Seoul, South Korea — 3:17 AM
Rain hammered against the windows of the Daehan Tower penthouse like a thousand little fists trying to get in. The city below looked blurry and cold, neon lights bleeding into the darkness. Inside, silence reigned—broken only by the occasional soft click of holographic screens shifting data.
Kang Jinhwan stood alone, shoulders stiff beneath the weight of another sleepless night. The suit he wore was tailored, but he hadn't changed out of it since yesterday's board meeting. He hadn't eaten either. The hunger had long since been replaced by something colder. Something heavier.
His reflection in the glass looked back at him—calm, poised, flawless. A lie dressed in silk and success.
Behind him, a soft voice broke the silence.
"You shouldn't be here tonight, Jinhwan-ssi. It's... that day again."
It was Secretary Min. He never raised his voice. Never needed to. He was like a ghost who had followed Jinhwan since childhood—present in every memory that hurt.
Jinhwan didn't turn. "I never leave on this night."
Min sighed and placed a black box on the table. It looked old—too old to exist in a world of glass and screens. Its edges were smooth from decades of handling, and the faint carvings on the surface shimmered when the city lights caught them.
"The seal is weakening," Min said, voice barely audible. "She may come again."
A flicker passed through Jinhwan's eyes. Pain. Regret. Something he had buried so deep, even he forgot what it felt like. "She won't."
Min hesitated. "And if she does?"
"Then I'll do what I've always done."
But his voice lacked its usual edge.
He finally turned and looked at the box. His fingers hovered over it before flipping the latch. Inside, the talisman pulsed softly—silver and red, like it was breathing.
It looked so small, yet it carried a weight Jinhwan had lived with all his life.
The curse.
It wasn't the kind that lived in fairy tales. It didn't turn him into a beast or curse him with eternal sleep. No—it was subtler. Crueler.
Fall in love, and lose everything. Fall in love, and awaken what should stay buried.
He had felt its pull before. In dreams. In strange deja vu moments. In memories that weren't his. He had lived a thousand versions of himself. And she had always been there.
Always her. Always lost.
The intercom chimed. A new profile hovered into view—a portfolio of the architect scheduled to meet him in a few hours.
Yoon Haeun. Thirty. Busan native. SNU graduate. No red flags.
Except one.
Min tapped a line of text. "She has the mark."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Jinhwan stared at the image. A woman standing in front of a building she'd designed, smiling just slightly, like she wasn't used to being on camera. There was a bracelet on her wrist. Nothing unusual.
Except he knew what lay underneath.
He didn't need a photograph to tell him.
The curse had moved. The cycle had begun again.
He didn't know if it terrified him—or if, for the first time in years, he felt... something close to hope.