PAST (when ajin and junseo was child)
The world was a sickening tilt of brown and dark blue. A heavy, ringing vibration pulsed in the air—BZZZ, BZZZ—an insistent, annoying tremor that seemed to originate from the floorboards right beside my face. Everything was fuzzy. I could feel the cold, hard floor pressing against my cheek, and the metallic tang of blood on my lips.
I tried to move, but a jolt of pain shot through me, leaving me breathless. I was on the ground. A haze of dark hair fell across my face, and when I managed to lift a hand, I saw the sticky crimson on my fingers. My own.
The ringing phone was still going off. It was face-up on the dirty floor, the screen illuminating a single name: JUNSEO.
BZZZ, BZZZ.
It wouldn't stop. It was the only sound in the suffocating silence, a desperate call I couldn't reach. I was staring up at the ceiling, seeing only the dark outlines of the furniture, the closed door, and the faint, dusty light filtering from what must be a window. Everything felt heavy, paralyzing. I could see the stray bills scattered around me, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the ache and the relentless BZZZ.
My eyelids were so heavy, threatening to drag me down into the darkness. I was in a bad place—a very bad place. I knew that much.
Then, through the haze, a name echoed in the vast, empty space of my mind. It was a cry, a shout of frantic concern, a voice that was both distant and right next to me:
"AJIN...!"
The voice came again, louder, more desperate. "AJIN!! AJIN!!!"
Who was calling out? Was it Junseo? I didn't know. The sound was like a sudden, sharp needle, piercing the numbing fog of pain.
Then, for a single, agonizing moment, the world snapped back into focus.
BLINK.
BLINK.
The world snapped back into focus, but not into the stark, bloodied reality I'd just experienced. Instead, it was my bedroom. My eyes, still wide with a lingering terror, searched the familiar darkness. The fear slowly receded, replaced by a deep, weary sigh. It had been a dream. A vivid, terrifying dream.
My heart was still hammering, but a different kind of dread began to creep in. I felt a movement in the room. I wasn't alone.
"…!" I exclaimed, my voice hoarse, pulling myself upright in bed, clutching the blanket to my chest. My gaze fell on the small, slightly built figure standing by my bed. "What are you doing in my room…?"
It was my little brother. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and a faint blush on his cheeks. "What's wrong?" he asked, as if I was the one intruding.
I blinked, trying to shake off the lingering images of blood and a ringing phone. "What's wrong with you?" I countered, my voice still rough.
He fidgeted, wringing his hands. "Well, uhh… I think I have a fever." He looked at me with an earnest, worried expression. "Do you think I have a cold?"
What…? I just stared at him. This was a regular occurrence. Every night, it seemed. "You should tell your mom."
"I did," he replied, a hint of a whine in his voice, "but she just told me to go to sleep." He looked so crestfallen, like a puppy denied a treat.
I slumped back against my pillow, a profound weariness washing over me. "Oh god, he's so annoying…" I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear. This kid. He came and bothered me every night, always with some minor complaint. Did he think I was his servant or something?
I stifled a yawn, scrubbing at my tired eyes. It was late. The outside world was a blur of dark shapes against the even darker sky. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator from downstairs, the only sound breaking the quiet of the house.
Reluctantly, I swung my legs out of bed. "Why don't you go and lie down in bed…" I sighed, pushing past him. "…And I'll go see if I can find some medicine?"
I padded out of my room and started down the stairs, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my skin. "Where would the medicine be…?" I mumbled to myself, already anticipating the usual struggle to locate the elusive fever reducer.
As I reached the bottom of the stairs, a faint, metallic scent seemed to cling to the air, almost imperceptible, but enough to prickle at the edges of my senses. It was almost like… No. It was just my dream still messing with me.
The shift from the intense, violent dream sequence back to the mundane, annoying reality with her brother adds a layer of emotional whiplash for "I." The faint metallic scent at the end hints that the dream might have left more than just psychological residue.
"Where would the medicine be...?" I muttered, descending the staircase. The house was quiet and vast in the dark, and my little brother's latest fever scare felt less like a medical emergency and more like his nightly bid for attention.
As I reached the bottom step, I heard it. A faint, low voice coming from the brightly lit kitchen, where I'd expected to find the medicine cabinet.
"Are you serious?!" a woman's sharp whisper cut through the silence. It was Mom's voice, laced with disbelief and anger.
I froze on the landing, my bare feet gripping the cool wood floor. She was talking to someone.
"I thought you said we'd only have her around until the insurance payout!" Her voice was barely audible, yet every syllable felt like a physical blow. "You never told me we'd have to keep her for this long!"
Her? Keep her?
My blood ran cold. I pressed myself against the wall, listening, my tired, fever-searching mission completely forgotten.
A man's voice—Dad's—answered, smooth and dangerously calm. "Calm down. I said I'm looking into it, just give me some time, alright?!"
He sounded annoyed, not caring.
"I'm trying to find a way to make a buck off of her!" he hissed. The words were a vile, gut-wrenching shock. "Do you even know how much young girls are worth in the market?!"
I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp, leaning forward just enough to see the sliver of light from the kitchen door. The words didn't make sense. They couldn't be talking about me. My parents wouldn't say that.
Mom's voice softened slightly, a hint of panic returning. "But, I mean… she's a sharp one, so just shut up and make sure she doesn't catch on!"
Sharp one. That was me. The words coiled like venom in my stomach. The puzzle pieces of my life—the coldness, the strange looks, the constant financial pressure I always felt hovering around them—slammed together with horrifying force.
My eyes widened, and a terrible, undeniable thought ripped through my confusion: "I knew it...! He's trying to get rid of me too...!!"
The dream from a few minutes ago—the blood, the phone ringing, the shouts of "Ajin"—it all came flooding back, not as a nightmare, but as a prophecy, a warning. I wasn't their daughter. I was a problem. A commodity.
Every ounce of fear, of pain, of betrayal, solidified into a single, burning thought, a silent scream in my mind:
YOU TRAITOR!
The cold wood floor no longer registered beneath my feet. I could only stand there, trembling in the dark, suspended between the house where I thought I was safe and the monstrous truth of what I really was: their captive.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, the word "TRAITOR" still vibrating in my silent scream, echoing against the horrific phrases I had overheard. Make a buck off her. Worth in the market. The air tasted of bile and fear.
But I couldn't move, couldn't run. The truth was a cage, and I was still locked inside their house. I had to go back. I had to pretend the floorboards hadn't whispered my death sentence.
I slowly ascended the stairs, my movements measured, my face an empty mask. The metallic scent was gone, replaced by the mundane warmth of the hallway. I found my little brother, Junseo, still sitting up in my bed.
"What's wrong? Did something happen downstairs?" he asked, his eyes wide with genuine concern, the faint blush still on his cheeks. "Is it because you couldn't find the medicine? I'm okay, I'm not that sick..."
His innocence was a fresh wound. He was so oblivious, so wrapped up in his small world of minor fevers and bedtime stories. He was their real child. The contrast with me, the "sharp one" they were trying to sell, was sickening.
I forced a gentle expression onto my face, the kind I used to believe was real. I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Don't worry about me and go to bed," I said, my voice carefully low and even, a comforting lie. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."
He smiled, a flash of pure, uncomplicated relief. "Okay, t-thank you..." he mumbled, snuggling under the covers. Then, with the total lack of filter only a child possesses, he added, "Ajin is so sweet. I wish I could be sick every day."
A wave of utter dread washed over me. Ajin. He used the name they gave me. The name that was on my ringing phone in the dream. The name they were plotting to erase.
I fought the urge to flinch. I had to know what he knew, what he understood about the people who raised him.
"Hey, Junseo..." I began, my voice now a careful, quiet probe. "Do you like your mom?"
"Huh? Yeah, I like her..."
"But she doesn't even care about you," I pressed, the words tasting of ashes in my mouth. "You still like her?"
He didn't hesitate. He looked up at me with shining eyes, a simple, happy truth on his face. "Yeah! Mommy never gets mad at me. She's nice to you too!"
Lies. All of it was a carefully constructed lie for him, a world of softness and normalcy that was denied to me. He only saw the kind mother who never yelled; he didn't hear the predator scheming in the kitchen.
I simply watched him, saying nothing as he drifted off. He saw a sister who would sit with him; he didn't see the frightened girl who had just discovered she was living with two monsters. As his breathing evened out and his eyelids fluttered shut, I felt a chilling stillness settle over me.
I was alone, wide awake, and I finally understood my terrifying dream: the blood on the floor was the end of a life. The ringing phone was my lifeline. And the shouting of my name was the panicked final call of my true self, desperately trying to wake me up before it was too late.
I needed to find that phone. I needed to run.
Junseo was asleep now, his breathing shallow and even. I watched him, the raw terror from the downstairs conversation momentarily eclipsed by a creeping sense of pity and detachment. He has absolutely no clue... I thought, looking at his peaceful face. He was safe in his ignorance, an ignorance I had to shatter if I wanted to survive.
The impulse to question everything, to find any anchor in this suddenly treacherous world, took over.
"You don't look like your mom at all..." I murmured, mostly to myself, remembering the "mother" who had just negotiated my fate.
Junseo shifted slightly, startling me. He was still awake.
"Really? I never heard that before," he replied sleepily. "Everyone always told me that I look just like her. That made my dad kinda sad."
"Your dad? You mean the one that passed away...?" I asked. The question was a low murmur, careful not to carry my fear. The "father" downstairs was clearly an imposter, but this was a new thread.
"Yup! Wanna see a photo of him?" Junseo said, sitting up again, his momentary sleepiness gone in his excitement.
I nodded, unable to speak. He reached into his nightstand and pulled out a faded photo, handing it to me proudly.
"Ta-da!" he announced. "That man in the wheelchair is my dad."
I held the photo, my fingers tracing the outline of the four people standing beneath a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" banner: the man in the wheelchair, Junseo's mother, a teenage boy who looked a little like the "father" downstairs, and Junseo himself as a much younger child. The man in the wheelchair looked nothing like the "father" who was currently plotting my sale.
I looked closer, comparing the faces. That's Junseo's father...? The man in the wheelchair was older, with a kind, soft look to him. He looks so old. Plus, Junseo looks nothing like him. He definitely didn't look like the greedy, calculating man downstairs.
A different face swam into my mind, a younger, harder face—the face of the man who I overheard plotting, the man who was now acting as the head of the household. I remembered seeing a large, clear picture of that man in a suit, hanging in the hallway.
Suddenly, a connection clicked, a dark, chilling realization. I recalled the "father's" face: smooth-skinned, stern, utterly unlike the man in the wheelchair.
Then, one last image flashed in my mind—a portrait of a handsome, cold-eyed man in a dark suit. A man with a sharp, calculating gaze and a cruel mouth. The kind of man who would talk about selling a person for a "buck."
He's Junseo's older brother.
The pieces of the puzzle weren't just about me anymore; they were about a dead man's insurance money, a stolen identity, and a small, innocent boy being raised by a conspiracy of thieves. Junseo's older brother had replaced his father, and the man downstairs was the accomplice.
I placed the photo carefully on the nightstand, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to leave. Not just to save myself, but because this house was built on a lie and stained with the potential for murder.
The first step was clear: I had to get to that ringing phone, the one from my dream, the one that showed the name JUNSEO
I couldn't shake the image of the handsome, cold-eyed man from the birthday photo, the one who stood behind the man in the wheelchair. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that he was the true accomplice to the scheme downstairs.
I pointed at him in the photograph. "Who's this man?" I asked Junseo.
"Oh, that's Mr. Kang," Junseo replied immediately, his eyes lighting up with affection. "He used to be my dad's driver."
A driver. That made perfect, horrifying sense. He was close enough to the family to know their details, but marginal enough to be replaceable.
"He was really nice," Junseo continued, oblivious to the dread consuming me. "He'd help my dad get around in his wheelchair, and play with me. He taught me how to play basketball too!"
I looked at the picture again, forcing myself to stare at the handsome face of Mr. Kang. My mind processed the new information: Driver. Nice. Close to the family. Then I compared him to Junseo's face.
"Actually... I'd say Junseo looks more like this man."
The resemblance was subtle, yet undeniable. Junseo had the same shape to his eyes, the same set to his mouth. If the man downstairs was the older brother, then the driver, Mr. Kang, was another piece of the puzzle, a past connection who might now be missing, or worse.
I needed to know more about Mr. Kang. I needed to understand what had allowed the imposters to move in.
"So where is he now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Junseo's face fell, the simple joy draining away. "After my dad died, he moved to another country. He didn't even say goodbye. I cried a lot." Junseo's voice broke, the memory clearly painful.
"Cry...?" The word felt alien. I realized I hadn't cried since I was little, the constant pressure of living under their cold scrutiny having cemented a hard, protective shell around my emotions.
"I-I don't cry anymore! I never cry," Junseo insisted, sitting up and puffing out his chest, trying to appear tough.
I stared at him. He was a small, kind boy whose life had been fractured by the death of his father and the sudden, silent departure of a kind friend. The man who now lived downstairs and plotted my ruin must have orchestrated Mr. Kang's disappearance to take his place.
My focus hardened. Junseo was now asleep for real, his small chest rising and falling softly. I slipped out of the bed, no longer a tired girl looking for medicine, but a captive looking for a weapon.
My dream phone—the one ringing with the name JUNSEO—had to be connected to the true events. Was it Junseo's number? Was it a message from the missing Mr. Kang? Or perhaps a clue left by the man in the wheelchair?
The answer lay downstairs, in the same room where the two traitors slept. I had to find that phone, or any evidence I could use to secure my escape. I moved silently to the door, my bare feet gripping the wood floor, prepared to descend into the treacherous dark one last time.
Junseo was finally asleep, his chest rising and falling softly under the covers. I stood over him for a moment, the weight of the discoveries heavy in my mind. The man downstairs wasn't my father, he was a thief and a human trafficker—possibly Junseo's own older brother—and he was partnered with the woman I called Mom. They had stolen an identity and were planning to sell me.
My focus sharpened into a cold, diamond-hard resolve. Crying was a luxury I couldn't afford. I had to get out.
I slipped out of the room and crept down the hallway. The staircase was a dark descent into danger, but the most important evidence, and my only lifeline, was somewhere near the kitchen. I moved with agonizing slowness, my bare feet landing feather-light on the wooden steps. Every muscle in my body was tense, listening for a creak, a shift, a sound from the imposters' room.
I reached the bottom landing. The kitchen light was out, and the house was utterly silent. They must have gone to bed.
Immediate Priorities for Survival
My plan had to be quick, quiet, and efficient. I needed three things: proof, a means of communication, and a way out.
Find the Phone: The image from my dream—the one with the phone ringing and the name JUNSEO on the screen—was my first objective. It might be Junseo's real father's old phone, the man in the wheelchair. It could contain contacts, messages, or details of the insurance scam. I would start my search near the kitchen, or perhaps the living room where they kept their important papers.
Gather Evidence: The photograph of Junseo, his real father, and Mr. Kang was crucial. It visually established the relationship between the legitimate family members and the missing driver. I crept back up the stairs, silently retrieving the birthday photo from Junseo's nightstand. I tucked it deep into the pocket of my nightgown. Any other identifying documents—passports, bank statements, or the insurance papers they mentioned—would be a major breakthrough, likely hidden in the fake father's office or bedroom, which was a higher-risk target.
Secure an Exit: I couldn't risk waking them by opening the heavy front door. I needed to check the windows and back door. I'd grab the first sturdy item I could find—a kitchen knife for defense, or a small, heavy object to smash a window quietly if necessary. I had to be prepared to run without looking back.
I moved toward the kitchen, my gaze scanning the floor and countertops. The metallic scent that had been a ghost earlier now seemed sharper, closer. I approached the kitchen counter, my heart hammering. The phone had to be here. If I could just find it, I could call the police, or maybe even someone Junseo's true father trusted.
I started searching, running my hands along the dark surfaces, knowing I was seconds away from disaster. The silence was the loudest, most terrifying sound in the world.
The previous night's terror had burned itself out, replaced by the bone-deep exhaustion of a sleepless night. I hadn't found the phone. The fear of being caught had been too great, and I'd retreated to my room before daylight could expose me on the stairs. I had fallen into a shallow, fitful sleep, fully dressed, the birthday photo hidden beneath my pillow.
The last thing I remembered before dozing off was Junseo's insistent, innocent chatter from the night before:
"I never cry since I became an older brother!" he had declared, proud of his self-imposed role.
"But you were born in December," I'd countered, too tired to play along. "And I was born in March. Technically, I'm older."
He looked crushed for a moment, then stubborn. "But I wanted to be your older brother..."
"Are you an idiot...?" I'd mumbled, pulling the blanket higher. That brief, ridiculous argument about birth months was the last piece of true normalcy I might ever experience in this house.
Now, a sharp, insistent sound cut through the quiet morning.
KNOCK KNOCK
I jolted upright in bed, my heart instantly racing. My body was alert, every nerve ending screaming danger.
"Ajin! It's me, the housekeeper," a woman's voice called from the door. "Wake up! Get washed up and come downstairs for breakfast."
A housekeeper. A woman I barely noticed, another fixture in this expensive, suffocating house. Was she involved in the plot, too? Was she just an employee? I couldn't trust anyone.
I waited until I heard her heavy footsteps retreat down the hall. I scrambled out of bed, grabbing the photo and quickly hiding it inside a book. The morning light was bright, too bright, spilling through the window and illuminating the room. It felt exposed.
I was at the door, pulling it open just a crack to peek out, when I heard the woman's voice again, lower this time, just before she disappeared around the corner of the stairs.
"Don't be late! Your mother is not in a good mood today."
Your mother is not in a good mood. The warning sounded mundane, but after hearing her plot my abduction and sale, the words felt like a direct threat. The clock was ticking. They were ready to move. I had to get downstairs, act natural, and find a way out of the house today. The chance to escape in the cover of night was gone.
I splashed cold water on my face, scrubbing away the exhaustion. My eyes met my reflection: a girl with dark circles and a gaze that was suddenly hard, calculating. I was going to breakfast, but I wasn't going to be a victim. I was going to be an actress.
The housekeeper's footsteps faded, and I quickly finished dressing, tucking the photo deep into a secure pocket. My own room, where I'd spent the entire night processing a horrifying truth, was already bathed in the harsh, exposing light of morning.
"See you downstairs!" I muttered to the empty air, pulling the blanket tight around the pillow to make it look like I was still in bed, an old habit of deception honed under the "mother's" watchful eye.
I had to move my staging ground. My room was too predictable, and I needed to be closer to Junseo.
I slipped out and moved silently down the hallway, stopping at the door with the small green sign hanging above it: JUNSEO'S ROOM.
I crept inside. The room was small and simple. Junseo was in his bed, deeply asleep, a basketball resting on the pillow next to him, a teddy bear clutched in his arms. He was making a loud, childish noise: SNORE SNORE. The sight, while ridiculous, was a reminder of his absolute innocence—and his vulnerability. He was the key to understanding the full extent of the conspiracy, and maybe, just maybe, the key to my survival.
I curled up on the edge of his bed, using the faint sound of his snoring to mask my own breathing. I needed to wait, to watch. I needed to see how the imposter parents and the housekeeper—a new, unknown threat—interacted.
My mind raced through the terrible facts: the dead father, the missing driver, the insurance scam, and the plot to sell me. I was preparing to be an actress at breakfast, a calm, obedient girl, while secretly searching for my freedom.
A sudden sound made my body instantly tense.
STIR
Junseo shifted in his sleep, his small body turning away from me. His eyes remained shut, but the movement was enough to remind me that I was taking a massive risk by being here. He could wake up, he could ask why I was there, and the slightest slip would alert the whole house.
I held my breath, watching him. He was merely settling deeper into his pillow. But the close call cemented my next thought: I had to move from gathering information to actively securing my escape. The time for waiting was over.
The morning has started, and you are trapped in the house with the conspirators. You still need to find a communication device. Where do you think the best place to find a secret or accessible phone would be, given that the 'parents' would keep their personal phones secure?
The Den/Office: High-risk, high-reward for finding a hidden "burner" phone or crucial documents.
The Garage/Mudroom: Lower risk, but possibly where a worker or the missing Mr. Kang's old phone might be stashed.
I lay on the edge of Junseo's bed, waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right noise, the right distraction to slip out and search the house. I had positioned myself to look asleep, my eyes closed, my breathing measured, but my mind was screamingly awake, rehearsing my next move.
Then, the sudden movement.
SIT
Junseo sat up. I felt the slight shift in the mattress and kept my eyes firmly closed, my body rigid with dread. Had he sensed my terror? Had he woken up and realized I wasn't just my usual, irritated self?
A moment later, I felt him look at me. I could sense his gaze—innocent, searching. I focused on maintaining the illusion of sleep.
"She's still here..." I heard him whisper.
My muscles twitched, but I held still. He was talking about me.
"She never left my side..."
The words were full of such genuine, misplaced affection that my resolve almost broke. He believed I was a loving sister, watching over him in his feigned sickness. He believed the world was as simple and kind as the stories his real father and Mr. Kang had taught him. He believed a lie.
I felt him lean closer, and I instinctively hardened my face against any flicker of emotion.
"Oh my gosh..." he sighed, a sound of perfect, childlike wonder. "My little sister is an angel!"
He was so utterly blind to the truth. To him, I was a comfort, a permanent fixture. He was the one link to the life they had stolen, the innocent witness to the entire crime. I realized that my survival was intertwined with his existence; they wouldn't easily discard their real family member.
He reached out a hand, and I felt the gentle warmth of his fingers brush against mine. I curled my hand slightly, just enough to mimic an unconscious hold, creating the tableau of two siblings sleeping soundly. We were holding hands.
I waited until his breathing slowed, until I was absolutely certain he had fallen back to sleep. I looked at the dark room, and my eye, fully open now, stared into the blackness. The innocence of this moment, this quiet gesture of connection, was the most dangerous weapon in the house. It was what they were trying to destroy in me, and what I had to use to protect myself. I had to exploit his trust, not betray it, by escaping and exposing the people who had victimized us both.
I was his angel, and angels fight to survive.
The brief moment of connection with Junseo reinforced that he is a vital piece of the puzzle and cannot be left behind. Now, with the conspirators awake downstairs, the lower-risk option is necessary.
Which option should "I" pursue now?
The Garage/Mudroom Search: Look for an old phone or evidence belonging to the missing driver, Mr. Kang, who taught Junseo basketball. This is a low-traffic area, increasing the chances of finding a burner phone or old papers.
The Direct Confrontation: Try to sneak into the "parents'" bedroom to search for high-value documents, risking immediate discovery and violence.
The warmth of Junseo's hand had faded, replaced by the chilling necessity of action. I slipped out of his room, smoothing the wrinkles from my nightgown and pasting a neutral, slightly sleepy expression on my face.
The cuckoo clock on the landing chimed, marking the morning hour.
KNOCK KNOCK
This time it was the man's voice, the imposter. "ARE YOU UP, JUNSEO? COME DOWNSTAIRS FOR BREAKFAST!"
Junseo's voice, bright and innocent, answered instantly, "O-OKAY! I'M COMING!"
I quickly headed downstairs, catching the scent of frying food. I entered the kitchen to find the woman I called Mom—the conspirator—standing at the counter, her back to me, wearing an apron over her clothes. She didn't look up. The 'father' was at the table.
I adopted the persona of the dutiful, quiet 'daughter.' I volunteered to help set the table, moving slowly but deliberately. The fear was a cold knot in my stomach, but I used it to sharpen my focus. I had to create a distraction, a brief moment of access to a low-risk area.
The woman pointed to a tray of food she had just finished preparing. "Aww, that's very sweet of you! Thank you for helping me out." She stepped back from the counter, preoccupied with adjusting her clothing.
This was my chance. I picked up the tray of sliced meat and vegetables, forcing myself to look normal.
"I'll take Junseo to the clinic," the man said, standing up. He wore clothes that suggested they were leaving the house soon. My chance to escape with evidence was closing fast.
I stood there, holding the tray, trying to appear attentive. "Just bring that up to your mother, okay?" he added, referring to a bag he held.
The whole scenario was a tightly controlled, ordinary morning that masked extraordinary evil.
The Low-Risk Target
I knew I wouldn't find the phone from my dream on the breakfast table. The dream phone—ringing near my injured body, showing JUNSEO on the screen—was a piece of hidden evidence. It wasn't the imposter's phone.
As I carried the tray to the table, my eyes scanned the kitchen. I realized the one place they might overlook, the one place a driver (Mr. Kang) would have stashed a work phone, or where an injured father might have dropped a disposable item, was not the clean, high-traffic kitchen, but the mudroom/utility area that connected to the garage.
The Garage/Mudroom Search was my safest bet. The conspirators were distracted by Junseo and breakfast. The mudroom was low-traffic and often held forgotten things. A single phone vibrating under a forgotten boot or box—just like in the dream—would be my ticket out.
I set the tray down and spoke up, adopting a slightly bored tone. "I'll go get my jacket. I want to see if Junseo is really sick or just trying to skip school again." This gave me a plausible reason to move away from the table.
I turned and moved quickly, not toward the stairs, but toward the back of the house, where the kitchen connected to the laundry room and garage. My heart pounded the final count: one minute to find the phone, or one minute to find a viable escape route. The dream, the blood, the ringing phone—it all started here.
I stepped out of the utility room, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs. I hadn't found the phone in the mudroom; the area was surprisingly clean. My best bet now was to use the current situation—the planned clinic visit—to my advantage. I had to look like the perfect, obedient 'daughter.'
I walked back to the kitchen, putting on a bright, utterly false smile.
"I'll take Junseo to the clinic," I announced, keeping my voice light and helpful. I grabbed the tray of food and offered it to the 'mother.' "She'll be so happy that her adorable little girl brought her something to eat!"
My acting was flawless. The 'mother' smiled, pleased with my attention, though her eyes were still tight with the worry I knew was about the insurance money, not her 'son.' I placed the food down.
Junseo, dressed and ready, looked at me with genuine distress. "Can I stay home? I feel okay, I swear! I want to play with [my name]!"
"We can't have that," the imposter 'father' interjected sharply, pulling his surgical mask up over his mouth. He looked over Junseo's head at me. "Remember how bad your cold got last summer? We can't have that happen this year! Come on, let's go."
He took Junseo's hand and began to lead him toward the front door.
I was trapped. I couldn't search the house with them gone, and I couldn't risk staying behind. I had to make my move now, while they were distracted by Junseo.
"Okay! I'll see you later, [my name]," Junseo called out, turning back to wave and giving me a thumbs-up. "I'll be home soon!"
I forced the smile wider. "Okay! See you soon!"
The moment the door closed behind them, the smile vanished. My face was cold, blank. The house was suddenly empty, silent, and mine. The "mother" was busy eating the food I brought her, distracted by the brief feeling of normalcy and her own greedy thoughts.
I sprinted back into the mudroom, ignoring the low-risk search and going straight for the highest-risk area I knew they would have. The "father's" office.
The Final Search
I raced up the stairs. The 'parents' bedroom was large and contained an attached office. I quietly tried the knob—unlocked. Fools.
I bypassed the messy bed and went straight for the desk. I needed the phone. The real phone. The one that was ringing in my nightmare, the one that showed the name JUNSEO.
I began tearing through the drawers, my movements silent and frantic. I found bank statements, insurance papers bearing the dead man's name, and a second, older phone tucked under a stack of receipts. It wasn't ringing now, but it was switched on.
I snatched it up. It wasn't the exact phone from the dream, but it was a secret. I quickly scrolled through the recent contacts. The last outbound call was to a number labeled "MR. KANG - DRIVER."
I was interrupted by a sound: the muffled clatter of dishes from downstairs. The 'mother' was done eating. Time was up.
I shoved the phone into my pocket, along with the insurance papers, and ran to the window. The imposter and Junseo were already a block away, heading toward the main road.
I had the evidence. Now, I needed to run. I opened the window, climbed onto the sill, and dropped silently to the soft grass below. I ran toward the woods behind the house, toward freedom, clutching the phone and the picture of Junseo's real family.
You have the phone and the photo. Your first priority is to get to a public place and call for help. Should you try to call the police immediately using the discovered phone, or look for the missing Mr. Kang's number in the contacts?
I dropped silently from the window, the cold morning air hitting my skin. I didn't run towards the woods, not yet. I couldn't risk leaving until I knew for sure. I needed to act on the one thing I was certain of: the 'mother' was still inside.
The time for cautious escape was over. I had a phone, but calling the police would take time I didn't have, and without my own identity, my story would sound like madness. I had to use the one leverage I knew the imposters valued: their fear of being exposed.
I turned back to the house, adrenaline surging. I was no longer the sleepy, annoyed sister; I was a girl with nothing left to lose.
I vaulted back onto the window sill, slipped back into the office, and moved to the door. The 'mother' was still downstairs.
I took a breath, letting the false smile from my breakfast performance SLIDE away, replaced by a cold, empty stare. I reached the landing.
KNOCK KNOCK
I didn't wait for a response at the master bedroom door. The moment was now. The memory of her voice—"She's a sharp one... just shut up and make sure she doesn't catch on"—fueled my defiance.
I twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
"I'M COMING IN."
I stepped into the dimly lit room. The 'mother' had just come up from downstairs, startled. She looked at me, her face contorting into a mask of rage and panic.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" she shrieked, instantly abandoning her kind façade. "WHO TOLD YOU YOU COULD—"
I cut her off, my voice steady, betraying none of the terror that was shaking my core. I held up the phone I had taken, the one with MR. KANG - DRIVER in the contacts, and, more importantly, the insurance papers detailing the dead man's payout.
"I heard you," I stated simply. "I know about the money. I know about the market. And I know about Mr. Kang."
Her face went utterly white. The image of the girl who was only supposed to be kept around until the insurance payout was now holding the very proof of their plot.
"You are not my mother," I finished, my voice echoing the final, devastating betrayal. "And you are not taking me anywhere."
The house was silent, save for the frantic pounding of my heart. The game was over. The only question now was who would make the next move.
The confrontation has begun. The 'mother' is panicked. What is the most immediate action "I" should take to protect herself now that she has revealed her knowledge?
Run: Sprint out of the house immediately, dialing the police on the stolen phone while running.
Negotiate: Use the evidence to force the 'mother' to give her money and a safe ride out, under threat of contacting the police or Mr. Kang.
The 'mother's' panic-stricken face was the last confirmation I needed. My move had been reckless, but effective. Now, I needed to survive the aftermath. Negotiating was a death sentence; she would smile, agree, and then stab me in the back the moment the imposter 'father' returned.
I had to run, now.
I didn't waste a second. Her shriek of rage was still echoing when I pivoted and slammed the master bedroom door shut, twisting the lock with a desperate snap of my wrist.
"Don't move!" I yelled through the door, my voice cracking but firm. I held the phone tight. "I have the papers! I have the phone! If you come out, I'm calling the police and Mr. Kang!"
The silence from the other side was terrifying. She knew I wasn't bluffing. But I couldn't stay. The lock wouldn't hold for long against an adult in a panic.
I bolted across the landing, taking the stairs two at a time. I gripped the stolen phone, frantically punching the emergency number—the police. I wouldn't call Mr. Kang until I was safe.
As I flew down the steps, my mind flashed back to the horrific dream, the BZZZ BZZZ of the phone, the blood on the floor, my own injured body. That was not a warning of what would happen inside the house, it was a warning of what would happen if I didn't run.
I reached the front door, fumbling with the heavy deadbolt. I didn't dare go back to the window; it was too slow.
The door swung open, and I tumbled out into the bright, deceptively peaceful morning. My bare feet hit the cold driveway gravel.
I kept running, pushing the phone hard against my ear, listening to the rings connecting me to the police. I didn't look back at the house, only forward, toward the main road where the imposter had taken Junseo. I had to find a crowd, a safe space, before they realized I was gone.
"Hello, my name is—" I gasped into the phone, clutching the insurance papers and the family photo deep in my pocket. "I need help. I'm being held captive and my parents are trying to sell me. They've stolen an identity and committed insurance fraud!"
I was running, telling my terrifying truth to a stranger, hoping that this small, stolen phone and my desperate words would be enough to bring down the whole conspiracy and save Junseo before they realized he was the key to my escape.
The line is connecting. What is the immediate, life-threatening danger "I" faces next?
The 'Mother's' Pursuit: The 'mother' has broken down the door and is coming after 'I' to retrieve the evidence and silence her.
The Imposter's Return: The 'father' and Junseo, having only gone to the clinic, are on their way back, and will spot 'I' running down the street.
I was already halfway down the driveway, barefoot and running, screaming into the stolen phone, "I need help! They're going to sell me! Address: [The address of the house]—"
The back of my neck prickled. The terrifying instinct that had kept me alive flared, and I glanced over my shoulder.
It wasn't the 'mother' tearing out of the front door, though the bedroom window upstairs was now wide open.
It was the black sedan.
The imposter 'father,' having dropped Junseo off or realizing something was wrong, was driving back up the street. He turned the corner onto our quiet, isolated road, and I knew—with a paralyzing, sickening certainty—that he saw me. A small, desperate figure in a nightgown, running away from his house, a phone pressed to her ear.
He slammed on the brakes. The tires squealed, and the engine roared back to life as he mashed the accelerator, turning the car into a weapon pointed directly at me.
I broke into a terrified sprint, vaulting over a flower bed and cutting across the lawn of the neighbor's house. I spoke quickly, desperately, into the phone: "He's coming back! He's in a black sedan! I need the police now!"
I didn't hear the operator's response. I was focused only on the sound of the engine, the growing roar that eclipsed everything else. The imposter was abandoning the pretense of a clinic visit, abandoning Junseo. He was coming for me, to retrieve the evidence and silence the witness.
I reached the woods, a dense tangle of trees and undergrowth at the edge of the manicured lawn. The stolen phone was still connected.
I plunged into the brush, ignoring the cuts and scrapes on my feet and legs. The air was colder here, smelling of damp earth and rotting leaves.
CRASH!
I heard the terrible sound of the sedan hitting the embankment where I had just been running. He hadn't stopped. He had driven the car right onto the grass, trying to cut me off, and now he was out of the car. I could hear his heavy, furious footsteps pounding through the quiet morning.
"AJIN!" he roared. Not the gentle voice of a concerned parent, but the raw, terrifying shout of a killer. He was using the name from my dream.
I scrambled further into the woods, knowing I couldn't outrun him in a straight line. I had to ditch the phone. It was my lifeline, but it also told him exactly where I was.
I changed the settings on the stolen phone to record audio, jammed it between the roots of a giant oak tree, and pushed my body deeper into the undergrowth. I had given the police the address, the situation, and now I was giving them the sound of his pursuit.
The picture of Junseo's real family and the insurance papers—that was the evidence they couldn't deny. I clutched them to my chest.
I crawled through the thicket, my heart feeling like a drum against the earth, until I could just glimpse the clearing behind me.
He burst through the trees, breathing heavily, his eyes wild. He didn't see me. He was looking higher, scanning the trees.
I held my breath, hiding in the dark, damp underbrush, waiting for the sound of sirens, or the terrifying silence of discovery.
The initial confrontation failed, but 'I' has escaped, placed a call, and left an audio trail. The imposter is now looking for her. What is the most immediate, life-threatening danger "I" faces next?
Imposter finds the phone: The imposter discovers the stolen, recording phone, realizing 'I' has called the police and will use the contact list to target Mr. Kang.
Junseo is endangered: The 'mother' panics, retrieves Junseo from the clinic herself, and uses him as bait to draw 'I' back to the house.
The imposter's roar of "AJIN!" from the woods faded, and I held my breath, hidden in the brush. I was safe for the moment, the stolen phone recording his desperate movements. But the immediate, life-threatening danger was not the man in the woods; it was the woman still in the house, the woman who had Junseo as her leverage.
My mind raced through the sequence of events. I had burst into the room, threatening to call the police and Mr. Kang, and brandishing the insurance papers. I had accused her of being a traitor. Now, the 'mother' knew I had exposed the entire plan. Her first, most visceral reaction, would be to secure the one person she truly cared about—the source of her financial security: Junseo.
The Desperate Call
I heard a car door slam down the street, followed by the roar of an engine spinning in reverse. It was the black sedan. The imposter was now driving back to the clinic, not to retrieve Junseo, but to get him away from the suddenly dangerous house.
I had to warn Junseo.
I crawled quickly toward the hidden phone, retrieved it, and immediately called the last number: MR. KANG - DRIVER. I had a feeling the police wouldn't arrive in time. The missing driver might be the key to the whole conspiracy.
The line rang once, twice. It was picked up.
"Hello? This is..." A man's voice, guarded and unfamiliar.
"Mr. Kang? It's [my name]! You have to help us! They're coming for Junseo! The man who moved in... he's not Junseo's father. He's one of the conspirators! The 'mother' knows I found the insurance papers, and she's trying to—"
A deafening SMASH! ripped through the quiet of the woods.
I dropped the phone and spun around. The 'mother' was standing on the gravel driveway, framed by the gaping hole where the window of the master bedroom had been. She had smashed her way out. She wasn't running after me; she was sending a clear message: I will destroy everything.
The Final Gambit
She was holding a dark, glass bottle. She wasn't looking at me, but toward the corner where the street turned towards the clinic.
"SAY THAT AGAIN..." she screamed into the quiet neighborhood, her voice raw and terrifying. "WHO TOLD YOU THAT JUNSEO'S DAD MOVED AWAY?!"
She wasn't panicked about me; she was furious about her own lie. I realized Junseo had told her everything I asked him, completely unaware of the danger. The 'mother' thought Junseo was sick last night and upset, missing his real dad, and had simply confessed our conversation to her.
I, the girl who was supposed to be kept around until the insurance payout, had just used Junseo's innocence to expose the entire plot. And she knew it.
I scrambled back to the stolen phone. The police operator was on the line, but the line to Mr. Kang was still open. I didn't have time for a full explanation.
"They're after Junseo! He's at the clinic on Maple Street!" I shouted into the mic, praying Mr. Kang was still listening. Then, I spoke to the police operator: "I'm sending you the address! Send help now! They're going to use Junseo as bait!"
I hung up, the recording still running, and began running in the opposite direction of the house, toward the main road where I could flag down any car. I had set a chain reaction in motion. Now, all I could do was run and hope my evidence was enough to save us both.
The situation is critical: the imposter 'father' is heading for Junseo, the 'mother' is destroying evidence and pursuing 'I', and the police and Mr. Kang may or may not be on the way. What is the most desperate, dangerous action 'I' must take next to ensure Junseo's safety?
Intercept the Car: Try to run and cut off the imposter's car on the main road to physically warn Junseo.
Go to the Police Station: Use the main road to find a public location (like a store or gas station) to fully explain the case and provide the physical evidence.