The hallway was quiet. Too quiet.
Minjae stood outside Room 503, his eyes locked on the blank space beside it—where Room 504 should have been.
But there was nothing.
No number.
No plaque.
Just smooth wall. Seamless.
Except it wasn't seamless tonight.
Because under the flickering corridor light… a faint outline shimmered.
A door.
Almost invisible.
And beneath it, something etched faintly into the floor tiles:
"Only the bleeding may enter."
⸻
He reached out and touched the hidden frame. The texture was off—like old wood sealed behind plastic.
As he ran his fingers over the outline, a burning sensation seared his palm.
He yanked it back.
Blood.
A single drop from his fingertip had landed on the floor.
And the wall… responded.
A click. A groan. A breath.
The outline shimmered more intensely, then solidified.
A black door.
No handle.
Only a lock—shaped like an eye.
⸻
Back in his room, Minjae didn't dare try to open it yet. His heart was pounding too hard.
He needed answers.
He needed…
Mirae.
But the message last night—Don't let Mirae see the notes. She chose them over you once.
Who were "them"?
He looked over at his desk where the pile of cryptic notes had been carefully hidden beneath his textbooks.
And froze.
They were gone.
Every single note.
In their place, a single sheet of paper.
Minjae picked it up.
Familiar handwriting.
His sister's.
"Stop digging."
"Some doors are locked to protect you."
"If you open Room 504, I won't be able to help you anymore."
— Mirae.
⸻
He didn't go to class the next day.
He spent his time researching.
Not on the internet—because every reference to Room 504, every mention of the closed hallway, had been scrubbed. No records. No photographs. Even the old blueprint from last night had vanished from the archive.
But in the back of the campus library, past a dusty physics section and behind a false panel of cracked drywall, Minjae found something strange:
A book.
Untitled. Leather-bound. No author.
He opened it and immediately felt dizzy.
The pages weren't filled with words.
They were filled with eyes.
Drawings. Symbols. Diagrams of mirrors and broken clocks. Timelines that looped.
And near the end… a single page in red ink:
"Room 504 is where time fractures."
"Those who remember are cursed. Those who forget are used."
"Choose your curse."
⸻
Minjae couldn't sleep that night.
Instead, he stared at the cracked mirror in his dorm.
It had worsened again.
And now, inside the web of fractures, he could see something moving.
Not his reflection.
But her.
A woman standing behind him. Face veiled in shadow. Lips parted in a soft smile.
And behind her… the number: 504 burned into the glass.
⸻
At exactly 11:11 PM, Minjae left his dorm.
He returned to the hallway.
The black door now pulsed gently, as if it had been waiting for him.
Still no handle.
But the lock—the eye—was open.
It was watching him.
And beneath it, a slot had opened in the wood. As if expecting something.
Minjae pulled out the only thing he hadn't lost—the original note he found tucked into his bag. The one with the quote.
He slid it into the slot.
The door inhaled.
And opened.
⸻
Inside was not a room.
It was a hallway.
Narrow. Endless. Covered in torn pages and half-burned photographs. The walls bled words. The ceiling dripped ink.
He stepped in.
The door vanished behind him.
No turning back.
⸻
As he moved forward, the hallway seemed to shift around him.
Flashes of memory flickered through the air like static images:
• A girl crying behind a locked mirror.
• A train, screeching through snow, empty but for one figure.
• Mirae, screaming his name as shadowy hands pulled her into a red-lit doorway.
• Himself. Bound. Smiling. Agreeing to forget.
Minjae fell to his knees, breath ragged.
💭 I agreed to this? Why? Why would I want to forget? 💭
A soft whisper echoed through the hallway.
💭 Because the truth is unbearable. 💭
💭 Because you loved her… and she was never supposed to exist. 💭
💭 And because you chose to save her instead of yourself. 💭
⸻
At the end of the hallway stood a mirror.
Shattered.
Each shard showing a different version of Minjae—laughing, crying, dying, screaming, and one… standing with a woman whose face was hidden.
She held his hand.
They were at peace.
The glass began to shift.
And a figure stepped through.
She was tall. Elegant. Her eyes an unnatural shade of silver.
Her lips curled into a smile.
"Welcome back, Minjae."
He stumbled backward. "Who—who are you?"
She stepped closer.
"You remembered me once."
Her hands brushed the side of his face.
"And I've waited so long for you to do it again."
⸻
Suddenly, the walls cracked.
The sound of tearing—like paper, like skin—ripped through the air.
The figure stepped back.
"Time's unraveling again. You don't have long."
She held out a card.
Black. Embossed with silver ink.
"Next time, remember faster."
Then she vanished into smoke.
And the hallway collapsed.
⸻
Minjae woke up in bed.
Breathless. Shirt drenched in sweat.
But something was in his hand.
The black card.
He flipped it.
On the back, a quote:
"Some memories are prisons. Others are weapons. Choose what you'll carry."
And a phone number.
Faint. Almost unreadable.
But familiar.
His own.
Except… written in her handwriting.
⸻
📲💬
From Unknown
Now that you've opened the door… she remembers you too.
💬
⸻
[End Of Chapter 13]
⸻
📒 A/N:
Chapter 13 throws Minjae deep into the unknown—Room 504 finally reveals itself, but what he finds isn't just a space… it's a fracture in memory, time, and identity. The girl behind the mirror knows him. And worst of all, so does the entity that erased it all. The mirror doesn't lie—it reflects what you chose to forget. Now, the question looms: What was so unbearable that Minjae begged to forget it… even if it meant losing her?