Minjae jolted awake.
Not in his bed.
But on the floor, near the mirror.
His fingers were trembling, palm smeared with something red.
Not blood.
Ink.
In his sleep—or whatever trance he'd been in—he had scrawled something on the floorboards with the black ink pen from his desk.
Words. Disjointed phrases. Symbols.
His gaze followed the uneven line of ink across the wood:
"Don't trust the red umbrella."
"She sees through reflections."
"Yura… smiling through glass."
"The train… always leaves at 11:11."
And finally, a large looping script at the center:
"It wasn't a dream the first time."
⸻
He stared at it, the ink beginning to dry, forming jagged branches like veins or spiderwebs.
Why did I write Yura's name?
Seo Yura—the sweet girl in his business class. The one who always smiled a little too perfectly.
The one who had offered him gum with a note attached.
He hadn't thought much of it at the time.
But now…
He remembered the smile.
It hadn't reached her eyes.
⸻
He stood and walked over to his desk, where the stack of cryptic notes now looked like a shrine. Carefully, he placed the newly inked page—ripped from his own sketchbook—on top.
His fingers brushed the first note he ever received.
The one left in his locker during orientation.
It looked innocent.
Just a quote.
But now he looked closer—there was something faint in the margins. Barely visible.
Minjae tilted it toward the window, letting morning light slant across the page.
The shadows filled in the gaps.
A cipher.
He grabbed his pencil and began to trace the patterns, guided more by instinct than logic.
⸻
An hour later, his notebook had one deciphered message:
"They took your memory on November 5th. You agreed to forget. You swore it. But your soul didn't."
Minjae blinked.
His hand trembled.
November 5th.
A date burned into his mind with no context. Familiar, but distant.
What happened on that day?
⸻
Later that afternoon, Minjae skipped class for the first time. He didn't text Mirae. Didn't answer calls. He wandered.
And eventually, his legs took him somewhere he hadn't visited in years—
The old train platform near the outskirts of the campus town.
It was abandoned now.
Trains didn't stop there anymore.
The benches were rusted. The clock above the terminal was stuck.
At 11:11.
⸻
He sat down. Watched the rails.
Waited.
As if expecting something.
Then his phone buzzed.
📲💬
From Unknown
You remember this place. You're starting to bleed memory. That's dangerous.
💬
Another buzz.
📲💬
Do you want to remember what happened to her? To us?
💬
Another buzz.
📲💬
Then ask Yura why her window doesn't reflect.
💬
⸻
His hands clenched.
Seo Yura again.
She wasn't just another student. That line—"why her window doesn't reflect"—was too specific.
He remembered the day they had that group project meeting. They'd sat by the full-length window in the student union lounge.
The others reflected.
She didn't.
⸻
The next day, Minjae forced himself to act normal.
He went to class. Sat beside Yura.
She smiled at him, gentle and polite as ever.
"Feeling better?" she asked, her voice musical. "You looked tired last time."
Minjae nodded. "Yeah, sorry. Had a weird week."
She tilted her head, her eyes searching his.
"Nightmares?"
That froze him.
He hadn't mentioned anything.
"Yeah… something like that."
Yura reached into her bag, pulled out a folded paper.
"I found this tucked into my textbook. It has your name on it, weirdly enough. Want it?"
He opened it slowly.
Inside:
"The mirror is not the first lie. It's the last."
And below it:
"503 is open. But 504 is waking."
⸻
Later that evening, back in his dorm, Minjae pulled out the bundle of coded notes again.
504.
There was no 504 on the official dorm records.
But what if the numbering looped?
Or worse—what if the room never existed… but still opened?
He opened his laptop. Began scouring old architectural plans from campus archives, buried in forum posts and digital blueprints.
And there it was.
A hallway sealed in 1997 after a reported "fire hazard."
Five rooms.
Only one still documented—Room 503.
The others?
Erased.
Including 504.
The room next door.
The one she came from?
⸻
That night, he dreamed again.
But this time, the dream was different.
He was in a hallway—not 503—but an unfamiliar corridor. White walls. Red ceiling. And seven locked doors.
Each with a number.
Each bleeding from the handle.
At the end of the hallway stood a woman.
No face.
No name.
But her voice was clear.
💭 "You're starting to open doors you promised to leave shut." 💭
💭 "You want the truth, Minjae? Then find the room with no number. And enter at 11:11." 💭
💭 "But know this—remembering me is loving me." 💭
💭 "And loving me… means madness." 💭
⸻
He woke up at exactly 11:11 PM.
And the mirror in his room?
It had cracked even further.
A new phrase etched along the fracture:
"She is almost through."
⸻
📲💬
From Unknown
You don't have much time.
Don't let Mirae see the notes.
She's not who she used to be.
💬
Minjae's blood ran cold.
Mirae.
His sister.
The only one he truly trusted.
Now suddenly cast in shadow.
The message ended with one more line:
📲💬
She chose them over you once. She might do it again.
💬
⸻
[End of Chapter 12]
⸻