The Hidden Room

Ji-Hoon’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the sealed door, the echo of the mysterious knock still ringing in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. The air around him felt dense, as if the very walls were pressing in on him.

He took a step back, his pulse racing, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the door. It felt like the final clue, the one that could explain everything. He had to know what lay behind it—what secret the flames had failed to consume.

His fingers hovered over the surface of the door, but for a moment, he hesitated. The sensation of being watched was overwhelming. His instincts screamed for him to turn back, to run far away from this place.

But something in him refused.

The truth was too close.

With a sudden determination, Ji-Hoon pressed his palm against the door.

It felt unnaturally cold. A chill ran up his arm, but he pushed harder, his breath shallow. The door creaked, the wood groaning as if reluctant to give way. Ji-Hoon braced himself, ready for whatever would come next.

Then—

A soft click.

The door swung open, revealing a dark room beyond.

For a moment, all Ji-Hoon could see was blackness, thick and suffocating, like a void. His breath hitched as he took a tentative step forward, the ground beneath him crunching with each movement.

The air inside the room was stale, and the smell of rotting wood and something else—something metallic—filled his nose.

He pulled out his phone, using the faint light from the screen to guide him.

The room was small, filled with nothing but dust-covered furniture. A mirror on one wall reflected his dim light, but what caught his attention was a desk at the far end of the room. Papers were scattered across it, some yellowed with age, others covered in strange markings.

Ji-Hoon felt his pulse quicken again. He moved closer, his feet dragging across the floor as his eyes scanned the papers. Most of them were indecipherable, scribbled in a language he didn’t recognize. But among them—

A photograph.

A young girl with dark eyes, a face he couldn’t quite place. She was holding a small child in her arms, both of them smiling in front of a large, unfamiliar house. The girl looked so much like the woman in the photo Hyun-Soo had shown him earlier—his supposed mother.

Ji-Hoon’s breath caught.

Was this her?

But why was there a photograph of a woman who looked exactly like his mother—but younger? And who was the child in her arms?

He picked up the photo, his hands trembling as he examined it closely.

That’s when he noticed something odd about the edges of the photo. They weren’t frayed like the rest of the paper. They were almost perfect, as if the photo had been carefully placed here, hidden away for a reason.

His fingers brushed against the edges, but the instant he did—

The floor beneath him shifted.

Ji-Hoon stumbled backward, his heart in his throat. The sound of wood creaking echoed in the room as a small hatch at the far end of the floor opened up.

The darkness beneath it felt deep, almost endless.

And yet, something about it called to him. Something that told him that whatever was hidden down there was the final piece of the puzzle.

Without thinking, Ji-Hoon dropped to his knees, his eyes scanning the dark space below. A narrow ladder led down into the blackness.

He glanced at the photo one more time, then carefully tucked it into his jacket.

There was no turning back.

Ji-Hoon grabbed the ladder and began to descend, his fingers gripping tightly to the cold rungs as he made his way into the unknown.

The air grew even colder the deeper he went, and the silence was suffocating.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the bottom. He stepped off the ladder into a small stone chamber. The air here smelled ancient, like it hadn’t been disturbed in years—decades, even.

The only light came from a small flickering candle on the far wall. Ji-Hoon stepped toward it, his pulse racing as he squinted into the dimness.

What he saw nearly made his heart stop.

On the stone floor was a small, weathered chest. It looked ancient, covered in dust and cobwebs.

Ji-Hoon couldn’t breathe. Every instinct in him told him to leave, but something deep inside him—some quiet voice—told him this was it. This was what he had been looking for.

He knelt beside the chest, his hands shaking as he lifted the lid.

Inside—

A journal.

It was old and battered, the pages yellowed with age.

The first page read: “Lee Seo-Jin, 1989.”

The date from the death certificate.

Ji-Hoon swallowed hard.

This was it. The truth was right in front of him.

But as he flipped through the pages, the journal didn’t just speak of Lee Seo-Jin. It spoke of a family—his family.

A family that had been erased.

His heart sank as he read the entries, each more disturbing than the last. Secrets, betrayals, and a tale of hidden power. The story was written in a language he still couldn’t fully understand, but enough of it was clear.

And at the very end—

A name.

Ji-Hoon.

His own name.

He swallowed hard, the weight of it pressing down on him.

This was his past. His real past.

But there was still one question left.

Who had done this?

Who had erased him—and why?

“Some truths have a price. Some answers cost everything.”

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