[Sim Himchan]

I need some fresh air. Now. This show aggravates me. Between the trashy flirts, the aggressive fights, which often become physical, and a host who only cares to boost ratings with his intonation, which is faker than plastic, what remains to me is an aftertaste of pure disgust.

I started it as a master enjoyer of trash; however, this is way over the top. I need a break from it, and focus on something lighter for now. Hopefully, I'll have the courage to finish it at a later stage.

Meanwhile, the idea of a walk is not that bad. All I have to do is wear a coat, my shoes, and grab the essentials: keys, wallet and phone. It's not like I plan to be gone for a long time. I just want a distraction, not a getaway.

In the matter of ten minutes, I'm dressed and ready to be out. For some reason, instead of directly walking down the path to the main street, I cross the garden surrounding my house. It's barely lit, but I can detect obstacles without trouble.

I pace in circle, trying to catch some unexpected details. Maybe I'll find something I've never thought of since moving to this house three years ago. It may sound bizarre, but perspective matters when it comes to space and time, especially if they should be perceived as familiar.

Suddenly, I trip and fall on the ground. I wonder what made me lose my balance. It can't be a root—I would've noticed it immediately. So, what could it be?

As I try to stand up, I tumble on the ground again, on the exact same point as before. I don't like where this is going. There has to be an explanation.

I trip for the third time. Unlike before, I manage to stay up on my feet because I keep myself from falling the moment I bend my knees to protect myself from a new fall. I feel my heart pounding in my chest; not merely from the stumble itself,  but from this odd sensation that I’ve stepped into something larger than myself. A whole lot larger.

And there it is, a box buried only in half. When I lean closer to take a look at it, I notice it's far from being an ordinary. It’s neat, a little too much for having stayed underground. Almost too... deliberate. There's a cardboard attached to it; it is pristine and doesn't show signs of age, nor it looks worn out. I reach down to inspect it. My fingers brush the edges carefully on the look out for potential defects.

As I pull it free, a smell I'm not familiar with, but somehow reminds me of ink or must, stirs a memory inside me. For a moment, I feel trapped in a déja vu as I see myself doing this exact thing over and over. My hands shake as I open the flaps. I expect something to jump out at me and attack me. All I find, though, is just a small, folded piece of paper and an old, tarnished coin.

The paper is folded neatly, in a way that almost looks ceremonious. I unfold it with extreme care out of fear of ruining it. The words are written down in a familiar handwriting; however, it's one I haven’t seen in many years. The words are simple, but they hit me like a punch to the gut. “I never meant for you to see this. But you’ll understand soon enough.”

This is something Dad would say. He's an incredibly secretive, mischievous man. However, this is not his handwriting. It's much neater than his, which is usually a mess. Nonetheless, I keep trying to remind who else could leave such a note in my backyard, hidden in a random box.

My mind races as my memories flood back inside to the point that I feel dizzy. The coin in the box seems too heavy for its size, as if it carries more weight than it should. I pick it up, turning it in my hand, and feel a strange pull. It's like the past is coming back to haunt me. Why is it inside? I don't recall anyone close to me collecting coins. I need an explanation. Now.

I can’t shake the feeling that this box, this precise moment, is not a random occurrence. There has to me something behind it, something I buried long ago but I struggle to find its connection with the present. What I'm certain of, it's something I’m not sure I’m ready to face yet.

I have to call Daegwang. This discovery is too precious for me to just leave it as it is. Maybe he can recognize this handwriting, or where the coin comes from. Or, alternatively, he might know someone who can delve into the origin of these items.

I go back indoors, taking the box and its content with me. I walk in a slow and measured pace to avoid tripping again. It has already happened three times and, if I'm not careful, I can get injured. I can't always luck out.

I sit on the couch, pull up my phone from my pocket and dial Daegwang's number. He doesn't answer, though. Maybe he's busy. I guess I have to wait for now.

I'll go back to that trashy show. Now, I feel ready to try and watch more.

***

"And the contestant leaving the competition is... Lacey! I'm sorry, but your time is done. Take off your medal, hand it to me, and leave the house." The host's shrill voice blares through the TV as I wonder what that poor girl did to deserve to be eliminated, all while lazy as fuck Vicky and "Miss Perfect" Athena got yet another chance.

I hate those two girls—they're the exact personification of excessive ambition. I don't mean to say they're wrong for that. They have all rights to be fueled by drive and want to win, but not by plotting all the time behind other contestants' back while doing the bare minimum when it comes to actual challenges.

I know I shouldn't get overly angry over a trash reality show; however, there need to be boundaries, or what's meant to be fun and lighthearted will turn into a tragedy. Between Lacey's absurd elimination, which has me wondering whether the entire process has been rigged, and Vicky's catfight with Krista, I've lost hope in this cast.

I manage to watch one more episode before I decide I should try to call Daegwang again. The more I wait, the more I fear I could forget about the box, the note and the coin. I reread the letter slowly, uttering every single word in a clear manner.

“I never meant for you to see this. But you’ll understand soon enough.”

These words, so simple but at the same time ominous. What do they mean? Who can have written these? As I mentioned before, I doubt it's Dad. At the same time, though, I can't really think of anyone else close who could've jolted down these words and referred to me in particular. Maybe they have something to do with the previous tenants—too bad I know nothing about them.

Yeah, it's time to call Daegwang. Now. I can't afford to waste even a second.