Chapter 2: A Parallel Life

Seung-Jin's eyes fluttered open, but the world around him felt wrong. The familiar rhythm of his heartbeat, the soft thrum of his breath everything was the same, yet nothing felt right. The cold bite of the autumn air against his skin should have been comforting, but it felt harsh, foreign, as though it belonged to someone else's world.

Seung-Jin had always been a quiet observer. Growing up as the eldest son of a respected academic family, he was raised in an atmosphere where expectations weighed heavily. His father, a prominent historian, had shaped the course of his life from the moment he could walk—books, exams, and the relentless pursuit of success. His mother, elegant and composed, had quietly reinforced these values, her own ambitions for Seung-Jin shaping his world before he even had a chance to form his own.

But beneath the veneer of academic achievement, Seung-Jin had always felt like an outsider in his own life. His interests, though varied, never seemed to align with the narrow expectations laid out for him. While his peers were dreaming of careers in science or business, he found solace in history not the grand, well-documented accounts of rulers and generals, but in the quieter, forgotten stories. The tales of ordinary people whose names never made it into the textbooks but whose lives were marked by struggle, resilience, and quiet defiance. Yet, in the midst of this, his own voice had been buried under the heavy weight of tradition, his own desires overridden by the pressure to follow the path set before him.

He stood at the edge of a familiar street, the bustling heart of Seoul that he had walked countless times. Yet as his gaze swept over the landscape, his stomach churned. The skyline once defined by the gleaming towers of modernity was jagged, scarred by the deep marks of conflict. Buildings stood half-collapsed, their glass windows shattered, their walls blackened and crumbling as though they had borne witness to decades of violence and suffering. The streets, once bustling with life, were eerily silent. The air hung heavy, thick with dust, the kind that clung to everything like a city forgotten by time.

He stumbled backward, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to make sense of it all. No, this wasn't his Seoul.

In this version of the city, the people were different. His eyes darted to the familiar faces of passersby, but there was something something off. They moved with an urgency, eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze. They wore worn clothing, ragged and patched, as if survival had become the only concern that mattered. As though the world had turned into a place where hope had been stripped away. He couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he didn't belong here.

He turned, instinctively seeking refuge in the one place that had always grounded him—his home. But as he walked down the street toward his family's apartment, he noticed the walls were faded, chipped, and the door was no longer the warm, welcoming entrance he knew. It was battered, scarred by years of neglect, and the sounds from within the apartment were distant, muted, as if the life he once knew had been swallowed by a world that refused to relent.

And then it hit him. The history, The legacy.

The unmistakable weight of the past pressed down on him with suffocating force. This was not his world, nor was it the life he had known. The empire of Korea, its proud history of resistance and perseverance, had been crushed under the boot of invaders—not once, but for generations. The Japanese occupation had never ended. His people had been scattered, their culture suppressed, their very existence erased from the annals of history. The city, the country everything he had taken for granted in his life was a dream that had long since crumbled.

He was no longer the child of an academic family, pursuing success through his studies, burdened by the weight of his family's expectations. Here, in this fractured timeline, Seung-Jin was something else entirely a descendant of peasants. The child of the oppressed, struggling to survive in a world ravaged by war, where even the faintest spark of hope was quickly extinguished by the overwhelming force of the empire that had never left. His life was now shaped by the brutality of the world around him—a life defined by scarcity, fear, and the ceaseless battle for survival.

The revelation hit him like a punch to the gut. Every choice, every moment in history everything had been altered.

Seung-Jin walked through the streets, trying to grasp the magnitude of what had happened. The people he knew the friends who had once laughed with him, the classmates he had studied beside were all changed. Some were older, worn by years of hardship, while others were mere shadows of the individuals he had known. Some had never been born. And those who remained? They were now part of a world that didn't allow for dreams, for aspirations. Each person, a reflection of the countless paths their lives had taken in the wake of decisions made long ago.

As he wandered deeper into this alternate reality, his gaze fell upon an antique shop wedged between two ruined buildings. Something about it pulled at him—a whisper in the back of his mind urging him forward. Inside, the shop was untouched by the decay of the outside world. Dust coated the shelves, and the air smelled of old wood and forgotten stories. His eyes landed on an ornate mirror standing in the corner, its surface swirling faintly as though it were not merely reflecting light, but something deeper.

Tentatively, he reached out. The moment his fingers brushed against the frame, a shiver ran down his spine. The mirror did not reflect the present—it showed flashes of another Seoul, his Seoul, moments slipping in and out of focus like waves crashing against the shore of his consciousness. But more than that, it seemed alive, reacting to his touch, responding to his presence.

A thought struck him like lightning. How did this mirror come to exist? Who had created it? What force allowed it to bridge two entirely different worlds? The weight of that question pressed against his chest. If he could understand it—if he could unravel its origins—then perhaps he could find a way back.

Before he could move, a figure appeared in the glass. A woman, dressed in the flowing, regal hanbok that spoke of another age. Her presence seemed to belong to this world, as though she were not merely a part of it, but a guardian of its very essence.

Her face was pale, framed by long, dark hair that cascaded down her back like a river of ink. Her eyes were the most arresting feature, though. Dark and sorrowful, they held the weight of a thousand lifetimes. There was an ancient sadness there, a pain that seemed to resonate from deep within her soul. Her gaze fixed on Seung-Jin with an intensity that made his breath catch in his throat.

"You've seen it, haven't you?" Her voice was soft, but it carried an undeniable power, a strength that spoke of deep knowledge and untold secrets. "The world you once knew… is gone."

Seung-Jin froze, unable to find his voice. How could she know? How could she have known the turmoil that churned inside him, the sense of alienation that had consumed him ever since he had been pulled into this twisted version of his own life?

"You are the key," she continued, her voice resolute. "The mirror does not merely reflect it bridges worlds. And you, Seung-Jin, you hold the power to decide which reality will endure."

Her words sent a chill through him. The mirror… it was more than a relic. It was a doorway. A choice. And whatever he chose would shape the fate of everything he knew.