Clarity, Ji-ho discovered, was not a shield.
It was a signal.
Once sent, it could not be recalled.
The days following his refusal unfolded with deceptive normalcy. Classes continued. Meetings were scheduled and rescheduled. Emails arrived with their familiar cadence of professional courtesy. If anyone felt offended, they hid it well.
Too well.
Ji-ho had learned to distrust smoothness. In his first life, it had always preceded collapse.
He walked through the campus that morning with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, eyes alert. Conversations brushed past him like wind through tall grass—half-heard remarks, truncated laughter, the occasional pause when someone recognized him a second too late.
Recognition had weight now.
It pressed gently, persistently, like a hand at his back.
The faculty review committee meeting was not on his calendar.
That alone made him wary.
