The room looked tidier now. The futon was folded neatly, the scattered books and papers placed back onto the desk where they belonged. Yoong Soo let out a quiet sigh as he stood in the middle of the room, his gaze settling on the white door that led outside.
He stared at it for a long while.
His reflection faintly shimmered on the smooth surface of the door, his face showing a mix of nerves and curiosity. If I open this and meet that woman again, he thought, what if she notices something? What if she realizes I'm not the real Rowan?
The thought alone made his stomach twist.
It wasn't just fear of being caught. It was guilt. The body he now inhabited once belonged to someone—someone who had a life, a family, and a place in this world. If the people outside discovered that their loved one was gone, replaced by a stranger from another universe, what would they do?
His imagination began to spiral toward the worst possibilities: accusations, disbelief, maybe even danger.
"Stop overthinking," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "No one's going to notice anything… right?"
He stood there for a moment longer, trying to gather courage. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the morning air seeping through the balcony glass. Finally, with a deep breath, he stepped forward.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the knob. The metal felt cool against his skin. After a pause, he turned it slowly.
The door creaked open.
He peeked through the small opening, his head moving cautiously from left to right. A dim corridor stretched before him, painted in cream white, its corners softened by shadows. The ceiling light was turned off, and the gray-tiled floor reflected a faint sheen from the sunlight filtering through a distant window.
Three white doors lined the hallway, each closed. Everything looked neat and quiet, the kind of calm that felt almost too perfect.
Yoong Soo stepped out, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. The sound of the latch clicking back into place seemed far too loud in the silence. He exhaled softly, forcing his heartbeat to slow down, and began walking toward the left side of the corridor.
At the end, a wooden staircase led downward. Beside it, on a small cabinet table, sat a framed photograph. The frame was black, the glass slightly dusty, but the picture inside was warm and clear.
It showed two elderly people—a man and a woman. The woman had gray, slightly messy hair and a kind smile. The man wore a straw hat and a plain shirt, his grin relaxed and natural. Between them stood a young boy, his smile wide and carefree, his hands clutching at the old man's arm.
Yoong Soo's steps slowed.
He stared at the photo longer than he intended to. The happiness in that frozen moment felt so real it almost hurt. A pang of sadness stirred in his chest. He didn't know this boy, but he was living in his place now.
"I'm… sorry," Yoong Soo whispered under his breath.
He didn't know if anyone could hear him, but the apology slipped out anyway. Then, straightening his back, he made a quiet vow.
"If I'm living this boy's life now, I'll make his family happy. I promise."
As if the world itself acknowledged his words, a faint warmth flowed through his body. It was a subtle, almost invisible wave of comfort, easing the tension in his chest. The nervousness faded, replaced by something gentler—something that made him feel, for the first time since waking up, that maybe he truly belonged here.
A small smile formed on his lips. He stepped forward, walking down the wooden stairs more confidently this time.
At the bottom of the staircase, the faint creak of floorboards greeted his feet. The scent of cooked rice and miso drifted through the air.
Near the entrance, sitting on the low elevated part of the wooden floor, was an old man. His hair was thin and white, his skin wrinkled with the softness of age. He wore a plain shirt and gray shorts, tying the laces of his boots with practiced slowness.
The man turned slightly, his black eyes narrowing with familiarity. "Good morning, Rowan," he said, his voice raspy but filled with warmth. "You're finally awake. Your breakfast is on the table. Eat it before it turns cold."
Yoong Soo froze for half a second, but before panic could rise, his lips moved on their own. His voice came out steady, natural, as though guided by instinct.
"Good morning, Grandpa Lewis," he said, smiling faintly. "Are you going to tend to the crops again?"
The old man let out a quiet chuckle, brushing some dust from his knees as he stood up. "Of course I am. What else is there for me to do in this town?"
Yoong Soo laughed softly, the sound almost blending with the morning air. "Then make sure to stay safe, Grandpa. And drink enough water, all right?"
Grandpa Lewis gave a small nod, the corners of his lips lifting. "You're starting to sound like your grandmother now," he said. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Just make sure you eat your breakfast."
"I will," Yoong Soo replied, bowing his head slightly.
The old man started for the door, moving slowly, his steps steady despite his age. As the wooden door creaked open, sunlight spilled into the house, wrapping around his figure.
"Stay safe outside, Grandpa," Yoong Soo called out from behind him, his voice carrying the weight of a quiet promise.
Grandpa Lewis turned his head just enough to show a smile, nodding once, twice, and again as he stepped outside. The door closed gently behind him, leaving the house bathed in soft morning light and silence.
Yoong Soo stood there for a moment, looking at the door. His chest felt warm. For a brief instant, he forgot he was a stranger in this body.
Yoong Soo turned slightly, taking in the home with new eyes. To his left, through a wide opening, was the living room. A large white couch sat neatly against the wall, its cushions still plump and clean. A small wooden coffee table stood before it, polished smooth by years of careful use. Across from the couch, a television rested on a low stand, dark and silent. The room felt simple yet comforting, the kind of place where warmth lingered even in silence.
Next to the living room was another open space, where a long wooden table stood surrounded by cushioned chairs. The table gleamed under the soft light filtering through dark-tinted glass doors. Beside those doors hung gray curtains, drawn to the sides, allowing a clear view of the garden outside. Sunlight shimmered faintly on the soil, where rows of green plants swayed under the morning breeze.
Yoong Soo walked slowly into the dining space, his steps quiet against the floor.
On the table before him sat his breakfast—a plate that looked straight out of a home he had never known. Two slices of butter-toasted bread, scrambled eggs cooked to a perfect yellow, and pieces of hotdog arranged neatly beside them. A glass of milk sat just to the side, the surface still rippling faintly from being set down moments ago.
He blinked.
It was so ordinary, yet it stirred something in him. In his past life, mornings had been nothing more than rushed cups of instant coffee and packaged bread eaten half-awake. This—this was warm. Real. Made with care.
A small smile tugged at his lips, though guilt followed right behind it. He was living inside someone else's life, eating food that wasn't meant for him. Someone, somewhere, might have been meant to sit here in his place.
Still, he whispered quietly, "I'll protect this… I'll protect this peace."
The words were soft, barely audible, but they felt like a promise.
He turned slightly, glancing toward the right side of the dining area. There, the kitchen stretched out—spacious and tidy. The counters gleamed under the soft light, the sink shone as if freshly cleaned, and the cabinets were neatly arranged. A large refrigerator stood in the corner, humming gently.
And there, by the counter, stood an elderly woman.
She wore a straw hat despite being indoors, her simple cotton clothes lightly dusted with what looked like soil from the garden. She held a glass of milk in one hand, taking a slow sip before setting it down. Her gray hair was tied loosely, and faint wrinkles lined her cheeks in a way that spoke more of kindness than age.
When her eyes met his, her face brightened with familiarity.
"Ah, Rowan," she said, smiling. "You finally came down. Took you longer than I expected."
Her voice was gentle, carrying the weight of warmth built over years of care.
Yoong Soo froze for a moment, but once again, his voice moved before his mind caught up. "Good morning, Grandma Dane," he said naturally, his tone polite and light. "I didn't mean to take so long. I was… tidying up my room more carefully than usual."
"Carefully, hm?" Grandma Dane said, placing her empty glass on the counter. "You always take your time when it comes to cleaning. At least you didn't forget."
There was humor in her words, the kind only family could share.
She wiped her hands on a small cloth before turning toward him. "After you eat, make sure you clean the dishes in the sink, all right? Then come help me in the garden. The beans are growing fast, and I can't keep up on my own."
Yoong Soo nodded, his expression softening. "Of course. I'll finish quickly and help you out."
Grandma Dane smiled, her eyes creasing slightly. "Good boy. Eat while it's warm."
With that, she walked slowly toward the glass doors. Her movements were steady and deliberate, like someone used to the rhythm of work and rest. She reached the handle, opened the door, and paused for a moment, glancing back at him.
"If you're still hungry after that, there are snacks in the kitchen drawer. Don't be shy," she said with a teasing tone.
Yoong Soo chuckled quietly and nodded. "Got it."
She gave a satisfied hum and stepped outside. The sound of the garden breeze slipped in through the open doorway, carrying with it the scent of soil and morning dew. Then the door closed gently behind her, leaving Yoong Soo alone once again.
He sat down, picked up a fork, and looked at the meal before him.
The butter on the bread glistened faintly, melting into the toast. The eggs smelled rich and soft. He took a small bite, and the simple taste filled him with warmth he hadn't realized he needed.