The world was white.
Not just the ground—but everything. No sky, no walls, no shadows. Just an endless, glowing blankness that stretched in every direction. A soft wind whispered through the silence, though there were no trees to rustle, no grass to stir.
He walked.
He didn't know how long. His footsteps made no sound, and his legs didn't tire. The silence wrapped around him like a second skin.
Then he saw him.
A man—standing still in the distance. His body hunched forward, unmoving, like a statue. As the boy walked closer, his breath caught in his throat. The man's white shirt was soaked in red. Blood. It clung to his chest and dripped down his arms like ink on paper.
"Hey," the boy called out. "Are you okay?"
No response.
He stepped closer. The man's head was bowed, face hidden in shadow. His fingers twitched, slowly curling like claws.
One more step—
And everything shattered.
Darkness surged in, dragging the white away like a pulled curtain. The ground vanished beneath his feet. He fell.
Then—
"Wake up! You're going to be late!"
His mother's voice rang in his ears. The dream faded. He gasped, eyes flying open.
He was back in his room. Sheets tangled around him, the fan humming overhead, sunlight leaking through the curtains. His heart was pounding.
The man in the white space was gone.
But the feeling wasn't.
He still remembered the blood.
.....
Yeon Sangwo stared at the ceiling for a long moment after waking, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. It clung to his skin like sweat. That man—his blood-soaked shirt, the silence—it all felt too real.
A knock came at the door. "Yeon! Donald's waiting!" his mother shouted from the hallway.
"Coming!" Sangwo called back, dragging himself out of bed. He got ready quickly, grabbed a piece of toast, and ran out the door, bag bouncing on his shoulder.
Donald stood outside, leaning against the gate with that usual lazy grin on his face. His hair was a mess, and he had his headphones around his neck, blasting some loud rock band Sangwo couldn't stand.
"Took you long enough," Donald said, tossing him a juice box.
Sangwo caught it. "Bad dream."
"Nightmare again?" Donald asked
"Yeah. Worse this time." Sangwo replied,
They started walking down the familiar road to Hanrim High. Birds chirped overhead. Students in uniform passed by on bicycles and foot, laughing, chatting, alive.
Sangwo felt disconnected, like he was still walking through that endless white space.
Donald talked about a new game he downloaded and a rumor about a math teacher getting married. Sangwo tried to listen, but something pulled at the edge of his mind—until they reached the school gates.
That's when he saw him.
Standing at the main entrance of Hanrim High was a boy—tall, clean-cut uniform, perfect posture. He was surrounded by a group of students, all laughing at whatever he was saying. A black luxury car pulled away from the curb just behind him.
And Sangwo froze.
It was him.
The same face. The man from the dream.
But… different.
This version was clean. Charismatic. No blood, no hollow look. He was real. Laughing. Alive.
Yeon Sangwo stared, heartbeat rising.
Donald nudged him. "You okay, bro?"
"That guy…" Sangwo whispered, eyes locked on the figure. "I've seen him before."
Donald blinked. "Who? Oh—you mean the new transfer student? He just got here from the U.S. or something. Filthy rich. Name's Jae."
Sangwo said nothing. The boy—Jae—looked up right then, as if he felt the stare. His eyes locked with Sangwo's.
And for a split second—
They were back in the white.
No sound. No time. Just the two of them.
Then it was gone.
Jae smiled slightly and turned away.
Sangwo's blood ran cold.