Darkness did not lift.
It thinned.
Like fog pulled apart by something breathing behind it.
Sound came first.
A slow… rhythmic beeping.
Distant. Mechanical. Wrong.
Then cold.
Not the cold of death—but the sharp, sterile cold of a room that did not care if he lived.
Kang Tae-Hyun tried to inhale.
Pain answered.
Not in his chest.
Everywhere.
His fingers twitched.
And the world shattered.
Light stabbed through his eyelids. His breath tore into unfamiliar lungs. His body jerked violently, and a hoarse, broken sound ripped from his throat.
The beeping spiked.
Footsteps rushed.
Voices blurred.
"He's waking up—"
"Heart rate unstable—"
"Get the doctor—"
Hands pressed him down.
Something slid into his arm.
A chemical cold rushed through him.
And memories collapsed.
Not his.
A small room.
Peeling walls.
A mirror with cracks like spiderwebs.
A young man coughing blood into a sink.
A name whispered with disgust.
Not Kang Tae-Hyun.
Someone else.
His eyes flew open.
White ceiling.
Cracked corner.
A flickering tube light.
Hospital.
But not a private one.
The smell hit him next. Disinfectant layered over rust. Old cloth. Cheap detergent. A place where people healed because they couldn't afford to die.
He turned his head.
The motion felt wrong.
Too light.
Too weak.
Too… small.
His gaze fell on his hand.
Long fingers. Bruised knuckles. A thin wrist wrapped in hospital tape.
This was not the hand that had signed billion-dollar mergers.
This was not the body trained by personal physicians and private chefs.
This body was underfed.
Abused.
Dying.
A nurse noticed his movement. Her eyes widened.
"You're awake," she said softly, almost surprised. "Can you hear me?"
Tae-Hyun tried to speak.
The voice that came out was not his.
Rough. Young. Cracked.
"Where… am I?"
The nurse hesitated.
"East Harbor Public Hospital," she replied. "You were brought in last night. You collapsed outside a subway station."
Subway.
Public.
Last night.
He had been shot on the seventy-eighth floor of Helix Crown Tower.
His breath stuttered.
"No," he whispered.
The nurse leaned closer. "Do you remember your name?"
He closed his eyes.
Kang Tae-Hyun.
CEO.
Murdered.
The world mourned him today.
But the memories pushing against his skull did not answer to that name.
They bled something else into him.
A different life.
A different failure.
A different kind of loneliness.
His lips parted.
"…I don't know."
That was not a lie.
The nurse smiled gently, relief flooding her features. "That's okay. Memory loss after collapse isn't unusual. We'll help you."
Help you.
If only she knew.
She stepped out to call the doctor.
Silence returned.
But he was not alone.
Something moved inside him.
Not a thought.
A response.
A hum.
He felt it in his blood. In his marrow. In the places pain used to live.
Every heartbeat sent information outward.
Temperature.
Air quality.
The chemical composition of the saline dripping into his arm.
The bacterial presence on the bedrail.
The dying inflammation in his lungs.
He could feel it.
Not as knowledge.
As instinct.
His gaze drifted to the IV line.
Without meaning to—
he focused.
The world narrowed.
And the pain in his chest… shifted.
It didn't fade.
It reorganized.
The burn sharpened, then quieted, as if invisible hands were adjusting something deep within him.
His breathing evened.
The beeping machine softened.
He froze.
Slowly… carefully… he focused again.
On his heartbeat.
On the weakness.
On the damage.
Something answered.
Not a voice.
A compliance.
His cells… moved.
The ache in his muscles retreated like a tide.
Not healing.
Obeying.
Horror crept into his calm.
"What…" he breathed.
The door opened.
A doctor entered with a clipboard.
Female. Early thirties. Calm eyes. Hair tied neatly back.
She looked tired.
But kind.
She approached his bed and glanced at the monitor.
"Interesting," she murmured.
Her gaze lifted to him.
And for a moment, something unreadable crossed her face.
As if she was not looking at a patient…
…but at a question.
"I'm Dr. Seo," she said gently. "Can you tell me what you're feeling?"
He stared at her.
At the steady hands.
At the intelligent eyes.
At the strange warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with blood.
"I," he said slowly, truth trembling beneath the word,
"…don't think this body is mine."
The room stilled.
The machines continued to beep.
But Dr. Seo did not smile.
She did not laugh.
She studied him.
Closely.
Carefully.
As if something about him had already begun to trouble her.
"We'll talk," she said finally. "After I run a few tests."
She turned to prepare the equipment.
As she reached for his wrist—
A shock ran through him.
Not pain.
Recognition.
Every signal inside him surged, reacting to her presence like a system meeting a missing component.
His breathing steadied.
His heartbeat aligned.
The hum quieted.
For the first time since he opened his eyes…
the thing inside him went still.
Dr. Seo paused.
Looked down at their touching skin.
Then back at the monitor.
Her brows drew together.
"…That's strange."
He watched her.
And somewhere deep inside a body that was not his—
something ancient, engineered, and newly awakened
knew this woman mattered.
Outside the window, a giant digital screen across the street replayed the morning news.
A black-and-white portrait of Kang Tae-Hyun filled the city skyline.
HELIX CROWN CEO FOUND DEAD.
THE END OF A GENIUS ERA.
He turned his head slowly toward it.
Stared at his own dead face.
And whispered,
"So… I really died."
The screen reflected in his unfamiliar eyes.
And the devil opened them wider.