Minjae sat frozen on the floor of his dorm room, the recorder clenched in his shaking hands.
"You're not the only one I've chosen."
That one line repeated over and over in his head, even after the voice recorder had gone silent.
There were others.
That meant this wasn't just obsession. It wasn't just a stalker.
It was something else entirely.
⸻
He left the recorder running and stepped out.
The hallway felt colder than usual, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly above.
Somewhere in this building, he thought, someone else might have heard the same whisper in the night.
But how could he ask? Who would believe him?
⸻
Later that day, in his "Modern Literature" class, he could barely concentrate.
Professor Shin was discussing Dostoevsky's The Double, but the words washed over him.
Minjae stared at the students in the room instead.
Two dozen faces. None stood out.
Then his eyes landed on a girl three rows ahead.
She was unfamiliar.
Shoulder-length black hair, perfectly straight. Pale, clean skin. Long sleeves despite the warm day.
She wasn't taking notes. She was just… watching. Not the professor. Not the board.
Watching him.
Their eyes met for less than a second—
But it was enough.
She didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
And then, slowly, she smiled.
⸻
After class, he tried to follow her.
She was fast.
Weaving through the crowd with unnatural precision, like she knew every movement coming before it happened.
Minjae lost her near the old science building.
He stood in the alley between the maintenance office and the fence, chest rising fast.
Then he spotted something taped to the wall.
A black-and-white polaroid.
His photo.
Not from the dorm this time. From last night.
Taken through the crack in his closet door.
The words scrawled in red ink at the bottom:
"They envy you."
He stepped back. Looked around.
Someone had been in his room again.
Even after the trap. Even after the recorder.
⸻
When Minjae returned to his dorm, the clock recorder was gone.
Completely removed.
Not even a scratch where it had been.
But something had been left in its place.
A single white feather.
Delicate. Pure. Unnaturally placed.
And another note.
This time handwritten on old parchment:
"I chose you because you paused.
I stayed because you searched.
But remember—
Obsession is a form of love too.
And love, when denied, bleeds."
⸻
That night, he sat on the rooftop.
The sky was hazy, the moon barely visible.
He couldn't go to Mirae. Not yet.
Not with this hanging over his head.
She wouldn't understand.
No one would.
Except maybe… the others.
He pulled out the note from his bag—the first one that mentioned "borrowed".
"You left the bag. I borrowed."
Was the bag the start?
He checked every inch of it again. Every pocket. Every thread.
And then, in the stitched lining beneath the inner flap, he felt something flat.
He carefully cut the seam.
A slip of card fell out.
It had no words.
Just a symbol.
An eye, with a bleeding heart in the pupil.
Below it:
[4/9]
Minjae stared.
Four out of nine.
There were nine chosen?
⸻
That night, he couldn't sleep.
He couldn't even lie still.
Instead, he scoured the internet for that symbol.
Search after search. Symbol recognition databases. Forums.
Nothing.
Until 2:14 a.m.
A single result appeared from a closed forum—"The Watchers' Circle."
It had no public posts.
But the banner showed the same eye with the bleeding heart.
He clicked.
The page went black.
Then flashed a line:
"You are not supposed to find us."
And then it redirected to a broken link.
⸻
The next day, someone else approached him.
He was walking across campus when a boy about his age bumped into him intentionally.
The stranger slipped a hand into his jacket and muttered under his breath:
💭 "You're one of them. Aren't you? Chosen. Fourth. She marked you." 💭
Minjae turned—
"What did you just say?"
But the boy was already gone.
⸻
That night, another note.
This time placed beneath his pillow.
He didn't know how. He had checked everything.
The note was short.
Just five words:
"You're waking up. Finally."
And this time, beneath it:
[5/9]
⸻
[End of Chapter 9]
⸻
A/N:
Minjae isn't alone. The veil is lifting. The "chosen" are real, and he's the fourth—or now, perhaps the fifth? The mysterious girl, the boy who bumped into him, the photo from inside the closet… Someone, or something, is playing a calculated game. And the rules are only just being revealed.