owner’s wife had actually worked her magic on it or if it would turn out to be some instant powder heated up on the stove. Honestly, as long as it didn’t taste like a salt lick, he figured he’d live with it.

Just as Seojun was starting to lose himself in these mundane thoughts, someone dropped into the seat across from him with the grace of a crashing boulder.

Startled, he blinked and looked up—only to find Leimia staring him down. She’d claimed the chair like it was a throne, her regal, haughty air more fitting for holding court than sitting in a small-town diner.

Two identical bags thudded onto the tabletop. Arms crossed, she reclined in her seat, somehow coming off as both confrontational and dismissive simultaneously.

When someone is totally lost, words tend to fail them. For Seojun, this was one of those times. He blinked again, baffled.

Leimia let out a scoff. “Let’s get one thing clear. Yeah, you’ve seen our faces. But don’t go getting any ideas about adding us as friends or whatever. It’s beyond annoying when people act like one random run-in makes them your BFF for life.”

“Adding as friends…?”

Seojun had zero idea what she was on about. His gaze drifted, landing on the small mole above her eyelid. For some reason, it captured his focus, as if that tiny detail might hold the secret to decoding her cryptic hostility.

His blank, puzzled look only seemed to stoke Leimia’s irritation. Her scowl deepened, and without warning, she leaned in sharply, invading his space so abruptly that Seojun instinctively drew back a bit.

“Quit playing dumb!” she hissed, her voice low but razor-sharp. Her eyes smoldered with annoyance and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Paranoia, perhaps? “You’re on White Star, right?”

When the reference to the well-known social platform finally clicked, Seojun’s reaction arrived with all the enthusiasm of a dying phone battery.

“Oh… that.”

White Star was less a social media network and more of a cultural phenomenon that had conquered the globe. In recent years, it had somehow pulled off the impossible: bridging generational gaps. It was like a virtual town square, where teens shared memes and dance challenges alongside their parents’ vacation snaps and their grandparents’ gardening hacks. National borders melted into an endless feed of likes, shares, and mindless scrolling.

Not having a White Star account was practically a declaration of rebellion or irrelevance. For Seojun, though, it was neither. It was simply unnecessary. His small circle of acquaintances preferred outdoor trails, shared playlists, and real-world conversations over the dopamine hit of notifications.

He vaguely remembered that Airi was a prolific poster, constantly sharing flashy cheerleading routines and competition highlights. He also recalled Bobby’s endless griping about her refusal to post pics of the two of them together. At the time, it had seemed like the most trivial complaint imaginable, but Bobby had carried on like it was the end of the world.