The next morning, Kang Minjae stirred before dawn again.
He hadn't really slept. His eyes had closed, but his mind hadn't. That final message from the unknown number still lingered like smoke in his lungs.
"I don't like seeing you tired. Rest well, my moonlight."
The phrase played on repeat. He didn't recognize the tone—not exactly loving, not exactly threatening. But it carried weight. Ownership.
He sat up and checked his phone first thing. No new messages.
Just silence.
His room felt too quiet.
After dressing for his first class, he grabbed his worn-out backpack, slipped on a hoodie, and headed out, careful not to wake his sister, Mirae. She had come home late again from her shift and fallen asleep at the kitchen table with a stack of manuscript drafts and red pens. He gently placed a blanket over her shoulders before leaving.
The sky outside was a pale grey. No sun. No rain. Just that static calm that Seoul sometimes wore like a mask.
By 7:20 AM, Minjae was already on campus, reading at the university library. A habit. A safe place.
But this time, something was off.
The usual study desk he preferred—a secluded corner near the philosophy section—already had something on it. A small white envelope.
No name on the front.
But it was addressed to him.
Because the handwriting inside was the same.
Delicate, controlled, expensive ink on thick paper.
"Don't drink from the vending machine today. Someone's watching.
Try the canteen instead—seat by the window.
I'll be near."
—From Someone Who's Watching
Minjae stared at the letter, fingers trembling slightly.
It wasn't just that someone knew his routine. It was that they were predicting him now. Guiding him.
A line echoed in his head:
I'll be near.
He quickly scanned the library.
Just students. Heads down. Whispers. Soft page turns. No one looking his way.
He shoved the note into his pocket and left.
By lunchtime, the unease had settled into his bones.
He didn't go to the vending machine.
He did go to the canteen.
And he did sit at the window seat.
Not because the note told him to.
Because he wanted to know if whoever was watching would make a move.
For thirty minutes, he ate silently, eyes flicking between students, staff, and the occasional stranger walking past the large window panels.
But nothing happened.
No phone buzz. No new message.
Until he returned to his dorm later that evening.
And found something taped to his door.
It was a photo.
Of him.
Sitting at the exact table from earlier. Drinking from the water cup, back slightly hunched, eyes scanning the window.
On the back of the photo was a single sentence:
"You looked beautiful under the light."
Minjae's breath caught.
This was no longer just mysterious. It was invasive.
He tore the photo off and looked around the hallway. But it was empty.
When he stepped into his room and locked the door behind him, his hands were shaking.
He dropped onto the bed and pulled out his phone.
📲💬
This has gone too far. Who the hell are you?
Are you stalking me?
💬
He hit send.
This time, the reply came slower. Almost a full minute passed before the screen lit up again.
📲💬
Why are you afraid of being cared for?
💬
📲💬
You deserve someone who sees everything.
Not just your smile. But your scars too.
💬
📲💬
Let me watch over you.
💬
Minjae gritted his teeth.
He typed furiously.
📲💬
This isn't watching over. This is tracking. Following.
You don't even know me.
💬
Silence again.
For ten minutes.
Then—
📲💬
You're right. I don't know you.
Yet.
💬
Minjae stared at the screen.
The three dots popped up again. A follow-up message.
📲💬
But I will.
💬
He dropped the phone on the bed like it burned.
There was no way to block the number—it always came through as "Unknown."
No contact info. No profile.
He thought of going to the police. But what would he say?
That someone was… what? Leaving notes and food? Sending poetry and cryptic text messages?
He didn't have a crime.
He had a feeling.
A very bad feeling.
At around 10 PM, he sat with his laptop open, trying to distract himself with job applications. His inbox was filled with auto-replies and rejections.
Then a new email popped up.
Subject: "You Looked Tired Today"
Sender: [no name]
Address: blackmoon@shadowmail.kr
There was no text inside. Just an attachment.
A PNG image.
He hesitated. Then opened it.
It was another photo.
But this one wasn't from today.
It was a photo of him and Mirae, taken from across the street. They were walking home together, laughing about something. It looked candid. Intimate. Warm.
And wrong.
Because neither of them had ever posed for it.
His heart began to pound.
And this time, he wasn't just scared for himself.
📲💬
Leave my sister out of this.
If you're watching me, fine. But don't touch my family.
💬
📲💬
I would never hurt her.
She's your light.
But you…
You belong to the dark.
💬
📲💬
And the dark belongs to me.
💬
Minjae stood up so fast the chair scraped the floor behind him.
The room was cold. Too cold.
He turned toward the window.
It was closed.
Curtains drawn.
But suddenly…
There was a knock.
Not at the door.
At the window.
On the third floor.
He froze.
Did he imagine it?
There it was again.
A soft tap. Deliberate.
He ran to the window and yanked the curtains aside.
Nothing.
Only the empty night.
Only shadows.
But when he glanced down, right on the edge of the windowsill…
A fresh lily.
A white lily.
Tied with a black ribbon.
And tucked beneath it, another note.
He slowly opened the window and reached out, heart hammering in his chest.
The note read:
"I see you even when you don't see me.
You're safe—
Because I'm the danger."
His fingers tightened around the ribbon.
He didn't know whether to scream or collapse.
The flower was real.
The note was real.
And so was the danger.
_____
📒 A/N:
The psychological tension is building up. The messages, the photos, the flower—everything is intentional. Minjae's descent into this dark obsession begins subtly but deeply. Seo Yoonji is not a passive observer; she is orchestrating every moment from the shadows.
No direct interaction yet—only control.