The Passage of Shadows

It took thirty minutes to find the entrance. Hidden within the maze-like alleys of Seoul, an ancient iron gate stood before Jihoon like a sentinel of a forgotten era. The moisture exuding from the moss-covered walls wrapped around him like a cold and clammy embrace. With every step he took deeper into the strange square, his footsteps echoed against the irregular stone pavement. Once a secret refuge for the city's elite, it now existed only in whispers among those who explored the depths of the city's shadows with curious eyes.

The sound of cicadas filled the air. Loud yet distorted in an ominous way, the jarring echoes seemed to resonate from another time. Jihoon's heart raced faster. As the rhythm tightened, faint whispers of conversation echoed amidst the abandoned buildings—laughter could be heard, but the traces could not be found. Then, like smoke swirling up, the scent of burning cedar drifted by. That smell felt like it was not from this material world but rather a banquet from the past that had lost its way and flowed into the present.

Suddenly, the suppressed whispers exploded into a dissonance of a symphony. The sounds were clear yet entangled—voices filled with terror. Jihoon's breath caught in his throat. His gaze locked onto his reflection in a nearby glass window. A cruel understanding lingered in his reflected eyes, yet fear blazed within him. It was not a solid shape, but a shapeshifting form—breaking the rules of this bizarre world. It did not leap from the shards of glass, but appeared beside him, calmly folding space as though it were hunting him. Cold fingers seeped into his consciousness, mocking the stability of the world.

Instinctively, Jihoon twisted his body free from the entity's grasp, stumbling into the suffocating embrace of the alley. A primal instinct screamed within his mind, pumping adrenaline into his muscles and tendons. Suddenly, a mirror appeared from nowhere, wrapping around him as the paths disappeared. A distorted and twisted maze of sensations ensued. The specter followed him through the guardian of the mirror. He launched himself toward the boundary and ran. The alley echoed with explosive energy. The anomaly seemed hoarse and choked, left behind in his absence.

Jihoon collapsed on the narrow street, his heartbeat pounding in the fading dawn where even starlight dimmed. Trembling, he fumbled for his phone, revealing a recording still in progress. On the screen, the abandoned square was captured in a hazy film. He watched it with an incredulous expression. That moment stretched long, and his reflected self remained on the opposite side. It was a figure trapped in the sick dream of the 3-5-7 Club.