Darkness slowly lifted.
Con stood somewhere unfamiliar.
Tall grey buildings surrounded him. The air felt colder than anything he remembered. Wind rushed between narrow streets that smelled faintly of rain and metal.
He looked down.
The hands he saw were not the hands he knew.
They were thinner.
Younger.
Weaker.
A voice called from somewhere nearby.
"Eunwoo, come here!"
Con turned.
A woman stood in a small kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. Behind her, a quiet man sat at a table reading a newspaper.
Con did not know them.
And yet his chest tightened painfully.
The words formed in his mind before he could stop them.
Mother.
Father.
The scene shifted.
The small apartment filled with soft warmth.
His mother laughing while ruffling his hair.
His father patiently explaining homework.
Steam rising from bowls of soup on a modest table.
They were not grand memories.
But they were bright.
Rare.
Precious.
Then the dream cracked.
The light dimmed.
The apartment faded.
Now he saw scattered fragments.
School hallways filled with whispering voices.
Teachers who looked past him as if he were invisible.
Rain-soaked streets walked alone.
A small room with peeling walls and an empty refrigerator.
The quiet, constant exhaustion of surviving alone.
The memories felt jagged.
Incomplete.
But they hurt.
Then—
Another sound entered the dream.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A cane striking the ground.
A girl's voice.
Soft.
Gentle.
Talking to herself as she walked.
"…bread first…"
"…then medicine…"
"…grandmother will worry if I'm late…"
Con turned toward the voice.
Something about it stirred a faint ache in his chest.
But the dream would not let him see her face.
The image blurred like fog.
Then—
Another voice appeared.
Crooked.
Warped.
Like someone speaking through broken glass.
"Ugly things…"
The voice chuckled quietly.
"…that is where ugly gods live."
Con frowned slightly in the dream.
The voice continued.
"There was once a god who lived in the ugliest things imaginable."
Broken statues.
Cracked mirrors.
Discarded objects no one wanted.
"He carried a curse."
The crooked voice twisted slightly.
"A terrible curse."
"But…"
A strange laugh echoed through the dark.
"…he accepted it willingly."
"For something he desired."
The dream trembled again.
Con tried to understand.
"What curse…?"
But the voice only whispered one last sentence.
"Ugly gods always live in ugly things."
Then—
The dream shattered.
Con woke suddenly.
His breathing was uneven.
For a moment, the room felt unfamiliar.
Then the sounds returned.
The creaking wooden walls of the inn.
The quiet street outside.
And—
Another person breathing.
Very close.
Con froze.
His hearing sharpened instantly.
Someone was beside the bed.
His body tensed.
"…who's there?"
The voice came out quieter than he expected.
Beside him, the figure stirred.
Isabelle blinked awake, clearly having fallen asleep in the chair near his bed.
"What—?"
She looked toward him.
Con sat up quickly.
"…you."
Recognition hit him immediately.
The same footsteps.
The same presence he had chased through the city.
His mind caught up with the last thing he remembered.
He had hugged her.
And then—
Darkness.
Isabelle straightened, still groggy.
"You fainted."
Con rubbed his forehead slowly.
"I remember."
He paused.
"…part of it."
His expression grew slightly tense.
"But why are you still here?"
Isabelle frowned.
"Because you collapsed after grabbing me."
Her voice sharpened slightly.
"You were unconscious."
"And since you clearly had no intention of explaining yourself before fainting, I stayed."
Con processed that quietly.
"…you waited?"
"Yes."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then Con slowly moved to stand.
"I should leave."
Isabelle immediately stood as well.
"You're not leaving yet."
Con frowned.
"Why not?"
"Because you still owe me an explanation."
He tilted his head slightly.
"For what?"
"For chasing me across half the city."
Con exhaled quietly.
"That wasn't my intention."
"You ran after me."
"I followed your footsteps."
"That sounds exactly like chasing."
Con hesitated.
"…perhaps."
Isabelle crossed her arms.
"And earlier today you hugged me without warning."
Con looked mildly embarrassed.
"I was relieved."
"That is not an acceptable reason to tackle someone in public."
"I didn't tackle you."
"You grabbed me."
"That is technically true."
Their voices stayed calm, but the tension slowly built.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes slightly.
"You seem to have a habit of appearing wherever I go."
Con replied evenly.
"I could say the same."
She blinked.
"That makes no sense."
"You were the one who came to my room."
"I was invited."
"By someone else."
"That doesn't make it less suspicious."
Now Isabelle looked offended.
"Suspicious?"
The conversation stalled.
Then Isabelle grabbed his sleeve before he could move.
"You still haven't explained why you chased me."
Con instinctively tried to step back.
She held on.
"Answer first."
He pulled slightly.
"Let go first."
They both moved at the same time.
Balance shifted.
And suddenly—
THUD.
They hit the floor.
Con landed above her, pinning her wrists unintentionally.
Both of them froze.
Breathing slightly heavier.
"…this situation is becoming increasingly inappropriate," Isabelle muttered.
"I agree," Con replied immediately.
Right then—
The door opened.
Jorin stepped inside holding a small pouch of medicine.
He froze.
On the floor—
Con held Isabelle pinned beneath him.
Both of them staring at each other.
Silence filled the room.
Jorin blinked once.
Then twice.
"…I see."
He slowly stepped back outside.
And calmly shut the door again.
Con and Isabelle turned toward it in horror.
"Wait—!"