Back To Square One

They had no luck tracing Kim Min-hyuk. Chizuru's intense stare made Woojin shift uncomfortably. He could feel sweat forming, worried she might have caught onto what he was planning. Before he could dwell on it, Miri spoke up, her voice cutting through the silence.

"Do we really need to check out another abandoned apartment?" Miri asked bluntly. "There's no sign of anyone—or anything—here."

She wasn't wrong. The apartments were eerily lifeless, and Chizuru had mentioned that whoever had been here before had wiped everything clean. But then Woojin spotted something—a scrap of cloth snagged on a rusted corner. It looked familiar. His heart rate quickened, but he didn't call attention to it. Instead, he casually stuffed it into his pocket, careful to avoid the others' notice.

With no leads and mounting frustration, they were back to square one. No one knew where Min-hyuk was—or if he was even alive. The whole situation was spiraling into nonsense, and it gnawed at Woojin.

When they returned to Chizuru's place, Woojin quickly excused himself. The drive home was quiet, his thoughts racing. As soon as he got inside, he pulled out the cloth piece, holding it up to the light.

He recognized it immediately. He knew who it belonged to.

For a moment, he stared at it, piecing together the puzzle. Fear? Anger? No. He felt... nothing. Just a hollow emptiness that had always been there.

Woojin never understood why people clung to their emotions—why they even felt at all. Feelings seemed irrelevant, yet others had described him as compassionate. He almost laughed at the irony. They mistook his rehearsed reactions for something genuine. It was funny how no one had caught on. Almost hilarious.

Woojin had spent years fooling both himself and the world, trying to fit into a mold he didn't belong in. On the surface, he wanted to seem normal, but deep down, it was more than that—something he couldn't quite name.

He thought of his niece and nephew, their innocent faces. He told himself he cared about them, that he loved his sisters. But it was a lie, all of it. A carefully crafted illusion to appear human. Woojin was good at lying. Too good.

Even the memory loss—another fabrication. He remembered everything. Every detail, every moment. He knew exactly where Min-hyuk was—or if Min-hyuk even existed at all.

He carried the façade effortlessly, almost too perfectly. In his eyes, he was flawless—a being above the chaos of human emotions. He'd never truly understood them, not since the day he was born. It was strange, really, how alien they felt to him.

The days dragged on, and the search for Min-hyuk felt endless, leading nowhere. Then, out of the blue, they received an odd call. The voice on the other end sounded like Min-hyuk, pleading for help. Taeha, determined to act, urged Woojin and the others to stay close. 

"Are you sure that was Min-hyuk?" Miri asked, her question cutting through the tension like a blade. 

Everyone froze, caught off guard. Woojin's mind raced. Why would she ask that? Was she pretending, or did she know something they didn't? How peculiar. Something about her felt... off.

Woojin led them on what felt like a wild goose chase, all the while keeping a close eye on Miri. He knew she wasn't as innocent as she pretended to be. Her carefully crafted facade was too polished, too deliberate. She was like a well-hidden puzzle, her motives shrouded in mystery.

Unlike Miri, he could easily read Chizuru and Taeha. Chizuru's thoughts were sharp and calculating, always one step ahead, while Taeha wore his emotions on his sleeve, every thought written plainly across his face. But Miri? She was different. She wore her mask as well as he wore his own.

The question that gnawed at him wasn't whether she was lying—it was what she was lying about. What secret was she so desperately keeping hidden? Woojin's mind churned, weighing the possibilities. Was she involved in Min-hyuk's disappearance? Did she know more than she let on?

As the group moved through their next lead, Woojin's thoughts never strayed far from her. She was too calm, too composed. If she was playing a game, he would uncover it. After all, he wasn't the only one who could lie flawlessly.

And he did catch on. Miri's cool demeanor cracked ever so slightly; a sheen of sweat glistened on her brow when they arrived at the abandoned warehouse.

The place reeked of decay, a stench so foul it made Taeha gag. The four of them fanned out, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous, desolate space. Shadows danced on the walls, revealing what lay hidden within: corpses, their twisted forms scattered like discarded dolls. The warehouse was more than a graveyard—it was a torture chamber.

Woojin's stomach churned, not from the scene before him but from the grim realization that this was no coincidence. Among the bloodied remnants, they found a stack of fake IDs. His gaze fell on one in particular—Min-hyuk's. It was unmistakable. Min-hyuk wasn't real.

The pieces began to fall into place. Miri's unnerving ease, her detached expressions—it all seemed too calculated. Woojin bit back his emotions, feigning ignorance as he watched her carefully. He needed her to slip, to confess. But before he could make his move, the silence shattered.

"What's this supposed to mean?" Chizuru's voice cut through the air, trembling slightly. "Is Min-hyuk... a fake person?"

Taeha froze. His face paled as if the life had been sucked out of him. "No," he whispered, his voice shaky. "That can't be right. Min-hyuk... he's my secretary. He's real. He has to be."

But doubt gnawed at his words. The room seemed to close in on them, the heavy air suffocating. Woojin glanced at Miri, her expression unreadable, her silence damning.

He stepped forward, his voice calm yet deliberate. "If Min-hyuk is fake, then someone created him—and someone led us here." His eyes lingered on Miri, a subtle challenge. "Don't you think it's time we all stopped pretending?"

The tension thickened, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing down on them. Miri's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Woojin didn't need her to say anything—not yet. He already knew she was hiding something. The only question was how far her lies went.