The first sound Hayjin perceived wasn't his alarm, but the electric hum of the old refrigerator dying in the corner of the kitchen. It was an irregular noise, a metallic hiccup that seemed to mock the silence of the room.
He opened his eyes. The ceiling was a map of cracks and damp stains he now knew by heart. He lay motionless for what felt like infinite minutes, blankets pulled up to his chin to fight the draft filtering through the window frame, never repaired after the last storm.
"Just another day," he thought. "Just one more damn day."
He reached toward the nightstand—a pile of old cardboard boxes covered by a cloth—and grabbed his phone. The screen lit up, stinging his eyes.
08:15.
He had three missed calls from Sarah, his best friend. He didn't even check the voicemail. He cleared the notifications with a simple flick of his thumb, a small, useless act of rebellion against a reality that was crushing him.
The sheets were damp, that typical sensation when you don't turn on the heat to save money and the city's condensation seeps into your bones. He got up with effort, feeling a sharp pain at the base of his neck. It wasn't a normal ache; it was that kind of muscular discomfort you get from sleeping poorly, only this one never went away. He scratched his skin, feeling it rough, almost scaly, and cursed under his breath.
The skin there was different: harder, almost like invisible scales to the touch. Under his fingertips, he felt the accelerated thrum of his carotid artery.
In the bathroom, the mirror reflected the usual face: hair in need of a cut and the expression of someone who'd slept three hours. He splashed his face quickly, dodging the mold in the corner of the shower.
He left the house around nine without much conviction, his backpack feeling heavier than it should.
The city was in the thick of its morning chaos. His neighborhood was a mixture of smells: curry, wet asphalt, and the exhaust fumes of double-decker buses rattling over potholes.
He stopped at "Corner Coffee," a hole-in-the-wall run by a man named Elias.
"The usual?" Elias asked, without looking up from his newspaper.
"Yeah. Black. Long. And don't burn it like yesterday, Elias—it tasted like a tire," Hayjin replied.
Elias slammed the paper cup onto the counter. "If you don't like it, the other bar is two blocks away. They'll even spell your name wrong on the cup for five pounds."
Meanwhile, Hayjin fumbled in his jacket pockets for some change. He pulled out a handful of nickels and counted them slowly on the metal counter. He was ten pence short.
He froze, staring at the coins. He felt heat rising to his cheeks. He already knew it wasn't enough. "Look, I'm ten pence short. I'll bring them to you when I finish my shift at the pub tonight, okay?"
The waiter sighed, a sound like a whistling old boiler. He looked at Hayjin, then the coins, then back at Hayjin. "Take the coffee and get out, kid. You look like you haven't slept in a month. But remember, I want those ten pence."
"Always the same old story with you. Move it, take this stuff and disappear. But stop by tonight, don't mess around."
"Thanks," Hayjin muttered, taking the hot paper cup.
"See you tonight." Hayjin grabbed the coffee and walked out, feeling the warmth of the drink against his cold palm.
He sat on a wobbly stool near the fogged-up window. The coffee was bitter, burnt, but the warmth it spread to his hands was the only pleasant thing he'd felt in hours. He watched people pass by: a girl running with a fuchsia umbrella, a man in a gray suit screaming at someone on the phone, a child dragging a backpack too large for him.
Everyone had a place to go. Everyone had a purpose.
He only had a lecture he didn't want to attend and a part-time job he hated.
As he drank, the phone vibrated in his pocket. A message from a friend he worked with.
"Hey, see you at the pub tonight? My treat, I got my bonus this month. Don't disappear like usual."
Hayjin stared at the cursor blinking on the text bar. He wanted to write: "I don't know what's happening to me. I've been feeling sick lately and I have these strange pains in my neck, maybe another time."
Instead, he typed: "Maybe. I'll let you know later."
As he walked toward the subway, his phone vibrated again. A message from another friend.
"Oh, hurry up. I'm near the tube station. If I'm late to the office because of you, you're buying me lunch."
Hayjin typed with one hand: "I'm coming, quit nagging. And don't give yourself a stomach ache with those croissants."
The subway ride was another test of endurance. He was squeezed between a man reading the Metro and a woman loudly chewing gum. The air was stale, heavy. Every time the train braked sharply, Hayjin had to struggle not to fall, feeling the annoyed stares of other passengers when he accidentally bumped into someone.
He arrived at the university ten minutes late. He entered the main corridor, where the smell of floor wax and old paper hit him. He saw a group of classmates near the vending machines. There was Sarah, a girl he had swapped notes with the previous year.
"Hey, Hayjin!" she called out, gesturing for him to come over.
He hesitated, then walked over slowly. "Hey, Sarah."
"Did you finish the Microeconomics project? Harrison said if we don't hand it in by today, we're out of the exam session."
"Almost done. Just missing the final graphs," he replied, pressing the button for a bottle of mineral water that never seemed to arrive.
At the university, the atmosphere was the same as always: people rushing and professors who seemed to hate their jobs. Hayjin entered the classroom when Professor Harrison had already started scribbling diagrams on the chalkboard.
"Mr. Hayjin. Third time this week. Are you lost again?"
Hayjin slipped into the back row, trying to make as little noise as possible. "The train was stuck at London Bridge, Prof. I couldn't exactly get out and push…"
Someone chuckled softly. Harrison didn't even respond, merely shaking his head.
Hayjin felt his stomach twist. The project. It was sitting on his desk, an incomplete draft covered in coffee stains. "I... let's just say I had some technical issues. I think I'll ask for an extension."
A guy next to Sarah, the type who always wore designer sweaters, snickered. "More problems, Hayjin? That's the third time this semester. Maybe you should take a break, friend; you look really tired."
"Almost finished, right? Look, if you don't hand it in this time, Harrison is going to fail you. It's not that he does it on purpose, it's just that you really can't keep up, can you?"
Hayjin retrieved his bottle and gave the vending machine a shove since it had jammed. He turned toward the guy. "Listen, who exactly are you? Don't you have something better to do? Like leaving, maybe? My project isn't your problem; get lost."
The guy made a face, as if he'd smelled something foul. "Just saying for your sake, man. You look... tired. Maybe university isn't for you."
"Yeah, thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind while I finish the work," Hayjin said, before turning and walking away, feeling rage rising in his throat. It wasn't a normal anger; it was just the frustration of someone who knows they're right but also knows they're in a dead end.
Shortly after, Sarah went to talk to Hayjin.
"Sorry about my friend's behavior, let's just say he likes to joke around a lot," she said with an innocent smile.
But Hayjin wasn't of the same opinion. "Friend, huh? That's what you call a friend? That's someone who can't mind his own business, though unfortunately, I have to admit... he's right. I'm behind on the project and Harrison is breathing down my neck."
Sarah sighed, scratching her head. "Look, if you want, let's go out tonight and forget about it. I got my bonus and we can grab a few rounds. Maybe you'll wake up a bit; you look like a ghost today."
"It's my neck. It keeps bothering me; it's been like this for months, I can't stand it anymore."
Sarah reached out, almost as if to touch him, but then stopped. "You really should go to a doctor, Hayj. It's not normal for it to hurt this much every time you're stressed. It's... strange."
"Yeah, I know. I'll go when I have enough money not to starve to death in the meantime. See you at eight anyway?" he said.
"At eight. And don't invent excuses not to come, hahahaha," she said with her usual smile.
They said goodbye with a wave. Hayjin watched her enter her classroom, feeling that burning in his neck suddenly grow sharper, as if someone were pressing a thumb right onto that mark.
After giving up on the lecture, Hayjin didn't just hang around the stairs for hours. He cleaned himself up quickly in the university restroom, fixed his hair in the mirror, and decided the day couldn't end like this.
He headed toward the university library, a modern building that smelled of stale coffee and exam anxiety. He found a seat in an isolated corner, far from the windows. He opened his laptop, but his attention kept slipping away. The mark on his neck gave small pulses, like a heartbeat out of sync.
"Still here? I thought you'd run off to hide after the clash with Tom."
Hayjin looked up. Sarah was standing in front of his table, with a pair of reading glasses sliding down her nose and a pile of books in her arms. She didn't look like she was there to mock him; she looked just as tired as he did.
"He's an idiot, you know that. I won't give him the satisfaction," Hayjin replied, moving his backpack off the chair next to him so she could sit. "What about you? Shouldn't you be in Statistics?"
"I just saw you walk into the room."
"I know, I only went to grab some books and then I came to find you, to study together."
"I'd rather skip it, honestly. Too many numbers, too little oxygen in that room," she said, dropping into the chair with a heavy sigh. They stayed in silence for a while, each immersed in their notes.
For the first time that day, Hayjin felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. Studying with someone made the weight of failure feel a bit more distributed.
While underlining a line in his book, Hayjin had a strange sensation. He turned toward the entrance of the study hall. Among the shelves of the Ancient History section, he noticed a movement. There was someone there. A figure in a dark hoodie with the hood pulled up, despite the heat inside.
The individual remained motionless for a few seconds, staring right toward their table. Then, with a fluid motion, they disappeared behind a bookshelf.
"Everything okay?" Sarah asked, noticing Hayjin had stopped with his pen suspended mid-air.
"Yeah... I thought I saw someone I know. It's nothing."
By around five, the library began to empty.
"Listen," Sarah said, closing her laptop with a decisive snap. "If I look at another graph, I swear I'll start screaming. Want to go get something to eat now? I can't wait until eight."
"There's that bagel place right behind here—the ones that are cheap, taste like cardboard, and aren't great, but they fill you up."
Hayjin hesitated. He thought of his nearly empty wallet, but then he thought of the solitary dinner of instant noodles waiting for him.
"Oh, alright. But only if we don't talk about exams for at least an hour."
"Deal."
They left the university into the darkness. The rain had turned into a thin mist that made the asphalt glisten under the streetlights. As they walked along the narrow sidewalk, Hayjin felt strangely exposed. Every time they passed an alley or a dark doorway, he felt like he perceived a shadow retreating.
"Hayjin, are you listening to me?" Sarah gave him a friendly elbow nudge. "I was saying that maybe you should ask Harrison to retake that test. If you talk to him seriously, maybe he'll listen."
"You know better than I do that Harrison doesn't listen to anyone who doesn't have a six-figure bank account, Sarah. But I'll try, maybe."
As they turned the corner, Hayjin stopped dead. He turned around, scanning the crowd of students and commuters rushing toward the tube. About twenty meters away, leaning against a lamp post, there he was again. The guy in the hoodie. He wasn't doing anything, wasn't calling out, wasn't moving. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking in their direction.
"What is it?" Sarah asked, following his gaze. "Do you see someone?"
"That guy there. I feel like he's been following us since we left the library."
Sarah squinted. "Who? The guy by the lamp post? Hayj, he's just a guy waiting for someone. There are dozens like that in London. You're being paranoid today."
Hayjin shook his head, trying to shake off that cold sensation crawling up his spine. "Maybe you're right. It must be the lack of sleep."
They ate their bagels sitting on a low wall under a canopy, talking about music and how much the weather sucked. For a moment, Hayjin forgot the mark, forgot Tom, and even forgot the strange shadow. He was just a twenty-three-year-old guy spending time with a pretty girl.
"See you tomorrow in class, then? Don't disappear," Sarah said, waving to him in front of the bus stop.
"I'll be there. Promise."
He watched her board the bus and vanish into the traffic. Then he started walking toward the pub for his evening shift. But as soon as he was alone, the silence of the street felt unnatural. The mark on his neck gave one last violent throb, almost like a bite.
He stopped in front of a dark shop window to check the reflection of the street behind him. There was no one. And yet, wedged into the door handle next to him, he noticed a small piece of folded paper. He took it. His name was written on it, in a handwriting that looked ancient.
Having said goodbye to Sarah, the sense of normalcy Hayjin had felt vanished along with the bus lights. He walked toward his neighborhood, trying to convince himself that the scrap of paper with his name on it was just a bad joke or an absurd coincidence.
"What the hell does this mean?" he whispered, crumpling the note and stuffing it into his pocket.
He decided to take a shortcut through a pedestrian passage between two housing projects. It was an area he knew well, poorly lit and usually deserted at this hour. The sound of his footsteps on the wet asphalt was the only thing he heard, until he caught a strange scent. It wasn't the smell of trash or London smog. It was the scent of ozone and old incense.
He stopped abruptly.
Halfway through the passage, the hooded figure was there. He wasn't following anymore; he was waiting. Despite the darkness, Hayjin could see that the man wasn't shivering from the cold; he was as still as a statue of black marble.
"Listen, man, I don't have any money. If that's what you want, you've got the wrong person," Hayjin said, trying to keep his voice steady. He put a hand in his jacket pocket, gripping his house keys between his fingers like an improvised weapon.
The man didn't answer immediately. He took a step forward, and the hood slipped slightly back. He couldn't see the face clearly, but the eyes... those were wrong. They looked like two slits of opaque glass.
Then, the stranger opened his mouth. He didn't speak any language known to the world.
"Khar-ashtul... vahn al-kigen..."
The words were harsh, guttural, laden with a vibration that Hayjin felt deep in his bones, like the hum of a high-voltage transformer. He didn't understand a word, but the tone was that of a sentence being passed.
"What the hell are you saying? Stay away from me!" Hayjin shouted, taking a step back.
The man tilted his head and repeated a single word, more clearly: "Hayjin..."
In that instant, the mark on Hayjin's neck exploded with pain. He fell to his knees, clutching his throat, feeling his skin burn as if molten lead were being poured onto his nape. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.
"Stop... please..." he wheezed.
The figure moved. It wasn't a run; it was an inhuman dash, a shadow that erased the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Before Hayjin could even raise his arms to defend himself, he felt a frigid hand grip his face.
"Al-zera, Alius."
It was a cold hiss near his ear. A moment later, a cold, sharp pain pierced through his chest. He didn't feel the metal of a knife; he felt something deeper, as if a shard of ice were tearing through his soul.
The man withdrew his hand with terrifying speed. Hayjin staggered, looking down at his chest. There was no blood, or at least not yet, but he felt his life slipping away at a speed that terrified him. His legs gave out. He collapsed to the ground, his face against the cold, dirty asphalt.
He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt full of water. His vision began to darken at the edges. The last thing he saw were the man's dark boots walking away calmly, as if he had just finished a mundane task.
"It can't end like this," Hayjin thought, as the London cold turned into absolute darkness. "I promised Sarah... I..."
His heart rate slowed, one dull thud after another, until only silence remained.
Then, in the total void, a distant, childlike voice resonated in his head, clear as a bell:
"Wake up, Hayjin. It is time to begin again."