The Vanishing Trail

The city smelled of ash and rain.

Ji-Hoon sat in the back of a run-down motel room, his fingers curled around a glass of cheap soju he had barely touched. Across from him, Hyun-Soo sat on the floor, bandaging his arm where a shard of glass had cut deep during their escape.

Outside, the neon lights of Seoul flickered and buzzed, casting long shadows against the walls. The streets weren’t safe. Not anymore.

Ji-Hoon exhaled slowly. His mind was still spinning.

The man from the fire. The way he disappeared into thin air.

And the file.

Lee Seo-Jin.

A dead boy. A face that should not exist.

A name that did not belong to Ji-Hoon—and yet, somehow, did.

His fingers tightened around the glass. “Who was he?”

Hyun-Soo barely glanced up. “Who?”

“The boy.” Ji-Hoon turned to him, his voice low but steady. “The one in the file. Lee Seo-Jin.”

The old man sighed, setting the bloodied bandages aside. He leaned back, tired, but calculating.

“A name that shouldn’t exist,” he muttered. “Just like yours.”

Ji-Hoon swallowed. “Then tell me.”

Hyun-Soo was quiet for a moment. Then—

“You won’t like it.”

Ji-Hoon forced out a laugh, but it came out hollow. “I haven’t liked anything for the past twenty-four hours.”

Hyun-Soo studied him carefully, then nodded.

He pulled a small notebook from his pocket—old, worn, its pages yellowed with time. He flipped through the fragile sheets, stopping at a page with a single faded photograph.

Ji-Hoon’s breath caught.

The same boy.

Lee Seo-Jin.

His own face.

Except… something was different.

Ji-Hoon leaned in, his stomach tightening.

The boy in the photo had a scar—a small, faint mark above his left eyebrow.

Ji-Hoon didn’t.

His fingers instinctively touched his forehead, his pulse hammering. “What does this mean?”

Hyun-Soo sighed. “It means, Ji-Hoon…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “…there were two of you.”

The world tilted.

Ji-Hoon felt his breath catch, the weight of the words crashing down on him.

Two.

Two of him.

“Twins?” Ji-Hoon whispered, barely believing the sound of his own voice.

Hyun-Soo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned the page.

Ji-Hoon’s stomach dropped.

The next page wasn’t a photograph.

It was a death certificate.

Lee Seo-Jin.

Died: October 17, 1989.

Cause of death: Unspecified.

Ji-Hoon’s chest tightened. “This doesn’t make sense. If he’s dead, then—”

“Then why do you look exactly like him?” Hyun-Soo finished, his voice grim.

Ji-Hoon’s fingers curled into a fist. His mind felt like it was fraying at the edges.

The past twenty-four hours had been a storm of fire, whispers, and vanishing shadows. But this?

This was something else.

He was someone else.

A dead boy’s face staring back at him in the mirror.

“Who covered this up?” Ji-Hoon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hyun-Soo’s jaw tightened. “Someone with power. Someone who erased Seo-Jin’s life and gave you his instead.”

Ji-Hoon’s stomach churned.

A name stolen. A history rewritten. A past buried.

“But why?” he asked, his voice raw.

Hyun-Soo exhaled. “That’s what we need to find out.”

Ji-Hoon stared at the photograph one last time before closing the notebook.

His fingers trembled.

He had spent his entire life searching for the truth in stories.

Now—

He was the story someone wanted buried.

And whoever they were—

They weren’t finished yet.

“The dead don’t vanish. They wait in silence, waiting to be found.”

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