Window Number Zero

The automatic door at the district office annex opened even at eleven at night. Above the door was a notice that the complaints office had closed for the day, and beneath the notice was one more small sheet of paper.

Night reception is available only to complainants who have drawn a number ticket.

Seojin photographed the sentence. Doyun pressed his foot against the folded rubber mat between the automatic doors. The door, which had started to close again, stopped.

"You can't go in one at a time."

Miran said this from behind them. She was holding against her chest an envelope she had brought from the cram school. The envelope's opening had been folded three times, and at each fold were the signatures of Seojin and Doyun.

"This text came from Hajun's number. Even so, the sender is unconfirmed."

Seojin said.

"Record it that way."

Miran nodded. She didn't attach a subject to her own words. Seojin turned on her phone screen. The second text was still there, unchanged.

Come to Window Zero.

Only half the lights were on in the annex lobby. On the right wall hung the Seongan City integrated complaints slogan. We will accept even a single citizen's inconvenience. Below it, the reception number display board was dark. There were reception windows numbered one through six, and every window with its shutter down had a plastic notice hanging on it.

Reception closed for today.

The person-in-charge field was blank.

Eunchae hadn't come to the scene. Instead, she read the annex floor plan over the earpiece. "The complaints wing of the district office annex only operates during the day. Night duty is one person in the situation room, one facilities staff member. There's no complaints officer on duty. But the system has a Window Zero. It's not a closed code, it's a hidden code."

"If it's a hidden code, who can open it?"

"The authorized party's name is blank."

Seojin photographed the wall notice once more. Doyun swept his flashlight along the gap beneath the window shutters. Inside there were chairs, but no shadow of a person. Only the copier's power light blinked green.

The number ticket machine stood in the middle of the lobby. A black standby screen showed on its display. Beside the machine hung an old sign.

1. Draw a number ticket. 2. Do not leave your seat until called. 3. An unreceived complaint does not exist.

Only the third line had been reprinted over a white sticker. The original sentence showed through faintly beneath the sticker. Seojin changed the angle and took a photo. Of the letters showing through, only two words were legible.

Who is in charge.

"Team leader."

Miran didn't answer. Seojin called again.

"Team Leader Seo Miran. Do you know this phrase?"

"It's not the standard phrasing for the complaints office."

"I understand it's not standard. I'm asking if you recognize it."

Miran adjusted her grip on the envelope. "I've seen a similar phrase before. In an old reception ledger."

Doyun tried to open the side panel of the number ticket machine, but it was locked. He took his hand away. "If we break it, they'll probably count that as filing a complaint."

"Before that, let's get the authorization log."

Seojin pressed the small button under the machine's screen. Nothing happened. She pressed it a second time and the screen lit up. Where the complaint category should have appeared, there were six empty boxes lined up instead. Below the blanks was only one option.

Confirm unreceived.

Seojin didn't press it. Instead, she recorded the screen. Doyun called out the time beside her.

"23:07. Not Yun Seojin acting alone. Witnessed by Kang Doyun."

Miran spoke a beat late. "Witnessed by Seo Miran."

Once that name was added, the bottom line of the screen changed.

Two witnesses confirmed. One complainant waiting.

Seojin stopped moving her hand. "It doesn't show who the complainant is."

Eunchae spoke through the earpiece. "The screen capture just came through. The complainant information field is empty, but the waiting count is still set to one. It's a system that counts someone first and attaches the name later."

"That might mean they intend to let someone choose which name to attach."

It was the first sentence Miran had spoken with a subject in it. Seojin recorded the remark. Doyun looked down the inner corridor of the annex. The glass door toward the situation room was locked, and inside, a man who looked like he was on night duty was gripping a phone. He looked at Seojin's group but didn't open the door. In front of the desk sat the face of someone who hadn't been able to go home.

Seojin held up her ID toward him. The man shook his head. The intercom beside the glass door rang.

"The complaints office is closed for the day. For accident reports, call 120."

"This is Yun Seojin, from Unusual Complaints Team Three. We need to confirm the authorized party for Window Zero and the night supervisor."

"There's no such window."

At that very moment, the number ticket machine spat out a piece of paper. The sound was small, similar to a receipt printing out at a supermarket.

Doyun didn't reach for it first. Seojin didn't pick it up right away either. Miran set the envelope down on the floor and framed the machine and the paper together in one shot on her phone.

"Three witnesses. We'll pick it up after confirming what it is."

Seojin took the edge of the paper between two fingers. On the number ticket was printed one bold digit.

0.

Below it, instead of a name, was a complaint category.

Missing person. Pre-reception.

The issue time was 23:07. The clerk field was blank. The person-in-charge field was blank too. But in the bottom right corner was printed a small question.

Who is in charge?

Through the glass door, the duty officer spoke again. "That machine's been unplugged for a long time."

Doyun checked behind the machine. The power cord wasn't plugged into the outlet. The loose plug sat right there on the floor. And yet the machine's screen was on.

"Let's get out." Doyun said.

"We don't know what happens if we walk out carrying the number ticket."

"That's exactly why we're leaving. If it's a rule that only works inside here, the door will react."

Seojin didn't put the number ticket in her wallet. She didn't put it inside her phone case either. She held it flat on her palm and filmed it with her other hand. Miran picked the envelope back up. At that moment, the lobby display board lit up.

Waiting number 12, please come to Window 3.

There was no other complainant in the lobby. Window 3's shutter was down. The display board went dark, then lit up again.

Waiting number 18, please come to Window 5.

Eunchae said. "Those are today's daytime waiting number records. Twelve was a building register, eighteen was a family relations certificate. Both processed normally."

The display board was calling back people whose complaints had already been processed. No names came up. Only numbers and windows. Seojin didn't set number ticket zero down on the floor. Doyun stood with his back to the automatic doors.

Miran said in a low voice. "Calling a processed complaint back is a completion check. If an unfinished complaint gets mixed in, the order gets twisted."

"Why are you telling me this now."

"I wasn't sure."

"You brought me here while you weren't sure?"

"I told you not to go alone."

Seojin didn't ask anything more. The number on the display board stopped at 41. A clerk field appeared below the screen, and that field was empty. Doyun looked at Miran. Miran wasn't looking at the display board, she was looking at the outlet on the lobby floor.

Before that, a small printer had turned on at the left side of the lobby. It wasn't the number ticket machine. It was a receipt printer hidden under the complaint satisfaction survey box. When Doyun shone his flashlight on it, there was a note taped to the top of the printer.

Night complaints are excluded from satisfaction surveys.

The printer wasn't spitting out a questionnaire, but a list of today's completed cases. There were no names, only numbers, windows, and processing times. Twelve, eighteen, forty one. Beside forty one, the processing time was stamped as 00:17. It was a complaint from today's date, but midnight hadn't come yet.

"That's a future time." Doyun said.

Eunchae took the image. "Today's welfare consultation number 41 ended at 3 p.m. That 00:17 isn't the original time. It's an overwritten value."

Seojin didn't attach any meaning to the number 41. Instead, she wrote down processing time discrepancy. Miran looked at the bottom of the printout. In very small letters there was a field for who had written it. There was no name there either.

Written by: night duty. Person in charge: blank.

"The night duty officer didn't process this." Yi Jeongbae said from beyond the glass door. "I didn't even know that printer existed."

"I'll write down that you didn't know. Whether you actually knew will be confirmed later through the logs."

When Seojin answered, Jeongbae's face showed displeasure, but he nodded anyway. Once even the words I don't know were recorded alongside a name, they stopped being simple evasion of responsibility.

The number ticket machine's screen changed again. A second option appeared beneath confirm unreceived.

Register a proxy complainant.

Seojin pulled her hand back. Doyun spoke immediately. "Don't press it."

"I'm not pressing it."

"Don't answer it out loud either. It might respond to the word proxy."

Miran dragged over one of the lobby chairs and set it between the machine and Seojin. "Physical distance secured. No intent to select."

The line was unusually direct for Miran. The screen's second option faded to gray. Instead, a message appeared at the top.

If the complainant does not respond, a family member may respond on their behalf.

Seojin opened her mouth, then closed it. The word family was aimed at her. Here, Hajun's only family was Seojin. But it hadn't been confirmed whether Hajun himself was currently unable to respond, was choosing not to respond, or was even the complainant tied to this window at all.

"They'll probably ask for a family relations certificate." Eunchae said.

"Can we get one issued?"

"Window 5 in this building handles family relations certificates. It was in the completed list for number 18 earlier."

From inside Window 5's shutter came the sound of paper being turned. Someone was kindly getting ready. Doyun stood in front of Window 5 and pressed his foot against the shutter. The shutter, which had started to rise, stopped.

"We're not here to get a document issued."

The broadcast didn't answer his words. Instead, a small speaker beneath the display board sounded its notification tone once more.

Seojin took three steps back toward the automatic doors, still holding the number ticket. The door didn't open. It had opened when they came in. In the glass door's reflection, the number of people in the lobby looked like four. Seojin, Doyun, Miran, and Jeongbae beyond the glass. But in the reflected screen of the number ticket machine, the waiting count remained fixed at one.

"It's not counting people." Seojin said. "It only counts those registered as complainants."

Miran added quietly. "That's why an unreceived person disappears twice."

Seojin didn't write that down. It was a judgment, not a description. Instead, she wrote: automatic door not opening, registered headcount 1, actual headcount on site 4.

Inside the glass door, Jeongbae finally opened the key cabinet. He didn't take the keys out, only read off the numbers. Complaints office spare keys 1, 3, 5. There was no zero. On the empty hook at the bottom of the cabinet, only a label remained.

Window Zero: needs to be returned.

"Who took it?" Seojin asked.

"The ledger says it's already been returned."

"The hook is empty."

Instead of answering, Jeongbae pressed the key return ledger against the glass door. The returner field was blank. The return time was today, 23:07. Seojin recorded that same time for the third time. Number ticket issued, reopening request, key returned. All at the exact same minute.

Miran looked at the ledger and said. "This doesn't mean a door was opened. It means the responsibility to open it was erased."

"Save the interpretation for later."

Seojin drew the line. Miran said nothing more. Instead, she asked Jeongbae's consent to photograph the ledger. Jeongbae wrote it in his own notepad instead of signing a consent form. Photo consent given, Yi Jeongbae. More and more hands were leaving names beside the blanks, little by little.

Seojin photographed the lobby clock. The wall clock read 23:08, while her phone read 23:07. A one minute difference could easily be an ordinary error. But the number ticket and the return ledger both insisted on 23:07. Seojin didn't conclude that the wall clock was broken. She wrote: on site device time discrepancy, reference time unconfirmed.

Beneath that note, Miran added a line in her own pen. Ledger time standard needs verification. Seojin photographed that handwriting too. It was the first line Miran had directly added to the record herself.

The broadcast speaker turned on. An old notification tone sounded once. It wasn't the pitch of a person speaking. The sentence broke apart like an automated public institution announcement.

"Unreceived complaints will be switched to waiting status."

Beneath number ticket zero, a new line printed itself. The paper hadn't even been refolded, yet letters appeared.

Yun Hajun.

Seojin didn't drop the number ticket. Her thumb pressed down hard enough to crease the edge of the paper. Doyun grabbed her wrist and held it still.

"Don't answer."

"It hasn't called my name yet."

Seojin said that. As soon as she finished speaking, the display board lit up again. This time it wasn't a number.

Complainant Yun Hajun, please come to Window Zero.