When Jiwoo opened his eyes, the ceiling above him was not the one from his office. The air was heavy and stale, carrying the sharp scent of dust and old wood. His throat felt dry, and each inhale burned slightly.
He sat up, heart hammering.
Where… am I?
The room was small and unfamiliar, the shadows of corners stretching long under the dim light filtering through grime-covered windows. His pulse raced as he scanned every detail, searching for something—anything—that made sense.
Then, in the corner, a tall mirror caught his eye. Desperate for answers, he stumbled toward it, the floor creaking under his weight. His breath caught in his throat.
That wasn't his reflection.
Gone was his familiar brown hair and dark eyes. In their place were snow-white strands framing a face with piercing blue eyes, cold and unyielding. The jawline, the shape of the eyes, the delicate curve of the lips—it was someone else entirely, yet it was him.
"H-Huh!?" he stammered, stepping back, panic surging. His hands trembled.
Recognition hit him like a thunderclap.
No… this face…
A memory from the book he had read earlier flooded his mind. This was the companion of the uke—the loyal friend who stayed by the protagonist until the very end.
Gu Si Wook.
The name echoed in his mind like a death sentence. In the novel, Gu Si Wook had died… protecting the protagonist.
Jiwoo's chest tightened. Desperation clawed at him. He ran to the window and yanked the curtains aside.
Hell greeted him.
Outside, the city lay in ruins. Buildings were half-collapsed, jagged skeletons piercing the red-streaked sky. Streets were littered with debris and corpses, some frozen mid-fall, others torn apart. In the shadows, grotesque monsters prowled, claws scraping against broken pavement, eyes glowing faintly in the blood-tinted light.
He gagged, stumbling back into the room, bile burning his throat as he retched into the sink. Each cough made his stomach tighten painfully. Why am I here? The question pounded in his mind. And worse—why did I have to become him?
He returned to the mirror, pale reflection staring back. Slowly, he ran a trembling hand through his white hair and forced a shaky smirk.
"This… this has to be a joke."
But deep down, he knew it wasn't.
Every instinct screamed danger. Every memory of the novel screamed this world is not forgiving. He could almost feel the cold steel of monsters' claws slicing through the streets, the groans of the fallen echoing in his ears.
Jiwoo's gaze flicked around the room again. There were no weapons. No food. Nothing. Just a cracked wooden floor and the window to a world that had turned into a nightmare overnight.
I have to survive.
The thought settled in his chest like a stone. Panic was useful only for a moment; soon, it would kill him if he didn't act. He drew a slow, shaky breath, feeling the weight of his new reality pressing down.
The ruined city waited. The monsters waited. And somewhere out there… fate waited too.
Jiwoo swallowed hard, fists clenching. One thing was certain—he had to move, or he would be another corpse in this forsaken world.