The back room door remained closed.
Do-yoon stood in front of it for several seconds, staring at the doorknob like someone weighing a career decision.
Behind him, Jae-hyun whispered, “Don’t.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The look you get when you’re about to do something that’ll get me in trouble too.”
Do-yoon glanced at him.
“I haven’t even opened the door.”
“Exactly. Usually you open it first and think about it later.”
“I’m a shaman.”
“You’re also human.”
“Unfortunately.”
Jae-hyun didn’t laugh.
Neither did Do-yoon.
Because his father’s voice was still clear in his head.
Don’t trust that woman.
No.
That wasn’t what bothered him.
What bothered him was that the voice had sounded exactly like Jung-woo.
Not just similar.
The intonation.
The breath between the words.
The way his father said his name.
Everything was the same.
Too much the same.
Do-yoon raised his hand and touched the doorknob.
“If you open it,” Jae-hyun said quietly, “I’m going home.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s something outside.”
“Exactly. I’m going home before it gets a chance to introduce itself.”
Do-yoon almost smiled.
Almost.
His hand stopped.
Then he lowered it again.
“You’re right.”
Jae-hyun looked relieved.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Damn. You’re finally growing up.”
“Don’t push it.”
Do-yoon turned toward the altar.
He picked up his phone from the table.
The screen was still dark.
He pressed the power button.
It didn’t turn on.
“Battery’s dead.”
“Yeah.”
“I need a charger.”
“Where is it?”
“In my room.”
Jae-hyun looked down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Then at the back room door.
Then at Do-yoon.
“I’m coming with you.”
Do-yoon raised an eyebrow.
“Scared?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I just don’t trust the floor plan in this place.”
“What?”
“Every room in your house has a door.”
Do-yoon sighed.
“It’s a house.”
“It’s a shamanic shrine.”
“It’s both.”
“Even worse.”
They walked down the hallway.
Nothing was there.
No sound.
No shadows.
No woman in white.
But when they passed the mirror at the end of the hall, Do-yoon stopped.
Their reflections looked normal.
Jae-hyun stood beside him.
Do-yoon stood beside Jae-hyun.
But there was another figure behind them.
A woman.
Long hair.
White clothes.
Do-yoon froze.
Jae-hyun looked at the mirror.
His face went pale at once.
“Don’t move.”
Do-yoon didn’t move.
The woman stood a few steps behind them.
Her head tilted slightly.
She wasn’t smiling.
She wasn’t angry.
She was just watching.
Do-yoon stared at the reflection for a little longer.
Something was different.
Something made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He raised his right hand.
The woman didn’t follow.
Do-yoon lowered his hand.
The woman remained still.
“Jae-hyun.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s not the woman from the apartment.”
Jae-hyun swallowed.
“Then who is she?”
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
Because the woman suddenly raised her hand.
Pointing toward the bedroom.
Not at Do-yoon.
At something behind them.
Do-yoon slowly turned around.
The hallway was empty.
When he looked back at the mirror—
the woman was gone.
“Fuck.”
Jae-hyun let out a long breath.
“I’m going home.”
“Wait.”
“I said I’m going home.”
“Look.”
Do-yoon pointed at the mirror.
There was writing on its surface.
Not in blood.
Not in condensation.
Just faint scratches, like marks from a fingernail.
Four Korean characters.
돌아와.
Come back.
Jae-hyun stared at the writing.
“Where?”
Do-yoon looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Why couldn’t she write something more specific?”
“Even demons have communication issues.”
“This isn’t the time to joke.”
“I know.”
Do-yoon moved closer to the mirror.
His fingers touched its cold surface.
The moment his skin touched the writing—
a voice entered his mind.
Not from the room.
Not from the hallway.
Not from any world he could touch.
A woman’s voice.
Very soft.
Your mother didn’t die that night.
Do-yoon pulled his hand away.
His body stumbled back a step.
Jae-hyun immediately caught his arm.
“Do-yoon?”
Do-yoon stared at the mirror.
The writing was gone.
“I heard something.”
“What?”
Do-yoon didn’t answer right away.
He knew Jae-hyun would ask again.
He knew he had to say something.
But some sentences were too heavy to say after midnight.
Especially when they were about someone who’d been dead for more than ten years.
Finally, he said,
“I think… we need to meet my father.”
3:41 a.m.
Park Jung-woo was still awake.
He sat alone in his apartment study.
His white shirt was still neat, though he’d taken off his tie. His laptop was open on the desk, but he wasn’t really looking at the screen.
In his hand was a small box.
An old wooden box.
He hadn’t opened it in years.
He lifted the lid.
Inside was a photograph.
A family photo.
Jung-woo was much younger.
His wife stood beside him.
Little Do-yoon stood between them.
Nine years old.
His hair was a mess.
He held a small toy in his hand.
On the back of the photo, there was a note in his wife’s handwriting.
Don’t leave him alone.
Jung-woo closed his eyes.
Then came a knock at the window.
Tap.
He opened his eyes.
He didn’t move.
Tap.
A second knock.
Jung-woo stood up.
He walked over to the window.
There was no one on the balcony.
Only the city lights.
He drew the curtains.
Then he saw something on the glass.
Writing traced in condensation.
DO-YOON KNOWS.
Jung-woo stood still.
The color drained from his face.
He knew one thing.
If Do-yoon had started seeing again—
then they were out of time.
He picked up his phone.
Opened his son’s contact.
His finger stopped over the call button.
Then—
the phone rang first.
Unknown number.
Jung-woo stared at the screen.
He didn’t answer.
The call ended.
Then a message came in.
You failed to protect him once.
A second message appeared.
Don’t fail a second time.
Jung-woo gripped his phone tightly.
Then the final message.
This time, it isn’t his mother who’s coming.
He stared at the screen for a long time.
Before finally whispering,
“No.”
Jung-woo looked toward the family photo.
“She is.”