The world spun.
Or maybe it was just my head trying to remember what gravity felt like.
My body felt heavier than it ever had — the kind of heaviness that sank deep into the bones, the kind that whispered: something's missing.
Something vital.
The faint, sterile scent of disinfectant hit my nose next.
Then the soft hum of ventilation.
And finally, the dim, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
A hospital room.
My eyelids opened slowly, each movement scraping against exhaustion.
A fluorescent light buzzed above, flickering slightly. My eyes drifted toward the small clock mounted on the wall.
3:55 a.m.
"If I'm here… that means they've done it. They broke the loop."
My throat felt like sandpaper as I muttered to myself, "Then… it's really over."
The sound of paper turning drew my attention to the left.
There, illuminated by a small desk lamp, sat a man whose calmness didn't belong in this fragile silence.
Golden eyes. Blonde hair. A soft, practiced smile that never felt forced — but also didn't feel genuine.
He wore a light brown office suit, identical to the BAA's standard issue, yet perfectly tailored, every seam whispering of something expensive.
Han Dojin.
The Vice-Director of the BAA.
He looked exactly the same as I remembered — every gesture measured, every movement deliberate yet unpretentious. There was always something odd about him: the warmth he emitted felt both real and manufactured, like a sunlamp that could burn or soothe depending on how close you stood.
I blinked, still unsure if I was hallucinating. "…Vice-Director?"
He looked up from the book, eyes meeting mine gently, as though he'd been waiting for me to wake for hours — or maybe days.
"Ah, Yuwon," he said softly, voice warm and clear. "You're finally awake."
His tone carried no surprise, no tension. Just quiet softness.
It made the whole thing feel more real — and more surreal at the same time.
"What happened…?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Twenty hours," Han replied, closing his book with a soft thump. "You've been unconscious since the collapse. I gave you a recovery potion so your body is fine. Though you may feel mentally exhausted."
The same potion Julian used on me and Sarah…?
My stomach tightened. Those were worth more than my entire yearly pay.
I exhaled slowly, the sound trembling in my throat. "I appreciate it, but I don't think I can repay you for that potion."
He smiled — that small, approving kind of smile that said he'd expected me to say that. "It's on the house — actually, it's more of an apology."
He put his book aside and stood, smoothing out his jacket. Then, to my utter disbelief, he bowed deeply — like a servant apologizing to a king.
"I'd like to formally apologize in the Director's stead," he said. "This was her decision, but that doesn't make it right."
"…Wha— no, please," I stammered. "You don't have to apologize. I don't even know what you're apologizing for."
"The Nine Frequency Anomaly was a Tier-2," he said calmly, straightening and then sitting back down. "It was supposed to be handled by one elite team and two support teams. I don't know what the Director was thinking, but she scrapped that and sent only your squad."
His tone stayed gentle, but his words carried weight. A reprimand hidden inside a lullaby.
I tried to laugh, but it came out hoarse. "Right… well, I'm alive, somehow. But how? I sacrificed myself in the first loop."
Han leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. His soft smile didn't fade — but his golden eyes shifted. The warmth dimmed, replaced by something sharper, predatory.
"The anomaly stole half your soul," he said, voice quiet but cutting. "When the source was destroyed, that half was destroyed with it. That's a death sentence no medicine or anomalous item can cure. The doctors were rightfully confused."
I swallowed hard. "So… the reason behind my survival is unknown?"
"Unknown to them, yes," Han said, tapping a finger lightly against his armrest. "Unknown to your team and to the BAA as well. Even the Director's been questioning her records."
He paused, eyes glinting. "But not me."
A cold chill crawled down my spine.
"Pardon—?"
"It's a death sentence for anyone in this world," he said smoothly, cutting me off. "Because everyone has only one soul."
He pointed a finger toward me. His golden eyes seemed to catch the lamplight unnaturally, almost glowing.
"But you… you aren't like that, Yuwon."
My breath hitched.
"Your body harbors two souls," he continued, tone almost reverent. "So even if you lost half of one, you'd still live."
The words slammed into me like a pulse of static.
'Two souls.'
'So that... explains the overlapping memories of this world and of the original world im from. If Vice-Director Han is telling the truth, then that means I existed in both worlds at once, but... something happened.'
'Something happend and the soul from my original world got shoved into this body of this world, overriding the original Soul that had lived inside this body.'
The gears were running overtime inside my head. Sweat ran down my temple
'That explanation atleast gets me closer to finding a way back into my original world but... how could he know that?'
My heartbeat quickened. Sweat ran down my temple as my mind spun.
Han must've seen the storm behind my eyes because he smiled again — the same, patient smile that could belong to either a teacher or a predator.
"You don't seem surprised, Yuwon," he observed softly.
"If nobody else knows about this," I said, my voice lower now, "how do you know?"
The Vice-Director tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. Then a quiet chuckle escaped him — warm and unhurried.
"You've grown a backbone since we last talked," he said with genuine delight. "That's good. I'm glad."
He even clapped once, lightly, like a teacher acknowledging a student's progress.
"But information," he added, lowering his hands again, "isn't always free."
My fingers twitched against the blanket. "…What do you mean?"
He rose from his chair and walked closer, stopping right next to my bed. The lamp behind him cast a soft shadow, and for just a second, I could swear I saw shadows of features that no ordinary human has.
"Don't worry," he said, voice warm again — too warm. "I'll tell you… if you ever decide to start working for me."
There it was again — that double-edged tone of his.
An offer.
Or a threat.
I couldn't tell which one I feared more.
"…Pardon?" I asked carefully.
Vice-Director Han tilted his head, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. Then he raised a hand to his mouth in mock surprise. "Ah, that wasn't supposed to slip out yet. Clumsy me."
The way he said it — soft, playful — made the words somehow more unsettling.
'Will this guy ever just get to the point?'
"I'm in the process," he continued smoothly, "of creating a personal squad. One that operates outside the Director's reach. Naturally, the qualifications will be… above the norm."
A faint buzz from the fluorescent light filled the silence that followed. My eyes narrowed slightly.
"A special team the Director won't know about?"
'How is that even supposed to work?'
Han leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, fingers tapping the armrest. The golden hue of his eyes glimmered under the lamplight — soft and warm, yet carrying the quiet precision of a scalpel. "The work will usually be less dangerous than field assignments," he said. "But the pay — and benefits — will rival the highest-ranking positions in the Bureau."
'Less danger, more pay, more perks?'
It almost sounded too perfect. The kind of offer you only heard from devils in fairy tales.
"Isn't that…" I hesitated, "a bit too generous? It sounds like something a rookie would daydream about after their first real mission."
Han chuckled, the sound smooth and melodic. "Well, Yuwon, I've always said the field department is criminally underappreciated. It's high time someone changed that."
His voice dropped slightly — not in volume, but in weight. "More importantly," he said, "this team is still in its early stages. Some time will pass before I can finalize recruitment. But!" His hands clapped together softly, like the sound of closing wings. "That gives you time. Time to keep performing the way you have been — and secure yourself a place."
He smiled like a mentor offering encouragement. But his gaze didn't match.
Those golden eyes watched me the way a collector admires a rare specimen.
"I'll do my best, sir," I managed.
'If he's telling me all this, then I'm already on his list of candidates. That's… good. I think.'
"Oh, and…" His expression shifted subtly — almost imperceptibly. The world seemed to slow for a second. My hearing dulled, the room flattening into silence.
He raised a single finger to his lips. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?"
I nodded quickly, pulse quickening. "Of course, sir."
The moment I did, sound and motion returned. My body felt light again — but cold sweat slid down my neck.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "How many times have I told you to drop the formalities?"
'Does he not realize how high his rank is? Just asking me to call him casually makes it even weirder…'
I forced a small smile. "Vice-Director Han… can I ask you something?"
His gaze softened instantly — all warmth again. "Of course, Yuwon. Anything."
"It's 4 a.m.," I said quietly. "Why are you in my hospital room this late at night?"
For the first time since I'd woken up, Han didn't respond immediately.
The silence stretched, and I caught something — a flicker of something unreadable behind his golden eyes. He was thinking. Calculating. Or maybe debating how much truth I could handle.
A bead of sweat ran down his temple before he spoke again, tone still calm but missing that effortless ease from before.
"…Because," he finally said, "I wanted to make sure the anomaly hadn't left… any traces inside you."
My breath hitched. "And you had to do that at four in the morning?"
He sighed in mock defeat, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Yes, well… the life of a Vice-Director is a busy thing."
He turned slightly, fixing his tie. "But at least I confirmed you're stable," he continued, voice calm but with an undercurrent I couldn't name. "You aren't contaminated — but I've booked you an appointment at the Mirage Counseling Office tomorrow. 6 p.m. For good measure."
'How can he tell whether I'm contaminated or not…?'