The weak morning sun barely filtered through the cracked windowpanes, casting pale slivers of light over the cold, silent apartment. Lee Rang's eyelids fluttered open, but the world felt distant — his side throbbed fiercely beneath the tight bandage wrapped around his ribs. A dull ache pulsed with every breath, reminding him of the battle fought just hours ago.
But the room was empty.
No footsteps echoed on the floorboards. No soft voice whispered from the shadows. Only the faint flutter of curtains stirred by the light breeze slipping through a cracked window.
His gaze swept the dim space. The bed was unmade. The chair pushed back as if someone had hurriedly risen. But Seo-rin — the girl whose name had become a tangled knot in his mind — was gone.
Rang's throat tightened, dry and raw. He swallowed hard, desperate to smell her presence — the faint trace of her perfume, the warmth she left behind. But there was nothing. Only a faint smear of blood on the tiled floor near the sink.
His breath caught.
Pain stabbed anew as he forced himself upright, each movement sharp and unforgiving. Limping, he made his way toward the bathroom. The air was thick with silence, pressing against him like a weight.
On the fogged mirror, something cruel had been scratched into the glass, a message left with trembling fingers:
"Don't follow."
Three words. Cold and final.
Rang stared long at the jagged letters, his reflection fracturing, morphing into a stranger's eyes — eyes that didn't know whether to hope or despair.
Why would she leave now? After saving him? After whispering the night before, so softly it had almost slipped away, "I let him die."
He didn't want to believe she was gone, but a sinking feeling told him something was terribly wrong.
His gaze drifted to the living room. One bookshelf caught his attention — a single volume pushed further in than the others. Curious, Rang stepped closer and found a narrow gap behind it.
A small drawer, slightly ajar.
Inside lay an old mobile phone, powered off and coated with dust. He pressed the power button with trembling fingers. The screen blinked alive.
One file awaited.
He tapped it.
Static.
Then a voice — not Seo-rin's. Older, sharper, edged with cold professionalism.
"If you're listening, Subject A-3 has reconnected emotionally."
"This was not expected to happen this early. Observation priority: 404-2."
"If the tether strengthens, eliminate Subject R."
A long pause.
"Let her live this time, yes… but don't let her remember."
The file ended abruptly.
Rang's heart hammered. The words echoed, "Let her live this time" repeating in his mind like a cruel mantra.
What the hell was Seo-rin a part of?
And who was Subject R? It had to be him.
His hands clenched the phone as breath caught in his chest, mind spiraling in confusion and rising dread.
She had left him a warning — don't follow — but he knew now he had no choice.
Seo-rin wasn't just a girl he saved.
She was a secret.
And secrets never vanished without a reason.
Later that afternoon, Rang found himself moving through the narrow alley behind the 404 building, following the faint GPS trace from Seo-rin's phone — the last location he could pinpoint.
The city swallowed sound here. Even his footsteps felt muted, as if the walls absorbed noise.
The deeper he went, the heavier the air felt, thick with silence like the alley held its breath.
Then, a sudden sensation — not a sound, but a presence. Something lurking just beyond sight.
Rang spun around too late.
A rough hand clamped around his throat, pressing him hard against the grimy wall.
Cold metal pressed into his side — a blade sharp enough to slice flesh.
The faint scent of leather and rust drifted in the stale air.
"You chose her again," a low, raspy voice hissed, familiar yet distant. The word again lingered, stretching into a momentary flash of confusion in Rang's mind.
"You never learn."
Before he could react, the masked figure vanished, melting into the shadows as if the alley had swallowed him whole.
Rang slid down the wall, gasping, knuckles scraped raw, the burning pain in his side flaring up anew.
No weapon. No answers.
Only questions.
Why again? Why had the voice sounded like it knew him? Like it expected this.
By the time Rang stumbled back to the apartment, shirt torn, bruised, vision swimming, he expected the place to be empty. Quiet.
It wasn't.
Seo-rin was back.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the cracked window, her posture unnervingly still. Her silence was practiced, trained.
Her hands trembled lightly in her lap.
A red mark trailed from behind her ear, disappearing into her tangled hair.
She didn't look at him.
He didn't ask if she was okay.
He didn't ask where she'd been.
He asked one thing:
"Why did you come back?"
Seo-rin slowly stood, passing him without a glance, whispering over her shoulder:
"You're not supposed to remember me."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Rang stood rooted to the spot, heart slowing, mind colder than before.
No more confusion.
No more softness.
"I don't care who she used to be."
"I don't care if I saved her or if I was meant to."
"I only care about the truth."
"She's hiding something."
"I'll stay close — not for her…"
"…but for the answers."
"I want to know who she really is."
That night, sleep escaped Rang. His fingers played restlessly with a luxury fountain pen Seo-rin had left on the desk — black with gold trim, pristine despite the dust.
It was the same pen he had once seen in his father's hand, signing documents late into the night, the lamplight reflecting off the gold.
He unscrewed the cap, the ink cartridge sliding free with a faint metallic click. Something small slipped into his palm.
A folded strip of paper. Old, yellowing.
"If they erased me, they'll erase her too."
"404-A wasn't a room. It was a doorway."
Coordinates scribbled beneath.
His breath caught.
He plugged the numbers into his phone's map.
A blinking pin appeared underground, just four blocks from the 404 building.
An old municipal registry named it Zone D-17.
The file read: "Fire hazard. Shut down after structural collapse. No retrieval access authorized."
Lies.
Rang's pulse raced as he pried open a rusted metal door hidden behind a crumbling wall.
The air inside was cold. Dead cold.
A long corridor led to a heavy metal gate, faintly carved with PROJECT 404-A.
Inside, destruction reigned: shattered glass, broken tiles, flickering monitors long dead.
One console blinked weakly in the gloom.
He stepped closer and pressed the power button.
The system booted — barely.
Words scrolled across the screen:
System Log — [Subject A-3]
Neural Link: Offline
Psychological Protocol: Terminated
Reason: Subject recovered independent memory during sync.
Motel Entry – 2:17 AM
Commanded Action Executed – 2:21 AM
Status: ANOMALY DETECTED. SYNC FAILURE.
His hands froze.
Subject A-3.
Seo-rin.
She had been at the motel.
At the exact moment his father had died.
Rang rifled through data files — control signals overlaid with time triggers.
She wasn't acting alone.
Someone controlled her.
Dust rose as he stepped deeper into the wreckage.
At the center, a glass case lay shattered.
Inside — a burnt journal.
Rang flipped it open carefully.
Handwritten words, smeared and faded:
"There was a man in the hallway. He looked at me like I mattered. I wasn't meant to feel anything."
"They said I wasn't real. But I bled. I remember bleeding."
Her handwriting.
Her memories.
A corner of the room held a wall covered with charred photographs.
Most were destroyed, but one remained — a girl standing outside a motel.
Black hoodie.
Empty eyes.
Rang's knees buckled.
It was her.
She was there.
His father was inside.
Back at the apartment, Seo-rin stood by the sink, water running over trembling hands.
Her face was pale, eyes haunted.
She didn't turn when Rang entered.
"I keep seeing blood," she whispered.
"I think I was holding something sharp."
"I remember someone begging me not to…"
"But I couldn't stop. Something told me to keep going."
Rang said nothing.
She turned slowly to face him.
"Do you think people like us deserve to be saved?"
Their eyes locked.
His voice caught.
His mind screamed:
You weren't supposed to be the girl I saved.
You were supposed to be the one I stopped.
"I thought I was chasing answers… but soon, I'll realize I'm running straight into a trap I never saw coming."