The rain had soaked him down to his bones.
Sunwoo stood in the narrow hallway, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, suit clinging to his tall frame. Behind him, the fluorescent lights flickered in the ceiling above the dorms, humming like static. The umbrella he'd abandoned halfway up the hill was probably floating down a drainpipe by now.
But none of that mattered.
He was here.
In front of her.
And her eyes… those wide, hesitant eyes that stared at him like he might disappear if she blinked too long.
"I need to tell you everything," he said again, softer this time.
Haeun opened the door fully, stepping aside. "Come in."
She hadn't changed out of her hoodie and pajama shorts. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, strands falling over her cheeks. The living room smelled faintly of vanilla incense and instant noodles.
"You can sit," she offered, motioning to the floor cushions.
He took one, careful not to soak her rug with his wet clothes. She disappeared for a moment, returning with a towel and a fresh shirt—Mirae's boyfriend must've left it here.
"I figured you wouldn't want to talk while dripping."
"Thanks," he said, taking the towel and drying his face slowly. "I wasn't thinking straight."
"You're here. That says enough."
Haeun sat across from him, folding her knees under her. She looked at him like she was trying to read between his features.
No mask. No suit. Just a man.
A very tired man with something to confess.
"I've known you before," Sunwoo said finally. "Not just in a past life. Not just once. Again and again."
Haeun's breath caught. "You're serious."
"Yes."
She didn't interrupt. Just nodded for him to go on.
He stared at his hands, as if they might hold the story themselves.
"In every life, you've had the same eyes. That same fire that makes you jump into storms when everyone else runs for cover. I tried to forget you once, when you died the first time. I thought I could live without the memory. But every time you came back… it got harder."
Haeun clutched the ring around her neck, her fingers trembling slightly.
"In the beginning, it was simpler. We were just two people drawn together by fate. But after the second time… I started to remember. I wasn't supposed to. But I did."
"How many times have we—" she paused, swallowing. "—lived like this?"
"I've counted seven. This is the eighth."
The silence that followed was heavy. Like the room itself inhaled and held its breath.
"And Jinhwan?"
Sunwoo's face darkened slightly.
"He remembers all of them."
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because the curse starts with his bloodline."
Sunwoo leaned forward, speaking low and slow, like every word carried weight.
"More than a century ago, his ancestor—Jinhwan's great-great-grandfather—made a pact. He wanted wealth, power, immortality for his family legacy. He traded something ancient… something sacred."
"What was it?"
Sunwoo looked at her, eyes clouded. "You."
She froze.
"Not you, exactly. But the soul you carry. The woman he was meant to protect. He gave you up to the fox spirit—Gumiho—to seal the deal."
"The Gumiho?" Haeun whispered. "Like the stories?"
He nodded. "They exist. Or they did. They were guardians once. Not monsters. But when a human breaks a vow to them… they curse the bloodline."
"And what does that have to do with me?"
"You were the vow," he said quietly. "The soul promised to be protected, cherished, never harmed. When the Han ancestor betrayed that, the curse began. Every heir of that family—Jinhwan included—is bound to relive that betrayal until it's resolved."
"But I didn't betray anyone…"
"You didn't," Sunwoo said, his voice tightening. "But each time, you're dragged into the same story. The same death. Because the curse won't break unless the heir sacrifices everything to protect you. Truly. Selflessly."
"And he hasn't," she murmured.
"No," Sunwoo said, eyes flashing. "He always chooses the legacy. The power. Even when he says he doesn't."
She leaned back, absorbing it all. It sounded insane. Like something ripped from the pages of an over-the-top fantasy.
But it also explained… everything.
The dreams. The ring. The pull toward Jinhwan. The ache in her chest when she looked at Sunwoo and felt a grief she couldn't name.
"Why are you in this?" she finally asked. "You're not a Han."
Sunwoo hesitated.
"Because I was the original guardian."
"What?"
"I was the one who gave the vow. I swore to protect your soul across lifetimes. I failed. The first time, I failed, and I lost you. Since then, I've been trying to keep the promise—through borrowed lifetimes, fragmented memories, and a world that doesn't believe in magic anymore."
His voice cracked near the end.
For the first time since she'd met him, Sunwoo looked fragile.
"I've been watching you die for a hundred years," he said. "And I can't do it again."
The room fell silent.
Outside, thunder rolled like distant drums.
She reached forward without thinking, placing a hand over his.
His skin was warm, steady. A grounding point in a story that had just shattered everything she thought she knew.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she whispered.
"You don't have to do anything," he replied. "Not yet. Just… stay close. Let me protect you this time."
"And Jinhwan?"
"He's coming for you. He always does. But I'll be there."
Her heart pounded in her chest. She didn't know what was more terrifying: the curse, or how much she already wanted to believe him.
---
Elsewhere – Hanwol Tower, Midnight
Jinhwan stood at the top floor window, looking down at Seoul like it was a game board. In his hand was the same journal he'd read earlier.
Seo-hyeon's words echoed in his mind.
"Love is not sacrifice. Love is choice."
He hadn't understood it then.
But seeing her again—Haeun, with her defiant gaze and trembling voice—he felt it.
This time could be different.
This time, he wouldn't lose her.
But he also wouldn't give up the legacy.
Not when he was so close to finally breaking the curse without letting go of the Han empire.
He would find a way.
He always did.
---
Next Morning – University Campus
Haeun walked with headphones in her ears, but no music playing.
The city looked different now. Every face could be a hidden player. Every shadow, a piece of a larger game.
Sunwoo's confession haunted her thoughts, but it was the tenderness in his eyes that stuck.
He had seen her die—again and again—and still returned.
But Jinhwan… Jinhwan had always felt like gravity. Unyielding. Pulling her in, even when she wanted to float away.
"Miss Choi?"
She turned. It was Professor Seo again.
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if you had a moment," he said, his voice as calm as ever. "I have something I think belongs to you."
He held out a small, worn notebook.
When she opened it, the first page made her legs buckle.
Haeun, when you read this, it means the cycle has begun again…