2: (SANGWOO LIVES?)

Silence choked the room.

Seungbae felt his heartbeat in his throat, a slow, heavy pound that made his vision blur. No. No, that's impossible.

But Yoonbum—pale, shaking, his fingers twisting into the hospital sheets—looked up at him with eyes full of something sick, something desperate.

"He—" Bum's voice cracked. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "He called me."

Seungbae stiffened. "What?"

Bum's nails dug into the fabric. "My phone before I ran into the street. I heard his voice."

His breath hitched, and his fingers crept toward his chest like he was reaching for something—something missing. "He said my name."

Seungbae's skin prickled. He fought to keep his voice steady. "Yoonbum. Sangwoo is dead. You know that."

But Bum only shook his head, frantically. "You don't understand." His lips trembled, curling into something close to a smile. "I saw him. Across the street. He looked at me."

Seungbae wanted to dismiss it.

Tell Bum he was hallucinating, that it was his trauma tricking him—

But the ring in his pocket felt too heavy.

The blackbox footage. The man on the street.

And now this.

Seungbae sat down beside the bed, pressing his fingers into his temples.

He exhaled, slow.

"Your phone." His voice was hoarse.

"Do you still have it?"

Bum blinked at him. Slowly, he nodded.

His bandaged fingers shakily reached under his pillow, pulling out a cracked phone—blood still dried along the edges from the accident.

Seungbae took it, hands steady despite the ice curling in his veins. He turned on the screen.

Missed call.

Unknown number.

11:56 PM.

Seungbae's breath hitched. That was right before he got hit.

He clicked on the call history. His stomach flipped.

The number had no name. But there was something else.

A voicemail.

Seungbae's fingers hesitated over the screen. Bum clutched the sheets, wide eyes locked onto him.

"Play it," Bum whispered.

Seungbae swallowed hard. Then he pressed play.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

A sharp inhale. A sound so familiar it made Seungbae's blood freeze.

A chuckle.

Low. Amused.

Then—

"…Bum."

Seungbae's body locked up.

Because that voice—

That voice belonged to a man who should have been dead.

The room felt like it had been swallowed by something dark and suffocating.

Seungbae's grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. That voice. It was unmistakable. Oh Sangwoo.

The voicemail continued, static crackling softly. Then—

"I know you're there."

Bum inhaled sharply beside him, his whole body trembling violently. His fingers curled against his chest, gripping at the hospital gown like he wanted to claw through his own skin.

"Sangwoo…" he whispered, eyes wide, wet, terrified—hopeful.

The voicemail ended.

Seungbae's pulse pounded in his ears. His mouth had gone dry. He stared at the screen, his own reflection pale and shaken against the dim light.

There was no logic to this. No rational explanation.

Sangwoo was dead.

Seungbae saw his remains. He saw the body burn. The case was closed.

So how—

The phone vibrated in his hand.

Seungbae almost dropped it.

New message. Same unknown number.

"Did you miss me?"

His breath stopped.

The air in the hospital room was too thick, pressing down on him like a weight. Seungbae turned the screen toward Bum. "Did you… did you text this number?" His voice barely came out.

Bum just shook his head. His lips trembled, parting slightly, and then—

The phone vibrated again.

A new picture.

Seungbae hesitated. He could feel Bum's heartbeat through the tension in the room.

Then, finally, he opened the image.

And what he saw made his stomach drop.

A street. Dimly lit. A single figure in the distance, walking away.

And in the corner of the image—Bum's ring, resting on an outstretched palm.

A message followed.

"Come home, Bum."

Seungbae shoved back from the chair, cursing. The phone nearly slipped from his grip.

Bum, pale as death, reached for the screen with shaking fingers. His lips parted, his breath shallow and quick. His whole body quivered.

"Sangwoo…"

Seungbae's gut twisted. No. This isn't happening.

But Bum wasn't listening.

His eyes—his damn eyes—lit up with something desperate, something longing.

And then, in the smallest, most broken whisper—

"…I have to go."

"No."

Seungbae's voice was sharp, final. He grabbed Bum's wrist, his grip firm but careful. "You're not going anywhere."

Bum flinched at the touch, but his eyes never left the phone screen. His lips trembled, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "You… you don't understand." His fingers twitched like he wanted to rip his arm away, but his body was too weak. "He's waiting for me."

Seungbae gritted his teeth. This isn't real. It can't be.

But the facts didn't add up. The black box footage. The ring. The voicemail. The text.

A dead man calling from beyond the grave.

He needed to find the source.

Seungbae exhaled through his nose and pocketed Bum's phone. "Listen to me." His voice was low, measured. "This could be someone playing a sick game. Someone who knows what happened, who wants to mess with you."

Bum slowly turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "What if it's him?" His voice cracked at the end. "What if it's really him?"

Seungbae's stomach turned. Bum was hopeless. Desperate. A part of him—no matter how deep—wanted it to be true.

"I saw him," Bum whispered, tears slipping down his face. "I saw him across the street. He looked at me, Seungbae. Just like he used to." His voice broke on the last word. His body swayed forward, as if pulled by something unseen.

Seungbae steadied him, his fingers tightening around his wrist. "Yoonbum." His voice was steady, controlled. "Do you really think Sangwoo would come back for you?"

Bum flinched like he'd been struck. His eyes widened, his lips parting—but no words came out.

Seungbae didn't stop. "If he was alive, do you think he'd be waiting for you with open arms?"

Bum sucked in a shaky breath. His whole body trembled.

And Seungbae saw it—the flicker of doubt.

It was small, buried under layers of obsession, pain, and trauma, but it was there.

Seungbae pushed forward. "Sangwoo destroyed you." His voice was razor-sharp. "You're still bleeding because of him. If he's alive, what do you think he'll do?"

Bum's eyes were glassy, his breath uneven. He looked lost, like a drowning man caught between sinking and gasping for air.

For a long moment, he didn't speak.

Then—

The phone vibrated in Seungbae's pocket.

Seungbae's breath stalled.

Slowly, he pulled it out.

Another message.

A location pin.

The caption read:

"Last chance, Bum."

Seungbae felt cold all over.

He locked eyes with Bum, his own reflection visible in those dark, hollow pupils.

Something in the air had shifted.

And in that moment, Seungbae knew—

This wasn't over.

Seungbae's fingers hovered over the screen, his mind racing.

A location pin. A direct invitation.

A trap.

He could feel Bum's eyes on him, wide and desperate. His body was trembling, but there was something else—something dangerous—flickering in his expression.

Hope.

Seungbae exhaled sharply, shoving the phone into his pocket. "You're not going."

Bum flinched, his entire body tensing. "But—"

"I said no." Seungbae's tone was final. He pushed off the chair, pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. His mind was already working, sorting through possibilities.

Whoever sent that message wanted Bum to come alone. That meant one of two things—

Either Sangwoo was alive… or someone wanted them to think he was.

Neither option was good.

Bum clenched his fists against the sheets. His lips pressed together, shaking. "You don't understand," he whispered. His voice cracked. "I have to go."

Seungbae stopped pacing. His eyes locked onto Bum's face. "Why?"

Bum looked down, his shoulders curling inward. His fingers dug into his hospital gown. "Because… if it's him…" He swallowed. "I need to see him."

Seungbae's stomach twisted. This idiot.

His voice came out sharper than he intended. "You want to go back to him that badly?"

Bum flinched, his expression crumbling. "It's not like that—"

"Then what is it like?" Seungbae's patience was razor-thin. "He abused you. He nearly killed you. And now you want to run back to him the second he calls?"

Bum squeezed his eyes shut. Tears slipped down his cheeks. His whole body was shaking.

Seungbae let out a slow, heavy breath. Calm down. Think.

He turned toward the door, forcing himself to push back the frustration. He had bigger problems right now.

He needed to check the location. He needed backup. He needed a plan.

But then—

A sound.

Click.

Seungbae froze.

Slowly, he turned back toward the bed.

His breath caught.

Bum was out of bed, swaying unsteadily. His legs were weak, his body trembling. But that wasn't what made Seungbae's heart stop.

It was the scalpel in Bum's shaking hands.

Pointed at his own throat.

Seungbae's blood ran cold.

"I need to go," Bum whispered, his voice thin and fragile. His fingers clenched around the blade, pressing it closer to his skin. "I can't—I can't just stay here."

Seungbae's pulse pounded in his ears.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Bum." He lifted both hands, careful, steady. "Put that down."

Bum shook his head violently. His breath came out in broken, panicked gasps. "If you stop me—if you keep me here—I'll do it." His eyes were wild, desperate. "I swear I'll do it."

Seungbae's fingers twitched. His mind raced.

He needed to get the scalpel away. Fast.

But one wrong move—one slip—

And Bum would cut deep.

Seungbae clenched his jaw. No sudden movements. No aggression.

He exhaled slowly. "Okay." His voice was calm, steady. "Okay, Bum. You want to go."

Bum's breath hitched. He nodded frantically.

Seungbae swallowed. His next words were careful.

"Then I'm coming with you."

Bum hesitated. His fingers trembled around the scalpel, his grip loose but not weak enough for Seungbae to make a move.

His lips parted, uncertain. "No... no, he—he said to come alone."

Seungbae nodded, keeping his hands raised, keeping his voice even. "I know. But think about it, Bum." He took a slow step closer. "What if this isn't him? What if it's a trick?"

Bum flinched. His grip on the blade tightened.

Seungbae kept pushing. "What if someone else is using his name? Someone who knows about Sangwoo, about you. If you go alone, you could end up dead."

That made Bum's breathing hitch. Because deep down, he knew.

This was dangerous. It wasn't right. But that tiny, desperate part of him wanted to believe so badly—he couldn't stop himself.

Seungbae took another step. "If it's really him, wouldn't he want you safe?"

That made Bum freeze. His eyes flickered with something—doubt? Hesitation?

Seungbae didn't wait for an answer. He reached forward, slow and careful, fingers wrapping gently around the hand that held the scalpel. "You don't need to do this."

Bum swallowed hard. His whole body trembled. He let out a shaky breath—and then, slowly, he let go.

The scalpel slipped into Seungbae's palm.

He exhaled. Carefully, he placed it on the hospital tray. Out of reach.

Then, gently, he held Bum's wrist. "You're not going alone. I won't let you."

Bum didn't fight him. He didn't speak. He just stood there, staring down at the floor, shoulders slumped like a child caught in a cruel dream.

Seungbae didn't wait for him to change his mind. He grabbed the phone, checked the location.

A warehouse. Near the outskirts of town.

Of course.

His gut twisted. It's a trap. It has to be.

But they had no choice.

He grabbed his coat and moved fast.

"Bum." He turned back, gripping the door handle. "Get dressed. We're going."

Bum hesitated. His eyes darted to the phone, then to the window, as if someone was watching. But when he looked back at Seungbae, something flickered in his expression.

Something like trust.

"...Okay."

Seungbae nodded. This is it.

Whether it was Sangwoo or someone else, they were about to find out.

And if it really was him—

Then this time, Seungbae wouldn't let him escape.

The drive to the warehouse was silent.

Seungbae kept his eyes on the road, his grip firm on the wheel. His mind was a whirlwind of possibilities.

If this was a setup, who was behind it? A copycat? Someone from Sangwoo's past? Or—somehow—was Sangwoo actually alive?

No. Impossible.

Seungbae had seen the reports, the burned house, the remains—Sangwoo was dead.

And yet…

He gritted his teeth, shaking the thought away.

Beside him, Bum sat curled into himself, gripping the sleeves of his oversized jacket. He hadn't spoken since they left the hospital. His eyes were locked on the phone screen, staring at the map.

Seungbae exhaled through his nose. "You still think it's him?"

Bum didn't answer right away. His fingers tightened around the fabric of his sleeve. "...I don't know." His voice was quiet, fragile. "But I have to see."

Seungbae glanced at him briefly. The way Bum was sitting—small, tense, like he was bracing for something—made something twist in his chest.

Even now, he's still trapped.

The trauma. The obsession. The fear. It never really left him.

Seungbae refocused on the road. I won't let him get hurt again.

The warehouse was in an abandoned lot, surrounded by rusted fences and cracked pavement. The air was thick with dust and the distant scent of oil.

Seungbae pulled up a block away, killing the engine. "We go together."

Bum swallowed hard but nodded.

They stepped out into the cold night air. The warehouse loomed ahead, its metal doors slightly ajar. Light flickered faintly from within.

Someone was inside.

Seungbae reached for his holster, checking his gun. Fully loaded.

Good.

He turned to Bum. "Stay behind me. No matter what happens."

Bum hesitated, then nodded again.

Seungbae took the first step forward, pushing the warehouse door open.

Inside, the air was stale, filled with the scent of rust and old wood. Stacks of crates lined the space, casting long shadows under the flickering light.

And then—

A figure stood near the back.

Tall. Lean. Dressed in dark clothes.

Their back was turned to them, as if waiting.

Seungbae's breath slowed. His fingers hovered over his gun.

Who the hell—

Bum took a shaky step forward. "Sangwoo…?"

The figure moved.

Slowly, it turned.

And when Seungbae saw the face—

His blood ran ice cold.

It was him.

Oh Sangwoo.

Smiling.

Eyes locked right on them.

"Bum," he said, his voice smooth, familiar. "You finally came."

Bum froze.

His breath hitched. His whole body trembled.

And then—

He collapsed.

"Bum—!"

Seungbae barely caught him before he hit the ground.

Bum's body was limp, shaking violently. His breath came out in short, panicked gasps. His fingers clutched at Seungbae's jacket, nails digging into the fabric.

Seungbae gritted his teeth. Shit. This was too much for him.

He shot his gaze up toward the figure.

Sangwoo.

But that wasn't possible. It wasn't possible.

The man standing before them looked exactly like him—sharp eyes, smirking lips, the same posture, the same mocking confidence.

But Sangwoo was dead. Seungbae knew he was dead.

And yet—

The way he stood, the way he looked at Bum—like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse—

It felt real.

"What's wrong, Bum?" the man asked, tilting his head. His voice was eerily familiar. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Bum let out a choked noise, curling in on himself. His breath was ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. Like he couldn't handle it.

Seungbae straightened, tightening his grip on his gun. "Who the hell are you?" His voice was sharp, demanding.

The man's smirk widened. "Isn't it obvious?" His eyes flickered to Bum. "Tell him, Bum. Tell him who I am."

Bum's breathing hitched. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

Seungbae's patience snapped. He aimed the gun. "I asked you a question."

The man didn't flinch. If anything, he looked amused.

"You always were an annoying little pest, Detective Yang." He took a slow step forward. "Always poking around, always trying so hard to be a hero."

Seungbae's finger tensed on the trigger. He knows me.

"You're not Sangwoo," Seungbae growled. "You can't be."

The man laughed.

Low. Amused. Chilling.

"Can't I?"

And then—

He took another step forward.

Seungbae fired.

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

Bum flinched violently.

The bullet tore through the air—

And hit nothing.

The man was gone.

Seungbae's breath caught.

What—?

A whisper brushed against his ear.

"Too slow."

Seungbae spun—

But something slammed into his side.

Pain exploded through his ribs as he crashed against the concrete floor, gun skidding across the ground.

Bum let out a cry.

Seungbae gasped, vision spinning, chest burning. What the fuck just happened?

Footsteps echoed.

Slow. Deliberate.

He lifted his gaze.

The man—Sangwoo, or whatever the hell he was—was standing over him now, smirking.

Seungbae clenched his jaw. How did he move so fast?

Bum was still on the ground, staring up in sheer terror. Frozen.

Seungbae needed to get up. He needed to fight.

But then—

The man crouched down.

And in one smooth motion—

He grabbed Bum by the chin.

Bum's breath stopped. His entire body went stiff.

A gloved thumb brushed across his cheek. Almost gentle.

"You came for me," the man murmured, voice low and sickly sweet.

"Good boy."

Seungbae saw red.

He lunged—

But the world suddenly spun.

Something slammed into his skull—hard.

His vision blurred. Darkened.

He barely heard Bum's choked sob.

The last thing he saw—

Was Sangwoo's grin.

And then—

Everything went black.