Do Not Discard Your Number Ticket

Doyun held down the computer's power button. The screen didn't turn off. The numbers filled in up to six digits, then stopped. The remaining seven digits stayed as empty boxes.

Seojin, hands off the keyboard, said, "No one entered anything. Not Yun Seojin's own input. Witnessed by Gang Doyun, Seo Miran, Yi Jeongbae."

"Park Eunchae, remote witness. Screen recording in progress."

The voice through the earpiece followed right after. Eunchae's sentences were shorter than usual. If more digits filled in, it would become a state statistics couldn't explain.

Miran didn't pick up the verification form that came out of the printer. He covered the document with a blank sheet of paper. Once the printed name was hidden, the input on the screen stopped too.

"It reacts even to covering it."

Seojin recorded it. "Input proceeds based on the visible name."

"Be careful how you write that sentence."

"Why."

"Someone might read it later as meaning the problem is solved if you just cover a name."

Miran was right. Seojin corrected the sentence: Automatic input paused when the document was covered. Cause unconfirmed.

Just then a voice came from the lobby. "Are you still open here?"

The automatic door had opened again. A middle-aged woman came in, followed by a young man who looked like a male student. The woman held a crumpled number ticket in her hand. The young man dragged his feet, his sneaker laces untied.

Officer Yi Jeongbae went out first. "The complaints office is closed. Come back tomorrow."

"I called earlier and they told me to come here. My child hasn't come home."

The woman couldn't even unfold the ticket as she spoke. The paper was wet. It hadn't rained, but water had spread along the edges of the paper. The number was 37.

Seojin went out to the lobby without closing the ledger screen. Doyun stayed close beside her. Miran remained behind, pressing down the blank sheet he'd laid over the verification form.

"What is your name?"

The woman didn't answer right away. "I'm the mother."

"We need the mother's name. And the child's name too. If you only put down the relationship here, it might get dropped."

"Park Hyeonju. My child is Kim Taemin. He's a sophomore. No, he was a sophomore. He's studying for the GED so he doesn't go to a cram school."

The young man standing behind her said quietly, "Mom, I'm right here."

Park Hyeonju didn't turn around. "He keeps saying he's here, but ever since earlier my phone only shows missed calls. Texts won't go through either. I don't know if this is some kind of prank."

Doyun looked at the young man. "Name."

"Kim Taemin."

"Something to identify yourself."

The young man searched his pockets. He had no student ID. Out came a convenience store receipt, a transit card, and a study room entry pass. The study room pass had a photo, and the name was Kim Taemin. The time stamp showed he'd left at 10:41 p.m. that day.

Seojin asked Park Hyeonju, "Can you see Taemin right now?"

Only then did Park Hyeonju turn around. Her gaze passed over the young man and stopped on the lobby chairs. "Why are you asking that. I came because he's not here."

Kim Taemin bit his lip. "Mom."

Park Hyeonju didn't react.

Number ticket 37 fell from her hand to the floor. The wet paper stuck to the tile. The display board lit up.

Waiting number 37, please come to window 0.

The woman looked at the ticket on the floor and frowned. "They said I don't need this. On the phone they told me to throw it away. They said it gets registered as soon as I do."

Seojin stepped forward. "Don't throw it away."

It was too late. Park Hyeonju pushed the ticket with her foot toward the trash can. The instant the ticket touched the gap beneath the can, the photo on Kim Taemin's study room pass blurred. The face in the photo remained, but the name field went blank.

Park Hyeonju said, "Why did I come here?"

Officer Yi Jeongbae looked down at the notice in his hand. "That's strange. The complaints office is closed."

Kim Taemin waved his hand in front of his mother. She didn't dodge it. She simply stood at an angle that avoided looking at someone who wasn't there. The young man could neither laugh nor cry, and lowered his hand.

Doyun pulled the trash can toward him. "Get the paper out."

Seojin put on gloves. She pulled the ticket out from the gap beneath the trash can. The paper was even wetter now. A new line had appeared beneath the number 37.

1 person, correction applied.

Miran came out from the control room, holding the blank sheet that had been covering the verification form. "A new entry has appeared in the ledger. Kim Tae, with a blank square where the last letter should be. Guardian report incomplete. Status: not registered."

"How do we restore it."

"We'd need to reverse the rule that says not to throw the ticket away. But it's already been processed as discarded."

Kim Taemin said, "I'm here. I can talk."

Seojin looked at him and nodded. "We'll record what you say. But your testimony alone might not be enough. We need physical items and witnesses."

At that, Kim Taemin searched his pockets again. His transit card usage history was on his phone app. But the name on the app was also blank. The convenience store receipt showed one kimbap roll, one bottle of water, and a payment time of 10:45 p.m. The name beneath the photo on the study room pass had been erased, but on the back was a locker number written in marker.

B-41.

The moment Seojin saw the number, she didn't attach meaning to it. "Locker number confirmed. Name unconfirmable. Held as a personal item."

Park Hyeonju looked at her own phone. "Why was I crying?"

Kim Taemin's shoulders shrank. Doyun stood as if blocking him. "Stop talking to your mother. Her memory could get pushed back further."

"Then what am I supposed to do."

"Take out everything you have on you. Don't throw anything away."

The young man emptied his pockets completely. Coins, a pen, a torn study room coupon, a charging cable. Seojin didn't have Park Hyeonju look at them directly, and instead had Officer Yi Jeongbae read out the list of items. The officer hesitated at first, then seemed to remember that his own name was already recorded as a cooperator, and took the paper.

"One convenience store receipt, one transit card, one study room entry pass, one pen, 800 won in coins, two coupon pieces."

As he read, Park Hyeonju's hand stopped. "Why would Taemin be carrying a pen around. He only uses mechanical pencils."

Kim Taemin spoke up immediately. "My pencil broke today, so I bought one in front of the study room."

Park Hyeonju couldn't see him, but she looked at the pen. "That's not my child's. He hates blue."

Kim Taemin stopped searching his pockets and said, "You bought it for me, Mom. I didn't like it, but I used it anyway."

Seojin recorded both of their statements. She didn't decide who was right or wrong. She put ticket number 37 into the clear file. The number 37 display disappeared from the board, and the first letter returned to the name field on Kim Taemin's pass.

Kim.

Park Hyeonju placed her hand on a lobby chair. "Kim Taemin?"

The young man tried to answer, but Doyun raised a hand to stop him. "Slowly. If you say the whole thing at once, it might get pulled back again."

Seojin decided not to mix the work of recovering Kim Taemin's name with Hajun's case. She didn't put the two files on the same chair. Number 37 stayed on the right side of the lobby, number 0 in front of the ticket machine. Doyun stood between them so people wouldn't absently pick up the wrong paper.

Park Hyeonju kept checking her own phone. There was no record of her son's number in her call log. Instead, three calls to the 120 complaints hotline showed up. Each call lasted 17 seconds. Seojin wrote the numbers down and marked them as meaning unconfirmed.

"What did the operator say."

"I don't remember. I think they told me to go to the annex to file it, and I think they said it would go through right away if I threw away the ticket."

"Did you hear the operator's name."

"Who remembers something like that."

There was more everyday exhaustion than irritation in Park Hyeonju's words. It was the system's fault to begin with, that a guardian coming to report a missing child had to remember an operator's name. Seojin didn't write that thought down, and instead noted: operator's name unconfirmed, partial memory of the guidance given.

Kim Taemin tried to unlock his own phone. Face recognition failed. He got the password wrong twice. Before the third try, Doyun stopped him.

"One more wrong try and it locks."

"It's my phone."

"Right now the system might not recognize it as yours."

Kim Taemin set the phone down. Instead he pieced together the two torn halves of the study room coupon. On the back, a date was written in blue pen. Study room after running an errand for Mom. The handwriting was crooked, but it looked like Kim Taemin's. Park Hyeonju looked at the note and her finger stopped.

"I told him to buy tofu."

"This evening?" Seojin asked.

"Yes. He said he didn't want to. But he said he'd go anyway."

Kim Taemin held out the convenience store receipt. It showed only kimbap and water. No tofu. Park Hyeonju looked at it and her face grew confused again.

"He didn't buy the tofu."

"They didn't have it at the convenience store."

"Then you should have gone to the mart."

That brief scolding brought back the middle letter of Kim Taemin's name. His pass now showed Kim Tae. Complete memory didn't return through dramatic words, but first through the kind of nagging he would have heard on an ordinary day.

Seojin recorded the scene. Guardian's everyday memory shows partial response. Items: coupon note, receipt. The subject's own answers are not directly recognized.

Officer Yi Jeongbae called the 120 hotline from one side of the lobby. At first the call wouldn't connect. On the second attempt, an automated message played.

"This call may be recorded to improve the quality of our service."

As soon as that sentence ended, number 37 appeared on the display board again. It might mean the hotline had kept Park Hyeonju's report as quality assurance data, but not as a missing person filing. Eunchae spoke.

"There's a consultation log. There's no complaint transfer log. They took the call, but they never filed it."

"Why." Park Hyeonju asked.

No one answered right away. The address was incomplete, guardian confirmation hadn't gone through, there wasn't enough evidence the child was missing from home. All of those answers looked like reasons, but the result was the same either way.

Seojin said to Park Hyeonju, "For now, I won't settle on a single reason. Instead, I'll restart the unregistered status. I'll put the ticket back in the file, and keep your name and Taemin's belongings together with it."

"Will he be visible then?"

"I can't say he'll be visible right away."

Park Hyeonju didn't get angry. Maybe that answer was better than a false promise, because she placed her own hand on top of the ticket file. At that moment, the left stroke of the third letter appeared on the name field of the pass.

Officer Yi Jeongbae brought a lost item envelope from his desk. It was originally a brown envelope meant for umbrellas or wallets. He hesitated looking at the word Found Item printed on the front.

"You can't use 'found item' for a person's belongings." Seojin said.

Yi Jeongbae stuck on a new sheet of paper. Verified Item. He started to write Kim Taemin's name beneath it, then stopped. The name hadn't fully returned yet. He looked at Seojin.

"Can I write up to Kim Tae?"

"Write only what's confirmed. Don't leave the rest blank, write 'unconfirmed' instead."

Yi Jeongbae did as told. Not Kim Tae with a blank, but Kim Tae, followed by last letter unconfirmed. The small habit of not leaving a blank became a defense here. Once the items went into the envelope, the wet stain on ticket 37 faded a little.

Seeing that, Kim Taemin let out a long breath for the first time. Seojin didn't use the word breath, and wrote instead: shoulders lowered.

Park Hyeonju saw "last letter unconfirmed" written on the verified item envelope and asked for a pen. She didn't write right away, and instead looked toward the direction where Kim Taemin's face would likely be. She said the single letter "min," then wrote it down herself. The name on the pass returned at the same pace. Kim Taemin didn't repeat his own name after that. It was better not to touch a name that had already been written.

Miran walked up to the window 0 poster. Beneath the second rule marked with a red line, new tiny letters had appeared.

A discarded number ticket is processed as a correction to the headcount.

"A rule's been added." Seojin said.

"It hasn't been added." Miran looked at the poster's edge without touching it. "A line that was hidden has been revealed."

"How do you know that."

"There must have been the same sentence under the correction fluid."

"Have you seen this document before, Team Lead."

Miran didn't answer. Instead she said her own name. "Seo Miran. 11:29 p.m., partially confirmed a rule at window 0. When a number ticket is discarded while the position of responsible officer is vacant, a correction is applied."

Seojin wrote the sentence down exactly as she'd said it. For the first time, Miran had put her own name first.

At that moment, the shutter of window 0 rose slightly from the inside. No hand was visible. Instead of darkness beneath the shutter, fluorescent light leaked out. On the floor inside, cut pieces of number tickets lay in a row. Number 12, 18, 37. Processed numbers and unregistered numbers were mixed together.

Inside Seojin's clear file, ticket number 0 trembled. A new perforation line appeared beneath Hajun's name.

Someone tore paper from inside the shutter.

The upper half of ticket number 0 disappeared.