I’ve Seen You Before

The sound of chalk scraping against the board was the only thing keeping Seo Minjae tethered to the room.

He blinked slowly, watching Professor Yoon’s hand move across the blackboard, scribbling theories of cognitive development in looping white script. Students around him typed or yawned or scrolled through their phones with feigned interest.

Minjae sat in the very last row, back straight, eyes blank.

Outside, the world blurred behind rain-soaked windows.

> Three hours of sleep.

No breakfast.

Headache, left temple—mild pulsing.

Heart rate stable.

He catalogued it all, as he always did. Observing his body from the outside like a researcher might.

> Keep it measured. Keep it routine. Stay normal.

“Mr. Seo,” the professor’s voice cut through the fog. “Can you name the psychologist who proposed the Zone of Proximal Development?”

Minjae’s eyes lifted slowly.

“Vygotsky,” he said, emotionless.

The professor nodded, and the class moved on.

But Minjae didn’t.

Because someone new was watching him.

At first, he thought he imagined it — that eerie sensation of being stared at. He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance across the room.

And locked eyes with a stranger.

He sat near the front — a transfer, maybe. Black hoodie, head tilted like a question mark, and a lazy half-smile playing on his lips. His eyes didn’t flinch when Minjae met his gaze.

They lingered.

Like he wanted to be caught staring.

> Why is he looking at me like that?

Minjae frowned faintly and looked away. But the feeling stayed with him — heavy, like someone had reached into his chest and twisted something he’d buried.

---

After class, Minjae packed his bag slowly. He didn’t like being among the crowd when everyone rushed out. Too many bodies. Too much noise. He waited until the last person left before standing.

“Hey.”

The voice came from the aisle. Calm. Confident. And far too close.

Minjae turned, stiffening.

It was him.

Up close, the stranger was taller than expected. Pale skin, wet strands of black hair still dripping from the rain. His hands were in his hoodie pockets. And his eyes — up close — were darker than black.

“You’re Seo Minjae,” he said.

Minjae didn’t answer. He slung his bag over one shoulder and began walking past him.

“I’ve seen you before,” the stranger added, falling into step beside him.

Minjae stopped. Just briefly. “That’s unlikely.”

The boy only smiled wider. “Is it?”

His tone wasn’t mocking. Just… patient. Like he was indulging a game the other person didn’t realize they were playing.

“Do you always follow strangers after class?” Minjae asked coolly.

“Only the ones I’ve missed.”

Minjae’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag.

He didn't like this. He didn’t like the way this boy moved — silent but present. Or how he stared like he already knew him. It made Minjae's skin crawl in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Look,” he said, trying to walk again, “I don’t know who you are—”

“I’m Kang Raon,” the boy said smoothly, stepping in front of him and offering a hand. “Transfer student. Psychology major. And probably the only person in this school who can match your grades.”

Minjae didn’t take the hand.

Raon didn’t seem offended. He just tilted his head again, studying Minjae with a peculiar kind of focus.

“I read your research paper on false memory syndrome,” Raon said. “The one Professor Yoon had published in last year’s journal. It was… interesting.”

Minjae blinked.

Most students barely knew he existed — and those who did only whispered about the fact he kept to himself, rarely spoke, and lived off black coffee and library hours.

“How did you—” he started, then stopped. No. No, don’t ask. Don’t engage.

Raon’s smile widened slightly, as if reading the restraint in his expression.

“I like people who try to forget,” he said quietly. “They’re always the most fun to remind.”

Minjae’s body stiffened.

For a second, he felt it — a pulse in the back of his skull. A flicker. A flash of something he didn’t understand.

A mirror.

A child’s eyes.

Rain.

Then it was gone.

“Stay away from me,” Minjae said flatly.

Raon didn’t move. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like people who pretend they know me.”

Raon laughed softly, not cruelly — more like he was genuinely amused. Then he leaned in, just enough to lower his voice.

“But I do know you, Minjae. I always have.”

Then he stepped back, hands still in his pockets, and walked away as if they hadn’t spoken at all.

---

That night, Minjae didn’t sleep.

He lay awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his chest tight for reasons he didn’t want to admit.

> “I’ve seen you before.”

Why did that voice echo in his head like a bell tolling from the past?

He hadn’t seen Raon before. He would remember. He remembered everything. That was his curse. His talent.

So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that Raon wasn’t lying?

He sat up and grabbed his journal from the drawer. Not a diary — he didn’t believe in emotional purging. This was clinical. Every day, every detail recorded. Names. Events. Time stamps.

He flipped back through the pages from years past. Just to be sure.

No Kang Raon.

No strange boys.

No storm.

No blood.

No—

He slammed the book shut, breath hitching.

He didn’t remember anything like that.

Because nothing had happened.

Because if it had, he would—

He paused.

Was his hand shaking?