The moment his body hit the water beneath the cliff, Park's consciousness began to blur. It felt as if everything—his memories, his thoughts, his senses—was being washed away by the cold, rushing stream.
Above the cliff, the martial artists had already found the remains of Yuna and taken them away, believing their mission was complete.
Park, meanwhile, drifted into a deep abyss of darkness. He felt as though he was floating, weightless, in a void so black it was as if he'd gone blind. There was no ground, no sky—only the silence of emptiness.
But still, he remained calm.
He tried moving his arms, but there was no sensation—no limbs to control. It felt like he was floating in a formless soul, stripped of all physical being.
Trying to remember what had happened, to recall Yuna's tearful face, the chase, the fall—suddenly, a voice echoed through the void.
"Why are you doing this?"
His head turned instinctively, but there was nothing—only darkness.
He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.
"This… is the same I felt when I first woke up. And the entire time… while you were living in my body."
The voice was gentle, but carried weight—pain. Loneliness.
"I tried to call out to you… but you were too busy enjoying your happiness. You never even tried to listen."
"But I'm not like you."
Suddenly, a piercing white light bloomed in the center of the void, spreading until the darkness was completely consumed. Now standing in a field of pure white, Park saw it: a black, shadowy figure curled up in the middle of this endless space, arms wrapped around its knees like it was trying to protect itself from the world.
Park gasped.
"Who are you?" he called out. This time, his voice worked—crystal clear.
Surprised, he looked down at his hands. His form was white too—translucent, glowing—his soul manifest.
Countless thoughts flooded his mind, but he pushed them aside. Right now, his gaze was locked on that figure.
It didn't feel threatening. It didn't even feel hostile. If anything, it looked… sad.
He asked again, softly, "Who are you?" though he remained guarded.
The shadow lifted its head slightly, its voice trembling.
"You don't recognize me? Even after living in my body for so long?"
Park's mind blanked. "What…?"
The shadow's head lowered again. "You truly don't know who I am?"
Park stepped forward, concern filling his voice. "I—I don't. I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are."
The figure's voice cracked, as if on the verge of tears.
And then, like a flash of lightning in his memories, Park remembered the funeral—the face of his closest friend, Shin Ji-Hoon. Silent through the entire ceremony, a shell of his usual self. Park had seen him then, as Shin walked away alone, carrying sorrow too heavy for words.
The emotion surged inside him again.
"Shin…?" he whispered, voice breaking.
He took another step forward. "Shin, is that you? Say something. Are you… are you really Shin?"
Still, no reply.
He moved closer, urgency rising in his voice. "Please say something. If you're Shin, just say it. I need to know."
Finally, a whisper came.
"If I am… then what?"
And in that moment, the voice matched. That quiet, subtle tone—it was unmistakable. It was him.
Park's heart surged. "It's you… Shin. It's really you!" He nearly cried out in joy, memories flooding him.
"How did you get here? What happened to you?!"
But Shin remained quiet, eyes lost in thought. After a long pause, he spoke with a low voice.
"You still don't understand… do you?"
"What…?" Park blinked.
"You still don't know where you are. Or why we're meeting like this."
He turned his eyes toward Park.
"You're not in a dream. You're not in heaven."
A cold chill ran through Park's spine.
"You're in my body."