Yeon Sangwo stared at the blood-stained paper, his fingers trembling as he gripped the edge of the desk. The crimson droplets hadn't been there before—had they? He blinked. His mind was still fogged from the dream, the pale white void, and Jae's grin.
The classroom buzzed around him—chalk on boards, laughter, whispered gossip—but all of it blurred into a low hum. All Sangwo could see was him, the transfer student sitting a few rows ahead, chatting like nothing had ever happened.
Jae.
His name rolled off the teacher's tongue like it was ordinary, like it didn't belong to someone from another world.
Jae gave a polite nod to the class. But his blue eyes—icy and piercing—lingered for just a second too long on Yeon Sangwo.
And that was the moment Sangwo knew:
Jae remembered too.
"Open your textbooks to page 213," the teacher said.
Yeon Sangwo blinked hard, pulling himself back to the present. He didn't even remember walking to history class—he'd just followed the noise, the crowd, the routine.
Now he sat stiffly in his chair, the same cold sweat on his neck.
Jae sat three rows across, staring at the board. Calm. Unbothered.
Sangwo's fingers trembled as he opened his book.
> 213. The Disappearance of Class 3-C, Hanrim High, 1989.
His eyes stopped.
The text blurred. His chest tightened.
> In June of 1989, an entire class of thirty-two students went missing during school hours. The only known survivor, a teacher, was found unconscious in the faculty office. When questioned, he only repeated one phrase over and over: "The boy with blue eyes…"
Sangwo's blood ran cold.
He looked up.
Jae was already looking at him.
Smiling.
And in that smile, Sangwo knew.
This wasn't just a dream.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was happening again.
"…and that led to the formation of the Joseon Dynasty," the teacher said.
Yeon Sangwo blinked.
What?
He looked down at his textbook.
Page 97.
Early Korean kingdoms. Gojoseon. Nothing about missing students. No mention of 1989. No blue-eyed boy.
The entire class was scribbling notes, focused, undisturbed.
Sangwo's hand shook slightly as he flipped back through the pages. Page 213—was blank. Just the faint outline of printing, like ink had been erased. His own breath came too loud in his ears.
Had he imagined it?
He looked up—and gasped.
Jae was gone.
His seat was empty.
Sangwo sat frozen, eyes locked on the chair. His chest ached, brain spinning.
He looked to Donald, a few seats over.
Donald caught his glance, leaned in. "You good?"
"I…" Sangwo swallowed. "Where's Jae?"
Donald looked confused. "Who?"
Sangwo froze.
Donald blinked at him. "Who's Jae?"
Something twisted deep in Sangwo's gut. Like the ground beneath his mind was cracking.
Jae had been here.
Hadn't he?
Sangwo pushed his chair back with a scrape and stood. "I need to go to the nurse."
The teacher glanced at him but didn't stop him.
As Sangwo walked down the hall, his head pounding, he passed a window.
In the glass—
He saw a reflection that didn't belong to him.
Not quite.
It was him, but older. Eyes hollow. Shirt soaked in blood.
And behind him…
Jae.
Smiling.
Sangwo stood frozen in the hallway, his breath fogging the glass where that thing—his reflection—had been just moments ago.
Now the mirror only showed his pale, shaken face.
He stumbled back, hand clutching his chest. Was he losing his mind? Was Jae real? Was any of this?
The hallway lights flickered.
He thought he heard footsteps—faint, soft, dragging.
"Yeon!"
A voice.
Real.
Sangwo turned just in time for Donald to crash into him—wrapping his arms tight around his trembling body.
Sangwo gasped, stiffening for a second, then slowly sank into the warmth.
Donald's hug was strong. Familiar. Not perfect. Not magical. Just real.
"You're shaking like hell," Donald whispered. "What's going on with you?"
Sangwo didn't answer. Couldn't.
His hands gripped Donald's shirt, holding on like he'd fall apart without him.
For a long moment, they stood like that, in the middle of the empty corridor.
The silence didn't feel cold anymore.
Donald's hand moved gently, protectively, up and down Sangwo's back. "Was it… another dream?"
Yeon finally nodded. His voice cracked. "I think I'm still in one."
Donald leaned back just enough to look into his eyes. "Then hold on to me. I'll wake you up."
Something inside Sangwo broke at those words.
Not from fear this time.
But from the way they made him feel safe.