'This is hard.'
I sighed, running a hand through my newly discovered dark-blue hair. Tomorrow's Monday, which meant Dae-Yoon had school.
I needed to act like him — perfectly.
So, I packed his school bag with all the Monday subjects, arranged his notebooks neatly, and scrolled through his phone to study his relationships. His phone's a life saver. No, literally. I could figure a lot of things out based on the messages he have had with people.
The more I learned, the more I realized how miserable this guy really was.
But still, the real problem right now… was the school uniform.
I couldn't find an iron anywhere in this stupidly huge a** bedroom.
"Seriously? Not even an iron?" I muttered under my breath.
Then —
Tok, tok.
A knock.
My heart instantly raced. My first actual interaction since I woke up in this body.
I walked to the door and opened it.
Standing there was an elderly woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
"Young master, dinner is ready."
Young master?
Dinner? Already?
She was dressed neatly, in a black-and-white uniform that could only mean one thing — a housemaid.
Holy sh*t. Dae-Yoon actually had a maid.
So that's why he didn't have an iron in his room.
This felt too good to be true. Someone to cook for you, clean for you, and even call you "young master"?
"Ah, sure. I'll be down in a minute. Thank you," I said casually.
The old woman blinked at me, confused.
"Y-yes?"
"I said, I'll eat later, so just give me a minute, please," I repeated with a small smile.
She looked… stunned. Like I'd said something completely out of character.
"W-well then, sure, young master."
"Oh, and please iron my clothes too. Thanks!"
Problem solved.
Though, that look she gave me before leaving was… unsettling.
---
I took a deep breath and started walking downstairs.
Holy hell. This house was massive.
Marble floors. Golden light fixtures. A staircase that could probably fit five people side by side.
"This is insane…" I whispered, trying to stop myself from grinning like an idiot.
Eventually, I found the dining room, or more like a banquet hall.
A long table stretched across the space, set with elegant dishes and silverware that probably cost a fortune. Around it sat a few people- eating quietly, without sparing me a glance.
And that's when I saw him.
Dae-Hyun.
The twin brother.
He looked almost identical to this body. Same sharp jawline, same pale skin, but neater, more refined. His hair was perfectly styled, his posture was perfect,straight and confident.
If Dae-Yoon was a storm, then Dae-Hyun was calm water.
I sat at the farthest chair from them. No eye contact, no conversation. Perfect. The less attention I got, the better.
I began to eat quietly. Holy sh*t, the food was divine.
Each bite melted on my tongue. Rich, flavorful, perfectly balanced. If I were to compare this and the meals I'd eaten in prison, it's like comparing Dae-Yoon and Dae-Hyun.
...Just kidding. Why do I keep roasting this kid, when I am going to live as him starting from now on?
I took another bite. Heaven. This was actual heaven.
"Dae-Hyun, how are your studies?" a woman asked- the mother, I assumed. Her voice was gentle, but there was something distant in it.
"Pretty good," he replied calmly.
"I'm expecting you'll be first in your next exam again. When will it be held?"
"In about two weeks, Mother."
"Study hard, but don't push yourself too much."
He nodded. Then, almost instinctively, he glanced at me.
Normally, Dae-Yoon would've flipped the table by now. Yelled. Stormed off because someone else got the attention.
But not this time.
Dae-Yoon kept eating. Quietly. Calmly.
And the room went dead silent. Even the sound of utensils clinking against plates felt louder than it should've.They all looked… confused. Suspicious, even.
Meanwhile, number 3409 was just lost in thought.
'So that's the mother… Han Yeo-Jin, right? Then the man beside her must be the father, Kim Yoongi. Wow, Dae-Yoon actually saved their numbers by name in his phone. Bold move.'
I nearly snorted. No wonder this family was falling apart.
"Uhm."
The woman cleared his throat. That fake cough is absolutely the universal signal for 'I'm about to ruin your appetite.'
"Dae-Yoon, how are your studi—"
Yeah, it's Dae-Yoon's turn. Before she could even finish, I stood up. Fast. No hesitation.
"I ate well. Thank you for the food."
Polite, simple, and end of conversation.
I was halfway to the stairs when a voice stopped me cold.
"Dae-Yoon."
Sh*t. The final boss.
I froze. Slowly turned around.
"Yes…" I hesitated, forcing the word out, "…Father."
"If you get last place again in your next exam," he said, eyes sharp as blades, "I will block all of your financial accounts."
I flinched.
What the hell?! The last time I'd been in school was when I was sixteen!
But then again… he didn't say I had to get first place.
I could still be second last. That sounded easy enough, right?
"…Understood, Father."
I bowed slightly and walked away — calm on the outside, screaming inside.
Behind me, the table fell silent again.
No tantrum. No shouting. No broken plates.
Nothing.
"Dear, something's wrong with him," the mother whispered.
"Let him be," the father replied coldly. "After graduation, we'll disown him anyway. Dae-Hyun, you focus on being the heir. No playing around."
"…Yes, Father."
One is the heir, and the other is a failure. Two brothers destined for different fates.
But for number 3409, being "disowned" sounded like a blessing. Freedom wrapped in rejection.
And yet… Dae-Hyun's calm expression faltered.
Something flickered behind his eyes. An unfamiliar feeling, and hard to explain. Confusion, discomfort… maybe jealousy.
Because for the first time, Dae-Yoon wasn't fighting back.
And that made Dae-Hyun feel something strange.
A pressure.
A rivalry.
An urge.
.
.
.
"Hey! You're new here?"
The voice came from behind the dull, rusted bars.
I turned. The man who'd spoken was wearing the same orange prison uniform as me, except his looked like it had survived a war. His number was stitched clearly on his chest; 2432.
He had a rough grin, sharp eyes, and a kind of chaotic energy that said he'd been here for a while.
He glanced down at the number printed on my chest.
3409.
"Three-four-zero-nine, huh? My number's prettier."
I blinked. "...What?"
"Ha...hahahaha!!"
His laughed echoed as the sound bounced off the cold concrete walls.
"Relax, kid. I'm just saying you're unlucky. Numbers like that usually belong to people who don't last long here."
Interesting.
Still, there was something oddly comforting about the way he spoke. Friendly, in a dangerous kind of way.
I smiled awkwardly and tried to greet him properly.
"Nice to meet you. My name is—"
He raised a hand.
"Nah. Don't bother. No one here gives a damn about names. Only your number matters. That's your identity now."
I froze for a moment, then nodded silently.
Names had weight. They carried memories, families, lives. But here?
Here, we were just numbers written on cheap cloth.
"You look like a good kid," he said after a while, leaning lazily against the bars. "So… what brought you here, 3409?"
I hesitated.
How was I supposed to answer that? That I was framed? That I didn't deserve this? That life had cornered me until the only way out was through hell itself?
My throat tightened.
"…I…"
Nothing came out.
The truth- or maybe the lie I'd been telling myself- got stuck somewhere deep inside.
2440 watched me for a moment, then chuckled. "Heh. Don't worry about it. Everyone here's got a story they don't wanna tell. You'll fit right in."
He turned and walked away, humming softly.
...like this filthy place was his home.
And maybe, in some twisted way, it was. I looked down at the number on my uniform again.3409.
Silence. Again.
"But, you know,"
"Aish, you shocked me!"
His out of nowhere approach startled me. When did he get so close? My nose nearly brushed his. Literally showed how close he stood next to me.
"I'd really, really would love to know your background story. Come on, I know you've got a story to tell. Tell me."
The look in his eyes changed. His gaze turned cold and lifeless, which made me get goosebumps all over and shivered a little.
"I..."