Haeun didn't sleep that night.
By the time dawn bled through the window, painting the walls with soft gold, she felt like a ghost in her own skin. Her limbs were heavy, her thoughts thick, and her heart—aching in a way that had no physical cause.
She stared at the ring again. It was still on her finger, still silent now. No more humming. No more visions. Just cold silver, like it had always been.
Only… it hadn't always been.
Somehow, she knew that now.
She stood and moved slowly through her apartment, gathering her things on autopilot. Her morning class was in an hour, but it felt absurd. How could she sit in a lecture about consumer behavior when she'd seen a ghost—or maybe herself—from another life?
Still, routine was a kind of survival.
By the time she stepped out into the crisp morning air, the streets of Seoul were coming alive around her. Uniformed students rushed to school, couples strolled with coffee in hand, and city buses hissed to a stop.
Everything looked normal.
But nothing felt normal.
Her mind drifted as she walked, feet taking her toward the university without conscious effort.
That dream. That mirror. That whisper—"I choose him."
Who had she chosen?
And why did it feel like that choice still mattered?
---
Elsewhere – Jinhwan's Office, Hanwol Group Tower
Jinhwan entered his office dressed to perfection—black three-piece suit, silver cufflinks, the image of ruthless precision.
But his eyes were tired. Not physically. Soul-tired.
He moved straight to the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the skyline. The city stretched endlessly, glittering with ambition. He'd conquered most of it by twenty-eight.
And yet here he was, haunted by a girl who hadn't crossed his mind in months—until now.
No. That was a lie.
She'd always been there, hiding in the space between thoughts.
Her laugh. Her stubbornness. The way she'd never once been intimidated by his name or his bank account. The way she'd looked at him—not as a chaebol heir, not as a billionaire, but as a man who bled.
Jinhwan clenched his jaw.
Ian knocked and entered without waiting. "We have a situation."
"I'm listening."
Ian hesitated, then placed a tablet in Jinhwan's hands. On the screen was surveillance footage—grainy, late-night camera feed from Namdaemun.
It showed a man in black receiving a paper from an old vendor.
Jinhwan narrowed his eyes. "Zoom in."
Ian obeyed.
The vendor's hand clearly passed a drawing. When the camera focused on the sketch, Jinhwan's blood ran cold.
It was her. Haeun. Sketched in charcoal, eyes wide, red thread wrapped around her wrist.
"I want the artist identified," Jinhwan said, voice hardening. "And I want the man followed."
Ian nodded. "Already done. But… there's something else."
"What?"
"He's been seen at the abandoned temple. The one your grandfather sealed off."
A pause.
Jinhwan set the tablet down carefully.
That temple wasn't just a relic.
It was the burial ground of the first heir who had tried—and failed—to break the curse.
If someone was stirring that place, it meant the past wasn't just knocking. It was breaking down the door.
---
At the University – Later That Morning
Haeun sat on the stone bench outside the lecture hall, ignoring the buzz of campus life. She hadn't gone inside. Instead, she stared at her hands, palms open.
No red thread. No visions. Just normal, calloused fingers.
But her instincts screamed otherwise.
A soft voice startled her from her thoughts. "You dropped this."
She looked up to see a boy around her age, maybe a little older, holding out her student ID.
He had soft brown hair, a gentle smile, and a presence that was oddly… calming.
"Oh. Thank you." She took the card.
"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Haeun blinked. "Something like that."
"I'm Sunwoo," he said. "Finance major. You?"
"Haeun. Marketing."
"Nice to meet you, Haeun." He didn't offer a handshake, but his smile deepened. "You know, there's a really great café two blocks from here. Most people don't know about it."
She hesitated. She didn't usually go off with strangers. But something about his energy was… steady. Familiar.
And she needed air. She needed space. She needed… something that didn't feel like death whispering down her neck.
"Sure," she said quietly.
---
Café Hwarang – Late Morning
Sunwoo led her into a small hanok-style café tucked between modern shops. The interior was quiet, bathed in warm lighting, the smell of roasted beans and cinnamon curling in the air.
They sat by the window. He ordered two honey lattes without asking, as if he already knew that's what she liked.
"Have you… ever felt like you've lived more than one life?" she asked suddenly, surprising herself.
Sunwoo didn't react the way most people would—no laughter, no weird looks. He just nodded.
"All the time."
She frowned. "Seriously?"
"My grandmother used to say our souls are older than our memories. That sometimes, they remember things our minds can't."
Haeun studied him.
"Why do I feel like we've met before?" she asked softly.
Sunwoo smiled again. But this time, it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe we have."
Before she could press him, a low, hollow clang rang in her ears—like temple bells underwater.
She flinched, dropping her cup. It hit the saucer with a sharp crack.
"Haeun?" Sunwoo leaned forward, concerned.
Her vision blurred. Her wrist burned. When she looked down, the skin had gone red-hot—and faintly glowing.
Sunwoo followed her gaze and froze.
And for a split second, the gentle boy across from her was replaced by something ancient. Something watching.
He reached forward—not to touch her, but to steady the air between them.
"Not yet," he murmured.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the burning stopped.
And the café returned to normal.
People chatted, music played, the scent of coffee still hung in the air.
But nothing would ever be normal again.