"Could you tell me more about the layers of emotion, Jin Ha-yul?"
Si-on's voice was calm, almost playful. She held a coffee cup, her emotional field a swirl of warm, earthy tones. They sat across from each other in a quiet conference room of the National Emotion Center. Outside, morning light crept slowly down the glass walls.
"Emotion layers are divided into four categories," Ha-yul said without inflection. "Surface, relationship, deep, and hidden."
"Go on."
"The surface layer is immediate. Instinctive. Fear. Rage. Joy. All explosive emotions reside there."
"And the relationship layer?"
"Emotions tied to interaction—betrayal, affection, jealousy. Feelings that don't arise in isolation."
Si-on nodded, clearly intrigued. "Then what lies beneath?"
"The deep layer reflects memory. Long-term sentiment. Pain. Gratitude. Regret."
She leaned forward slightly. "And the last one? The hidden layer?"
Ha-yul paused. "The subconscious. Emotions even the host doesn't recognize."
There was a silence between them. Si-on seemed ready to ask more, but the door opened.
Director Do stepped in, a datapad in his hand. "We have another case."
---
The victim's name was Hong Jeong-min. Chief of Surgery. Decorated, respected. Found dead in his home.
Ha-yul stood in the man's apartment hours later. The place was minimalist, neat—almost too perfect. A sculpture stood by the window, twisted metal spirals. Books lined the walls in pristine order.
The living room, however, was chaos.
A coffee table shattered. Blood soaked into a cream rug. A datapad lay cracked open on the floor, flickering with residual static. And on the wall, barely visible beneath the overhead lighting, a sentence had been written in red ink:
"The guilt won't go away."
---
The Court opened in silence.
Emotion didn't rush out this time. It bled.
Green spines crept like tendrils, thorned and tangled—jealousy. They didn't stab. They clung.
Si-on stepped in after him. "Feels... quiet. But dense."
"It's compressed," Ha-yul said. "The anger's not here. It's not a burst. It's a coil."
The green tangled into knots, laced with strands of black—betrayal. The pattern was familiar. Not random.
He extended his hand.
The emotion recoiled.
Not rejection—hesitation.
"This jealousy isn't impulsive," Ha-yul murmured. "It was nurtured. Stored."
"And the betrayal?"
"Longstanding. Like something that grew quietly."
He followed the strands. They led to a cluster of data.
A datapad fragment, blinking faintly.
He touched it.
The Flow shifted.
---
Same file name. Same corruption.
Static laced the edges of the memory.
But this time, there was more.
A brief flash of a logo—circular, split down the center. Half-light, half-shadow.
And one word beneath it.
Eclipse.
Si-on leaned closer. "Do you think it's part of the same project?"
Ha-yul didn't answer.
He was staring at the Flow again.
The black strands were gone.
But something new had formed.
A shape.
A cavity.
The Flow had been dug into. Something removed.
"Another emotional replacement," he said quietly.
---
Back at the Center, he uploaded the record.
Do reviewed it silently.
"This makes three victims," he said.
"Not victims," Ha-yul replied. "Subjects."
Do looked at him. "You think someone's experimenting?"
Ha-yul nodded. "This isn't just emotional suppression. They're altering what remains. Replacing it with something else."
"What kind of something?"
He didn't reply immediately. His eyes lingered on the screen.
On the cavity. On the echo.
"I don't know. But I think the Flow is starting to adapt."
Do frowned. "Adapt?"
"It's reacting. Not just reflecting. And that means whatever is replacing the emotions... it has purpose."
---
In the corridor, Si-on walked beside him.
"I saw something when you touched the black strands," she said.
He glanced over.
"I felt it too," she added. "Not the emotion. But the shape of it."
He stopped.
"You're not supposed to feel anything inside the Court."
"I know."
She looked up at him.
"But I did."
---
And beneath the shifting lights of the Center's ceiling,
Ha-yul thought about something he hadn't allowed himself to in years.
The possibility…
That the Flow was no longer just memory.
It was becoming memory's replacement.
And someone was writing it.
→ [To be continued in Episode 6]
---
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