Sa-young opened the tightly closed bedroom door. The room, devoid of any light, felt as though time itself had stopped. Lying on the bed without a single wrinkle in the sheets, hands sped together, was Cha Uijae.


    There was no sign of life, but his appearance resembled that of a living person. Well, except for the bandages wrapped around his head and his paleplexion. The preservation stone ced beside Uijae''s head glimmered. Sa-young smiled faintly.


    "Been doing well?"


    No answer came. There was no movement in his hands or chest. He had grown ustomed to one-sided conversations like this. Sa-young stared down at the face with closed eyes and let out a small sigh.


    He wanted to see the living, moving Uijae. Not this lifeless, doll-like version of him. Sa-young reached out a hand toward him but withdrew it before touching him. The moment he touched him, he would be reminded of death again.


    The dead were cold.@@novelbin@@


    ‘...I won’t be able to do this twice.’


    Sa-young sat by the bed, resting his head against it. He didn’t dare lie next to him. This distance felt appropriate—close enough to stay near, yet far enough to avoid confronting his death.


    Sa-young closed his eyes.


    In the still room, only one person’s breathing could be heard.


    ***


    As Nam Woo-jin had said, the broken masky quietly next to the notebook. Uijae gently ran his fingers over the cracked section of the mask. The top left side was broken off, and there were small scratches and cracks scattered across the rest of it. If tapped, it would shatter along the cracks. It was no longer usable.


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