(Rescuer pov)
The frantic rhythm of the hospital room hammered against my skull. It was a cacophony of panicked voices and shrill monitors. "BEEEEP. BEEEEEP."
"He doesn't have a pulse! Patient is unresponsive!" A shout cut through the noise.
"Start chest compressions! Switch off in two minutes! Administer one milligram of epinephrine every four minutes!"
Two minutes. Already the clock was ticking against this man's life.
"It's been two minutes! Analyzing the rhythm!"
The monitor screen was a blinding flash of fluorescent green, a terrifying wave pattern scrolling across it. "BEEP BEEP BEEP. Looks like it's V-Tach! Pulse check!"
"Patient still doesn't have a pulse! He's in pulseless VT! Charge defibrillator at 150 joules!"
My own chest felt tight, an involuntary reaction to the drama unfolding before me.
"Charging at 150 joules! Administering shock! EVERYBODY STAND CLEAR!"
A moment of charged silence, then the heavy thud of the paddles.
"One, two, three… …CLEAR!"
Did it work? Did I get him back?
Waking Up
A soft, grayish light filled the room, filtered through drawn curtains. I stared out the window at the silhouette of cherry blossoms against the pale sky—a stark contrast to the dark medical drama that had just transpired.
Then, a small sound.
"THWUP."
I closed the book I'd been pretending to read and looked over at the bed. The man, Mr. Yun, was looking back, his eyes slowly focusing. Relief, sharp and sudden, coursed through me.
"You're finally awake, Mr. Yun…" My voice came out low and a little rough. "I was afraid you'd never wake up."
I straightened up, feeling the weight of the moment lift slightly. "I'll go let your mother and the doctor know you're conscious. I'll be right back."
I took a step toward the door, then stopped. There was something I needed to say, an awkward, unsolicited confession. I turned to look at him, still lying there, his face pale against the pillows.
"Listen, I just wanted to say… I hope you don't resent me for saving your life."
He blinked slowly. I saw the question in his eyes and felt the need to clarify.
"I didn't do it because I wanted to…" The words tumbled out, a strange mix of apology and self-defense. "Sometimes, my intuition as a journalist… makes me nosy even when I'm not trying to be."
I paused, waiting for some reaction, but he remained silent.
"I didn't want to be put in this position either, so let's call it even." I finished, a slightly forced smile on my face, and without waiting for a reply, I turned and quietly left the room.
The shift in atmosphere works because the frantic energy of the resuscitation scene makes the subsequent silence of the hospital room feel deeply significant. The contrast highlights the raw humanity of the aftermath, setting a perfect tone for the complex relationship that is now beginning between "I" (the rescuer) and Mr. Yun (the saved).
The silence that descended after the defibrillator shock was deafening, eventually broken by a quiet, steady rhythm on the monitor. He was back. "...CLEAR!"
It felt like forever before he finally stirred, his eyes fluttering open against the soft afternoon light filtering past the curtains. The room, once a chaotic medical theater, was now just a beige hospital room, serene and almost dull.
"THWUP." I closed the book I'd been holding—a prop, really.
"You're finally awake, Mr. Yun…" I kept my voice measured, swallowing the sharp relief that threatened to break it. "I was afraid you'd never wake up."
I stood up, needing to escape the intense atmosphere. "I'll go let your mother and the doctor know you're conscious. I'll be right back."
But I couldn't just leave. There was a knot of self-consciousness I needed to untangle, a confession I had to make so that he understood my presence here. I turned back.
"Listen, I just wanted to say… I hope you don't resent me for saving your life."
He looked confused. My words sounded ridiculous, even to me.
"I didn't do it because I wanted to…" I explained, trying to sound casual, though my heart was pounding. "Sometimes, my intuition as a journalist… makes me nosy even when I'm not trying to be. I was just there, I heard the commotion, and I couldn't ignore it."
I watched him closely for a flicker of recognition or anger. "I didn't want to be put in this position either, so let's call it even."
I turned, hearing the slight, almost comical "SQUEAAAK" of the door as it swung open to let in another man—a doctor, perhaps, with an older, kinder face.
"Didn't I tell you…" the doctor said, smiling knowingly, his attention on Mr. Yun. He was the one who finished my thought, my justification:
"…that life isn't exactly a novel where everything goes your way? Anyway, congratulations on making it back to the world of the living, Mr. Yun."
I slipped out, leaving them to their reunion.
Part II: The Long Dream (Mr. Yun's POV)
I opened my eyes and the world swam into a blurry focus—a pale ceiling, a curtain casting a soft golden light. A man was standing there, closing a book. He was the one who had been hovering over me.
His words about saving my life and his journalist's "intuition" didn't immediately register. They felt detached, distant.
Something about Mr. Lim's words felt very surreal to me.
Mr. Lim? Was that his name?
I looked at the man who had just left, the man who had saved me. His voice echoed faintly in my mind: "I didn't do it because I wanted to…"
It simply felt as though… I had woken up from a very long dream. A dream that had been dark and noisy, ending with a sharp, electrical pain. I was back, but I felt neither gratitude nor resentment, only a strange, profound indifference.

A Few Years Later
VROOOOM.
A few years later, the indifferent feeling had hardened into a kind of determined focus. I gripped the steering wheel of my car, navigating the multi-lane highway, the engine a steady hum beneath me.
"Yes, Mother. I'm driving right now. What is it?"
My mother's voice crackled through the Bluetooth speaker, sharp as always, cutting right to the chase.
"Where did you find that piece of work? I'm talking about Seonghee Shim, your high school alumni."
I sighed, adjusting my grip on the wheel. Even a miracle recovery couldn't outrun the dramas of family and a complicated past. The world of the living was just as messy and demanding as ever.
The kind words of the old man—Mr. Lim, the doctor, or maybe a concerned friend—echoed in my memory: "Life isn't exactly a novel where everything goes your way. Anyway, congratulations on making it back to the world of the living, Mr. Yun."
Something about Mr. Lim's words felt very surreal to me.
The whole episode—the darkness, the beeping, the sudden awakening to the rescuer's awkward confession—it simply felt as though I had woken up from a very long dream. I was back in the waking world, but it felt hollow.
Then, the true weight of my reality settled back upon me. Ajin is gone... and all I can do now is... try to face my wrongdoings in whatever ways I can.
I was done. I'm done trying to escape this reality with death. Once was enough. The choice to live, or at least to be alive, had been made for me, and I would honor it by facing what I had done.
Part II: The Burden of the Past (Junseo's POV)
A few years later.
The highway asphalt blurred beneath my tires. The engine noise, VROOOOM, was a steady counterpoint to the insistent voice in my ear.
"Yes, Mother. I'm driving right now. What is it?" I spoke into the hands-free device, trying to keep my focus on the traffic.
"Where did you find that piece of work? I'm talking about Seonghee Shim, your high school alumni."
The abrupt change in subject and the sharp tone immediately put me on edge. I had foreseen this confrontation.
"I hired her as a golf caddy at our resort, just as you asked, but there's been a lot of issues with her already," my mother's associate reported, his voice tight with disapproval. "Wasn't she fired at her last job at the mall for physically assaulting a customer? What is wrong with her?"
I sighed, adjusting the earpiece. "She's going through a lot right now, juggling work and looking after a sick parent at home. Please don't be too angry, and go easy on her."
"Does she have something on you, Junseo…?" My mother's voice returned, laced with suspicion.
"It's not like that…" I forced myself to remain calm. "…and no. If anything, I'm the one who hurt her in the past. So please don't say anything and be nice to her."
The old, familiar irritation entered her voice. "I just don't understand how you didn't take after me at all… I'm at an age where even sitting around doing nothing is tiring. I don't need more things to worry about."
I didn't press the matter. My relationship with my mother was one of permanent tension.
I changed the subject to business. "Oh, Mother, about that favor I asked you for… how did that go?"
"You mean the angel investment, right?"
"Yes."
"I sold a part of your resort shares and gave Mr. Heo the proceeds."
"His name is Inmo Heo, right? I don't know the fashion industry that well, but he seems decisive and clever. I think he'll do very well for himself." I watched the road sign: KM PENITENTIARY. I was nearing my destination.
My mother's colleague chimed in, "Inmo Heo donated everything he inherited from Inkang to non-profit organizations. In an interview, he stated, 'I won't make money off my brother's death,' and I greatly admired him for it."
"I think he'll go far as well. His brand is already gaining some recognition overseas. You should consider investing in him too, before you regret it."
A sharp, professional instinct flickered. I wondered if Inmo Heo was a connection I should cultivate.
"Oh, how are you feeling these days…?" my mother's colleague asked, a sudden shift in tone.
"I'm about the same. You know how upright Dr. Jeon is." The response was a veiled comment about my ongoing treatment.
I pulled off the highway and headed toward the prison gates, leaving behind the complicated family drama and the memories of the resort. My penance, my future, and perhaps an answer to my past, lay straight ahead.
The plot is thickening with mentions of Seonghee Shim, Inmo Heo, and a trip to a penitentiary. What do you think Junseo's history with Seonghee Shim might be?
The car conversation with my mother and her associate was draining. The familiar complaints about my absence at home and my health were a constant pressure.
"I know you're busy… but are you sure you don't have time to come visit more often? You don't even come home unless it's for your father's yearly memorial."
"I'll come by soon…" I murmured, glancing at the prison sign that flashed past the window: KM PENITENTIARY. I was almost there.
"You know how important it is to take care of your body, especially after a transplant," the colleague pressed.
I felt a genuine pang of loss, even if I tried to hide it. "I feel upset just thinking about the fact that I'll never have another sip of alcohol for the rest of my life."
"You should quit drinking too, and take care of your health while you're still young."
I shook my head, though they couldn't see it. "I don't even drink that much outside of an occasional glass here and there. Plus, I'm too busy to drink these days."
My mother's associate persisted, "Oh, how are you feeling these days…?"
"I'm about the same. You know how upright Dr. Jeon is." The constant check-ups and restrictive regime were tedious, but necessary.
I needed to end the call. "THUD." My hand hit the steering wheel as I shifted into park near the gates. "Mother, I'll have to call you back at another time. I've got to go take care of something."
I disconnected the call and stepped out of the car. The imposing, gray walls of the KM Penitentiary loomed over me, a silent witness to regret and consequence.
Part II: The Confessional
A short time later, I was sitting across a partitioned table from the man I'd come to see: Mr. Choi. He wore the standard-issue penitentiary uniform, looking tired and hardened. A heavy sigh escaped him. "SIGH."
"I thought I made myself clear when I asked you not to come visit me again. Why do you keep coming back?" Mr. Choi asked, his voice flat with exhaustion.
I leaned forward, trying to keep my voice low and earnest. "You're being released soon, aren't you? I was wondering if you had a plan for when you get out."
I had thought about this. I'd done the research. "You should open up your cafe again. I looked into the building where your old cafe used to be, but it might be hard to lease the same unit—"
He cut me off, a bitter laugh dying in his throat. "Who's going to come to a cafe run by a murderer?"
The word hung in the air between us, heavy and damning.
"I'm not planning on opening any businesses. I'd rather do something else," he said, looking away.
I met his gaze, my tone shifting from offering help to offering justice. "Mr. Choi… I know the plug was pulled on the documentary…"
My words hung on the edge of a great risk. I had to make him understand that I wasn't just here to offer him a lease; I was here to offer him the truth.
"But I plan on telling the world that you're innocent, and were falsely implicated in…"
I let the sentence trail off, knowing he understood the implication. This was the real reason I had returned to the world of the living, the reason I kept coming back to this prison: to face my past and fix the terrible wrong that had been done.
The emergency room was a storm of noise and adrenaline. "BEEEEP. BEEEEEP." I stood at the edge of the chaos, a journalistic impulse forcing me to document, even as my core being wanted to retreat.
"He doesn't have a pulse! Patient is unresponsive!"
"Start chest compressions! Switch off in two minutes! Administer one milligram of epinephrine every four minutes!"
Two minutes. A lifetime in that small room.
"It's been two minutes! Analyzing the rhythm!" The monitor display pulsed with an alarming green spike. "BEEP BEEP BEEP. Looks like it's V-Tach! Pulse check! Patient still doesn't have a pulse! He's in pulseless VT! Charge defib at 150 joules!"
A technician grabbed the paddles. "Charging at 150 joules! Administering shock! EVERYBODY STAND CLEAR!"
A heavy silence followed the command. "One, two, three… …CLEAR!" The sound of the electric jolt was sickening.
The monitors stabilized, settling into a steady beat. We had pulled Mr. Yun back from the edge.
Part II: The Confession of the Saver
The next time I saw him, the light was soft, filtered through drawn curtains, casting shadows of cherry blossoms on the pale wall. "THWUP." I closed my book as he blinked awake.
"You're finally awake, Mr. Yun…" I said, my voice heavy with relief and complication. "I was afraid you'd never wake up."
"I'll go let your mother and the doctor know you're conscious. I'll be right back." I walked toward the door, then stopped, compelled to get my unsettling burden off my chest.
"Listen, I just wanted to say… I hope you don't resent me for saving your life. I didn't do it because I wanted to… Sometimes, my intuition as a journalist… makes me nosy even when I'm not trying to be."
I gave him a slight, awkward smile. "I didn't want to be put in this position either, so let's call it even."
The door creaked, "SQUEAAAK," as a doctor entered, his voice warm. "Didn't I tell you… that life isn't exactly a novel where everything goes your way? Anyway, congratulations on making it back to the world of the living, Mr. Yun."
I slipped out, already feeling the next chapter of my life demanding my attention.
Part III: The Confession of the Condemned
A few years later.
The atmosphere in the prison visiting room was heavy, the glass partition reflecting the sickly fluorescent light. I looked across at Mr. Choi, who looked older, defeated.
"SIGH." He leaned back in his chair. "I thought I made myself clear when I asked you not to come visit me again. Why do you keep coming back?"
"You're being released soon, aren't you? I was wondering if you had a plan for when you get out. You should open up your cafe again," I offered, trying to sound practical. "I looked into the building where your old cafe used to be, but it might be hard to lease the same unit—"
He cut me off with a sharp, incredulous look. "Who's going to come to a cafe run by a murderer? I'm not planning on opening any businesses. I'd rather do something else."
"Mr. Choi…" I began, my voice earnest, "I know the plug was pulled on the documentary… But I plan on telling the world that you're innocent, and was falsely implicated in murder."
He stared at me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "And how do you plan on doing that…?"
I took a deep breath. This was my moment. "I mentioned that I'm a writer during my last visit. After the documentary aired… my book, Partners in Crime, started selling out because people figured out that it was based on the true story of Ajin and I. Thanks to that, I became a best-selling author."
I allowed a flicker of my new-found confidence to show. "Did you really just come here to show off…? The sequel to my first book is set to release soon. This book is also based on us, but this time, you're in it as well. I didn't get your approval to publish your real name, so I had to make do with your initials. I think the book will sell well, as you know, I'm a famous author now. I'm going to do a meet and greet on its release date, and say yes to as many interviews as I can. The book will be heavily marketed so that it can reach as many people as possible."
His face was a mask of cold fury. "Listen, no matter what you do, the fact that I hit someone with a baseball bat doesn't change."
"But it was an accident," I countered, desperate to shift the narrative. "It was an unexpected turn of events, sure…"
Mr. Choi leaned forward, his voice a low, terrifying confession. "But in the short time it took to swing that bat, I thought to myself that I should aim for his head. Because the head is the most vital spot. I swung, thinking I could die if I don't go for his head to ensure he's incapacitated. He died from a fractured skull because of the choice I made. It doesn't matter who killed him. The most important thing is that his death is largely my fault. That's why I'm in here. I'm here to reflect on my wrongdoing and my ignorance."
He pushed himself up from the chair, ending the visit abruptly.
"But after I'm released, I'm going to go out there and live my life… without your help. So don't ever come here again." He turned, his final words echoing with defiance. "I'll be declining your visits, even if you come by to see me."
I sat alone, staring at the empty chair. He was rejecting my help, my justice, and my chance at atonement. But I was a famous author now, and I had a book to promote. The truth, written in bold type, was about to be released into the world, whether he liked it or not.
The chaos of the hospital room faded into a ringing silence, punctuated only by the steady BEEEEP BEEP BEEP of the monitor. "He's in pulseless VT! Charge defib at 150 joules!" After the shocking sound of the paddles, the word "...CLEAR!" signaled a victory snatched from death.
A soft, golden light filtered into the room sometime later, illuminating the man in the bed, Mr. Yun, as he stirred.
"THWUP." I closed the book I'd been holding, my heart easing. "You're finally awake, Mr. Yun… I was afraid you'd never wake up."
As I prepared to leave, I felt compelled to confess the uncomfortable truth of my presence. I turned back.
"Listen, I just wanted to say… I hope you don't resent me for saving your life. I didn't do it because I wanted to… Sometimes, my intuition as a journalist... makes me nosy even when I'm not trying to be." I tried a strained smile. "I didn't want to be put in this position either, so let's call it even."
The door gave a soft SQUEAAAK as a doctor entered. "Didn't I tell you… that life isn't exactly a novel where everything goes your way? Anyway, congratulations on making it back to the world of the living, Mr. Yun."
For Mr. Yun, my words and the doctor's felt surreal. Something about Mr. Lim's words felt very surreal to me. It simply felt as though… I had woken up from a very long dream. He was alive, but the world was still broken: Ajin is gone… and all I can do now is… try to face my wrongdoings in whatever ways I can. He had his own penance. I'm done trying to escape this reality with death. Once was enough.
Chapter 2: A Famous Author's Penance
A few years later.
VROOOOM. The sound of my car engine was a dull roar on the highway, a soundtrack to my perpetually complicated life. I answered the insistent Bluetooth call. "Yes, Mother. I'm driving right now. What is it?"
"Where did you find that piece of work? I'm talking about Seonghee Shim, your high school alumni." My mother's voice was sharp with disapproval.
"I hired her as a golf caddy at our resort, just as you asked, but there's been a lot of issues with her already," her associate reported. "Wasn't she fired at her last job at the mall for physically assaulting a customer? What is wrong with her?"
"She's going through a lot right now, juggling work and looking after a sick parent at home. Please don't be too angry, and go easy on her." I knew the truth was heavier.
"Does she have something on you, Junseo…?" my mother asked.
"It's not like that… and no. If anything, I'm the one who hurt her in the past. So please don't say anything and be nice to her." I heard her usual sigh. "I'm at an age where even sitting around doing nothing is tiring. I don't need more things to worry about."
We shifted to business. "Oh, Mother, about that favor I asked you for… how did that go? You mean the angel investment, right?"
"I sold a part of your resort shares and gave Mr. Heo the proceeds."
"His name is Inmo Heo, right? I don't know the fashion industry that well, but he seems decisive and clever. I think he'll do very well for himself." I remembered the news: "Inmo Heo donated everything he inherited from Inkang to non-profit organizations. In an interview, he stated, 'I won't make money off my brother's death,' and I greatly admired him for it. I think he'll go far as well. His brand is already gaining some recognition overseas. You should consider investing in him too, before you regret it."
"Oh, how are you feeling these days…?" the associate asked.
I winced, feeling a flash of the resentment over my restricted life. "I feel upset just thinking about the fact that I'll never have another sip of alcohol for the rest of my life."
"You should quit drinking too, and take care of your health while you're still young. You know how important it is to take care of your body, especially after a transplant."
"I don't even drink that much outside of an occasional glass here and there. Plus, I'm too busy to drink these days. I'm about the same. You know how upright Dr. Jeon is."
"I know you're busy… but are you sure you don't have time to come visit more often? You don't even come home unless it's for your father's yearly memorial."
"I'll come by soon…" I said, pulling up to the large, gray gates. "THUD." My hand hit the steering wheel as I put the car in park. "Mother, I'll have to call you back at another time. I've got to go take care of something."
Chapter 3: The Unforgiven
I was here, across the partition from Mr. Choi at the KM Penitentiary. "SIGH."
"I thought I made myself clear when I asked you not to come visit me again. Why do you keep coming back?" Mr. Choi's voice was weary.
I ignored his rejection and offered him a way out, a path back to a normal life. "You should open up your cafe again. I looked into the building where your old cafe used to be..."
"Who's going to come to a cafe run by a murderer?" he spat. "I'm not planning on opening any businesses. I'd rather do something else."
I decided to play my ace. "Mr. Choi… I know the plug was pulled on the documentary… But I plan on telling the world that you're innocent, and were falsely implicated in murder."
I explained how: "After the documentary aired… my book, Partners in Crime, started selling out because people figured out that it was based on the true story of Ajin and I. Thanks to that, I became a best-selling author." I told him about the sequel, starring him under his initials. "I think the book will sell well, as you know, I'm a famous author now. I'm going to do a meet and greet... The book will be heavily marketed so that it can reach as many people as possible."
He refused to take the bait, refusing the redemption I offered. "Listen, no matter what you do, the fact that I hit someone with a baseball bat doesn't change."
"But it was an accident," I insisted.
Mr. Choi looked me dead in the eye, delivering a crushing blow to my narrative. "It was an unexpected turn of events, sure, but in the short time it took to swing that bat, I thought to myself that I should aim for his head. Because the head is the most vital spot. I swung, thinking I could die if I don't go for his head to ensure he's incapacitated. He died from a fractured skull because of the choice I made. It doesn't matter who killed him. The most important thing is that his death is largely my fault. That's why I'm in here. I'm here to reflect on my wrongdoing and my ignorance. I don't want to waste my time on such pointless things."
He stood up, his verdict chilling. "I don't ever plan on forgiving you or Ajin. If you even have a conscience, you shouldn't expect that kind of thing from me. But after I'm released, I'm going to go out there and live my life… without your help. So don't ever come here again. I'll be declining your visits, even if you come by to see me."
He walked away, leaving me alone with the weight of my manufactured fame.
Chapter 4: The Voice from the Past
Later, in my car, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. BZZZZZ. "Hello, this is Junseo Yun. Who is this?"
"It's been a while. You remember my voice, right? It's me, Jaeo. You still live in Nojung District, right? I'm at a cafe nearby your place. Can we meet? I have something to give you."
My blood ran cold. The realization hit me like a physical shock. No, you couldn't be…
I stared out the window, processing the unexpected return of someone I hadn't seen in years. "Wow, you haven't changed one bit! I recognized you from afar and almost waved at you. What happened…? Did you come back to Korea by yourself? No, we flew back together a few days ago."
BZZZZZ. The phone vibrated fiercely in the cup holder. I'd just left the prison, my mind still reeling from Mr. Choi's final rejection, when the unfamiliar number called.
"Hello, this is Junseo Yun. Who is this?"
The voice that replied was one I hadn't heard in years, yet it hit me with the force of a physical blow.
"It's been a while. You remember my voice, right? It's me, Jaeo. You still live in Nojung District, right? I'm at a café nearby your place. Can we meet? I have something to give you."
My mind raced. Jaeo. Someone from the past I had desperately tried to write—and run—away from.
"No, you couldn't be…" The words were a choked whisper, more to myself than to him. I had convinced myself that this ghost was safely overseas, forever separated from my new, stable life.
"I was with the person who died," Jaeo continued, his voice strangely matter-of-fact. "The police asked us a lot of questions. I was scared to death when I went to the police station for investigation… I didn't want to be involved in a murder case, so I flew abroad to avoid being questioned."
He was confessing his cowardly flight, a stark contrast to the life I was now building on the pretense of seeking justice. He was not alone in his return.
"Wow, you haven't changed one bit!" Another voice, lighter and more familiar, cut in—Ajin's mother. "I recognized you from afar and almost waved at you."
Ajin's mother? What was she doing with him?
"What happened…? Did you come back to Korea by yourself?" she asked Jaeo.
"No, we flew back together a few days ago," Jaeo replied. He was talking about Ajin, or at least, the person who had been Ajin's companion. The conversation was like a train wreck I couldn't look away from.
"Well, I'm waiting at the cafe, so come on over. Oh, wait! Hold on!" Jaeo interrupted himself.
Then, the background noise changed, growing louder. I heard the unmistakable metallic snap of a buckle. "KLIIK!"
"Oh, I have to go now. I'll call you back later!" Jaeo said quickly, ending the call before I could ask a single, coherent question.
I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white. Jaeo was back. Ajin's mother was with him. And they had something to give me.
Chapter 6: The Encounter
It took me twenty minutes to drive from the prison back into the city. I found the café near my old neighborhood, and there he was, sitting at a corner table.
He was waiting. I walked straight up to him and slammed my hand on the table. "SLAM!"
"Don't you dare tell me you came back without a plan!" I hissed, barely controlling my voice. My elaborate campaign to expose the truth about Mr. Choi suddenly felt insignificant, threatened by this blast from the past.
Jaeo looked at me, completely unfazed. "Plan? What plan?" He pulled something out of his pocket—a thick envelope. "I'm just giving you what I promised to give you before I left."
"I told you I don't need it!" I yelled. "I didn't care about the money!"
He pushed the envelope toward me. "It's not money. Just take it."
I snatched the envelope, my eyes falling on the single sheet of paper inside. It was a letter, hastily scribbled. I recognized the handwriting instantly.
"What is this?" My heart was pounding now, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.
"Ajin's final thoughts. He wrote it right after he killed himself. I found it in his pocket."
The world dissolved into the roar of the café noise. Ajin. My friend. The subject of my first book. The reason for my quest for atonement.
"I read the entire thing. It was basically a suicide note—he said he took his own life, but… there were also a bunch of other things written in there that made absolutely no sense to me." Jaeo leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"There was no way I could get rid of it. I had no idea what to do with it, so I kept it. But I'm turning it over to you now. You're a writer. Maybe you can figure out what he meant."
I stared at the paper, the simple act of reading it suddenly terrifying. Everything I believed—my fame, my purpose, my guilt—was based on the known, documented version of events. This note threatened to unravel it all.
"Just read it, Junseo," Jaeo urged, looking bored now that the mystery had been delivered. "Read what your friend had to say."
I stared at the paper Jaeo had given me, Ajin's handwriting a familiar, heartbreaking curve against the cheap paper. The room, the noise, Jaeo's presence—it all blurred. All that mattered was the note, a final, unedited confession.
"I read the entire thing," Jaeo had said. "It was basically a suicide note—he said he took his own life, but… there were also a bunch of other things written in there that made absolutely no sense to me."
My eyes scanned the lines, and with every word, the carefully constructed world I had built over the last few years began to crack.
"Junseo, I'm sorry," Ajin had written. "It's really painful, and I can't take it anymore. So I've decided to end my life."
The opening was a confirmation of the suicide that had been publicly accepted. But then the note shifted, turning into a chilling chronicle of the days leading up to his death, a secret history I had been completely unaware of.
"Do you remember the day Mr. Choi came to the house?"
Of course, I remembered. The day everything fell apart.
"I asked him why he went so far as to sue me, but he simply told me that I was a nuisance to him and his family. I should have told you that day, but I was worried that you'd get upset."
My head swam. Mr. Choi didn't just sue him; he had verbally tormented him. The legal proceedings were just a facade for a deeper, more personal cruelty.
"After that day, I was constantly getting phone calls from someone who knew my address. He said that if I didn't pay him fifty million won, he'd reveal all my wrongdoings to the entire world. And even if I did pay him, he said he'd only keep his mouth shut for a month before extorting me again."
I gripped the paper, my knuckles white. Blackmail. This wasn't just guilt; this was active coercion.
"I don't know why, but my only thought was to escape. I kept telling myself that I could sell the house and pay off the blackmailer, but I was too scared. I eventually ran out of options. I had no idea what to do, so I ended up taking my own life."
Ajin hadn't killed himself out of simple, noble guilt over a past crime. He had been driven to it by an escalating series of terrifying events.
"Is he still doing well?" I asked, my voice a strained whisper, staring at the note. "Does he still live in the same house?"
"Who?" Jaeo asked, taking a sip of his coffee. "You mean the blackmailer? He's doing extremely well."
Jaeo's casual indifference was sickening. He had held onto this truth for years.
"I didn't ask you to come back to Korea," I spat out, slamming the note down again. "Did you come back to reveal Ajin's story to the entire world and ruin my life?" My reputation, built on the tragedy of Partners in Crime, was a house of cards.
Jaeo smirked, finally showing a hint of malice. "What? No. I'm Ajin's childhood friend. I wouldn't do something like that. That's where you got it all wrong. I didn't ask you to write a book about Ajin and I either, did I?"
He looked down at the note, then back at me. "Besides, I'm only giving this to you now because I thought you should know. It's your friend's last wish." He shrugged. "I'm not planning on doing anything to ruin your reputation, but there's only so much I can do for you."
He stood up, looking utterly unconcerned. "I'm going to go now. I'll call you later, Junseo." He paused, then tossed a final, devastating observation over his shoulder. "Just be prepared to deal with the person who wrote that note."
He walked away, leaving me alone with the suicide note. My book, my fame, my quest to free Mr. Choi—it was all a lie built on an incomplete truth. Ajin hadn't just died; he had been hunted. And the real villain was still out there, doing extremely well.
I sat alone at the café table, the noise of the city muffled by the crushing silence in my head. Jaeo's words echoed: "Just be prepared to deal with the person who wrote that note." But Ajin was dead.
I looked back at the note, my gaze catching the last few scribbled lines:
"I also keep seeing… I don't know why, but I keep seeing a child with blood coming out of their eyes."
I frowned, tracing the words with my finger. A child with blood coming out of their eyes? What did that have to do with anything? It sounded like the fevered delusion of a person on the brink.
"Junseo, I'm sorry. I really can't do this anymore. So I'm taking my own life."
The final plea was a punch to the gut. The guilt, the blackmail, the terrifying hallucinations—all of it had driven him over the edge. I leaned back, closing my eyes, the weight of the years of deception pressing down on me. I had based my entire second chance, my bestselling book, and my quest for atonement on a narrative of simple guilt. The truth was far more complex and cruel.
Chapter 9: The Impossible Question
My eyes snapped open as I thought back to a seemingly unrelated moment, a memory from years ago, right after the death.
I remembered finding a stack of money in Ajin's room. "Ajin… I'm returning the money you gave me." I had said, pressing the envelope back into his pocket. "I don't need the money."
But now, the suicide note had mentioned a blackmailer demanding fifty million won.
A cold knot formed in my stomach as the two pieces of information slammed together. "I should have told you that day, but I was worried that you'd get upset." Ajin had hidden the blackmail from me.
I looked again at the part of the note that Jaeo said made no sense: the child with blood-filled eyes. The phrase was so disjointed, so non-literal.
I thought about the night I found Ajin unresponsive in his room. The police had ruled it a suicide, and I, too blinded by my own grief and guilt, had accepted it.
But what if I was wrong?
The note said, "I've decided to end my life."
The note mentioned a blackmailer.
The note mentioned a terrifying hallucination.
Suddenly, an image flashed through my mind: The moment I tried to save Mr. Yun in the hospital. The electric shock. The heart starting. A person coming back from the dead.
A terrifying hypothesis, an illogical, impossible thought, formed in my mind. The pieces of the puzzle weren't fitting a suicide narrative; they were screaming something else entirely.
I slammed my fist onto the table again, this time not in anger, but in stark, petrifying realization. "KABOOM!"
The hallucination, the blackmail, the fact that he was so desperate to escape—it wasn't just about money or guilt. It was about something supernatural, something I had buried.
Ajin wasn't just taking his life. He was trying to get rid of something inside of him.
I grabbed my bag, clutching the suicide note like a lifeline. I had to go back. I had to find the source of the hallucination, the blackmailer, the truth I had only used to fuel my fame. My second book, the sequel, was about to become less a piece of literary atonement and more a desperate, dangerous hunt.
If Ajin's death wasn't just a suicide, then my life—the life saved by a defibrillator—was only the prelude to a far greater nightmare. I had to deal with this. And the first place to look was for that blackmailer, the person doing extremely well who had a reason to drive my friend to despair.
The café was suddenly too small, the air thick with the unspoken gravity of Ajin's final confession. KABOOM! The thought that Ajin might not have simply succumbed to guilt, but that he was trying to exorcise a supernatural parasite, hit me with explosive force.
The child with blood coming out of their eyes. The constant fear. The desperate need to escape. And then, the words in the note that I now understood as a veiled instruction: "deal with the person who wrote that note." Ajin wasn't just referring to himself, the author of the note; he was referring to the Ajin, the thing that I now suspected was inside him, the thing he tried to kill with poison.
I snatched my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. I had to know the identity of the blackmailer, the person doing extremely well. It was the only tangible link to the horror.
"Hello? I need you to find an address for me. It's an old residential area. I need the full details for the man who lives at that house—the blackmailer."
"I... I can't do that, Junseo. The police said the case was closed, a simple suicide."
"The case isn't closed!" I barked into the phone, then forced myself to take a steadying breath. "Look, forget the blackmailer for a second. I need to know the price of a private jet that's big enough to carry four people to another country."
There was a confused silence on the other end. "A private jet? What in the world are you planning to do?"
"I don't have time to explain. Just get me the quote. I need to make a decision now."
I hung up and paced out of the café, the suicide note clutched in my hand. My mind was racing, trying to build a new, horrific framework around the known facts.
If Ajin's soul, or whatever that 'Ajin' entity was, had been trying to escape by killing itself, and I had pulled him back to life in the hospital… what if I hadn't saved him?
I thought of Mr. Yun, the man on the gurney, the man I had pulled back with the defibrillator.
"Looks like it's V-Tach! Patient still doesn't have a pulse!"
What if, when I brought Mr. Yun back, a piece of Ajin, the entity he had tried to kill, transferred into the next nearest empty vessel—Mr. Yun?
The hypothesis was insane, but it explained everything: Ajin's strange hallucination, the fear, the suicide. It explained why I felt so compelled to save Mr. Yun and why he had looked at me with that chilling, empty indifference. Ajin's mother had told me he had a 'transplant'—an obvious euphemism for the thing that now resided inside him.
The phone buzzed, and I answered immediately. "I have the quote. The cheapest private jet that meets your specifications is twenty million won."
Twenty million won. A fraction of the fifty million Ajin was being blackmailed for, but a serious amount of money.
"Send me the details now. I'll authorize the transfer immediately."
I knew what I had to do. Mr. Choi was wrongly imprisoned. My first book was a distorted truth. My fame was a tool. My next book, which was supposed to be a confession and an exposé, was now a dangerous weapon.
I looked at the note one last time, recognizing Ajin's final, desperate attempt to communicate the unspeakable.
I was no longer just a bestselling author seeking penance. I was a man who had accidentally condemned another to carry the same monstrous burden that had destroyed my friend.
I had to use my power, my fame, and my wealth to do what I should have done years ago: get the real Ajin out of the country. And the only way to do that was to offer the afflicted man a new life, far away from the blackmailers and the truth that haunted my past.
The next few days would decide everything. I would publish the book, but I would use the proceeds to buy a life for the man I had cursed. The story wasn't over; it was just becoming truly terrifying.
The price of the jet—twenty million won—meant nothing. I had to get Mr. Yun out of the country before the blackmailer—the man doing extremely well—realized the entity he was hunting had simply found a new host.
I pulled out of the café parking lot, Ajin's suicide note crumpled in my hand, and called Mr. Yun's mother, knowing I had to approach this with the delicate lie of a concerned benefactor.
"Mrs. Yun, it's Junseo. I know this sounds sudden, but I've arranged something for Mr. Yun that will be immensely beneficial for his recovery." I spoke quickly, leaving no room for questions. "I have secured him a spot at a world-class recovery facility in Europe. It's a completely private, luxury center. No media, no stress, just focused care."
"That's… generous, Junseo, but he just woke up. Why the rush?"
"The rush is because the spot is exclusive, and they can only hold it for a few days. I've chartered a private jet. It leaves tomorrow morning." I heard the startled intake of breath on the other end.
"A private jet? What is all this for?"
"Consider it my apology. I was the journalist who caused him so much distress years ago. This is the only way I know how to make amends." I kept my voice steady, hiding the terrifying truth that this was an emergency exorcism, paid for with the proceeds of my false bestseller.
Chapter 12: The Unseen Baggage
The next morning, I stood on the tarmac, the private jet gleaming under the rising sun. A nurse was helping a pale Mr. Yun onto the steps. His mother was beside him, tearful but accepting of the astonishing generosity.
I watched him go, a sense of cold dread mixing with relief. I hadn't looked him in the eye. I couldn't. I was looking for the subtle shift, the unnatural stillness, the demonic glint I now feared resided behind his gaze.
As the plane taxied away, I turned back to my car. The phone rang—it was the contact I'd asked to track down the blackmailer.
"I found him, Junseo. The blackmailer who was harassing Ajin… his name is Hyojae Lee. He runs a small online business now, nothing major. Lives in the old district, same address as Ajin mentioned."
"And the money? The fifty million won?"
"That's the strange part. It looks like he got the money. Fifty million was deposited into his account right after Ajin's death. But the account name? It wasn't Ajin's. It was from a company—a shell corporation registered under the name AJIN, spelled out, not the person, the corporation."
I leaned against the hood of my car, the cold metal grounding me. "I already knew all this, actually," I lied, my mind racing to cover the new ground.
Fifty million won. Deposited after the death. By a corporation named AJIN.
"What about the blackmailer, Hyojae Lee? Do you have a photo?"
"Yeah, I'm sending it now."
The text message arrived with an attachment. I opened the photo.
The man in the picture was smiling, confident. A familiar face, though older and sharper. My blood ran cold. The man who was blackmailing my friend, the one doing extremely well... it wasn't a stranger. It was a face from the past, a face of betrayal.
"He was Ajin's older cousin, the one who lived overseas."
I recognized him. The man in the picture, Hyojae Lee, was a ghost from my own childhood, a piece of the social landscape that Ajin and I had desperately tried to escape.
"Is he still doing well?" I asked the associate, my voice dangerously low. "Does he still live in the same house?"
"Extremely well, Junseo. And yes, he still owns that property."
I stared at the picture of Hyojae Lee, the pieces clicking into place with sickening finality. He hadn't just blackmailed Ajin; he had essentially sold him to the entity. And when Ajin killed himself, Lee took his cut from the very corporation named after the entity.
My phone rang again. A call from Europe. Mr. Yun's mother.
"Junseo, I just landed, but I have a favor to ask. Do you have a small, framed photo of Ajin? He—Mr. Yun—asked for it right before boarding. He said… he wanted to remember the face of his savior."
I hung up, heart pounding. He didn't want a picture of me. He wanted a picture of the face that had given his new life meaning, the face of his old host.
The plane was gone, carrying the terrifying consequence of my "saving" act. The entity was free, and I was now standing on the precipice of a war against a human monster—Hyojae Lee—who had orchestrated it all. My new book, the sequel to Partners in Crime, was no longer about exposing a miscarriage of justice; it was about exposing an unholy crime I had been instrumental in covering up.
What do you think Junseo's next move should be? Confront the blackmailer, Hyojae Lee, or begin writing the true story now that he has all the pieces?
The murmuring crowd pressed in around me. Another book signed, another fan dismissed with a tired smile. I was Y, the author, but that felt like a distant role, a mask I wore for these events. The new novel, "Dear X," was a fiction based on a very real, and very dark, history, and every signature was a renewed weight.
"Next, please," I said, looking up to greet the new person in line. It was a young girl, smiling brightly, clutching my book.
"Hello!" she chirped.
I tried to keep my smile natural. "Hello there. I'm not sure if this book is appropriate for your age. Are you sure you want an autograph?" The subject matter of Dear X was hardly child-friendly.
She just kept smiling. "Could I get your autograph?"
"Oh, it's not for me! It's for my mommy," she explained, holding out the book. "She's a big fan of yours, but was too shy to come get your autograph herself, so I came instead, hehe!"
"Ah, I see! Then should I sign your mother's name right here?" I picked up my pen, a strange, cold flutter starting in my chest. Please. Let her say something common.
"Yes, please!" she nodded enthusiastically.
"What's her name?" I asked, my voice flat, holding my breath.
The girl beamed, leaning close as if sharing a great secret. "My mom's name is Ajin! Ajin Baek!"
The name slammed into me like a physical blow. The world seemed to stop. Ajin Baek. It had been years. Years of trying to forget. Years of rebuilding a life out of the ashes of the one I'd burned down.
Maybe it's a coincidence. It has to be... There's plenty of other people out there named Ajin Baek. I tried to convince myself as I forced my hand to move, the pen scratching the page: SCRIBBLE. SCRIBBLE.
"Here you go," I managed, handing the book back.
"Why'd you stop?" the girl asked innocently, noticing the pause. "My mommy is waiting for me over there so I have to go..."
"Oh, I'm sorry... I'll hurry," I mumbled, my mind racing. I watched her go. I had signed the name. I had seen her face. Was she the same? Did she look like Ajin?
"...This wasn't just a coincidence?" I whispered to myself, the dark thought a poison spreading through my veins.
"Does that mean that that child is--" I couldn't finish the thought. I didn't want to. My child? Ajin and mine?
A sudden, panicked voice broke through my terror. "WHOOOA...! MR. YUN!"
I bolted upright, knocking my chair over. My heart was pounding, the blood roaring in my ears. I knew I had to get out. I had to see her. If that was her child, then she was here. She was near.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" a staff member shouted as I stumbled out from behind the table, pushing through the stunned crowd. The world was a blur, a rush of grey and black. My protector, my shield—the one who had tried to keep me from myself for so long—was the one I needed to see. My eyes scanned the faces, searching for a ghost I'd buried long ago, searching for the mother of the girl with the innocent smile. I pushed forward, frantic, running from the truth and straight into the trap she had set.
The murmuring crowd was a distant hum, a soundtrack to my own slow-motion execution. I was Y, the author, sitting behind a table, signing copies of my newest novel, "Dear X."
"Thank you," I said mechanically to the person leaving. My gaze was already on the next one. "Next, please."
A young girl stepped up, smiling with an utterly unsettling purity. "Hello!" she chirped.
I managed a professional smile. "Hi. I'm not sure if this book is appropriate for your age. Are you sure you want an autograph?"
"Could I get your autograph?" she insisted, holding out the book. "Oh, it's not for me! It's for my mommy. She's a big fan of yours, but was too shy to come get your autograph herself, so I came instead, hehe!"
"Ah, I see! Then should I sign your mother's name right here?" I picked up my pen. This was normal. This was fine.
"Yes, please!" she nodded enthusiastically.
My hand was already hovering over the title page. "What's her name?" I asked, my voice a hollow echo.
The girl leaned in, and the name she spoke was the final nail in my coffin. "My mom's name is Ajin! AJIN BAEK!"
The world went silent. Ajin Baek. I forced my hand to move, the pen scratching an empty space. SCRIBBLE. SCRIBBLE.
Maybe it's a coincidence. It has to be... There's plenty of other people out there named Ajin Baek.
"Why'd you stop?" the girl asked, oblivious. "My mommy is waiting for me over there so I have to go..."
"Oh, I'm sorry... I'll hurry," I mumbled, handing the book back. "Thank you."
As the girl hurried away, a familiar, cold dread seized me. But what if... I looked out at the faces in the crowd. "...This wasn't just a coincidence? Does that mean that child is—"
A voice sliced through my terror. "WHOOOA...! MR. YUN!" I had tipped my chair, bolting up in a panic. I had to see her. I had to know. I needed to escape this cage.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" the staff shouted, but I was already pushing my way through the panicked crowd. "WHERE DID SHE GO? WHERE—!" I scanned frantically, but the woman in the hat, the ghost of my past, had vanished with our daughter.
The Vicious Finale
A strange, dark certainty settled over me. There was no escape. The novel I had written about her life, a confession and a penance, had simply provided her with the perfect blueprint for revenge. Tucked inside the novel, or perhaps just echoing in the empty space she left, her message was clear.
DEAR JUNSEO...
...IF YOU'RE READING THIS NOW, IT MUST MEAN THAT I WAS SUCCESSFUL IN EXACTING MY REVENGE.
She got me. The thought was a bitter, painful truth.
EVER SINCE THE DAY YOU SHOVED ME INTO THAT DEEP, DARK PIT, I HAVE BEEN THINKING OF YOU OFTEN. I WONDERED HOW I COULD EXACT MY REVENGE, AND WHAT WOULD MAKE YOU SUFFER MOST. BECAUSE AFTER ALL, IT WOULD ONLY BE FAIR FOR ME TO BE ABLE TO PUNISH YOU FOR YOUR CRIMES, JUST AS YOU PUNISHED ME FOR MINE, RIGHT?
She was right. I had exposed her. I had ruined her life to stop her from hurting others, but in the process, I had ruined myself.
IF THE REASON YOU RUINED ME WAS BECAUSE OF OUR CHILD, I WILL USE THE SAME WEAPON TO RUIN YOU.
The revelation was simple, brutal, and flawlessly executed.
SO JUNSEO, IF YOU EVER RUN INTO OUR CHILD SOME DAY, SOMEWHERE, DON'T LET HER FIND OUT WHO YOU ARE. I NEVER TOLD OUR CHILD ABOUT YOUR EXISTENCE. YOU DON'T EXIST IN OUR WORLD, AND YOU NEVER WILL...
My eyes burned. I was a phantom to the one person I had left to love.
...BUT IN YOURS, WE WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU, EVERY BREATH, EVERY STEP. YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO FORGET ME, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO LIVE... ALWAYS WONDERING WHERE SHE IS. YOU WON'T EVER HAVE THE CHANCE TO TELL HER THAT YOU'RE HER FATHER. YOU'LL LIVE AND DIE, MISSING HER.
And that was her victory. I would be forever trapped, a miserable spectator to the life she would lead with our daughter.
AND THAT'S HOW I WILL LIVE AND BREATHE IN YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS. I WILL NEVER STOP. REMEMBER, JUNSEO. I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU.
I stood alone in the crowd. The noise returned, but it couldn't drown out the sound of my life breaking. My punishment had begun, endless and inescapable.
PZZZZT
A final, detached thought, almost a footnote to the revenge.
SOCIOPATHY: A NEUROLOGICAL CONDITION THAT IS SAID TO AFFECT... APPROXIMATELY 4% OF THE HUMAN POPULATION. FOUR OUT OF EVERY 100 PEOPLE ARE LIKELY TO BE SOCIOPATHS. YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY MET ONE... OR HAVE ONE STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU AT THIS VERY MOMENT.
THANK YOU... FOR READING DEAR X.
The story was over, but my torment was just beginning.