The pain hits like a sledgehammer to my skull, splintering my thoughts into a thousand jagged pieces. I gasp, collapsing onto a filthy mattress, the air thick with the stench of mold and stale beer. My hands—too small, too calloused—claw at my temples as if I can rip the agony out. I'm not Kim Tae-ho anymore. That body's gone, bled out in a Mapo-gu safehouse, infection eating me alive. Now I'm someone new, and the memories come crashing in like a tidal wave.I'm Han Min-jae, 17, a runaway living in a Busan squat with other street kids. His life unravels in my mind: a mother lost to cancer, a stepfather who beat him bloody, a stolen wallet that got him chased by thugs. His last memory is a betrayal—his friend, a wiry kid named Ji-hoon, slipping a knife between his ribs over a bag of cash. Min-jae died here, in this rotting apartment, his blood soaking into the mattress I'm lying on. I feel his fear, his rage, his final choked breath. My stomach churns, but I swallow it down. I'm Kang Jiwon, and I have ten days to find Min-soo's killer. Again.The Voice's words echo in my head, low and grinding, from that hellish void I visited after Tae-ho's death. "Learn, Jiwon. Blood demands blood." I still don't know what it is—demon, god, or something worse—but it's my only guide. Nine days left in this life, maybe less if I'm not careful. I need to move.I stagger to my feet, Min-jae's scrawny frame unsteady, his too-tight sneakers pinching my toes. The squat is a maze of crumbling walls and broken furniture, lit by a flickering bulb. Graffiti scars the plaster, and I hear voices—kids laughing, arguing, somewhere deeper in the building. Min-jae's memories point me to a rusted mirror in the corner. I look and flinch. Hollow cheeks, bruised eyes, a scar slashing across my lips. I'm a ghost in a stranger's skin.Min-jae's backpack lies nearby, stuffed with a stolen phone, a half-eaten ramyeon packet, and a switchblade crusted with dried blood—his own. I pocket the blade and phone, checking the latter. No service, but Min-jae's texts reveal a name: Oh Seung-tae, a lowlife dealer who runs Busan's street kids as drug mules. Min-jae owed him money, and Ji-hoon's betrayal was no accident—Seung-tae ordered it. He's not Min-soo's killer, but Busan's underworld connects to Seoul's. If I can get to Seung-tae, he might know someone who knows something.I step outside into a humid Busan night, the city alive with neon and noise. The squat's in a back alley near Haeundae, where the glitz of beachfront hotels hides a rotting underbelly. Min-jae's memories guide me to a dive bar called Black Tide, where Seung-tae holds court. My heart races—not just fear, but anger. Min-soo's face flashes in my mind, his blood pooling in that Seoul alley. I grip the switchblade tighter.
The bar's a cesspool of cigarette smoke and cheap soju, packed with thugs and desperate kids like Min-jae. I spot Seung-tae at a corner table, a stocky man in his thirties with a shaved head and a gold chain glinting under the dim lights. Two goons flank him, their eyes scanning the room. Min-jae's memories scream: Danger. Run. But I'm not running. Not anymore.I approach, keeping my head low, Min-jae's hood pulled up. "Seung-tae," I say, my voice cracking—too young, too weak. He looks up, eyes narrowing. "Min-jae? Thought you were fish food." His goons chuckle, but I see the tension in his jaw. He knows Min-jae's supposed to be dead."I need names," I say, forcing steel into my voice. "Who's moving big in Seoul? Someone hit a journalist, Kang Min-soo. I want to know who."Seung-tae's laugh is sharp, like broken glass. "Kid, you're dumber than I thought. Asking about Seoul's big dogs? You'll be dead by morning." He leans forward, breath sour with soju. "Why do you care?"I hesitate. Min-jae's memories don't give me a good lie, and Jiwon's grief spills out. "He was my brother." The words slip before I can stop them, raw and heavy. Seung-tae's eyes flicker—surprise, then something darker. Recognition? No, that's impossible. He couldn't know Min-soo. Could he?Before I can press, one of his goons grabs my arm, twisting it behind my back. Pain shoots through my shoulder, but I'm not the scared kid I was in Tae-ho's body. I stomp on his foot, Min-jae's wiry strength surprising me, and slam my elbow into his nose. Blood sprays, and he stumbles. The bar erupts—shouts, crashing bottles. Seung-tae's second goon swings a chair at me, but I duck, slashing with the switchblade. The blade catches his arm, tearing flesh, and he screams. Blood slicks the floor, red and glistening under the neon.Seung-tae's on his feet now, pulling a gun. My heart stops, but Min-jae's instincts kick in. I dive behind a table as the first shot splinters wood above my head. The bar's a warzone, patrons scrambling or joining the fight. I crawl, heart pounding, and lunge at Seung-tae's legs. We crash to the ground, the gun skidding away. I stab blindly, the blade sinking into his thigh. He roars, grabbing my throat, his fingers like iron. "Who are you?" he snarls, as if he senses I'm not Min-jae.I choke, vision blurring, but I drive the blade deeper, twisting it. Blood pours, hot and sticky, coating my hands. His grip weakens, and I gasp for air. "Names," I rasp. "Seoul. Now."He laughs, a wet, dying sound. "You're chasing ghosts, kid. Lee… Dong-hyun. Seoul. That's… all I got." His eyes roll back, and he's gone, blood pooling around us. Lee Dong-hyun. The same name from Tae-ho's life. A real lead.But I'm not fast enough. The first goon's back, nose bloody, and he's got Seung-tae's gun. The shot rings out before I can move, tearing through my chest. Pain explodes, white-hot, and I collapse, blood filling my lungs. The bar fades, screams echoing. Min-jae's body dies on day three.
The Void swallows me again, red and pulsing, like a heart that never stops beating. The Voice is there, its presence heavy, like smoke pressing against my skin. "Two lives wasted, Jiwon," it says, mocking. "Lee Dong-hyun. You have a name. Will you fail again?" I try to scream, to demand answers, but my voice is gone. The pain returns, sharper, as if the Void is punishing me. "Blood demands blood," it whispers, and I'm falling, falling—I wake in a new body, the pain in my head worse than before, like nails driven into my brain. I'm not in Busan anymore. Seoul's skyline looms outside a grimy window. Ten days. Another chance. Lee Dong-hyun's name burns in my mind, but Seung-tae's dying words haunt me. You're chasing ghosts. What did he mean? And why did his eyes flicker when I mentioned Min-soo?