The night had the personality of a morgue — cold, silent, and faintly humming with things better left untouched.
Hanrim Academy looked different after hours. The spotless corridors seemed stretched, distorted, their shadows longer than they had any right to be. Even the portraits on the walls appeared to watch.
Han Yura walked quietly, coat buttoned, gloves tucked in her pocket. Daejun trailed behind, flashlight in hand.
"Remind me," he whispered, "why we're sneaking into the part of school everyone jokes about being cursed?"
"Because people who make jokes usually know the truth," Yura said. "They just dress it up to stay sane."
Daejun raised a brow. "You ever considered therapy?"
"I have a better alternative," she said. "Investigation."
They turned down a narrow hall that led beneath the main lab building. The air grew heavier, the faint scent of antiseptic giving way to rust and damp stone. A door waited at the end — metal, industrial, scarred with age.
Painted above it in faded letters:
ARCHIVAL STORAGE — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
"Authorized," Daejun murmured. "That's us, right?"
"Spiritually."
---
THE LOCK
Daejun crouched beside the door's panel, pulling a small toolkit from his pocket.
"You carry that everywhere?" Yura asked.
"You carry scalpels," he said. "We all have hobbies."
The lock clicked open after a minute. The metal door groaned as it swung inward, releasing a stale breath of air that smelled of dust and secrets.
Yura switched on her small flashlight. Rows of cabinets and sealed boxes filled the room, labeled with neat handwriting — "Medical Records 2007," "Faculty Archives," "Forensic Logs."
"Basement of bureaucracy," she muttered. "Truly horrifying."
They stepped in. The door closed softly behind them.
---
THE FILES
For a while, the only sound was paper rustling and drawers sliding.
Yura worked methodically, scanning each folder for keywords — Founder, Project, Journal. Daejun wandered to the far corner, his flashlight trembling slightly.
"Hey," he whispered. "You ever feel like we're not alone down here?"
"I always feel that," Yura said without looking up. "It's called 'attending this academy.'"
But then she froze. Her light had caught on something strange — a glass cabinet at the back, unlike the rest. Inside, preserved organs floated in cloudy fluid… but one jar was empty.
The label beneath it read:
Subject 12 — Lee Jaein
"Daejun," she said quietly. "You might want to see this."
He joined her, expression darkening. "Subject?"
"Not student," Yura said. "Subject."
He ran a hand through his hair. "So he wasn't transferred. He was dissected."
Yura tilted her head. "Technically, that's still a kind of transfer."
Before Daejun could respond, a faint mechanical hum broke the silence. The fluorescent lights flickered on by themselves, one by one.
Yura cursed under her breath. "Someone just restored power."
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell above.
---
THE HIDDEN COMPARTMENT
"Hide!" Daejun hissed.
They ducked behind a tall metal cabinet just as two shadows entered the room — security guards, flashlights cutting through the dark.
"Dean said to lock this place tight," one muttered. "Someone's been snooping."
Yura held her breath, her shoulder brushing Daejun's arm. The flashlight beam swept past, grazing her shoes before turning away.
As the guards began to check the shelves, Yura's eyes darted around — searching for another exit. That's when she saw it: a metal vent low to the ground, half-concealed by an old cabinet.
She nudged Daejun. "Vent. Go."
"Are you serious?"
"Would you rather detention or decomposition?"
He sighed. "Point taken."
They crawled inside just as one of the guards turned. The vent was narrow, cold, and smelled faintly of dust and metal. They shuffled forward, whispering curses and half-jokes until the sound of footsteps faded behind them.
---
THE DISCOVERY
The vent led to a smaller adjoining room — one that wasn't on the school map.
Yura slid out first, brushing off dust. "Either we just found storage," she said, "or the world's creepiest surprise exam."
Her flashlight swept across the walls — lined with old documents, photographs, and anatomical sketches pinned like trophies.
At the center was a single glass case. Inside lay a black leather journal. The cover bore the same eye symbol that had haunted her since the first cadaver.
She whispered, almost reverently, "The Founder's Journal."
Daejun joined her side. "Congratulations. You found the Holy Grail of academic malpractice."
Yura smiled faintly. "Help me open it."
The case had no lock, just a pressure seal. When she lifted the lid, the air hissed like a sigh from something ancient.
The pages were handwritten — cramped, meticulous, a mix of English, Latin, and Korean. The first line read:
> "The soul resists decay, but the mind remembers its body."
Yura's brows furrowed. "Poetic. I hate it already."
Further down the page, a date — October 4th, 1998 — and beneath it:
> "Experiment Twelve shows promise. The transfer procedure succeeded. Memory fragments remain active within the tissue."
Daejun frowned. "Transfer procedure? As in...?"
"Consciousness," Yura murmured. "Or what's left of it."
She turned the next page — and froze. There was a photo clipped inside. A group of young researchers, smiling proudly beside a lab table.
At the center stood Dean Seo, much younger — and next to her, a familiar face.
Lee Jaein.
Alive.
And wearing the same eye symbol pendant she'd seen on the cadaver's tattoo.
---
THE INTERRUPTED ESCAPE
A loud clang echoed from the corridor. The door was opening again.
"They're checking the lower rooms," Daejun whispered.
Yura snapped the journal shut and slipped it into her coat. "Then we're leaving. Quietly."
They retraced their steps to the vent, crawling out just as the flashlight beam swept across the hidden room.
The voice of one guard followed them faintly: "Was this vent open before?"
"Probably rats."
"Big ones, then."
By the time the guards left, Yura and Daejun were already back aboveground, breathless and covered in dust.
---
THE ROOFTOP
They sat on the rooftop afterward, city lights glittering below, silence heavy between them.
Daejun finally broke it. "So. You just stole a cursed book from a forbidden lab. How's your evening?"
"Productive," Yura said. "You?"
"Developed mild trauma and tetanus."
"Good teamwork."
He leaned back, gazing at the night sky. "You really think this journal is worth risking everything for?"
She took out the book, flipping it open to the cryptic lines. "If what's written here is true, Hanrim's been experimenting with consciousness transfer. Maybe even resurrection."
Daejun blinked. "Resurrection? As in—?"
"Bringing back the dead," Yura said softly. "And if they succeeded, Lee Jaein might not be as dead as everyone thinks."
The wind stirred. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled again, low and deliberate.
Daejun looked at her, half impressed, half horrified. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She smiled faintly. "Of course. It's the first thing in this school that actually makes sense."
---
EPILOGUE MOMENT
When Yura returned to her dorm that night, Haerin was asleep again — or pretending to be. Yura placed the journal under her pillow.
But as she turned off the light, something caught her eye — a faint reflection in the mirror across the room.
A shadow. Someone — or something — standing behind her for a split second.
She spun around. Nothing.
Only the whisper of a voice she'd heard once before — faint, mechanical, almost familiar:
> "Stop digging."
Yura stared at her reflection until it blurred.
Then she exhaled, steady and amused. "Too late."