The Man in the Shadows

Glass rained down like sharp snowflakes. Ji-Hoon barely had time to react before Hyun-Soo lunged forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him away from the window.

“Move!” the old man hissed.

Ji-Hoon stumbled, heart slamming against his ribs as his mind tried to catch up.

Someone had found them.

Someone didn’t want him knowing the truth.

Through the broken window, the night outside stared back, pitch-black and empty—except for the distant glow of a cigarette ember, hovering just beyond the shadows.

Someone was watching.

And they weren’t alone.

The hairs on Ji-Hoon’s neck stood up. He could feel it. The weight of unseen eyes.

Hyun-Soo moved fast, grabbing something from beneath the table—a small revolver. The gun was old, its barrel scratched, but the way the old man held it made one thing clear—

He wasn’t afraid to use it.

“Follow me,” Hyun-Soo muttered, his voice low. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Ji-Hoon didn’t argue.

His mind was still reeling from what he’d just discovered—that his name, his very existence, had been rewritten—but survival came first.

The two of them darted through the narrow hallway, past stacks of old files and yellowed newspapers. The house smelled of dust and ink, but beneath that—

A sharp, acrid scent.

Ji-Hoon’s stomach tightened.

Gasoline.

“Wait,” Ji-Hoon hissed. “Do you smell that?”

Hyun-Soo stilled. His expression darkened.

Then—

A click.

Ji-Hoon barely had time to register the sound before—

Fire erupted from the back of the house.

The flames spread like a living thing, devouring paper, wood, and memory in seconds. The air thickened with smoke, curling around them like a noose.

Ji-Hoon coughed, covering his mouth. His eyes burned.

“Shit—”

“No time!” Hyun-Soo grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the side door. “Move!”

The fire was spreading fast, too fast, as if someone had planned for it to consume everything.

Ji-Hoon’s mind raced.

The files. The photograph. The truth.

Everything was about to be wiped out.

They reached the door. Hyun-Soo kicked it open, sending them stumbling out into the cold Seoul night. The air was sharp, the scent of smoke chasing after them.

Then—

A figure stepped out from the shadows.

Ji-Hoon froze.

The man was tall, dressed in a dark coat, his face hidden beneath the dim streetlights. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the ember casting an eerie glow on his features.

And Ji-Hoon’s blood ran cold.

Because he knew this man.

He didn’t know how, or from where—

But somewhere in the depths of his erased memories, this man’s face was waiting for him.

Waiting to be remembered.

Hyun-Soo’s grip on the gun tightened.

The man exhaled a slow, lazy puff of smoke. “You were warned,” he murmured.

His voice was smooth, practiced—like someone who had delivered bad news before.

Ji-Hoon clenched his jaw. “Who are you?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he flicked his cigarette aside, letting it land in a puddle of gasoline seeping from the burning house.

The flames leaped higher, roaring as they devoured the last of the evidence inside.

“Doesn’t matter,” the man finally said. “You won’t be alive long enough to care.”