"You're… pushing too far," Park Tae-hyun growled, his voice low, a dark glint flaring in his eyes.

  Anger surged, hot and unyielding, as he faced the shattered mirror in Kim's Bookstore bathroom.

  Yes, he was the intruder, the cuckoo claiming Kim Min-woo's nest.

  But so what? This body was his now, his to live in, his to command.

  Could Kim Min-woo stop him? That pitiful flicker of revenge—stirring Park Tae-hyun to force himself on Dr. Im Yoo-jin—was that all the man could muster? A cheap, desperate jab from beyond the grave?

  He spread his right hand, black nails lengthening, wisps of dark mist coiling around his fingers like living smoke.

  Solutions, he'd learned, depended on perspective.

  From his vantage point, survival justified everything.

  Right and wrong dissolved without life to anchor them. If he ceased to exist, what did morality matter?

  "No matter where you're hiding," he snarled, "I'll drag you out—even if you're buried in this body!" His face twisted, nails digging into his chest, piercing skin.

  A sharp hiss escaped him as pain seared through, his body convulsing uncontrollably.

  He collapsed to his knees, trembling, mouth agape, bewildered.

  Not here… not here at all.

  He'd staked his soul on this, risking annihilation to prove Kim Min-woo's presence, but the body held only one soul—his own.

  Kim Min-woo was gone.

  Crawling to his feet, he stared into the broken mirror, his reflection—Kim Min-woo's face—unchanging, unmoving.

  No sinister glint, no mocking voice.

  Just him.

  The realization hit like a blow

  Everything I did to Yoo-jin… was that me?

  No.

  It couldn't be.

  He refused to believe it.

  That rage, that cruelty—it wasn't his nature.

  Yet the mirror mocked him, its fractured surface reflecting a stranger.

  Not just a borrowed face, but a soul he no longer recognized.

  Body or soul, which is the real me? Poets and philosophers, from Korea's ancient scholars to global thinkers, had long claimed the soul endured, noble and eternal, while the body decayed.

  Park Tae-hyun had clung to that, believing he was still himself, unchanged despite this stolen form.

  Now, fear crept in.

  If Kim Min-woo's soul was truly gone, had he changed?

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  "Go to bed, love, it's almost midnight," Kang Gi-hoon's wife called softly from the hallway of their Tongmyeong villa.

  "I'll take our daughter to her bedroom," she added.

  "Finish your work and sleep soon."

  "Just revising a treatment plan," Kang Gi-hoon replied, yawning.

  Barely in his thirties, his hair was already streaked with white, a badge of relentless work.

  Men his age were caught in a cruel bind—too young to coast, too worn to keep pushing without cost.

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  *Ding ding ding…* The doorbell chimed, startling him.

  Who visited this late? He shuffled to the intercom, peering at a man in a black coat on the screen.

  "Who's this?" he asked.

  "I'm looking for Kang Gi-hoon," the man said.

  "A friend sent me."

  "Sorry, make an appointment with my assistant. I don't—"

  "Park Tae-hyun sent me," the man interrupted.

  Kang Gi-hoon froze, then opened the door without hesitation.

  The visitor looked young, in his mid-twenties, his face unfamiliar, but his presence was heavy.

  "Come in," Kang Gi-hoon said, brewing some green tea and setting it on the coffee table.

  Park Tae-hyun sat, studying his old friend.

  Kang Gi-hoon hadn't changed—still driven, still carving his path.

  Orphanage brothers, they'd been the old director's pride: Park Tae-hyun, once a rising hospital deputy director, and Kang Gi-hoon, now running a prestigious psychological clinic on Tongmyeong's South Street, this villa a testament to his success.

  Their bond, forged in childhood, held fast, even if life had pulled them apart.

  "You know Park Tae-hyun?" Kang Gi-hoon asked cautiously.

  "Yeah.....we..were friends," Park Tae-hyun said, sipping the tea, its familiar bitterness grounding him.

  "I'm here to see a doctor."

  "A doctor?" Kang Gi-hoon coughed, surprised.

  "Make an appointment, my friend, I'll meet you tomorrow at the earliest."

  "It's urgent," Park Tae-hyun insisted, locking eyes.

  "Very urgent."

  Kang Gi-hoon hesitated, then nodded.

  "Follow me to the study."

  Courtesy be damned—Park Tae-hyun's name carried weight, and Kang Gi-hoon couldn't refuse.

  In the study, Kang Gi-hoon donned a white coat, his demeanor professional.

  "Describe your situation," he said, twirling a dark gold pen, its gleam catching the light.

  Park Tae-hyun shook his head.

  "No hypnosis, even light."

  Kang Gi-hoon set the pen down.

  "Alright. Go on."

  "I… might have a split personality," Park Tae-hyun said, choosing his words carefully.

  "I feel another person's temperament in me. At times, it drives me to act in ways I know aren't mine. I'm disciplined, always have been, but this… It's not me."

  "Split personality symptoms?" Kang Gi-hoon's eyes narrowed.

  "How long?"

  "Recent."

  Kang Gi-hoon slid a sheet of paper and the pen across the desk.

  "Draw your second personality, how you imagine them, based on your feelings."

  "Second personality?" Park Tae-hyun echoed.

  "Yes," Kang Gi-hoon confirmed.

  "But… I'm the second personality," Park Tae-hyun said, pointing to himself.

  "The one causing trouble—it's this body's original owner."

  Kang Gi-hoon leaned forward, intrigued.

  "You're saying you're the second personality?"

  "By the general logic, yes," Park Tae-hyun said.

  Kim Min-woo was the body's first soul; he was the outsider.

  "Have you… Eliminated him?" Kang Gi-hoon asked, a spark of curiosity in his voice, almost excitement.

  "I think so," Park Tae-hyun said.

  "I'm sure he's gone."

  Kang Gi-hoon's expression shifted, serious.

  "That's murder, in a sense. Although the law cannot judge your behavior or characterize it, I must condemn it."

  "Just help me....." Park Tae-hyun pressed.

  "You're here to erase the first personality's influence?"

  "Yes."

  Kang Gi-hoon twirled the pen again, thoughtful.

  "I don't know. because from my perspective, you killed a 'person' who already existed, and if I help you, in a Sense, I'm helping you destroy the body, and I'll become an accomplice."

  "Help me," Park Tae-hyun said, firm.

  "I need to consider—"

  "No need," Park Tae-hyun cut in, his voice softening.

  "Hyung Egg."

  Kang Gi-hoon's eyes widened, shock softening to recognition.

  "Tae-hyun told you that?" Their childhood nickname, a secret shared in the orphanage's quiet nights.

  Park Tae-hyun nodded.

  Kang Gi-hoon exhaled, scribbling a prescription.

  "These are for emotional stability and sleep. They're supplementary."

  He pushed the list forward.

  "But the real fix is your environment. Cut ties with the first personality's social circle—family, friends, all of it. Build your own. This body's been shaped by him too long; it carries his habits, his inertia. Your choices, the ones that shock you? They're muscle memory, psychological echoes. Break that pattern, let the body adapt to you, and the problem fades."

  Park Tae-hyun frowned.

  "How long...would this take?"

  "Not too long by my assumption," Kang Gi-hoon said, leaning back, relaxed.

  "You're lucid, logical. I've observed you since you walked in. You're the cleanest case of a second personality overtaking the first I've ever seen—almost like those old tales of the dead reborn. Perfect, even. This is a side effect, like a mild reaction to medicine. Your own strength will overcome it in two or three months. After, you can reconnect with old ties, no issue."

  A knock came at the door.

  "Dear, a guest?" Kang Gi-hoon's wife called.

  "Yes, two coffees, please," Kang Gi-hoon replied.

  Park Tae-hyun's mind drifted to Dr. Im, her parents' disdain, and her sister's scorn.

  He'd wanted to sever that tie, to walk away from Kim Min-woo's life.

  Yet somewhere along the way, her distance—her refusal to make him part of her life—had become his obsession, a knot he couldn't untie.

  The door opened, and Kang Gi-hoon's wife entered with two coffees, setting them on the desk.

  Her eyes met Park Tae-hyun's, and recognition flashed—she froze, her expression shifting.

  "You know each other?" Kang Gi-hoon asked, sensing the tension.

  "Oh my, dear, He's Dr. Im's husband, Kim Min-woo," she said with a surprised tone.

  Kang Gi-hoon stood, stunned, then crossed to Park Tae-hyun, shaking his hand warmly. "Oh God....Forgive me..You saved my daughter, I...I," he said, gratitude deepening their bond.

  A patient sent by his late friend, now tied to his family's survival—it felt fated.

  Park Tae-hyun nodded, distracted, his thoughts elsewhere.

  Should he warn Kang Gi-hoon about his wife's odd behavior, her fixation on "perming hair"? Their friendship, rooted in childhood, was deep but distant—careers had kept them apart, and there were no late-night drinks or casual chats.

  Only a crisis like this had brought him here.

  He didn't know Kang Gi-hoon was married, had a child.

  But he knew, if he asked, Kang Gi-hoon would help, no questions asked.

  Kang Gi-hoon and his wife walked Park Tae-hyun to the door, offering to drive him back to the bookstore.

  He declined, preferring the quiet walk through Tongmyeong's streets.

  As the door closed, Kang Gi-hoon's wife turned to him.

  "What did he come to you for, dear?" she asked.

  "Just a consultation," Kang Gi-hoon replied, thoughtful.

  "He runs a bookstore, you said?"

  "More like a reading lounge," she answered with a small smile.

  Kang Gi-hoon nodded.

  "I'll stop by sometime. I'll go take a look if I have a chance."