The Sandwich Shop Owner's Secret Transgression

I don't like sandwiches.

Every dish should have a philosophy behind it. A sandwich is a Frankenstein that crams in whatever it can find and pretends to be food. How is it different from a hamburger? At least a hamburger has the decency to grill a patty — a sandwich can't even claim that. If you ask why I hate sandwiches this much, one sentence should suffice.

'I opened a sandwich shop and lost 1.5 billion won.'

Some people ask why I didn't just close up shop sooner. Each time, I keep my mouth shut. I don't bother explaining that my business partner ran off with the 1.5 billion, or that a loan shark has promised to kill me if I close the shop. I used to think only idiots fall for scams. Turns out I was the idiot. It makes my blood boil.

Today, I cursed as I closed the shop again. Business is already dead, and to top it off, another sandwich shop has just opened next door. I don't know who owns it, but the audacity is unreal. I swallowed my fury and finished closing up. But just then, the guy stumbling out of the shop next door didn't look right at all. He crumpled to the ground and retched blood. I may have lost my love for humanity, but I haven't given up on being human. So I went over to him.

"Are you alright? Want me to help you up?"

"Hurgh, heh... kekekek... kekekek"

What a lunatic. Heaven is cruel. As if this miserable afternoon weren't bad enough, it sends me this madman. I clicked my tongue at the lettuce scraps clinging to his lips.

"Haha, hey mister. That place is absolutely incredible."

I was about to leave the alley when the lunatic crept up and grabbed my sleeve. I shook my wrist irritably, but he clutched my forearm and whispered conspiratorially.

"Kekek, have you been? Selectio."

Hell no. I hate sandwiches, and a rival shop is the last place I'd go. The man kept snickering despite there being nothing remotely funny. I forced a smile.

"Haha, I don't really like sandwiches."

"Keh, you don't like sandwiches?"

I hurried away. All kinds of crazies out there. Did he eat a sandwich or snort something? But that man was only the beginning.

After that day, around closing time, I regularly ran into people stumbling out of the shop across the way, clearly unhinged. Some collapsed on the ground cackling, others wept until they passed out from exhaustion. The first few times, I worried about them like any decent person would. But humans adapt, as they say. Before long the sight stopped shocking me. Then, a few months later, I got a phone call. They told me the bastard who ran off with my money — the bastard who'd worn a friend's face — could not be found.

Should I die? Can't — too much debt. If I die, my family inherits it all. Should I kill someone, then? But there's no target. I know exactly who I hate, but I have no idea where the bastard is. I hated the world. No — I hated sandwiches. If I had never opened that goddamn sandwich shop, I would never have sunk into this despair.

"Hehe, mister, got something on your mind?"

Someone speaks to me as I chain-smoke. I glance back — a familiar face I see every closing time. What does the shop next door put in their sandwiches, crack? The man had that same screw-loose look on his face. I turned my head away, annoyed for no reason.

"Want me to listen? Your worries, mister?"

I glance at his face. Still that same goofy grin. But maybe because he was a stranger, it felt like I could actually vent. Maybe that's why I cautiously opened my mouth. Everything — the betrayal by my so-called friend, the crushing debt. The guy listened quietly, then said flatly:

"Go visit Selectio."

"...What?"

"That sandwich shop right next door."

"Sigh, is it really that good?"

I scoffed. I pour my heart out and his advice is to go do some market research? My lips pursed. How good can a sandwich possibly be that he's bringing it up right now?

"It's not about that... just... go and you'll see."

"Fine, let's go. Goddammit."

It was pure fury that carried me there. What kind of revolutionary flavor could justify the constant stream of customers? I hate sandwiches, but I need money. I marched toward the shop in question. I flung the door open, and all eyes turned to me at once.

A man with no eyeballs. A woman missing a leg. A man with a vacant stare. A man fast asleep. The scene was far too wrong for an ordinary restaurant, and I flinched backward. At the same time, a voice:

"Fresh and exhilarating! Welcome to Selectio, the sandwich shop that satisfies every palate in the world."

As I stood there blankly staring at the counter, someone brought me a menu. I skimmed through it, and the items were deeply unsettling. Body? Emotions? Relationships? What is all this?

"Jeez, then do you sell revenge too?"

"Of course. Revenge is possible. You just need the Relationship theme."

A soft voice answered over my muttering. A woman in an oversized hat added warmly:

"We guarantee the taste. All you have to do is choose."

My fingertips trembled. Words of certainty I had never heard before. As if bewitched, I heard myself murmur:

"Then, Relationship theme — lettuce, tomato, shredded cheese, avocado, please..."