The ceiling above Park Ha-joon flickered with pale light as he woke with a jolt. Cold sweat clung to his skin, and his breath came in short gasps.
That dream again.
He had seen fire — not just any fire, but blue flames dancing in an endless void. A voice had whispered something in a language he didn't know, yet somehow… understood.
"Yutehiro."
Ha-joon sat up, rubbing his temples. His heart still raced, but what scared him more was the faint glow pulsing from his fingertips. The air around his hands shimmered like heatwaves.
"What is this...?" he muttered, clenching his fists.
He stood and paced the room. The TV, long unplugged, sparked and crackled on. Lights flickered in sequence, like something — or someone — was responding to him.
Just then, a surge of energy shot through the room, shattering a glass cup on the table.
Startled, Ha-joon backed away. "No, no, no. I can't lose it. Not now."
His phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number: "You are not alone. But you are being watched.
Ha-joon's eyes widened as he reread the message.
*You are not alone. But you are being watched.*
He didn't recognize the number, and when he tried to call back, the line was dead. A moment later, a second message arrived — a photo. Blurry, dark, but unmistakable: *him*, asleep in his bed, taken just minutes ago.
He dropped the phone. "Someone's here…"
Without thinking, he rushed to the window. The street was empty. No cars. No people. Just the low hum of a vending machine across the road.
He looked closer… and there it was — a small black drone hovering between buildings, camera lens aimed straight at him.
Before he could react, the drone zipped out of view.
Then… a knock.
A sharp, deliberate knock at the door.
Ha-joon turned slowly.
His fingers pulsed with that same blue glow.
He didn't know who — or what — was waiting outside, but one thing was clear.
Whatever world he had stepped into, there was no going back.
Ha-joon's heart raced as the knocking grew louder.
*Click.*
The door swung open, and Mina stepped inside, her eyes wide but determined.
"I'm here," she said softly, but with steel beneath her voice.
"Thank God," Ha-joon breathed out, the tension easing just a little.
They stood together in the dim apartment, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on them both.
No more running.
No more hiding.
This was the beginning of the fight to reclaim everything.
Ha-joon needed air. The apartment's silence was suffocating.
"I'm going for a walk," he told Mina, forcing a calm he didn't feel.
The evening streets of Seoul were alive but felt cold to him—like a world he no longer belonged to.
Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from a narrow alleyway. Before he could react, a sharp pain exploded in his side, and he stumbled.
*"Stay down!"* a gruff voice commanded.
Ha-joon's attacker froze as a tall figure stepped between them, eyes sharp beneath a weathered hat.
"Mr. Han?" Ha-joon gasped.
The man nodded. "You're not safe out here. Come with me."
As they walked, Mr. Han's voice lowered, "The Phantom's name came up. Whoever hit you is connected."
Ha-joon's mind blurred.
Suddenly, a vision surged through him—not his memories, but someone else's.
A dimly lit room, cold steel walls. A masked figure stood over a trembling captive, whispering promises of power and pain.
The voice echoed in Ha-joon's head: *"You will serve the Phantom, willingly or not."*
He shook his head, trying to push the image away.
"Focus," Mr. Han said. "We need to prepare. Your journey's just beginning."