Scene: Somewhere in Seoul — Rooftop Apartment — Night
A small rooftop apartment.
Dim yellow lights.
The hum of the city down below — car horns, neon flickers, late-night vendors.
Inside: silence.
Anashia sits on the edge of his bed.
His jacket is half off, one shoe still on.
But he's not moving.
He's breathing heavily, as if something inside him just tore open.
He had seen her.
The woman from the airport.
The one the whole world screamed for.
The one whose face covered half the screens in the city.
But to him…
She didn't look like a celebrity.
She looked like something known.
Not in memory —
But in instinct.
He covers his face with his hands.
Suddenly, something begins.
A crack inside.
Like a dam giving way.
His breathing becomes ragged.
"No... not again..."
he whispers, almost afraid of his own voice.
Fragments.
Not memories.
Just feelings.
Touch. Heat.
A hand reaching out.
A scream muffled in water.
A pair of red earrings on a floor.
He doesn't know what they mean.
He never does.
They come like ghosts — and he can't stop them.
Ow no sex disorder is coming again. No no no no
He tries to stand but falls back.
He claws at his chest like the pain is under his skin.
Like something is burning from inside out.
His sex dysphoria begins to spiral.
He looks at his own reflection in the black glass of the window.
Half his face lit by streetlight, half in shadow.
"Who the fuck am I?"
he says aloud.
"Why do I feel like this?"
Tears pour from his eyes — not dramatic, but desperate.
Raw. Animalistic.
As if his body itself is rebelling against the shape it carries.
He hates the name they gave him.
He hates the skin that doesn't feel like his.
But more than anything —
He hates that something about that woman ignited this inside him.
Again.
He rocks back and forth on the bed, fists clenched.
He's used to this happening.
But not like this.
Not with her face in his mind.
"What are you doing to me?"
he whispers to the empty room.
"Who are you?"
Scene: Seoul City, Luxurious Area near the Han River — Night
The night is deep.
Seoul is draped in a net of light.
The buildings glimmer with blue, gold, and white flashes.
Cherry blossom trees line the streets, a faint mist hangs in the air.
A black Mercedes-Maybach slowly pulls to a stop by the curb.
The door opens, and Alia steps out.
She is wearing a long blue satin coat over a white silk top.
Black sunglasses hide her eyes, and a reddish scarf covers her hair.
The moment she steps out of the car, time seems to pause.
Alia lifts her head and looks straight ahead—
Just then, from the other end of the street, a fire-red Ferrari screeches to a halt.
The roar of the engine slices through the silence.
He steps out of the car—
Anashia.
A red jacket rests on his shoulder, and he adjusts his tie.
The strange, reddish glow is in his eyes.
He wears no sunglasses—staring directly at Alia.
An unyielding gaze—intense, fixed, and questioning.
Alia freezes.
Between the two cars—
Two lives, two chapters.
She lowers her eyes, as if trying to flee.
As Alia slowly begins to turn away—
Anashia catches her hand.
There is no roughness, but there is firmness.
As if to say: "Not this time. I won't let you go."
Alia looks up.
Anashia stares directly into her eyes, no words on his lips,
Only the pupils of those fire-colored eyes—
Where there seems to be something more than love.
Alia whispers slowly, her voice trembling:Three months. The contract is over. I can leave now. The law says I can. You know that."
Anashia says nothing.
He just stares—
As if his eyes are asking,
"The law says you can leave. But your heart?"
Alia says, tears falling:
"You wanted me to simply stay.
In three months, you asked for a name on paper, and I gave you my heart.
In three months, you wanted a relationship on paper,
And I... I believed it."
Her voice breaks.
She tries to back away again.
But Anashia gives her no chance.
He opens his car door and guides Alia inside.
In the silence—
Alia doesn't try to speak.
She just sits.
Tears trace paths down her cheeks and over her lips.
Anashia closes her door, then takes the driver's seat.
He starts the car.
No words.
The silence between them is so thick, it would choke any sound.
The Ferrari slowly crosses the night city.
Inside, Alia stares fixedly out the window.
Anashia keeps his eyes on the road.
A soft melody plays in the car—an old French song,
Which was once the symbol of their "togetherness."
Alia murmurs quietly, to herself:
"I didn't choose this path.
Not this city either.
But these eyes… this touch…
This silence… why does it feel so familiar?"
Scene: Inside the Car — Seoul Night
Inside the Ferrari—
Alia is still stunned, her eyes wet.
Anashia suddenly takes her hand, holding it gently but securely in his own.
Alia feels a slight hesitation but doesn't pull her hand away.
Anashia remains silent, then slowly speaks with profound depth in his eyes—
"Do you know? I am crying for you."
Alia's eyes widen, but she is unable to say anything.
Anashia smiles even more quietly—a mysterious, strange smile, one Alia has never seen on his face before.
That smile seems to say,
"You don't know how much I have hidden inside me."
Suddenly, he speaks deeply—
"I have a sickness... a sex disorder. It's destroying me from the inside.
I can't anymore... I just can't."
Alia stares, her emotions a mix of fear and compassion.
She realizes—this man is not just externally strong; he is suffering from a deep agony within.
Anashia gives another mysterious smile—
"Now you know why I was away from you for so long...
I had to overcome much more pain.
Even so, the fire in my eyes... I kept it alive for you."
Alia trembles.
A new emotion is born in her heart—a touch of friendship mixed with sorrow.
Location: Seoul, In front of a Large Luxurious House — Deep Night
The car slowly stops in front of a huge, old, but ultra-modern luxurious house.
The house is brightly lit at night, surrounded by trees and leaves swaying gently in the wind.
The large gate slowly opens, as if welcoming the arrivals.
Alia stares out the window.
A thousand questions and doubts swirl in her mind.
Anashia silently opens the door, his demeanor utterly professional—like a protective agent.
Alia suddenly asks—
"Who are you, really?"
Anashia smiles slowly, with a touch of mystery—
"Me? I am an agent of the NLS, Alia.
My job is—to protect those who are in danger.
And you... you are that person in danger."
Alia's eyes mix wonder and disbelief.
She slowly realizes—their story isn't just personal;
It has entered a much larger, secret game.
Anashia steps out of the car and begins to walk toward the house.
Alia follows him, still filled with doubt.
Alia slowly opens her room door and steps inside.
Fatigue is in her voice, immense restlessness in her mind.
Just then—
Anashia forcefully closes the door from behind.
He locks the deadbolt with a hard click.
Alia recoils suddenly, staring in surprise.
Anashia covers his mouth and starts taking shallow, quick breaths.
His body seems to be shaking with a strange tremor—
Suddenly, he removes his hand and whispers—
"M-m-m-my... my sex disorder is starting...
I can't anymore... aaaa..."
Alia, frightened, steps forward, reaching out her hand and saying—
"What's wrong? Tell me, I'll help!"
Anashia trembles, trapped in a kind of helplessness.
There is a strange fear in his eyes, and he seems to be losing control of his own body.
The air in the room is heavy.
Anashia has locked the door, and now he is fighting desperately for breath.
Words are forced out of his mouth, suppressed:
"A... Alia…
Get away... please... I lose control when you are here…"
Alia is stunned.
The man standing before her is the same Anashia,
Who stares with eyes of fire,
Whose words are like cold ice,
But now—he is shaking, breaking down.
As Alia slowly tries to move closer, Anashia backs away.
His hand shoots up into the air—
"No! Don't take a single step closer!
This... this... this is a Disorder, Alia!
You won't understand... my body and mind don't move together.
You could be harmed. Get away... please!"
Alia stops.
Tears well up in her eyes.
But not fear—sympathy.
She whispers:
"You are afraid... of yourself.
But I am afraid too... afraid of losing you."When Alia leaves Anashia grabs Alia's hand and says you won't go. Alia says what do you want to do? Then she says I want to have sex with you. ALIA (Voice filled with hurt/reproach):
"Do you know how it feels when someone doesn't love you,
but just… wants to use you as needed?"
ANASHIA (Voice trembling):
"No… I just… I am broken, Alia.
I don't know what I want… I just…
don't want to lose you."
ALIA (Lowering her eyes):
"
INT. ANASHIA'S ROOM — NIGHT
Alia and Anashia stare at each other. The breeze gently moves the window curtain, casting soft light on their faces.
Anashia holds Alia's trembling hand; he is shattered inside, begging for forgiveness. Alia's eyes hold pity, fear, and doubt, all mixed together.
Alia slowly says, "You scared me, but I didn't run… I want to understand."
Anashia, his voice raw, "I've forgotten how to love. With you here, I want to find that choice again."
They take a moment with each other—seeking agreement once more in their eyes. Alia tilts her head, agreeing. Anashia rests his head on her shoulder. They come together—but the camera slowly pans away, the light begins to fade, the sounds soften, and the scene gently cuts.
FADE TO BLACK.
Alia's hair is a mix of light honey and brown, with a warm honey glow sparkling in her eyes. She is unclothed, but the softness and emotion of her body are conveyed through the touch.
The man holds one of Alia's hands, slowly touching her cheek, not saying anything to her eyes, just feeling.
Alia places her hand over his and lets out a soft breath. The moment seems to stop—here is only the touch of love and the depth of emotion. The man gently holds Alia's hand, his eyes holding a strange mixture—emotion, compassion, and a small plea. He touches Alia's cheek with a soft hand, as if wanting to say, "I am here, everything will be okay."