The relentless ticking of the old digital clock was the only sound in Song Jin-Woo's cramped apartment. It blinked 11:57 p.m., then 11:58, counting down the final moments before midnight. Outside, the city pulsed quietly, the distant hum of late-night traffic and the occasional shout fading into the background. But inside, the tension was thick enough to suffocate.
Jin-Woo sat still on the edge of his bed, eyes locked on the small screen of his phone. The message from the unknown sender burned in his mind, its words echoing over and over like a looped recording.
"You don't remember me, but I've been waiting. Meet me at midnight. There's something you need to see — something that will change everything."
He could feel the heat of his own heartbeat in his chest, loud and insistent. His fingers trembled slightly as he held the device, the glow of the screen illuminating the exhaustion carved into his face.
What was this? A warning? An invitation? A trap?
His life had become a series of second chances and hard lessons. For weeks now, since waking up fourteen years in the past, he had been trying to piece together what went wrong the first time. But nothing had prepared him for this.
The room around him was sparse, lit only by the weak light of a single lamp. A cracked mirror reflected his tired eyes back at him—a boy's face, but with the soul of a man weathered by loss.
His mind spun, grappling with questions: Who could possibly know about his return? Why had this person waited so long to reach out? And what did they want from him now?
A sudden knock on the door sliced through the silence, sharp and deliberate. Jin-Woo's body tensed, nerves shooting electricity through his veins.
He rose slowly, every sense alert, and crept toward the door. His breath came shallow.
Opening it, he was met with empty hallways and the faint scent of damp concrete. Nothing but a plain cream-colored envelope rested against the doorframe, soaked slightly from the rain outside.
Kneeling down, he picked it up, feeling the smooth, cold paper beneath his fingers. His name—Song Jin-Woo—was written across it in elegant, unfamiliar handwriting. It was too neat, too purposeful.
His heart thudded painfully as he carefully opened the envelope.
A single photograph slipped out and fluttered to the floor.
The image was grainy and faded at the edges, but the man's face was unmistakable—cold, piercing eyes, and a long scar running diagonally down his left cheek.
Jin-Woo's breath hitched.
He stared at the photo, searching the corners of his mind for recognition, but the memory remained just out of reach—like a whisper on the wind.
His phone buzzed again, yanking him from his thoughts.
A new message appeared:
"Meet me at the old café in the district. Alone. And come prepared."
The words hit like a jolt.
Prepared? For what? And why the insistence on secrecy?
The stakes were clear: this wasn't a friendly reunion or a casual catch-up.
This was a summons—an unspoken threat wrapped in mystery.
Outside, the rain had begun in earnest, turning the city streets into shimmering rivers of light and shadow.
Jin-Woo pulled the collar of his coat up against the chill, wrapping the envelope carefully inside his jacket pocket. He took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs, and stepped into the night.
The city transformed after dark.
Where daylight had revealed bustling crowds and glaring sunlight, nighttime whispered secrets.
Narrow alleys twisted and disappeared between aging buildings, their walls slick with rain and layered with peeling posters and graffiti.
Neon signs flickered uncertainly above shuttered stores and forgotten doorways, casting colored reflections on puddles.
Jin-Woo's footsteps echoed as he moved swiftly but cautiously, eyes scanning every shadow.
The old café stood at the end of a narrow street, its sign faded and creaking in the wind. Years of neglect had left paint peeling and windows clouded with grime.
Inside, the smell of stale coffee, burnt sugar, and cigarette smoke clung to the air like a thick fog.
The few patrons present kept to themselves, hunched over mugs or quietly speaking in low voices.
Jin-Woo slipped into a booth near the back, its cracked leather seat sagging beneath him.
His fingers drummed nervously against the wooden table.
Minutes stretched, each one heavy with anticipation.
Then she appeared.
From the dimmest corner of the room, a figure moved with grace and certainty.
The woman was tall and slender, her movements precise and deliberate.
Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, revealing high cheekbones and eyes that gleamed like polished onyx.
There was a hardness to her gaze—a cold calculation beneath the surface that made Jin-Woo's skin prickle.
She slid into the seat opposite him without a word.
"Song Jin-Woo," she said quietly, voice low but clear.
He studied her, searching for any clue—kindness, threat, familiarity.
"Who are you?" His voice was steady, but inside, his thoughts spun like a storm.
She reached into a black leather bag and pulled out a thin folder, sliding it across the table.
Jin-Woo opened it carefully.
Inside were photographs—some grainy and aged, others crisp and recent.
Documents filled with cryptic notes, maps marked with strange symbols, and what appeared to be surveillance records.
At the bottom of one page, written in bold red ink, was a phrase that made his blood run cold:
"The past you escaped is coming back — and it's hunting you."
His breath hitched.
"Why me? Why now?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.
The woman's eyes locked onto his.
"Because you're not the only one who returned."
Her words hung between them like a shadow.
Jin-Woo's mind raced.
Others? Returned? What did that mean? And how deep was this web of secrets?
Before he could ask more, the café door slammed open with a violent gust.
Rain and wind poured in, scattering napkins and pushing shadows across the floor.
Lightning cracked, casting stark white light that sliced through the darkness.
Jin-Woo felt an almost physical pressure against his back—unseen eyes watching, waiting.
The woman leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that was barely audible over the storm.
"You think your past is behind you. But someone out there wants to make sure you never get a second chance."
Jin-Woo's throat tightened, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.
"Who?" he demanded, voice steady despite the fear creeping through him.
She smiled—a cold, sharp curve that chilled him.
"That's what you'll have to find out. But be warned—trust no one."
The lights flickered and then died.
The café plunged into complete darkness.
A whisper echoed from the shadows, icy and haunting:
"They're closer than you think, Jin-Woo. Closer than you know."
And then—
Silence.