Seoul Spirit Division, Building S-11 — 03:47 a.m.
The walls hummed.
Beneath the streets of Mapo, buried beneath kilometers of concrete and reinforced prayer steel, the Seoul Spirit Division stayed awake while the city slept. From above, it looked like a subway maintenance tunnel. Beneath, it was a labyrinth of laboratories, containment chambers, and halls lined with glowing talismans that whispered softly, "Stay asleep."
Ryu Jaehan walked down the corridor, wet boots echoing, the flicker of overhead lights syncing with the rhythm of his pulse. His uniform was torn, his spirit scanner shattered, and his right hand still burned faintly from the exorcism. Every step carried the echo of that voice — Next time, bring your sister.
He reached the decontamination gate. The door hissed open, releasing a breath of sterilized air mixed with incense.
A mechanical tone greeted him.
> "Agent Ryu Jaehan — resonance unstable. Suggest a full scan and spirit wash."
He stepped into the scanner booth. Blue light swept over him from head to toe.
Inside the glass, he saw a faint shimmer around his chest — the mark Numen left.
You shouldn't exist, he thought. You're supposed to be sealed history.
The scan beeped complete. The door slid open.
Waiting for him outside was a young woman in a lab coat too big for her. Her black hair was cut short, her eyes hidden behind AR lenses that projected streams of holographic data.
"Welcome back, Ghostboy," she said without looking up. Her tone was half-teasing, half-worried.
"Seoyun," he muttered. "You're here early."
"I don't sleep during Gate Week. Someone's got to make sure your dumb self doesn't explode."
Min Seoyun — the SSD's youngest Spirit Engineer and the only one who talked to Jaehan like he was still human.
She flicked her wrist, projecting his vitals into the air. The hologram blinked red in several places.
"Your soul frequency's fluctuating. You absorbed residual energy again."
"It was either that or die."
She lowered the display slowly. "You keep saying that."
---
The Command Room
The Command Room of SSD looked like a hybrid between a war bunker and a shrine. Digital monitors lined one wall, each showing thermal and spectral maps of Seoul. The opposite wall was covered in talismanic seals and prayer strips that pulsed faintly, like a living heartbeat. In the center stood a round table, its surface a holographic model of the city. At its head, Commander Ha Jinsu waited — broad-shouldered, grizzled, eyes carrying the weight of every ghost he'd ever failed to save.
He didn't look up when Jaehan entered.
"Report."
Jaehan stood stiffly. "One Level-B wraith, cleansed. Civilian damage is minimal. But there was… something else."
Jinsu finally turned his gaze, the faint scar over his left eye catching the light. "Something else?"
"An intelligent entity. Called itself Numen."
The room fell silent. Seoyun's lenses froze mid-scroll.
Jinsu's jaw tightened. "That name doesn't exist in the database."
"I know," Jaehan said. "But it knew me."
Seoyun stepped forward, curiosity overriding caution. "Did it manifest as a singular spirit or cluster?"
"Humanoid. Armor-like body. It destroyed the soul I was trying to save… with a word."
Jinsu exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You've been under strain, Ryu. Sometimes residual guilt echoes back during manifestation."
Jaehan's voice hardened. "It wasn't an echo."
Something in his tone made Jinsu stop.
He'd trained Jaehan for five years — he knew when the young man was bluffing. This wasn't that.
"Show me your arm."
Jaehan rolled up his sleeve. The lines of light that had burned into his skin still shimmered faintly — sigils in a language even Seoyun couldn't identify. Her eyes widened.
"That's not SSD protocol script," she whispered. "It's pre-modern… looks like first-generation Seal Script, maybe older."
"Meaning?" Jinsu asked.
"Meaning," she replied, "whatever touched him isn't a ghost. It's something that remembers the original Gate."
---
Memory Reconstruction
They brought Jaehan to Lab-3 — the Resonance Chamber. The walls were filled with mirrors coated in spirit mercury; each reflected different versions of the same person depending on their soul frequency. Seoyun calibrated the Resonator, the machine humming to life with a low, holy vibration.
"Hold still," she said, attaching the neural cables to the implant behind his ear. "This might sting."
"Just like last time?" he asked.
"Worse."
The chamber filled with sound — a chorus of whispers, static, and faint crying. The projection flickered, replaying the final seconds of his exorcism: the boy's face, the shadow bursting from the vending machine, the sigil burning in midair.
Then, the voice.
> "They call me Numen…"
The sound reverberated through the chamber. Every mirror cracked.
Seoyun flinched. "That's… not an echo. That's a signature imprint. Whatever this thing is, it's embedding memory directly into spiritual residue."
"Can you trace it?" Jinsu asked.
"Not yet. It's not from this frequency plane. But—" She hesitated, eyes narrowing. "There's something else inside the recording. A secondary layer."
"What kind of layer?"
Seoyun amplified it. Beneath Numen's voice, faint but unmistakable, came another — a girl's voice, whispering one word:
> "Oppa…"
Jaehan froze. The cables nearly tore from his head as he stumbled back.
"That's her," he whispered. "That's my sister."
The room fell quiet.
Jinsu's expression softened for a moment. He'd read the file — the fire, the failed exorcism, the casualty list. Jaehan's sister, Ryu Hana, had been lost during the 2019 Gate Event. Officially declared deceased. No remains found.
Seoyun looked between them. "If she's inside that resonance, then Numen isn't just talking to us. He's using personal memories as channels."
"Meaning he can manipulate any exorcist who's ever lost someone," Jinsu said grimly.
Jaehan clenched his fists. "Then we stop him before he opens another gate."
---
SSD Strategic Briefing — 04:12 a.m.
The lights dimmed. On the holo-table, Seoyun projected spectral data gathered from the last three 1111 windows. Red nodes pulsed across the map — manifestations increasing in density around Gwanghwamun Square.
"The next window opens in six nights," she said. "But if these readings are right, the resonance field's already forming. That's not supposed to happen."
Jinsu folded his arms. "How bad?"
Seoyun hesitated. "Bad enough that the city could lose its central barrier in one surge. If the 7-minute limit breaks…"
"The gate won't close," Jaehan finished.
Jinsu nodded. "And we'll have a full-scale crossover event."
Silence filled the room, heavy as the air before a storm.
Finally, Jinsu spoke again. "You'll rest for six hours, Jaehan. Then report to Training Dome B. If Numen's real, we'll need every ounce of skill you've got."
Jaehan started to protest, but the commander's tone left no room.
He turned toward the exit. As he left, Seoyun called softly, "Hey."
He paused.
"You know I could try something," she said. "The Neural-Exorcism Link. If I sync your frequency with mine, I might be able to trace where that voice came from."
"It'll eat your memories."
She smiled faintly. "Most of mine aren't that good anyway."
"Seoyun—"
"Just think about it," she interrupted. "Before the next 1111, we'll need every advantage."
---
03:00 p.m. — Surface Level, Hongdae District
Hours later, sunlight pierced the gray clouds. Seoul's streets were back to normal — or so they seemed.
Children played, vendors shouted, and the smell of roasted chestnuts filled the air.
But Jaehan couldn't unsee the faint distortions — reflections that blinked too slowly, shadows that didn't match their owners.
He stopped in front of a shop window. For half a second, his reflection looked back at him wearing different clothes — his sister's pendant around its neck.
You're not gone, he thought. You're trapped.
A phone vibrated in his pocket — Seoyun's message:
> "Meet me at Digital Tower. Found something in the Numen code."
He looked once more at his reflection. The pendant vanished.
Then he turned and walked into the crowd, unaware that behind him, every billboard flickered to the same numbers:
11:11:11.