foreword
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Indeed, what we seek in life is peace, and it doesn’t matter what type of peace it is—whether external or internal. But the truth is, we can only control the internal peace, which at first glance seems easier to achieve than external peace, often dictated by forces stronger than us. What truly drives us is the pursuit of perfection, yet the circle of peace in life is sluggish and lacks realism. I once thought peace was something continuous, something we create with hope and perseverance. But over time, I discovered that peace is temporary, flowing with life—a life that, for the most part, is unforgiving.
I don't know what happened in these past few months, but I have changed immensely. As my mother says, I have become practical and emotionless. Everyone at home says the same, but deep down, I know I'm in a real place and will never return to who I once was. Death never visits the same body twice.
Walking quickly yet aimlessly through the streets of Washington, I observe the people I pass and those who pass me in the same fleeting moment. Faces move in slow motion before me; the noise of the city doesn’t reach me through my silver headphones as I listen to my favorite song, *“Taime Je”*. I walk at a moderate pace to get to work. In reality, I work at a well-known chain of hockey arenas. When I think about how famous it is, I forget to mention how mundane my job is—I’m the introverted assistant in the last office of the archive department. As Mark, my office colleague, jokingly calls me, “The silent K-drama girl.” Well, I don’t care what people say about me because I’ve lost sensitivity to flattery, and I’m immune to criticism—mostly thanks to my perfectionist grandmother, who can always find flaws, even in what is perfect.
Ah, finally, I've reached my beloved desk. Small as it is, it feels safe. By “safe,” I mean far from the noise of people, the arena, and even the flock of girls waiting for the next hot player to arrive. I open my laptop and start my work. My concentration is quickly interrupted by Mark the chatterbox. Ugh, how talkative he is! But I appreciate his company because it makes me feel less alone. Alright, he’s chatty but useful, and that’s not so bad.
Mark: “Good morning, K-drama girl! Early as always.”
Han Li: “And you’re late, as always. Typical.”
Mark: “Hey, has Jeff asked about me?”
I rolled my eyes quickly. “You know Jeff never comes in early after an event.”
Mark: “Perfect! Oh, how I wish I could attend one of those cocktail parties celebrating our team’s victories. Free drinks, amazing parties, and girls that are smoking hot!”
Han Li continues her work on the laptop, replying with a smile:
“You and your obsession with drinks. You’ll probably get fired. Don’t forget the last time at Will’s bar—haha! You became a complete wreck.”
Mark chuckled slightly, “No, I just become a bit more... liberated after a margarita or two. Maybe even more creative!” He spread his arms dramatically, pretending to fly.
Han laughed sarcastically as Mark continued, “Oh, and don’t get me started on Pamela Campbell—she’s going to kill me! That girl is absolutely divine.” He placed his hands dramatically over his heart.
Han Li laughed softly and replied, “She’s a famous model and was featured in *Vogue* as the most beautiful face of 2022. Her choices are obvious.” She gave him a sly smirk. Just as Mark was about to retort—
“Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt,” said Jenny, Jeff’s assistant, barging in hurriedly. “But Jeff wants both of you in his office now!”
Both looked at each other with mutual curiosity before rushing to Jeff's office. Jeff, clearly suffering from a hangover, greeted them with an uncharacteristic quietness.
Mark: “Morning, Jeff.”
Jeff, with an unusually calm tone: “Morning.”
Han, noticing his demeanor: “Looks like you overdid it with the drinks last night.”
Jeff nodded slightly. “Twenty shots... Damn. But, hey, I had fun.”
Jeff then got to business:
“Alright, guys. Repairs on Arena Six are done, and we need support down there—prep work for setting up the ambiance. The games are opening this February.”
Mark looked at Jeff in disbelief:
“Oh my God, Jeff! Arena Six? Are you serious? I can’t work there. Haven’t you heard the rumors?”
Jeff looked at him, “Mark, for heaven’s sake, don’t be ridiculous. They’re just rumors spread by rival teams.”
As Mark was about to respond, Jeff interrupted him, saying, “The decision came from the deputy manager, not me. There’s no room for refusal. Please start working today, as we need the arena ready by next Saturday for the semi-final match between the Four Tigers and the Night Spirits.”
Mark walked out, his face visibly clouded with concern.
“Han Li,” he said, “I’m not comfortable working there. Oh, my God, I can’t. I feel like there’s something wrong—a real danger.”
Han Li looked at him with disdain and sarcasm. “Are you for real, Mark? How cowardly can you be? These are just silly rumors meant to stir up drama.”
Mark interrupted her, “No, Han Li. There’s a ghost there, and the workers swear it’s true. The place has a deeply negative energy. Don’t you remember how Nabil, the maintenance worker, had a terrifying experience and refused to continue the repairs? And let’s not forget Kelly and Molly from accounting—they said they saw a frightening shadow and kept hearing terrifying noises from the arena at night.”
“There are no ghosts, Mark! That’s nonsense. Don’t be ridiculous,” Han Li replied. “This is what logic says, and logic is always right.”
“Not always, Han Li,” Mark countered. “Sometimes, there are stories that logic simply can’t explain because it’s powerless to do so.”
Han scoffed. “Oh, sure, powerless. Alright, scaredy-cat, I’ll start my shift tonight in Arena Six so I don’t lose my job. You can keep playing your little ghost game—Casper-style—until you end up unemployed.”
She left, leaving Mark in an anxious state.
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Finally, here it was: Arena Six, the infamous arena. Han started unlocking the doors, the heavy ones giving her some trouble because of their weight.
“Mark should’ve helped me with this,” she muttered. “The coward ran away from the task.”
After some effort, she finally pushed the door open. A majestic sight greeted her: a vast, dark, and freezing cold space. She took a few steps inside, cautiously reaching for the lights. When she turned them on, the arena appeared more clearly, with its smooth, polished ice rink standing out. She scanned the area with her eyes—it looked like any normal arena. Nothing strange or different.
“Oh, the exaggerations,” she muttered, half-laughing.
“Ghosts,” she said softly, but the word echoed throughout the empty arena, reverberating repeatedly in the eerie silence.
Unbothered, she continued her path toward her desk in that section to start her work, completely unaware of the icy breeze that swept into the arena, as if summoning something.
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