"Where the hell am I?
That was the first thought that crawled into my mind as I opened my eyes to absolute darkness. A cold, unsettling chill crawled down my spine. My body was awake, but my mind couldn't catch up. I found myself in a place I didn't recognise yet, somehow, it didn't feel entirely unfamiliar.
i stood up slowly and searched for the light switch as i could not see anything. When i reached to the light swtich.
Click. Nothing. Click-click. Still nothing.
what the hell why it is mot working ?? Of course. A power outage. Because things aren't weird enough already. great
I grabbed my phone, switched on the flashlight, and flicked on the flashlight. 23% battery. Nice. That's definitely going to last through a supernatural crisis.
I stepped out into what looked like a living room. The air felt heavier and thicker here.
And then I saw it.
A figure. Standing on the balcony.
Just… standing, They weren't facing me. Just… staring into the night sky.
"…What the hell? Who the fuck is that?"
"Hey!" I called out. "Who are you?"
No response.
"Excuse me! Are you… lost? or From the neighbor's party?"
Still nothing.
Nothing. They didn't even flinch. Just stood there, like a mannequin or a ghost too polite to interrupt.
My feet moved before my brain approved the idea. every step it felt like a horror scene of movie, I stepped closer. Flashlight shaking.
"Hello?! Are you deaf ?? cant you hear me for real??
I stopped a few steps away, heart pounding. A part of me wanted to bolt. The other part? Dumb curiosity you know.
"Okay… deep breath," I muttered. "Just ask the dumb question and get it over with."
"…Are you a ghost? Please don't say yes"
Suddenly, the figure moved. Slowly, it turned to face me.
I raised my phone, the flashlight trembling in my hand.
The beam landed on his face.
"Minjae?"
Oh no. Not again.
I shouted, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why weren't you answering me?!"
Of all the people to hallucinate or be haunted by, it had to be him. Fantastic.
He looked… hollow. His eyes were red, his face pale. Like he hadn't slept in years or had just seen hell and walked back without a souvenir. His hand trembled near his chest. His lips moved, but I heard nothing.
"Minjae!" I shouted. "If this is some twisted prank, I swear—"
He didn't react. Just kept staring.
I tried again. "Minjae, seriously, man. Are you possessed or buffering? Speak!"
He suddenly broke.
Tears streamed down his face. A soft, eerie sobbing filled the air.
And then, in a broken whisper, he said it.
"…Jiwoo."
My heart stopped.
What.
How.
He knew my name?
"Nope. Nope. Nope." I backed away, every cell in my body screaming. "This isn't funny anymore."
He stepped toward the balcony railing.
"No, stop. Don't even think about doing that, you idiot"
I rushed forward. "Minjae, wait! STOP!"
But it was too late.
He jumped.
"MINJAE! YOU DUMBASS"
I screamed, reaching out in vain.
And then suddenly, a sharp, loud sound pierced the air.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
My eyes flew open.
I was in bed. My bed. Familiar ceiling. Familiar fan making weird sounds it shouldn't.
Alarm clock: 8:30 AM.
I sat up, my shirt drenched in sweat, heart racing like I'd just finished a horror speedrun.
What the fuck.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But one thing wouldn't leave my head.
How did Minjae know my name?
You're probably wondering, who even am I?
And what's the deal with these dreams? And that guy, Minjae, right?
Well, let's start with me first. I'm Han Jiwoo. I work as an assistant designer at Seoul's most elite fashion house, The ModeAmour. I'm that nerdy, shy, work-first kind of guy everyone tends to forget or just plain ignore. Behind this awkward, innocent face, though, I'm hiding a secret that could shake the whole industry.
I'm TheCloudMouth the anonymous, famous artist behind The Mem From Nowhere, a dark, sensual, totally NSFW BL webtoon that has the whole nation going crazy.
You know how idol fans camp outside their favorite stars' buildings? That's how famous I am… well, sort of. I'm famous, but secretly. And honestly? I'm just as surprised as you are. But hey, what can I say? Fame found me whether I wanted it or not.
In the darkness, I shine like a star.
In daylight? I disappear. Unseen. Unknown.
Now you're probably wondering: how did it all begin? The comic. The double life and minjae
Honestly, I've been asking myself the same thing for years.
The first dream came after my mother died. I was lost, grieving, and then there he was. A boy, maybe around my age, sitting in the dark with bruises on his knees and a sadness so raw, it hurt just to look at him. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. I felt him.
And I kept dreaming. Every night. I saw him grow. I saw him cry. I saw him fight to survive in a world that tried to swallow him whole. I was there for every scar, every piece of him carved into my memory like a story written just for me.
And still, he never looked at me. Never spoke to me. I was invisible to him or maybe a stranger peeking through the cracks of someone else's soul.
Years later, when I entered my first art competition, I had no idea what story to tell. What character to create. I was lost.
And then I thought of him.
Minjae.
I knew his story. I'd been dreaming it for almost two decades. So I wrote about him, his pain, his loneliness, his fight. I showed the world his tragedy. Pity. Pathetic... and yet, somehow beautiful. I turned my haunted dreams into panels, gave him a voice, and let the world consume him.
So I turned him into a character. Poured out all his sadness, scars, and suppressed rage onto the page. People loved it. They cried. They wrote fanfiction. They thirsted. Some of them even sent hate mail because Minjae was "too tragic."
And I thought, Wow, Jiwoo, you genius.
But then… things started to feel weird.
Like maybe he wasn't just a dream. Maybe he knows I turned his pain into premium content. Maybe he's out there, sharpening a knife in a dark alley.
"Ugh, Jiwoo, you idiot," I groaned. "Why did you make him your main character? What if he's haunting me now? What if I turned a ghost into an influencer?!"
I was so deep in my existential spiral that I didn't even check the time.
HOLY CRAP, IT'S 9 A.M.
Mr. Kang is going to commit murder today. Mine.
I leapt out of bed like a middle schooler who just realized he missed the school bus. Threw on my usual "please don't perceive me" hoodie, shoved on my glasses, and stood in front of the mirror like I was about to enter battle.
Day mode: activated.
Let's go be socially awkward and emotionally unavailable again.
I glanced at the Minjae poster taped beside my mirror. One of the many I drew right after a dream.
"We'll talk tonight, Minjae," I mumbled. "If you're not busy haunting me."
I grabbed my bag, locked the door, and stepped into the daylight—where I'm just another nobody. But when nightfall, I slip into my other life: the silent shadow behind every heartbreak, quietly pulling strings and shattering lives online.
And this is only the beginning.