GOAT
Seo Joon realized something was wrong with the world the exact moment the news anchor took a short breath before continuing the report.
It wasn’t dramatic silence. It was a quick sigh—the kind someone lets out when they realize they’re about to have to say something ridiculous out loud but have no choice.
[And now, international news…]
The camera switched. A map of East Asia appeared behind her, with Japan highlighted.
Seo Joon, slouched on the couch with a bowl of cereal that had already turned to mush, tilted his head slightly. Seo-yeon sat beside him, legs tucked under herself, scrolling on her phone with the calm of someone who expected nothing from the TV except background noise.
“Japan?” he commented. “Bet it’s an earthquake or something exploding.”
“Probably not,” she replied without looking up. “If it were, her tone would be different.”
Seo Joon frowned.
“Different how?”
She thought for a second.
“More serious. Less… embarrassed.”
As if to prove the point, the shot cut to a reporter in Tokyo. He wore a helmet, microphone in hand, standing too stiffly for someone covering anything genuinely dangerous.
Behind him, police formed a messy perimeter. Yellow tape, people pointing phones, murmurs.
[Good evening. We are in Shibuya district, where an unusual incident has been drawing attention since early this morning.]
“Unusual” was always a terrible sign.
[Witnesses claim that a man… a man who calls himself ‘The GOAT’ stopped traffic, climbed on top of a bus, and began to speak.]
Seo Joon choked on his cereal.
“What?”
Seo-yeon finally looked up.
“What did he say?”
“GOAT. Like… the animal? Or ‘Greatest of All Time’?”
The reporter continued, now clearly uncomfortable.
[According to reports, the individual shouted disjointed phrases, claiming that ‘the old world has ended’ and that ‘bodies are now merely doors.’ He refused to come down, stating he was… ‘waiting for authorization.’]
The camera zoomed in too quickly.
The man on the bus appeared.
Seo Joon went quiet.
The guy wore a completely normal suit. Nothing torn, nothing bloody, nothing that justified the chaos around him. The problem was the way he smiled—too wide, too relaxed, like he was watching everything from the outside.
“He looks…” Seo Joon searched for the word “…convinced.”
“He looks comfortable,” Seo-yeon corrected. “Like someone who arrived way too early to an appointment.”
The man raised his arms.
And then spoke.
The audio lagged for a second, but came through clearly.
[I AM THE FIRST PROOF.]
Silence.
[THE FIRST ONE WHO ENTERED WITHOUT KNOCKING.]
Seo Joon felt a shiver crawl up his spine and immediately got annoyed at himself for it.
“What an asshole,” he muttered. “Probably some crazy influencer.”
“Or a new cult,” Seo-yeon said. “They always start like this. Weird speech, clean look… then they ask for money.”
“This one doesn’t look like he wants money. Looks like he wants a stage.”
On screen, the man jumped off the bus.
Not in a hurry. Not trying to escape.
He simply stepped down… and the asphalt cracked beneath his feet.
No explosion. No smoke.
Just a dry snap, as if the ground had miscalculated.
The reporter stopped talking.
People screamed.
The man—GOAT, according to himself—looked down at his own hands, curious, like he was testing something new.
[It works better here.]
The feed cut.
Black screen.
Back to the studio.
The anchor was pale.
[Japanese authorities are asking for calm and stressing that there are no signs of any widespread threat. Experts say the case may be related to mass hysteria, illicit substance use, or…]
She swallowed hard.
[…psychological phenomena still under study.]
Seo Joon turned off the TV.
The silence that remained wasn’t comfortable.
“Okay,” he said. “This is officially too much.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“First Seoul goes nuts. Now Tokyo.”
Seo-yeon set her phone down on her lap.
“Maybe the world isn’t going crazy,” she said, far too naturally. “Maybe it’s just starting to be honest.”
Seo Joon turned to look at her.
“That made zero sense.”
She shrugged.
“Not everything has to.”
He sighed.
“You’ve been saying weird stuff lately.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah. Like you’re always one step ahead.”
Seo-yeon tilted her head, genuinely confused.
“I don’t think so. You’re just more distracted.”
He laughed without humor.
“Hard not to be when some guy is cracking the street in Japan.”
“The street always cracks,” she answered. “People just pretend they don’t see it.”
Seo Joon stared at the ceiling.
“See? Stuff like that. Before you only complained about delivery prices.”
“I still complain. You’re the one who picks the expensive ones.”
“Because you say the cheap ones taste like styrofoam!”
“And they do.”
He closed his eyes for a moment.
Took a breath.
The world wasn’t ending. This was just… a weird phase. Like when everyone decided to do a stupid dance or eat detergent for likes.
Except now it involved cracks in the asphalt.
Seo Joon’s phone buzzed.
Message in the work group chat.
[Work group chat]
[Yo did you guys see Japan???]
[Is this some marketing stunt?]
[My cousin lives there, he said the guy just DISAPPEARED after.]
Disappeared.
Seo Joon opened the news update.
Recent update:
[The individual known as “The GOAT” vanished after making eye contact with authorities. Cameras captured the moment he smiled, said “not here,” and simply… ceased to be present.]
“Ceased to be present,” Seo Joon read aloud. “WHAT KIND OF PHRASE IS THAT?”
Seo-yeon leaned over to look at the screen.
For a second—just one—her face turned serious.
Not scared.
Assessing.
Then it passed.
“Bad journalism,” she said. “They’re running out of words.”
“Or explanations.”
She stood up and walked to the kitchen.
“Want coffee?”
“Now? It’s almost ten at night.”
“You’re not gonna sleep anyway thinking about this.”
He hesitated.
“…Yeah. I do.”
While the coffee maker gurgled, Seo Joon had the strange feeling that something had shifted in the world. Not close. Not here.
But like someone had opened a door very far away… and let in too much air.
In Japan, the GOAT was no longer there.
In Seoul, people kept fighting with fire hydrants.
And sitting in the kitchen, making coffee as if nothing was out of place, Seo-yeon looked exactly the same as always.
Which, for some reason, started to bother Seo Joon more than any absurd news report.
Not because she seemed strange.
But because, in a world that was growing more and more out of control…
She seemed far too comfortable.
Suddenly, the old radio in the kitchen—which they hadn’t used in months—crackled to life on its own. Static hissed, then a deep, distorted voice cut through the quiet night, as though coming from somewhere very far below.
[Attention, inhabitants of this plane. The first door has opened. You are not alone. Prepare for contact.]
