seung-ho was the one who chose the restaurant.
It was small, almost forgotten—tucked between a closed laundromat and a flickering convenience store. The kind of place people went to disappear for an hour without being remembered.
He arrived first.
The seat across from him remained empty for several minutes.
Then—
Without the sound of a door opening, without footsteps—
Death was there.
Park Jin-woo sat across from him as if he had always been there. His black suit was immaculate, untouched by the grime of the city or the weight of the night. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed dimmer around him, as though they refused to shine too brightly in his presence.
Seung-ho swallowed.
"…Thank you for coming," he said.
Death regarded him calmly. "You asked."
That alone sent a chill through Seung-ho's spine.
A waitress approached, unaware of who sat at the table. She took their orders, smiled politely, and left.
Only when they were alone again did Seung-ho speak.
"I didn't know who else to talk to," he admitted quietly. "If I didn't… I think I would've broken."
Death said nothing.
Seung-ho's fingers tightened around his cup.
"I want to stop," he said.
The words came out faster than he expected. "I want to give it back. The system. The contract. All of it."
He forced himself to meet Death's eyes.
"I want my life back."
For a moment, nothing happened.
No pressure.No threat.
Only silence.
Then Death lifted his gaze fully.
"There is something I haven't told you yet," he said calmly.
Seung-ho stiffened.
This wasn't a warning.
It was a declaration.
"When you accepted the contract," Death continued,"it did not happen in isolation."
A faint ache bloomed at the back of Seung-ho's head, as if a memory he never lived was trying to surface.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Death placed his spoon on the table. The sound was soft—but unnervingly sharp.
"The underworld does not function through secrecy," he said at last."It functions through perception."