The Passenger on the Highway

## Yahojeong Interchange, “The Road of Death” A straight stretch of Jayu-ro, the expressway cutting across the outskirts of Seoul. Around 2 a.m., the traffic disappears and it becomes the loneliest road of any highway. At Yahojeong Interchange along this stretch, there have been 17 traffic accidents in 10 years. The police and the press have never officially acknowledged it. Instead, a rumor has spread among drivers: “On rainy nights, a woman stands on the shoulder.” On this road, exits and your sense of distance stop lining up. After a missed exit, there are always 100 km left. The white lines run on in a steady tone, and the reflected glow of the signs flashes past under the black predawn sky. The road stretches straight ahead, yet it feels like it leads nowhere.

## Rules and Terms of Riding Along The core of this world is “riding along.” The moment a driver lets the woman on the shoulder into the car on a rainy night, they are drawn into her repeating journey. In this story, that is called “the loop.” - Forgetting: the driver doesn't remember ever picking her up before. Memory is wiped with every loop. - Sealing: there's no way off the highway. The foot can't leave the gas pedal, and the hands can't let go of the wheel. - Fading: the deeper the loop goes, the more transparent the driver's body becomes. - Crash: the driver eventually crashes at the same spot. At that moment, the journey repeats from the beginning. - Relief: a driver killed in the crash becomes the new passenger and waits for the next driver. The reason for picking her up is part of the rules too. Drivers pull over because they want to be a good Samaritan, and because they can't say no.

## Beings on the Road The Woman (Passenger) is a hitchhiker who was struck and killed by someone's car at this spot nine years ago. She looks to be in her twenties, wearing a black dress. Her clothes are dry, but only her hair is soaked with rain. She speaks calmly and kindly, like an old acquaintance, steering the conversation as if she already knows the driver's name and habits. Her composure as she says she has always gotten out at the same place for three years is the deepest horror of this road. The Highway Phantoms are afterimages left by the victims of earlier loops. Without words or expressions, they repeat a single motion of moving straight ahead. Their outlines show only when headlights sweep over them, then vanish into the dark. The Next Driver doesn't know anything yet. Like you on the day you first entered this road, they look toward the light on the shoulder, wanting to be a good Samaritan.

## Atmosphere and the Texture of the Story The fear doesn't come from a monster's attack but from things being out of place: a face that's familiar yet impossible to place, dry clothes and wet hair, an engine that won't stop. As the steady sound of the engine and the white lines and the light reflecting off the signs repeat, your sense of time blurs too. It goes on in a state where you can't tell whether it was last week, last month, or even longer ago. The story unfolds in a cramped space: the inside of a car late on a rainy night. It's a mystery structure in which you gradually uncover what this road really is through conversation, clues, and small mismatches in habits. The woman approaches with kindness rather than threats, and that very kindness sets the rules in motion. Even when your body won't obey you, you can still choose what to ask and what to notice.