The air in Kim's Bookstore was thick, almost suffocating, as if the walls themselves held their breath. Park Tae-hyun stood behind the counter, his eyes locked on Ruri, who sat on a small plastic stool, her tiny frame swallowed by layers of winter clothes.
She flipped through a children's book, the soft rustle of pages slicing through the silence like a blade.
He'd just returned from the bathroom, his face still damp, droplets clinging to his skin from the cold water he'd splashed to drown the chaos inside him.
His reflection had taunted him—called him weak, useless, a ghost chained to the instincts of a doctor who no longer existed. Now, standing here, watching her, his hands twitched with a restless energy, caught between fear and resolve.
"Have you gone up to take a look?" he asked, his voice low, probing, each word heavy with suspicion.
Ruri shook her head, her pigtails swaying gently.
"It was too dark up there, Uncle. I couldn't see anything."
Her voice was soft, fragile as frost, but it sent a chill racing down his spine.
She didn't meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on the colorful illustrations in her lap.
Slowly, she slid off the stool and stepped down from the staircase she'd wandered to moments before, her small boots clicking against the wood.
She stood before him, so short, so bundled, her delicate face a work of art—flawless, yet unnervingly still. Park Tae-hyun's breath hitched.
He knew what lurked beneath that innocence.
Her tongue, impossibly long, could stretch into nightmares, coiling around memories that made his scalp prickle and his stomach twist.
"Uncle, I'll keep reading," she said, her smile blooming, sweet as spring blossoms, radiant and disarming.
She settled back onto the stool, picking up the book as if the world hadn't just tilted beneath them. Her fingers turned pages with relish, her focus absolute.
Park Tae-hyun stood behind her, hands clasped tightly behind his back to keep them from shaking. The urge surged, raw and violent, a pulse in his veins.
Strangle her.
End her
No more games.
The voice wasn't some demon whispering in his ear—it was his own, rising from the darkest corners of his heart, where fear and survival waged a brutal war.
Compared to Baek Cheong-won, the quirky noodle shop owner next door, Ruri stirred something deeper, uglier—disgust, betrayal, a rejection so visceral it clawed at his composure.
He'd saved her once, pulled her from the jaws of danger with his own hands.
She was cute, sensible, well-mannered, carrying a poise rare for a child her age.
That first impression had been so warm, so perfect, that when her true nature broke through—those four men, their lives extinguished by her hand—the reversal had gutted him.
The contrast between her innocence and her horror twisted his perception, leaving a bitter resentment that pulsed with every heartbeat.
She kept reading, oblivious—or pretending to be—to the man looming behind her.
Park Tae-hyun's eyes traced the fine hairs on the back of her neck, delicate and exposed.
His fingers twitched, itching to act.
Twist her head
Just do it
End all her charades
Strangle her
His chest tightened, the bookstore's walls seeming to close in, the air growing colder, heavier.
He was a ghost, no longer the doctor who'd sworn to save lives.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
His existence was a fragile thread, a borrowed body teetering on the edge of discovery.
Ruri was a threat, one who'd sought him out, who'd come to his doorstep with that knowing smile.
He couldn't shake the memory of her voice that day, whispering truths no child should know.
She'd been watching him, waiting, long before he'd understood the game.
His nails lengthened, sharp and unnatural, black mist curling around his fingertips like smoke.
His eyes glinted, a dark glow flickering in their depths.
Strangle her!!!!, his mind roared.
Protect yourself.
He'd been reborn, given a second chance to live, to feel, to be.
He wouldn't let her take that away.
His hands moved, slow and deliberate, toward Ruri's small frame.
She read on, her smile soft, her focus unwavering.
She was so cute, so pleasing, it almost hurt to look at her.
His fingers brushed the sides of her head, hovering near her temples.
She glanced up, curious, her eyes wide and guileless.
"Uncle?"
"I'll… give you an eye massage to protect your eyes," he said, his voice strained, barely holding together.
"Yeah."
She nodded, satisfied, and returned to her book, humming softly as if the world were right.
The touch grounded him, pulling him back from the abyss.
He pressed gently, massaging her temples with careful precision, each movement a battle against the darkness inside him.
Then he stepped away, retreating to the chair behind the counter, his legs unsteady.
He sank down, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd held.
Damn it, he thought.
I can't do it.
His hand rose, and with a sharp snap, he slapped his own cheek, the sting a tether to reality.
Ruri tilted her head, puzzled. "Uncle?"
"Oh...ah...there was a Mosquito," he muttered, though winter offered no such excuse.
"It's okay," he said, waving her off, his voice hollow.
She shrugged and kept reading, oblivious to the storm she'd stirred.
You keep pretending, he thought, bitterness rising like bile.
Keep acting, keep hiding. He wanted to scream at her, to demand she show her true face, to fight him outright.
Stick out your tongue. Let's end this. But she didn't.
She just sat there, a perfect little girl with a book, and it made him feel all the more powerless.
I can't do it, he admitted again, the words a curse.
He stood, fleeing to the bathroom, where he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over his face.
"I was a doctor," he growled at his reflection, droplets clinging to his lashes.
"Treating and saving lives was my instinct, my profession. You're a ghost now. Why are you still so weak?" The man in the mirror stared back, a stranger's face hiding a soul that cursed itself more than it ever cursed Kim Min-woo, the man whose body he'd stolen.
Useless.
He leaned against the sink, the cold porcelain biting into his palms, and tried to steady his breathing.
The bookstore felt too small, too quiet, a cage for his spiraling thoughts.
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Meanwhile, in the back room of Baek Cheong-won's noodle House, a different scene was unfolding, steeped in grief and ritual.
The space was dim, lit only by two flickering candlesticks on a small table laden with cold dishes—kimchi, seasoned greens—and hot ones steaming with the scent of braised pork and japchae.
Two glasses of liquor sat untouched: one filled with soju, sharp and clear, the kind Baek's father had savored; the other with makgeolli, milky and mild, a nod to his mother's rare indulgence.
She'd always said it was good for the soul, though she'd scolded his father for drinking anything stronger.
Baek stood alone, his shadow dancing on the wall where two human skins hung, swaying gently as if stirred by an unseen breeze.
He raised the soju first, clinking it against the air where his father's spirit might linger.
"Mom and Dad, your son's taking a rest today," he said, his voice soft but steady.
He downed the shot in one gulp, the burn spreading through his chest, grounding him in the moment.
Then he sipped the makgeolli, slower, savoring the faint sweetness for his mother.
"To you, Mom."
He picked up his chopsticks, a faint smile playing on his lips despite the ache in his heart.
"Eat vegetables, eat vegetables. Dad, you're trying to steal my meat again!" He plucked a piece of pork from the plate and shoved it into his mouth, chewing with exaggerated gusto.
The years-old memory flooded back—his father's teasing grin, pretending to snatch food from his plate, only to laugh as Baek stuffed his face to "protect" it.
His mother would roll her eyes, scolding them both, but her hand would rest on Baek's back, gentle and warm, easing the ache of a too-full stomach.
The memory stung, sharp and bittersweet.
Today was Chuseok, a time for honoring ancestors, but for Baek, it was a wound reopened.
His parents had died on this day, taken by a car crash that left him grasping at ghosts.
The holiday's warmth—the scent of sesame oil, the clink of dishes—felt hollow without them.
Most families gathered to share stories and laughter; Baek had only this table, these offerings, and the ache of absence.
He took a deep breath, his smile faltering.
"Dad, Mom," he said, his voice cracking.
He poured another shot of soju, the liquid trembling in the glass.
His delicate features—too beautiful for a man, a face that could've charmed emperors in another life—flushed red from the alcohol.
He wasn't drunk, not yet, but his words stumbled, heavy with longing.
"The guy next door…" He paused, swallowing hard, his throat tight.
"The guy next door, Park Tae-hyun. I'll find a chance to ask him. Ask him… how he came back."
The confession hung in the air, reckless and raw.
He knew Park wouldn't just spill his secrets over a bowl of noodles.
It would take prying, maybe something uglier—something that would stain them both.
The thought twisted in his gut, but he couldn't stop now.
The two human skins behind him stilled, as if disapproving, their silence louder than any words.
"Dad, Mom, it's okay," Baek said, his voice firm despite the tremor.
"I'll bring you back. I'll make you live again. We'll be a family, like before."
A sharp clatter broke the moment—two pairs of chopsticks hit the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet.
Baek froze, his breath catching.
He shook his head, defiant.
"No, I can't listen this time. If you don't agree, I'll still pry his mouth open."
