The note sat on Haru's nightstand like it was breathing.
He hadn't moved it. Couldn't.
Every time he looked at it, his hands twitched like they wanted to reach for her. Like holding that scrap of paper would make Minju reappear.
But she didn't.
Even after four days, Minju hadn't come back.
He read the note again:
I remember the hallway now. And the mirror. — M
Cryptic. Like a riddle. Like a door she was pointing at, half-open, from the other side.
The mirror.
The hallway.
Where?
He checked every hallway in their dorm, every reflective surface. The dance rooms. The back stairwell. Even the unused recording booths.
Nothing.
She didn't come back.
Two days later, the group had a free afternoon. A miracle in their schedule.
Minhee crashed face-first into the couch. Shiro declared it "mandatory mental recharge day" and pulled out his Switch. Riki disappeared into his room. Seojun opened the balcony door and started doing vocal exercises under his breath.
Haru quietly put on a hoodie and slipped out.
He didn't tell anyone where he was going.
He just followed instinct.
Not the subway. Not the convenience store.
He walked.
Past the shops and fans with cameras. Past the building where they trained. Past the crosswalk where he'd seen the girl with the scarf.
Until he reached the place he hadn't returned to since he became a trainee.
The old training center.
It was still there. Locked. Closed since the company moved to its new headquarters.
But he knew a way in.
The air inside was stale. Dust coated the unused pianos and equipment. Posters of groups long disbanded still clung to the walls like memories.
It hit him then — this was where he'd first met Minju.
Not officially. Not face-to-face.
But this was where he saw her photo.
A trainee board.
A name he'd never seen.
A girl who had passed away.
He stepped carefully through the halls, past the cafeteria, past the rehearsal mirrors covered in white sheets.
Until he saw it.
The hallway.
It was narrow. The light above it flickered faintly. No cameras. No doors. Just a single corridor that led to a supply closet.
He took a slow breath.
And walked forward.
At the end of the hall, the mirror waited.
It was cracked slightly at the top. The same one from before. The one he used to glance at in passing, barely noticing. But now?
Now it felt like it was staring back.
He stepped in front of it.
Nothing.
Just himself.
Until he blinked.
And saw her.
Minju.
Behind him.
Just for a second.
Her reflection.
Then gone.
He turned fast. Empty space.
Heart pounding, he looked back at the glass.
A fingerprint. Smudged in the dust. Just one. Right over where her reflection had been.
She had been there.
She was trying.
He ran home. Didn't speak. Didn't eat. Just opened his notebook and wrote everything down. Every second. Every detail.
"The hallway is real. The mirror too. She showed herself, just once. Her handprint stayed. I'm not losing my mind. I'm close."
Then he stopped.
Because something new was on his desk.
A folded flyer. One he didn't put there.
It was from a trainee showcase.
The year Minju died.
And circled in red: **"Student #17 – Minju Lee."