The ceiling of Go Gi's officetel was cracked again. A hairline fracture spread like a spiderweb across the plaster, reaching further every time he noticed it. He had reported it once, months ago, but the landlord had shrugged and muttered something about "settling." Now, every night, that crack stared down at him, a jagged reminder that things fell apart slowly, quietly, and without anyone caring.
His phone alarm buzzed. 6:30 a.m.
Go Gi groaned, silenced it with a sluggish thumb, and lay there for a long moment, staring at the crack. Same as yesterday. Same as every day for the last two years. Eventually, he forced himself up, dragged his body into the bathroom, and splashed water onto his face. The mirror was fogged with age and hard water stains, but his own reflection was still clear enough: dark circles, unshaven stubble, eyes that hadn't looked alive in a long time.
He brushed his teeth. He dressed in the same dull button-up shirt and slacks. He made instant coffee that tasted like burned soil. His life had whittled down to these simple motions—a hollow sequence, devoid of meaning.
At the office, it wasn't much different. He sat in his corner cubicle at a mid-tier construction firm, redlining design drafts, checking measurement errors, and fixing tiny discrepancies in reports no one would ever care about. His coworkers chatted about weekend trips and new phones, laughing in a way that grated on his nerves. They had lives. They had stories.
Go Gi… didn't.
And yet, beneath that dull routine, something gnawed at him every day.
A memory.
A presence that should not exist.
Kim Suho.
The name alone was enough to stir something sharp in his chest, like a knife being twisted between his ribs. He remembered it—Suho's voice, the way he laughed too loudly at dumb jokes, the way he always argued but never abandoned a friend. Go Gi remembered everything about him.
Except the face.
Whenever he tried—whenever he pushed his mind to conjure Suho's features—his skull felt like it was splitting open. A piercing headache would slam into him, forcing him to clutch his temples and look away from the memory. His brain refused to obey, as though some cosmic hand erased the image before it could form.
The universe didn't allow it.
Because the universe had laws.
Two years ago, Go Gi had learned one of them in the cruelest way imaginable. When someone was taken from this world to another, their existence was wiped clean. Their records vanished. Their photos dissolved. Their names slipped out of people's mouths, as if they had never been born. Families forgot their own children. Friends lost entire decades of shared life. The person simply… ceased to exist.
That was what should have happened to Kim Suho.
And yet, Go Gi remembered.
He remembered because he had been there—because he had witnessed it. The night reality split open, the night a blinding light enveloped Suho and Javier, dragging them into a world that should not have touched Earth. Go Gi had seen it, felt the impossible energy burn into his retinas, etching itself into his soul.
And so, while the rest of the world forgot, Go Gi carried the weight of a paradox. He alone remembered someone who no longer existed.
But what good was a memory when it couldn't hold a face?
---
The headaches came most often at night.
That evening, after another day of meaningless work and a sad dinner of convenience store kimbap, Go Gi collapsed onto his bed. The cracked ceiling greeted him again. He shut his eyes, trying not to think, but the silence pressed too heavily against him. Memories crept in.
"Hey, Go Gi, don't wimp out—try it once!"
That was Suho's voice. Clear, sharp, teasing in that way only a close friend could manage.
Go Gi's lips trembled. He could hear it so clearly. He could feel the echo of Suho's hand clapping him on the shoulder, the warmth of camaraderie. And yet, when he tried to picture the smile that should have come with that voice—
"Aagh—!"
The pain stabbed through his temples, hot and merciless. His hands clutched his skull as he curled onto the bed, biting back a scream. His breaths came ragged, sweat beading down his forehead. It felt like nails were being driven into his brain.
He forced himself to stop. To let the memory fade.
The headache dulled slowly, leaving him trembling, hollow, and bitter.
"…Why me?" he whispered to the crack in the ceiling. "Why do I remember, when no one else does?"
No answer came. Only the hum of his refrigerator and the distant noise of traffic outside.
---
That night, the dream came again.
He stood in a barren wasteland, gray sky stretching endlessly above. The ground was cracked, lifeless, as though a world had been drained of color. In the distance, ruins loomed—jagged towers broken in half, cities swallowed by sand.
And there, in the center of it all, a silhouette stood.
Tall. Familiar. A presence that pulled at Go Gi's soul like a magnet.
He knew it was Suho.
"Suho!" Go Gi shouted, voice breaking with desperation. He ran across the lifeless earth, feet pounding, lungs burning. The figure stood still, unmoving, waiting.
But as he drew closer, the face remained blank. Smooth, empty, like a doll without features.
"No… no, please…"
He reached out, desperate to grab Suho's arm, to force the universe to give him back what was stolen. But the moment his hand touched the figure—
A thunderous pain exploded in his skull.
The dream shattered.
Go Gi bolted upright in bed, gasping, drenched in sweat. His skull pounded, his vision swam. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trembling.
It was the same dream every time. Suho's presence, Suho's voice, Suho's warmth—everything but the face. Always the face.
He had tried once to tell a coworker about it, about Suho. The man had looked at him with confusion, then laughter. "Are you writing a novel or something?" he had said. Nobody believed him. Nobody remembered.
He was alone.
Alone with a memory that tore him apart.
___
That night, as he lay trembling in bed, something shifted.
The ceiling crack glowed faintly. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks, but then the light grew stronger, threads of pale blue seeping through the plaster. He froze, wide-eyed.
The air felt heavier. Colder. His phone screen flickered on the nightstand, showing static.
And then—
A voice.
Soft. Whispering. Yet sharp enough to pierce straight into his skull.
"Do you still wish to see him again?"
Go Gi's breath caught. His heart thundered in his chest.
The ceiling split wider, light pouring through like a veil being torn apart. Before his eyes, words etched themselves into the air, glowing in lines of pure white.
> [System Synchronization Beginning…]
Welcome, Witness of the Forgotten.
Go Gi's world tilted.
Everything was about to change.