Chapter Text
The walls were too white.
Not just white—wrong. The kind of sterility that stung your eyes, like snow on a screen.
Yook Dong-sik blinked once, then again, as if the act might paint some warmth back into the world. But the room remained still. One door. A mirrored Wall. And a single camera, fixed to upper corner like a god with no face.
He didn’t know where he was.
His hands lay flat on the thin blanket. Pale. Clean. Fingernails filed. No scratches. No blood.
That was good, right?
He turned his head slowly, each movement careful, like waking in the aftermath of something violent. There was a chair bolted to the floor. A small desk. A tray with untouched food—cold by now, maybe yesterday’s.
It felt like a mistake. Surely, someone had made a mistake.
Behind the glass—in a room Dong-sik didn’t know existed—Seo In-woo sat in a leather chair, legs crossed, pen uncapped. He’d been watching for thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds. Dong-sik hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even asked for a lawyer.
Fascinating.
In-woo leaned forward slightly, chin resting on his knuckles. “You’re quieter than I remember,” he murmured, his voice not quite picked up by the hidden mic.
The speaker in the corner crackled, and a woman’s voice filled the white room. “Mr. Yook, can you tell me your name?”
Dong-sik blinked. A pause. Then, uncertainly, “…Yook Dong-sik?”
“Very good. Do you know where you are?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“Do you remember what happened to you?”
Dong-sik looked down. A flicker—red, sharp, sudden. A rooftop. A smile like a blade. The soft wet noise of something hitting the floor. His breath caught.
“No.”
On the other side of the glass, In-woo smiled faintly. “Liar,” he mouthed.
The therapist continued, voice calm. “You were found unconscious outside the Daehan Securities building three days ago. Do you remember being there?”
Dong-sik swallowed. His throat was dry. His fingers twitched on the blanket.
“No,” he said again, but quieter.
There was a long silence. The woman’s voice softened. “That’s okay. Your memory might return in fragments. You’re in a recovery facility, Mr. Yook. You’re safe here.”
Safe.
The word landed wrong in his ears. Too heavy to be real.
Later, when the session ended and Dong-sik was alone again, he stood on unsure legs and walked to the mirror.
Just a mirror.
Just his reflection.
He leaned in slightly. His face looked thinner than he remembered. Eyes sunken. Jaw clenched like something was waiting to snap loose inside him. He stared into his own gaze—and the strangest sensation washed over him.
He wasn’t alone.
Behind that glass, In-woo stood now. Closer. His breath fogged faintly against the surface, invisible from Dong-sik’s side.
“You’re going to remember me eventually,” In-woo said, tone almost wistful. “But I want to see what happens before you do.”
He tapped the mirror lightly with his index finger. A sound only he could hear.
“Let’s see what’s left of you, Yook Dong-sik.”
###############################
The next morning, Dong-sik was taken to a different room—larger, brighter. A long table. Two chairs.
He wasn’t restrained, but the orderly who guided him in had eyes like nails.
And waiting there—already seated, sleeves rolled, smile razor-sharp—was a man Dong-sik did not recognize.
But his body reacted before his mind caught up. A prickling at the base of his neck. A shiver, too quick to suppress.
In-woo rose to greet him, hands folded neatly in front. “Mr. Yook. It’s an honor.”
Dong-sik faltered. “Who… are you?”
“A consultant. I’m here on behalf of Daehan Securities.” He gestured toward the chair. “Please, sit. I just want to talk.”
Dong-sik stared for a moment too long. Then obeyed.
“You work for them?” he asked. His voice still felt unused, like a violin left too long in the rain.
“In a manner of speaking. The company wants to ensure your recovery. We’re very… invested.”
There was something off about the way he said it. Something more personal than corporate. Dong-sik looked at him closely. His suit was clean. Tailored. Watch expensive. But his eyes—
They didn’t match the smile.
“Why me?” Dong-sik asked.
In-woo tilted his head. “Should I know the answer to that?”
A strange beat passed.
Then In-woo leaned forward, folding his hands. “You were found with severe cranial trauma. No ID. You’d fallen—or jumped—from the rooftop of a building owned by the company. Naturally, we’re curious.”
“…Did I jump?”
“That’s one theory.”
Dong-sik’s breath hitched again. A rooftop. His hands clenched under the table.
“I—” he began, then faltered.
“You don’t remember,” In-woo said gently.
“No.”
He smiled, kind this time. Or pretending to be. “That’s alright. Sometimes memory is like wet ink. If you look too closely, it smears.”
Dong-sik didn’t speak.
Instead, his gaze dropped to the ring finger of In-woo’s right hand.
A faint white scar curved around it, like a thread had once been wound too tight. He couldn’t say why, but the sight of it unsettled him.
In-woo noticed the stare and subtly curled his hand under the table.
“You seem... familiar,” Dong-sik said before he could stop himself.
In-woo’s eyes gleamed.
“That’s flattering.”
###############################
That night, Dong-sik couldn’t sleep.
He sat on the cot, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the mirror again.
And this time—he swore—he saw movement behind it. A shadow. A man, just beyond the surface.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like a ghost made of memory.
[End of Chapter 1]