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Chapter Text

7:00 PM - Junkyard

Half stumbling, half sprinting, a thin, pale man runs for his life. He trips over a discarded soup can, his foot catches on his white trench coat, and he almost falls on his face before grabbing onto a railing to balance himself. Regaining his balance, he continues his escape. He's not three steps away from a flight of stairs that would take him to a lower area of the junkyard, when...

*Bang!*

A slug is fired into the air-- a warning shot from his pursuer. The assailant's face glows an unnatural dull teal behind a pair of thick, rectangular glasses. The barrel of his weapon, a gold-plated shotgun, comes to rest in his gloved hand. He takes aim at the center of his target's white coat.

The pale man freezes. His complexion grows somehow whiter as he inches his hands into the air.

Now, I'm not the kind of guy who can just stand back and watch a man get shot...  

But, I have just one problem... I'm already dead myself.  

Between the two men rests the body of a man slumped in an uncomfortable position. A moody black coat cloaks a chiseled torso, no doubt forged by many hours on the bench  press. A face that can be described as "incredibly handsome" sits atop it-- or rather, below it, as that handsome face is planted firmly into the ground. In contrast, the man's butt  stands tall and proud, the dignified summit of a rather undignified final resting pose. 

That body… must be me. After all, do you see any other dead bodies lying around here?

"So long, detective." The man with the gun readies his weapon.

I feel bad for the guy on the end of the barrel, sure. But what can I do?  

I'm dead, and I've got other priorities.

  
But suddenly, a voice rattles in my head.
(This is no time to be lolling around dead! You're the only one who can save him!)

A bright flash streaks across my vision, and the world is tinged red, a crimson fog hanging over the junkyard. Both men are motionless, as though time were frozen.

Huh? What’s going on?

(Welcome to the ghost world, the land of the dead) says the voice.

Who are you? Are you reading my thoughts?

(There isn't time for that now. I know you can save that ahjussi! All you have to do is use your powers.)

(My... powers?) I think in reply. (Who are you? What's going on?)

(Yes, your powers of the dead! Try [reaching out] to that [crossing gate] over there.)

Among the litany of discarded items sits an old railroad crossing gate. It was angled in such a way that if it were to raise, it might clip the tip of the armed man’s shotgun barrel.

(I don’t know if you’ve realized or not, but I don’t exactly have a body.)

(Ugh, just try!)

I grunt in reluctance, but heed the voice’s commands. I “reach out” towards the crossing gate. It’s a strange sensation, like stretching an arm I didn’t know I had. That phantom limb grabs ahold of something, and my essence snaps forward towards the gate.

(Great! That’s the first of your powers: you’ve [possessed] the crossing gate! Now, the second: exit the world of the dead and [manipulate] that crossing gate to save that ahjussi!)

My head is spinning from the sudden movement (...Is all of this really as easy as you’re making it out to be? Can all dead people just manipulate the world around them like this?) 

(Well, not all of them.) The voice ponders for a moment. (But, I know you can. And you can save that ahjussi with that ability.)

(...I suppose there's no reason not to try then.)

In a flash, the world returns to its normal colors, and time resumes. I focus my will, as though flexing that phantom limb I used to possess the gate. The striped arm shoots upward and knocks the barrel of the blue man's shotgun off its mark. 

He lets loose a wild shot into the sky. His target takes the chance to dart past his pursuer, but he isn't able to get far. The blue man stumbles forward, regains his balance, and snaps his weapon back on target.

“Hold it!”

A pair of arms rise into the air, and we’re back to square one.

(Ack, I thought that would work!) The voice says. (I thought you'd be able to move that crossing gate with more force... [that man] could probably do it. Uh, let's try something else!)

Overwhelmed, I fumble for a solution. I swing the crossing gate closed again, but it isn’t in a position to affect the situation anymore. 

“I’ll level with you. My eyes aren’t too good, so I have to get real close to get a nice clean shot." The blue man cocks his firearm once more, prowling forward. "Any more funny moves like that again though, and I’d be perfectly happy with something messy.“

The situation seems dire. Again, I'm dead! Is this man's death realy on my conscience? Why should I-

(What are you doing, hyung?!) the voice rumbles. (Do something!)

(Uh...!) I swing open the crossing gate again.

(Something besides that!)

(What do you want me to do, then?!) I frantically look around the junkyard, seeing if there's anything around that I could physically stop the man with. 

“I can’t… not here.” Shaking, the pale man reaches for something on his belt. His fingers grip  cold steel. ”Not yet.”

Finally, I think of something I can use-- and in hindsight, it's the obvious choice. I enter the world of the dead, then I reach out to possess it once more.

(This should do, right?) My soul snaps to my own corpse. (If I could maneuver that crossing gate, I should be able to [manipulate] my own corpse.)

The voice ponders another moment. (...Well, why don't you just give it a try?)

I re-enter the world of the living. 

”What are you up to over there?” The blue man inches closer.

The pale man remains in place. He grips his own gun, knuckles white. But he cannot find the resolve to turn around.

I flex that phantom muscle, ready to fling my body at the man with the gun. But... nothing happens.

The blue man takes a few more small steps forward.  The gold plated barrel of his firearm is pressed directly against the pale man's coat.

"So long, detective. I'm glad you chose the easy way."

I continue to will my body to move with all my might. My corpse remains still, as corpses tend to do.

(Maybe you really are different, after all.) the voice whispers.

Bang!

A final shot rings out.

---

There are now two corpses in the junkyard. 

(What the hell was that?! Why couldn't I move?!)

(I'm afraid... you only have the ability to move [non-living objects], not living ones.)

(Aren't corpses non-living?)

(They were once alive.)

The blue man continues to prowl forward, weapon at the ready, not letting his guard down. 

"You dead, detective?"

He prods the body with the barrel. Satisfied with his work, he finally lowers his weapon, and kicks the body down to the lower area of the junkyard.

Brrring!

A payphone across the junkyard rings out. The blue man saunters over towards the noise.

He trips over my corpse. At least, in a way, I did something.

"Outta my way!" He kicks my body to the side, and I tumble down to the lower floor as well.

The blue man picks up the phone. "It's done. I'm on my way."

He hangs up. The hitman looks in the direction of the bodies produced tonight, and takes a small bow. 

Finally, he stalks off into the night.

The final gunshot continues to ring in my mind.

Tonight, I let someone die.

Excuses whisper into my ear. Who would expect me to be able to save someone's life in a situation like that? I'm dead, so why should I try to change the world of the living?

The ringing has risen to a roar. It drowns out any excuses, and I am left with only the cruel truth: I had the power to [change that person's fate], yet my own incompetence caused this result. 

The two bodies lie face down on the ground. Various pieces of small trash scatter the space between them, discarded and forgotten in this lower floor of the junkyard. Among this pile of garbage sits a small red desk lamp.

The lamp flickers to life.

(Hello there. How are you feeling?)

(...)

(Hello? Are you ignoring me?)

(...So you were the voice in my head. You were just a lamp.)

(Yes, just a talking lamp. Definitely not a ghost like you.)

(Are you making fun of me?) I glower at the lamp, or at least I project my intent of glowering with my thoughts. (If you also have the powers of the dead, why didn't you do anything? A man died tonight.)

The lamp points its head towards the ground, as if ashamed. (My powers... are much weaker than yours. It's taking all I have just to control this little thing. I would have saved that man ten times over if I could.)

The lamp shakes lightly. It looks almost frustrated. After some time, the shaking stops.

(But, I still have more to teach you about the powers of the dead -- your [ghost tricks.]) The lamp swivels over to shine onto the body of the pale man. (Isn't it a shame to see such a pretty ahjussi lying here like a discarded piece of trash?)

(...Pretty?) 

The lamp ignores me. (There's another [ghost trick] I haven't told you about yet. First, enter the world of the dead and [possess] that man's body.)

I do as asked, and the world is once again tinged red. This time, however, I notice something.
(Hm. There's something different about my body compared to that man's.)

Faint blue waves emanate from my corpse, contrasting the crimson haze that covers the world of the dead.

(Not everyone who dies gets special powers, you know.) the lamp says. 

(...So those are the result of my [powers of the dead].)

(Anyway. Go ahead, possess that body.)

I reach out to try and possess the body. I stretch my essense as far as it can go, but I'm not able to reach the man. I strain to get a couple of inches farther, but to no avail.

(Hm, are you having trouble?)

I am having trouble. (...No.)

(I can hear your thoughts, remember?) The lamp leans down towards me. (If you say please, I'll let you hitch a ride, hyung.)

This time, I'm pretty sure I actually am being made fun of.

After an embarassingly long amount of time trying to possess the man's body, I reluctantly give up and instead reach out to the lamp.

(See, was that so hard?)

The lamp swivels over closer towards the pale man, and I am finally able to possess his corpse.

Once I do, I'm able to get a closer look at tonight's second unfortunate victim. His face, while I certainly wouldn't call it "pretty," is... charming in a unique way. Under the coat, he's wearing a standard police uniform. Though the sleeves are the correct length, it's baggy on him. A flashlight, a pair of handcuffs, and a small pistol hang on his belt.

(If he had that, why didn't he shoot?) I wonder to myself.

Nonetheless satisified with my observations, I direct my attention back to the lamp. (So what now? I thought you said I couldn't [manipulate] corpses.)

(You can't [manipulate] them... but you can do something else. Why don't you try using a [ghost trick] now?)

(I really don't see what the point of this is.)

(I'm not trying to make fun of you this time! We can save that ahjussi with this. I promise.)

(...Fine.)

I focus my will once more. The red fog of the world of the dead grows thicker, until the living world disappears completely into a deep crimson. To my surprise, translucent fingertips slowly fade into view, followed by arms, torso, and a long black trench coat. It appears that when we go [deeper into the world of the dead], I regain my body-- or at least, some kind of astral form.

Raising my newly appeared head, which I recall to be very handsome, I see that I'm joined by two others.

(...Why are you still a lamp?)

(This is just the form I choose to take nowadays.)

(So then, that's what that person prefers...?)

To the right of the lamp, a small blue flame is floating in place. 

(That's just because that ahjussi is still unconscious. When he wakes up, he'll be able to form a body himself.)

I suppose that makes sense. I was also [unconscious] immediately after dying.

(Let's let him rest. In the meanwhile, why don't we save his life?) says the lamp.

(...What? [Save his life]?)

(Now, the third [ghost trick] I'll teach you: by harnessing a great desire to [change fate], you can rewind time approximately [four minutes before that person's death].)

So this is why this lamp was so aloof. (So we can try again.)

(You're... awfully nonchalant about this. But, that's right. This power only works on people that have been dead for [less than a day]. When the sun rises, you are unable to rewind time on [new corpses]. Regardless, this is the most powerful [ghost trick] granted those spririts who want to [save the the living].)

(Alright then. Let's go.)

(Hold on, you-)

With no hesitation, I focus my will once more. It's not everyday that you see two fresh corpses-- one being your own. I've got plenty of desire to change fate. 

As I exert my powers on the man's corpse, the ticking of a clock and a great rumbling of gears can be heard. My soul shakes and lurches. If lifting that crossing gate was like doing a bicep curl, this felt like lifting a building.

My essense stretches across time as my power seems to grasp the entire space around us, dragging it back second by second. If I still had intestines and a mouth, I would have vomited. After what feels like an eternity, the tension on my soul relaxes. A great flash fills the world, and we find ourselves back in the real world. The familiar sight of the junkyard greets us, as well as one alive-looking pale man.

(Ugh... do you think you could've warned me a little how that'd go!?)

(Not... my fault...) It appears to have taken a toll on the lamp as well. (Aren't you taking this a little fast? Can we slow down a bit?)

Despite my acquaintance's protest, it appears the show has started.

The pale man is crouching next to my corpse. Concern fills his face as he attempts to shake me awake. "Hey, are you ok? What happened?"

Enter stage right, his executioner. 

The detective springs to his feet. His hand twitches in the direction of the weapon on his belt, but remains in place. "Who are you? Did you do this?"

"You ought to be more concerned about your own fate." The blue man reveals his gold-plated shotgun, before the pale man can react. "Hands where I can see them."

The pale man slowly raises his hands into the air. He remains calm. "Alright then, what do you want from me? If you only wanted me dead, you could've just shot me from inside that pile of compost over there."

The blue man laughs and prowls closer. "I'm afraid *I* don't want a thing from you. I simply don't like my work to be done messy, and I like to get up close and personal to ensure that."

A bead of cold sweat runs down the pale man's neck. "You only like things up close and personal, huh?"

He takes a small step back from his pursuer. "Well, I'll hold you to that."

He spins around (a little too fast, tripping over his feet) and attempts to dash to a set of stairs that lead to the lower floor of the junkyard.

*Bang!*

The warning shot is fired. I don't know why he thought that would work.

I'm pulled again into the world of the dead.

(Can we think for just a second?!) a frustrated voice sounds in my mind. (We know what happens from here on out. Last time, I thought that you'd be able knock the shotgun out of that man's hand, but your powers are currently [too weak]. It's not ideal, but if you use your [ghost trick], you can return to the starting point of this attempt. We can try to find a way to delay that hitman while that ahjussi is running.)

(I already have a plan in mind.)

(What? What are you going to do, swing around that crossing gate again?)

(...)

(You're joking.)

(...I wasn't ready last time. I can swing it hard enough to knock the gun-)

(You were the one who got angry at me for "playing around" when that guy died! Now you're actually [playing with his life]!)

(I don't see what the problem is. Can't we just go back to the start if we fail?)

(Dying and rewinding... these actions go against the natural order of the world.) The lamp swivels its head to look at my astral form. A chill runs down my spine. (You felt it yourself. Each repetition leaves a small tear on the soul, a [scar on the subconscious]. Both for the [one you're trying to save], and [you] as well. You'd be wise not to rely on this ability too much.)

A moment of silence passes between us as I digest the weight of those words.

(So will you just shut up, listen to me, forget about that stupid crossing gate? It delays him for at most a half second. There are a billion objects in this junkyard that you-)

(I can do it.)

(...Huh? Did you listen to a word I just said? Stop treating this like a game. Repeated failures have real costs-)

(I'm not treating this like a game.) I reach out to the crossing gate. (I just can't forgive my own incompetence. I'll do it right this time.)

Before the lamp can get in another word, I exit the world of the dead. I focus with all my might. 

The crossing gate shoots upwards like a bullet. It slams the golden shotgun out of the blue man's hands. "What the...?"

The gaudy firearm flies across the junkyard, easily 30 feet into the air, over and behind a pile of decomposing garbage.

The pale man, equally as startled as his assailant, remains dumbfounded, with his hands in the hair.

(This guy...) I mutter.

I re-enter the world of the dead, I re-posess my own corpse to bring the pale man's belt within my posession range. I reach out to his flashlight. I resume time and flick it on. The flash blinds the pale man, but brings him back to his senses. He reaches down to turn off his flashlight, then slides his hand over to his weapon.

He raises his pistol. "Hands where I can see them."

It was the blue man's turn to show his palms. 

The pale man awkwardly thrusts his weapon forward. His hands are trembling. "Any funny moves, and I'll, uh, do something messy to *you*."

"Real original, detective."

The pale man reaches for his handcuffs. Now that he's holding the pistol with one hand, it's even more apparent how much the weapon is shaking. He inches towards the man. His eyes are wide open, ready to react to the slightest hint of indiscretion.

The blue man smirks. He sticks his tongue out and thrusts his head forward, goading the officer.

The pale man, startled, squeezes the grip of his gun, but doesn't shoot. "Real funny."

"What really is funny," The man on the end of the barrel huffs. "Is that I know you won't pull that trigger."

The blue man spins around (with more grace than the detective) and sprints off.

"Stop!" The detective drops the handcuffs and puts both hands back onto his weapon. He takes aim at his attempted murderer's back. But he doesn't shoot.

The blue man's figure disappears into the night.

Finally, the pale man lowers his gun and drop to his knees. At least he lived tonight.

---

The detective's soul swirls towards his living body before fading away.

(...I guess that worked then.) I muse.

(You've... [changed that ahjussi's fate.])

(So I have.)

(But how... how did you do that?!) the lamp shouts. (I thought the crossing gate might buy us a couple seconds at most... That thing went flying... How much did that gun weigh? It was covered in gold, for god's sake...) The thoughts being beamed into my brain descend into incoherence, my acquaintance in utter disbelief at what had just happened. (This makes no sense... what are you, the [protaganist] of some novel?)

In middle of its tirade, it freezes. (Hehe... Hehehe! Heeheehee!)

(...Are you ok?)

(Hehehehe! Maybe you are a [protaganist] indeed! Perhaps you alone have the [power to save everyone] tonight!) The lamp swivels back and forth rhythmically. It dances excitedly. (Let's move on to the next step! Next, you should-)

(Ahem. Let's not get carried away here.)

(...Pardon?)

(I'm not the kind of person who will let someone get shot in front of me, but I'm not about to go on some kind of afterlife crusade to [save everyone]. Can't you use your powers to alert the police or something?)

(...Ha. I'm afraid that... won't be possible.)

(Regardless, I can't entertain this. I appreciate you teaching me about my [ghost tricks], but I can't hang around with you right now. I have [another life to save]).

(Another life...? And whose might that be?)

([My own], of course.)

The lamp stares at me for a second. (...Don't you remember what happened when you tried to use a [ghost trick] on your corpse? You can't save your own life with [ghost tricks].)

(Can't you rewind time on my body instead?)

(I... don't know if I can do that. Or if I [should] do that.) The lamp pauses before continuing. An inexplicable emotion hides beneath its voice. (...My powers are extremely weak at this point.) 

(Useless...)

(Hey!)

(Ok, you said I could [rewind time] in the middle of saving someone right? Can I [rewind time] again and try to [indirectly save my life] while saving the detective's?)

(Listen. Rewinding time on your own body, saving your life indirectly... none of it will work. [You cannot reclaim your life through ghost tricks]. The [powers of the dead] aren't so convenient.)

(...What if...)

(You can't save your own life, ok?! Why are you putting all this thought in now, after rushing in immediately when saving that ahjussi? )

(Isn't there any way?! I have to get back to...!) Huh? I feel like there was [something important] I had to think about.

(I have to...)

We stand in silence for a moment as I desperately rack my brain for that [thing I was forgetting]. 

(You have to... what?) The lamp tilts its head.

Let's think through this clearly. Maybe if the mind is truly just the brain, and I've lost my body, then that's the cause of my memory loss? Would I remember if I possessed my corpse again-

(Hm, are you having trouble?) A voice interrupts my train of thought. The lamp swivels its head towards me, its voice again dripping with cheekiness. (I was always taught that if you lose something, you should trace your steps. So you've lost your memory-- let's start from the beginning then. You can call me... [Biyoo.] What's your name?)

(My name, I...) Confusion rattled my psyche. I don't remember my name...?

(Ok, mai-naym-eye. Do you remember your birthday?)

(Can you stop making fun of me?)

Biyoo giggles. (Ok, ok, sorry. The truth is, we [lose our memories] for some time after we die. We need to talk with people or interact with objects to jog our memories.)

(Ok. Can you tell me my name then?)

(...I don't know.)

(Then, again, you're useless.) I begin looking around for a route of objects I can possess to navigate out of the junkyard.

(Wait, wait! But I do know what you can do to find out!)

(...Go on.)

(Think about it. Who probably knows the most about your death? Who was a [direct witness]?)

We turn our focus to the pale man, who has taken out his smartphone and begun fidgetting with it.

(Alright, so just follow that guy around and hope for the best. Very helpful.)

(You really will learn more about yourself if you follow that ahjussi.) Biyoo pauses, as they search for some line of reasoning to get me to listen. (I... can't say more. But it's true. You have to trust me.)

I stare down at the lamp. Something about the way it's tilted, the way the moonlight hits its shade, makes it look incredibly pitiful-- like a lost child.

(...Well. I guess you trusted me on the crossing gate thing. It's not like I have any better leads anyway.)

Biyoo shoots back up to start dancing again, completely erasing that pitiful pose from my memory. Maybe I shouldn't have humored them.

(Ok! Make sure to keep a close eye on that ahjussi for me, ok? You saw how thin he is, make sure he eats some food when this is all over! He has to take care of his pretty skin!)

(Alright, alright.)

(And remember the ghost tricks I taught you! The [three ways the dead can save the living!] Possession! Manipulation! Rewinding time!)

(What's with that slogan? I can remember that much. My amnesia isn't anterograde.)

(Wow, big words, hyung.) The lamp giggles.

The tone of our conversation suddenly darkens.

(But most importantly) The lamp points directly at me, as though it were staring into my soul. Biyoo's voice hardens. (Things worked out this time with you rushing in and going gung-ho. But don't think things will be like that every time. And don't keep trying in your headstrong way over and over again if it doesn't. [Don’t think things will be better if you try one more time].)

(...I know. I'll remember that.)

(Please-- really, really listen to me, hyung. Don’t forget the guilt you felt when you let that man die. You might find yourself [playing with the fate of others rather than changing it].)

Brrrring!

Before I can reply, the pay phone rings. I recall the events of the first time I woke up in this junkyard: the person on the other end of that call must have hired this hitman.

(There's one more ghost trick I haven't told you about. You can travel along and interact with the electromagnetic waves emitted by phones. If you [possess] the phone, you can listen in on calls, and travel to either side of the connection.)

(Isn't that a [fourth way] ghosts can save the living?)

(No it isn't! You can't travel across the phone while you're rewinding time, stupid!)

(...Why?)

I don't get a reply.

The pale man turns his head towards the ringing phone. He looks around, as though anyone besides him was in that junkyard expecting a call. Sheepishly, he appraoches to the booth.

(You said you want to find out more about yourself? That call is your first clue.) Biyoo gestures over to the man. (And please, look after [Ahjussi] too, ok?)

The pale man is making steady progress towards the pay phone. Before he can move out of the range of my posession, I quickly reach out to his flashlight once more. I am now moving along with him as he makes his way towards the pay phone.

As, I slowly move farther away from the junkyard and my first acquaintance as a ghost, Biyoo says one last thing. (I promise, at the end of all of this, you'll have all the answers you want. So long, Mr. [Phantom Detective].)

Chapter Text

The detective picks up the phone. I reach out to possess the receiver. 

"...Hello?" the caller on the other end says. "Has it been done? Have you wiped out the trace of [Temsik]?"

Now to try out going across the call. I focus my will, and I feel my essense get yanked towards the sky. The world blurs around me as I rocket towards the other end of the line. My bearings come into view: a dark conference room with a large screen on one of the walls. There are a few people sitting around a long table, all with the same blue complexion as the hitman. The man sitting at the head of the table holds the receiver of an old timey rotary phone. 

On the other side of the line, the pale man puts on a gruff voice. "...Erm... Yes."

If that was meant to be an impression of the hitman, it wasn't very convincing.

The man holding the phone covers the receiver. "Did... Paul always sound like that?"

"I think Paul always had a pretty nasally voice," someone says.

"...Right, I thought so too."

I reach around, trying to see if there are any secret files or anything lying around.

"Maybe he's just sick?" another blue man pipes up.

I possess what appears to be the controls of the screen on the wall. I manipulate some random buttons, hoping to get something to happen.

"No, no. Paul always washes his hands after he goes to the bathroom. He wouldn't get sick that easily."

"How do you even know that?"

"I like to shake hands with others often. It's just a friendly thing to do."

I hit some buttons in what appear to be the correct order. A projector hums to life, startling everyone in the conference room. The man at the head of the table drops the phone onto the floor.

On the screen... is me. Or at least, a picture of my body. I try to get a good look. 

The face that had been so ineloquently planted into the ground, now viewed properly, revealed sharp, sculpted features and a permanent scowl. The stature of the man, now standing tall rather than crumpled on the floor, loomed over the other men in the room. He resembled a god of death, cloaked in shadow, adorned with pitch-black trench coat. 

"Jesus, man! Turn that thing off!" The head of the table retrieves the phone from the ground. "That [Secretive Plotter]... I hate the sight of him. Gives me the creeps." 

[Secretive Plotter], huh? Is that what I called myself?

"...Hello?" The detective asks from the phone. "Is everything alright?"

The man holding the receiver finally replies to the detective. "Apologies, I think I must have the wrong number. How do I..."

As the man fumbles to hang up, I have a decision to make. There is clearly information to be had here-- these people, at the very least, know me by some pseudonym. But if I stay here, it isn't guarenteed that I will be able to meet up with that detective again. My mind races as I try to calculate what the best option is. 

"Can you find the 'end call' button for me, Dokgak? My eyesight isn't quite what it was anymore..."

"There's no 'end call' button on a rotary phone, sir."

I don't have much time. It's now or never. 

"Hm, noted." The man at the head of the table replies. "Well then."

He places the receiver down onto the base of the phone, and the call ends.

--- 

The detective sighs as an empty tone sounds from the pay phone. He slams it back 
into the booth, then fumbles for his own smartphone.

He scrolls through his contacts, clicks on a name, and brings the device to his ear. After two rings, someone picks up. Rather than a greeting, light shuffling and giggling answers the detective's call.

"Hello? Yoosung? Is there someone else there?" Assuming the problem is the connection, the detective puts the phone on speaker and waves it in the air to try and get better signal. "Can anyone hear me?"

Well, I can hear him at least. I possess the smartphone to listen in. I hope trusting in Biyoo and this detective was the right decision.

Finally, a young girl replies. "Hi, Ahjussi!" 

"Hi Yoosung. Are you still at my apartment?"

"Mhm!"

"I have a favor to ask. Do you think you could meet me at your Dad's office? And bring that book on the [top shelf]."

"Hmm, I don't know... I have a friend over."

"...You invited a friend over to *my* apartment?"

"Oh, come on! Her brother is really strict, and your apartment is so close to school!"

"I don't follow your reasoning."

With each passing word, I am less and less convinced that this conversation is at all useful to me. Maybe I should have stayed in that conference room.

"Yoosung, it's fine... you can go meet up with your Ahjussi." The voice of another young girl pipes up on the line. "I can walk home by myself."

The feeling of forgetting something important strikes me once more. (That voice... I feel like I've heard it before.)

"Mia, I'm not going to leave you to walk home by yourself! It's getting dark!"

"I'll be ok..."

The detective sighs and cuts off the girls' conversation. "Listen, I'm... not really sure it's safe in my apartment right now. Yoosung, it might be best if you-"

"Huh? The door... Waah!" Yoosung drops her phone, startled. The detective yanks his phone away from his ear as loud clattering blares over the line. 

"Yoosung, are you ok?! Hello?!"

I don't wait to hear a response. That voice... I can tell. This is my best lead on finding out who I really am. 

--- 

I travel across the connection, and find myself possessing a smartphone covered in a pastel yellow case.

A young girl lays motionless on the floor, clutching the smartphone in her hand. She looks no older than 13. Her straight brown hair obscures her face, which is likely twisted in agony. Most saliently, however, the blouse of her school uniform is stained with blood. It seems I arrived too late.

A man with a pallid blue complexion is tying up his other victim with some rope. Thankfully, she's unharmed. A rifle rests against a tall bookshelf in the corner of the apartment, barrel smoking. A high precision scope and a laser sight adorn the firearm-- seems a bit overkill for the distance it was used for.

"Please... why are you doing this...!" The girl's eyes are filled with fear, anxiety, and... something else. "I said I was Shin Yoosung, weren't you looking for me?!"

I recognize the girl as the voice I had recognized on the phone. Again, her words stir my memory, but I still can't remember a thing.

"Well, I happened upon you while waiting to deal with your babysitter-- lucky me that you happened to be here. As for your friend, well... no point in leaving another brat as a witness."

The girl, Mia, blinks away tears. That "something else" in her eyes bubbles to the surface: survivor's guilt. As she takes a breath to say more, the blue man wraps a cloth around her mouth.

"That's enough out of you. We'll wait for that [detective] to get home, I'll deal with him, then we'll see what happens." The blue man retrieves his rifle, pausing to inspect it for any scuffs or damage. Satisfied, he loads another bullet and flicks on the laser sight.  "Your daddy has a poor choice in caretakers, but he's a very important man. As long as he does what we say, you'll be perfectly fine."

The assassin's phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks the notification.

"Prey likes to run, eh?" He clicks his tongue. "Just when I was about to get set up..." 

"You stay put," he spits at Mia as he slings his rifle on his back. Then, he slams the door of the apartment and stalks off into the night. 

Mouth gagged and eyes full of tears, Mia weeps. The sound is... familiar. But I could go without hearing it ever again.

--- 

I possess the corpse of the girl the from the phone call, Yoosung. The crimson fog of the world of the dead grows thicker, and my astral body again fades into view. 

The soul of the young girl remains a formless blue flame. I make way towards it, prepared to rewind time and save her life.

(...Hello?)

With the familiar sensation of thoughts entering my head, I realize that unlike the detective, Yoosung is conscious. (Who... are you? Who... am I?)

I cut straight to the point.

(See that girl on the ground there?) The scarlet fog is thick, but the real world still peeks through. I point to Yoosung's corpse. (That's you. You're dead.)

The girl is silent. Maybe that was a little too blunt, but I continue. (I am a ghost. I have the power to manipulate objects and rewind time. I can save you and your friend.)

If that floating blue flame had ears, they would have perked up. (...Rewind time? Manipulate objects?)

(...I know it might be hard to believe.)

(I... remember!) The blue flame collapses in on itself, condensing into a translucent copy of the body on the ground. Her eyes glow and she shouts at me with a cheerful smile: (Let's save my life then! We can do it with your powers, [Phantom Detective]-ahjussi!)

I frown at the words. It's not the first I've heard them tonight-- and she seems a little too quick on the uptake.

(Let's take this from the top then. What happened before you died?)

(I think... Mia and I were chatting and doing homework, then I got a call from Ahjussi. Then, that scary blue guy walked in, and asked if one of us was named Shin Yoosung. Then-)

(Wait. You said that guy just walked in?)

(Uh, yeah. Ahjussi always leaves his front door unlocked.)

This detective is far too careless for a profession adjacent to potentially violent criminals. In fact, taking a closer look around the rest of the apartment: a trash can filled with instant noodle wrappers, a stove that seems to be collecting dust, a floor devoid of furniture save a tall bookshelf, a bed, and a coffee table covered with algebra worksheets... how is this man living his life?

(Any plans, Phantom-ahjussi?)

(I'm thinking.) My eyes fall onto the shelf, which is filled to the brim with books.

The bottom shelf is filled with what look like rough manuscripts, printer paper bound together with staples or in binders. The middle shelves have paperbacks with colorful, eye catching spines. "Thanks, loser! -HSY" is signed on one of the volumes that appears to be a print-copy of some trashy detective webnovel. The next shelf has heavy hardcovers: textbooks on forensics and collections of celebrated classics. On the top shelf sits one extremely heavy-set book, appearing more like a box than a collection of pages. The cover matches the signed book; it appears to be a compilation of the entire series.

All this aside, that shelf looks pretty big, which gives me an idea. (I'll knock the bookshelf onto him and incapacitate him.)

(Wait, what? That's your plan?)

I grunt in response. 

(It's... in the corner opposite the door. How do you plan to hit him with it?)

(If I push it hard enough, it will reach.)

(Aren't you supposed to be more... clever? Finding an "elegant solution" to the problem? Are you some knockoff phantom detective? Ahjussi makes a better detective than you, and he just gets put on night watch everyday!)

(I'm not a detective, and I'm not a knockoff. And what do you mean "supposed to?")

(...You're telling me this isn't a dream about one of Ahjussi's weird web novels?) She tries to pinch at her cheek, but her fingers pass right through her flesh. Her expression freezes. (Then... that means... Mia!)

Yoosung reaches out to her friend bound in rope. (What have I done... if only I were braver, then...) She holds her face in her hands.

(Well then, I guess I'll get started then.) I begin to rewind time.

But a sob escapes Yoosung's lips, and the sound gives me pause. 

Biyoo's advice flashes through my mind. Was I really about to just rewind time and try the most brute force thing I could? Could I really guarentee I wouldn't fail? 

I wasn't about to wager these girls' lives on a half-baked plan. Failure was not an option here.

I sigh. (Yoosung, was it?)

(...yes.)

(Why don't we think this through a little harder? Let's go through everything that happened tonight.)

---

(...So that's the plan.)

Yoosung sniffs, having calmed down a bit. (Phantom-ahjussi... this just might work. Maybe you're not that stupid after all.) 

I pretend not to hear that. With the roaring of gears, and the ticking of a winding clock, we are pulled back four minutes before the girl's untimely death. 

Yoosung and I are brought back to a more peaceful scene. Two girls chat leisurely, with  neglected homework strewn both on and under the table. 

"So, this is where you live, Yoosung?" Mia asked. She looks uneasily around the suspiciously male living space-esque apartment.

"Uh, no, this is Ahjussi's apartment... he's kind of like my baby sitter?" Yoosung replies. "My dad is busy a lot of the time, so he asks Ahjussi to take care of me."

"Oh, is he your uncle?"

"Ah, no, my dad just trusts him to take care of me because he's an police officer. He's kinda weird about that stuff with his job and all." 

"That's... so he's a stranger?"

"No, he's Ahjussi." Yoosung pouts. "And he's more of a dad than my actual one." 

A phone buzzes in Yoosung's pocket. She glances at the caller ID. "Oh, that's him right now!"

She accepts the call and puts the phone on speaker. "Hi Ahjussi!"

The detective's voice comes over the call. "Hi Yoosung. Are you still at my apartment?" 

"Mhm!" 

(That's our cue.) I freeze time, and get to work. From what Yoosung and I discussed, any hope for survival is contingent on one fact: The girls are not his true target tonight-- it's the detective. So, the plan is simple. Delay the intruder, and get the girls to hide. Five minutes after he arrives, the assassin will receive a message that leads him away from the apartment. 

And the first step of the plan is locking down that damn door. Possessing loose papers and ramen wrappers, I make my way towards the lock. I re-enter the world of the living, and manipulate the lock shut. 

(Why does he leave the door unlocked in the first place?) I think to myself.

(Oh, it's so I can get in whenever I want!) A voice sounds in my head. (Ahjussi lets me read through the books on his shelf after school, when I don't feel like going home right away.)

Startled, I look around, and see a very faint outline of a girl. (So, you tagged along.)

She shrugs. (Looks like it. It's my life on the line isn't it?)

Meanwhile, on the call: "I have a favor to ask. Do you think you could meet me at your Dad's office? And bring that book on the [top shelf]."

"Hmm, I don't know... I have a friend over." Yoosung glances over at the book shelf next to the door, as though remembering its existence.

"...You invited a friend over to *my* apartment?"

Mia twiddles her thumbs, a bit embarassed.

"Oh, come on! Her brother is really strict, and your apartment is so close to school!" Yoosung giggles.

"I don't follow your reasoning."

Step 2. I make my way back over to the girls. Mia seems to have have gone back to doing homework. She takes a stretch, loosening her grip on her pencil. With a gentle push, I knock the implement out her hands. It rolls on the floor, under the table. As she reaches down to retrieve it, I push it lightly out of her sight.

"Huh? Where'd it go..." Mia mutters, grabbing around for her pencil. She accidentally brushes Yoosung's leg, distracting her from the call.

"Mia, what are you doing down there?" Yoosung places her phone on the top of the table and squats down to join Mia. 

"I lost my pencil... It's ok, I can find it myself."

"That nice one your oppa got for you?" Yoosung says. "C'mon, I'll help you look for it."

"Hello?" The detective's voice is heard over the phone. "Yoosung, hello? This is important, I don't really think it's safe in my apartment right now-"

(Moment of truth, then.)

The door knob shakes-- someone is trying to get in. The girls freeze in place. 

"Did you hear that?" Yoosung whispers.

"Yoosung? Do you hear me?" The detective asks, completely unaware of the situation on our side of the line.

"Yoosung did you-" The detective's voice abruptly cuts off. Because I have successfully executed step 2 of the plan: end the call, so the girls are not distracted when the intruder approaches. I possess the phone and slam it against the wall, shattering it into pieces. 

(My phone!) Yoosung shouts in my mind. 

(Kids these days,) I scoff. (Always on the phones.)

(I know you said you would end the call, but I didn't think you would do that!)

(It's the phone or your life, in this case.)

Yoosung grumbles, but she doesn't object again.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out-- the assassin has shot the door bolt clean off.

The door swings open, and the blue man stalks into the room, gun at the ready. The girls hold their breath.

He makes a quick scan around the room. He glances over the titles in the bookcase as he walks by it. 

"How childish," the assassin chuckles to himself, running his fingers over the numerous mystery webnovels.

Our optional step 3, then. With a heave, I attempt to push the bookcase onto the assassin. Best case scenario, we kill him and save the girls. It's incredibly heavy, but it begins to tip over, slowly...

"Woah there!" The man's arm shoots up, catching the top of the shelf. He pushes it back into place.

I feel a smug gaze on the back of my head.

(...What.) I mutter.

(I told you it wouldn't work.)

I grumble, but don't object.

The assassin, satisfied with his cursory scan of the apartment, closes the door and takes a seat on the table that the girls are hiding under. Mia holds back a yelp.

"Would've been nice to find the Minister's daughter here and knock out two birds with one stone, but well." He takes aim at the door, ready to put a bullet through the grey matter of whoever walked through. "A bird in one hand." 

Now, all we can do is wait. Seconds feel like hours. The girls hold their breaths, too scared to make a sound.

(You can do it...!) The ghost Yoosung whispers to the two girls, hands clasped together in prayer.

After what feels like an eternity, the assassin's phone buzzes. He takes a glance at the message.

"Prey likes to run, eh?" He clicks his tongue. "Just when I was all set up..." 

He slings his gun on his back, kicks the door open, and stalks off into the night.

A beat passes. 

The girls finally breathe, letting tears flow and holding each other tight.

"Who was that?" Mia whispers.

"I don't know, but... I think he might've been looking for me." Yoosung replies. "I'm sorry Mia, I didn't know this was going to happen..."

(You... you did it!) Yoosung the ghost cries out, a lot more chipper than the living one. (I guess... what happens now?)

(I think you'll return back to your body soon.)

(Will you... stick around for a bit after? Will I still be able to talk with you?)

(I don't know.)

(Well... in any case.) Yoosung looks down. (Thank you, Phantom-ahjussi. I'm sorry for calling you stupid. And for assuming you were a book character.)

I grunt in reply.

(...What's your real name, by the way? I don't want to keep calling you Phantom-ahjussi if you don't feel like it.)

(...Phantom-ahjussi is fine.) Not like I could tell her I didn't remember my own name. 

(You don't remember your own name?!) Yoosung gasps.

Oh, right. Thought communication.

(I'm looking to learn more about myself, and that babysitter of yours is currently my best lead. Would you mind giving him a call back when you're back in your body?)

(Okay!) Yoosung's astral body begins to vibrate and fade. (I'll see you around, Phantom-ahjussi!)

Her spirit swirls and spins, sucked back into her cowering physical body. The girl's face deadens for a second, like an appliance going through a factory reset.

"...Yoosung?" Mia asks sheepishly. "Are you okay?"

Life returns to the other girl’s face, spreading into a relieved smile. "Just glad to be alive, Mia."

Chapter Text

The girls finally settle themselves after a moment, adrenaline dissipating. 

“Ah, Mia, do you think you could call Ahjussi back for me?” Yoosung asks. ”The call got cut off and I wanted to make sure he knew we were okay.”

“Yeah sure, but what happened to your phone?”

“I, uh…” Yoosung peeks at the remains of her smartphone in the corner of the room. She can’t quite remember why it was like that, but she remembers being a bit peeved at someone for it. “What did happen to my phone?”

Maybe it’s for the best that she can’t remember.

“Hm?” Yoosung’s ears perk up. “Who said that? ”

Huh? You can still hear me?

“I… I remember now! This Phantom-Ahjussi broke it!” 

Yoosung excitedly tells Mia about me and what transpired while they were hiding under the table. 

“So… you died? But now you’re back?”

“Yeah!”

“And a ghost detective saved us?”

“Yeah!”

“And that ghost is… still here now?”

(Yes.)

Mia looks around, started by my voice in her head.  “This is… certainly a lot to take in.”

She clears her throat. “But, uh, thank you Phantom-Ahjussi. For saving us.”

Another pang of familiarity strikes my heart. I know this girl, somehow, some way.

(This may be a bit sudden right after all that’s happened, but I have amnesia, and I’m trying to find out more about myself. Would you happen to know anything about me?)

“Um…” she cocks her head and squints here eyes, trying to see if she can make out any kind of visual in the direction of my voice. “I can’t really see you… do you have like, a description?”

Ah. When I’m outside of the world of the dead, my astral form isn’t quite as visible. (I am a… tall and handsome man. With a built physique.)

Mia whispers to Yoosung. “Is he just bragging and making this up?”

Yoosung giggles. “He is pretty tall. He’s also a gloomy guy who wears all black.”

(I can hear you.)

“Oh, uh, sorry! It’s ok, wearing all black isn’t gloomy!” Mia quickly says, embarrassed. “My oppa likes to wear all black too…”

(Your… oppa, huh?)

I stare at the girl again, and think back to the corpse in the junkyard, the profile of the man on the projector. Maybe it's in the shape of her eyes, or her nose: there’s an unmistakable resemblance.

(Perhaps… Your brother, I…)

Suddenly, Mia’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls out her phone: she's received a text from one “Yoo Joonghyuk.” 

“Oh, that’s him now! Sorry, he’s probably going crazy wondering where I am.” She dictates her message as she taps out a reply. “Hi... Oppa... sorry, stayed back after class to do some studying...”

“Sorry, my brother gets really antsy about me coming straight home because we don't really have any other family to pick me up, and he usually works late." She peeks at the instant reply from her brother before putting her phone in her pocket. "Phantom-Ahjussi, what were you saying?”

(…It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.) Looks like I got ahead of myself there. It feels wrong to press further immediately after such a traumatic experience. Maybe I'll be able to talk with her more later.

“Oh, okay, sorry I don’t know anything…” Mia says. “I do think I should try and head home now Yoosung. My oppa is really worried.”

”Wait, we should call the police first!” Yoosung interrupts. 

“My oppa tells me not to trust the police… I really think I would feel safest if I went home first. I’m sorry.”

“No, I…” Yoosung pauses. “If you think that’s for the best, I won’t stop you.”

Yoosung look around, then points at the bookcase. “Phantom-Ahjussi, do you think you could get me that red book up there?”

I peer at the books lining the shelves. The crimson fog of the world of the dead makes every single volume look red. I hazard a guess at a book that looks particularly scarlet: a small, unsuspecting hardcover, tucked away in the corner of the lowest shelf. It appears deliberately kept out of sight, like its owner couldn't bear to look out at it... or maybe it's hiding something important?

With a little tug of my powers, I lightly tilt the book out of place, and I can read the title: "Memoirs of an Underground Killer". 

(This one?)

Yoosung rolls her eyes. “The one on the very top!”

She points at the large compilation volume on the top shelf. I make way over to possess it, and try to push it down the girl. 

But, with the bookshelf out of place when I tried to knock it over earlier and the surprising heft of the book, the entire bookshelf comes down with it.

“Waaah!” Both girls scream.

(…My bad.)

”Well, I guess you did get me the book.” Yoosung walks over and picks up the thick novel. She looks at the mess on the floor, which Mia has lightly  attempted to start tidying up. “And well, Ahjussi can clean this up.”

“Oh, uh, ok.” Mia says, placing the stack of volumes she was gathering back onto the floor.

“Oh yeah, one last thing Mia, could I call Ahjussi on your phone? I’m sure he’s worried too, with how abruptly the call ended.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.” Mia hands her phone to Yoosung, who begins typing in a phone number. 

I suppose that’s my cue. I possess the phone, ready to jump.

She hits the call button. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

“Bzzzt. Hi, you’ve reached Kim Dokja. Please leave a message after the beep.”

Yoosung hangs up and tries again. “He’s probably just not used to seeing an unfamiliar number.”

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. This time, the caller picks up.

“Ahjussi, sorry about hanging up on you, it’s Yoosung! There was-“

A woman’s voice answers the call. “Dokja! You got a call from the kid. She’s fine.”

The woman continues. “Sorry, girl, your Ahjussi isn’t able to speak right now. We think he might have made a very big mistake, so he needs to stay at the station for a bit, okay?”

“O-ok.” Yoosung replies. “Can you tell him I’m heading to my dad’s office?”

“I will. Have a good night now.”

Now or never, then. (Thank you, Yoosung, Mia. Be safe.) 

I jump across the line before the call ends. I find myself in the office of a police station. It’s not large, and appears to be reserved just for the detectives at the station. Three desks are lined neatly in a row. A small potted plant sits on the windowsill.

8:00 PM

Police Station

-----

A woman with a bob-cut holds the phone I am possessing. She ends the call and tosses the device onto one of the desks. “She said she's heading to her dad's office. God, I don’t know how you deal with kids, Dokja.”

The detective is sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. “I put up with you for who knows how long now, so I’ve had some practice.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “That's the chief’s kid, right? ”

“Yeah. She’s well-behaved enough. Likes books, too.”

“Makes sense how you can deal with her, then.” A grin flashes on the woman's face, but it fades as quickly as it appears. “Listen, that’s enough chit-chat.”

"Yeah." Dokja leans back in his chair. “You wanna tell me why I’m being held here then, Sooyoung? Listen, I really have somewhere to be tonight.”

"You've got somewhere to be? And where might that be?" The woman, Sooyoung, cocks her eye at the detective. "First I catch you rooting around special investigation unit evidence bins, and now fleeing the scene of a murder in a junkyard. You better have a damn good place to be if you want to leave tonight-- you're lucky you're not in a holding cell."

Dokja's eyes are fixed on the ground, like a child being scolded by his parents.

"Well? Out with it. [Why were you at that junkyard tonight?]"

Dokja grins sheepishly. "...Maybe we could go back to the chit-chat for a bit?"

"I need you to take this seriously." Sooyoung pinches the bridge of her nose. She walks over to her desk, picking up a file. "We already did a check on the victim. He doesn't have any paperwork; it's like he was completely off the grid. Do you know anything about him, at least?"

The moment of truth, then. Who was I? Why was I killed?

"...I don't know." Dokja replies.

God, this detective is useless.

"...maybe I am, hah" Dokja mutters under his breath.

Huh, can you hear me too? (...Perhaps only people I have [saved before] are able to hear me.)

"...maybe you're what?" Sooyoung asks, puzzled. 

"Oh I was uh... talking to myself."

Sooyoung sighs. "God, you always do this. This is really serious, Dokja."

"What do you mean, 'always'?"

Sooyoung scoffs. "Do you think I'm dumb? Whenever I ask you about anything serious, you just deflect and start speaking nonsense."

Dokja leans farther back in his chair, averting his gaze. "Maybe I don't want to be psycho-analyzed like one of your novel characters."

Sooyoung takes a step towards the detective, raising her voice. "No, you just don't want to open up to anyone, even your closest friend of 20 years. You're doing it now. This isn't about me, I'm asking *you* a question. A very simple question."

"Well, that question has clear implications. Forgive me for being a bit stand-offish."

"I don't... I'm not trying to get a confession out of you here. I just need information."

Sooyoung walks closer. She takes a seat on the corner of Dokja's desk. She grabs his head and yanks it straight, locking eyes with the man. "Listen, we know how the [others see you]. We need to sort this out, or who knows what will happen."

Dokja wrestles out of Sooyoung's grasp, pushing her arms away. Silence stretches between the two detectives.

Sooyoung gets off of the desk and takes a step back. "I... sorry, that was-"

"No, you're right. But I don't think there's anything I can say that will make people see me any differently. This will only confirm it."

"Don't say that. You're not..." Han Sooyoung sighs. "Look, I know you. You're a dork that doesn't do anything but read. You could barely hold a gun straight in training, your hands were shaking so bad. You hate having to carry that thing around."

She again locks eyes with Dokja, this time with softer eyes. "I don't... I can't believe that you killed that man. But we need to..."

A green dot appears on Dokja's chest. Sooyoung's eyes drift down towards it, first squinting in confusion, then widening in horrid realization. The laser sight of a rifle is pointing directly at Dokja's heart.

Han Sooyoung rushes over to tackle Dokja out of the way. The window shatters, and blood again seeps into the trench coat of the pale man.

Coughing, gasping, struggling for life. Then, stillness.

Well then, I guess that's my cue.

----

"Dokja...! Hey, stay with me! Don't die on me you rat! " Sooyoung shakes Dokja's body. She calls out to the rest of the station. "Hey, can we get some help in here!?"

Possessing Dokja's corpse, I focus my will and enter the familiar world of the dead. I fan my fingers as my astral body again fades into view. Nice to have a body again.

(Hey. Wake up.) I call out.

(Ugh...) A man's voice projects into my thoughts. A formless blue flame sparks to life in front of me.

(Hey. Wake up.) I attempt to snap my fingers in front of the man's soul. My fingers pass right through each other. (You see that corpse?)

The world of the living is still faintly visible, though obscured by a thick red fog. Through it, we can see Sooyoung repeatedly slapping Dokja's corpse across the face, trying to get him to wake up. Looks like she's taking it hard.

(Yeah?) the man replies, a little more awake sounding.

(That's you. You're dead.) 

(...Oh.) The flame shudders a bit, beginning to take form.

(Yeah. And you've got a lot of explaining to do.)

(Dead, huh.) The man's soul condenses in on itself. The blue light solidifies into the translucent figure of the detective I had seen a bit too much of tonight. He holds his head in his hands.

He sighs, defeated. I give him a moment to collect himself.

Finally, he looks up at me, and our gazes meet.

A million different throughs are running through my mind. Anger. Regret. Confusion. Am I looking into the eyes of an enemy? Or the one who will lead me to the truth? Finally, will the answers be laid bare? (Now, are you ready to start talking-)

(Oh my god, this is the most attractive man I have ever seen.) The man's thoughts blare like a siren directly into my mind.

(Uh.)

(Like, so handsome that I feel like my cheeks have been slapped twice.)

I glance back down at the world of the living. Sooyoung is still smacking Dokja's face. (...You don't say.)

(Pardon?)

(Ahem. I'm sure... you have many thoughts and questions. Welcome to the world of the dead. As you may have noticed, we're currently communicating with our thoughts.)

(Oh, cool.)

A beat passes.

(Oh wait, so he could hear...) The man scratches his head, a bit embarrassed. (Or well, I guess you can hear this right now too. Well, what can I do you for, Mr. Ghost?)

(Tonight, I woke up a corpse. You were the person holding my body. I'm here for answers. Who am I?)

Dokja squints at me, taking a good, long look. I await his answer with bated breath. Any stray thought of recognition will do.

(I...)

(Yes?)

(I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are.)

(God, did I save your life for nothing?)

Dokja cocks his head. (You... saved my life? What happened at that junkyard?)

I explain the events of the night.

(So you're telling me, you can possess objects, manipulate them, and rewind time on dead bodies?)

(That's right.)

(Hah, is my life really a novel?) Dokja chuckles to himself. Then, he looks off to the side, remembering something. (Or well, I guess that's not really new.)

A wave of emotion hits me. I didn't take myself as quite an empath, but then I realize: this emotion is being projected into my brain through the thoughts of the detective. Flashes of fear, malice, guilt. The shaking hands of a young boy, covered in blood.

The man catches himself, and the images disappear. (Whoops, sorry, you don't need to see that. I think I'm getting on a handle on this whole thought communication thing. Who knew that mindfulness meditation Sangah-ssi taught me would actually come in handy?)

Dokja dusts himself off. (I apologize for that. But with that in mind, I might have an idea of who you are. So, will that be enough?)

(...What do you mean 'Enough'?)

(You're a ghost, above the law, with your own set of morals. My life is literally in your hands, as a bargaining chip.) Dokja asks. (So you're offering to save me. You've even saved me once already. Clearly you'd want something in return.)

(I... well.) I wasn't quite expecting that answer. Maybe I could use him, then. (Well, then in that case... my terms are that you provide your information, and investigate my death.)

(I... don't think I can do that last part.')

(Why did you even ask then??)

(Hey, it's not like I don't want to, I just... can't!)

(???) I project pure exasperation at the detective. Biyoo, how on earth is this man the key to finding out the truth about me?

The man cringes as the manifestation of my annoyance strikes him. (T-tell you what. I'll give you the information, and point you to someone who *can* help you.)

I cock an eyebrow at him. (How can I guarantee that person will help me?)

(And... and I'll do the hard part of saving me! I've got a plan in mind. Will that be enough?)

We look at each other for a second. I sigh.

(Sure, whatever. I was going to save you regardless. I'm not here to [play with human lives].)

(Alright, let's shake on it.) The man extends a hand. 

I reach out to grab it, but our fingers pass right through.

(Haha, I guess that wouldn't work, huh?) The man grins sheepishly. (Alright, it's rewind time!)

This is going to be a long four minutes.

Chapter Text

The clock ticks back, and we are pulled four minutes into the past.

(Woah, does rewinding always feel like that?) asks Dokja, nauseous.

(Yeah. Try not to get used to it.) I reply.

(Haha, I'll try...)

We are greeted by the detectives' office again. Sooyoung drags Dokja in through the door, then flings him towards his desk. Dokja stumbles forward and trips over his coat.

"Why are you like this, you rat?" Sooyoung demands. "What trouble have you gotten into this time?"

"Calm down, I can explain." Dokja dusts himself off and takes a seat in his chair. He takes his phone out of his pocket. "Sorry, I really need to check on this girl I've been babysitting"

Sooyoung plucks the device out of his hands before he can open up the webnovel app, which he is moments away from clicking. "Stay on topic, Dokja. This-"

The phone rings in her hand.

"Ah, that's her now," Dokja says. "Really, it'll just be a quick call."

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. "You were serious?"

She answers the phone for Dokja.

(Oh, this is where you come across the line from Yoosung's friend's phone, then.) Dokja says. (Man, it is weird to float above the world like this and see people live out their lives like this. Can't say I hate it, though.)

That woman definitely knows this detective well-- he can't stay on topic. I cross my arms. (So? What was your plan?)

(Ah, right. Let's see here. Why don't we start by opening up the window?)

I reach out to possess the window hinge, then unlock it. A gust of wind smacks the window wide open against the wall.

Sooyoung, still on the phone, doesn't notice. The detective's living version, however, is startled.

"Hey Sooyoung, the window just opened by itself."

Sooyoung hangs up the phone. "Huh, oh, yeah, it's been kinda loose recently. You should fix that."

"Huh? Why don't you do it?"

"Special investigation unit privilege." Sooyoung puts on an exaggeratedly smug grin. She looks to the side and drops her expresssion. "Listen, that's enough chit-chat."

(Ok, now what?) I ask.  

(Now... can you go possess that plant?)

(Ok.) I reach out to the possess the potted plant sitting beside the window. It's a small succulent. The soil is mostly clay, fine and dry.

In the world of the living, Dokja and Sooyoung have their heated discussion on Dokja's nightly activities.

(Can you manipulate it in any way? The plant, specifically, not the pot.) The detective's spirit asks.

I glance at Dokja skeptically.

(This is important.) He insists.

I push the stems of the plant with my powers. They sway back and forth a bit.

(Ha, I knew it! It's not that ghosts can't manipulate organic matter, it has more to do with objects having previously been inhabited by a soul. I debated that for days with some dweeb in the comments once.)

(???) I again project annoyance at the detective's spirit. (What was the point of this? How is this related to your plan?)

(Oh, we're just killing time.)

(Huh? You didn't have any plan at all?)

The laser point appears on Dokja's chest. We have seconds until the detective's untimely death.

(Alright, can you stop time now?)

I pull us deeper into the world of the dead, and time stands still.

(Ok, time to actually start the plan.)

(Your plan starts moments before your death?)

(Yeah, what of it? It'll be easier to find the guy now that we have this handy line that points us right to him) Dokja motions at the laser pointer. (Alright, can you push the pot over now? Just make sure to spend as little time as possible.)

A little hesitantly, I quickly re-enter the world of the living and push over the pot. The soil in the pot puffs up as a small dust cloud, revealing the direction of the laser. I stop time as quickly as I can.

Dokja is staring at the clock on the wall. (Hm, how long do we have now, maybe 3 seconds? Should be plenty of time to find a path. Let's follow the line now then.)

We make our way outside, following the direction of the laser pointer. I resume the flow of time for milliseconds at a time to manipulate objects to roll or fall over when there is no clear path. Across those three seconds, we make our way to the perch of the detective's would be killer. 

A man with pale blue skin sits atop a tree stand, aiming a familiar looking hunting rifle through the window of the police station.

(This is the man who tried to kill Yoosung and Mia.) I say.

(Is that so?) Dokja says, somewhat neutrally.

(Alright, now what?) I say. (The assassin's probably halfway pulled the trigger already. I don't exactly see how we can stop him from shooting at you.)

(We're not going to.) Dokja replies. (I want you to manipulate the bullet slightly off course.)

(...Huh?) Even for me, that risk profile is a little high. (That's insane. How much time am I even going to have to do that?)

(What, not strong enough to do it?)

If I had a left eyelid and not just the astral projection of one, it would have twitched. (...It's not a matter of strength, it's just about the margin of error.) 

(Listen, I know you can do this. You did it in chapter tw...) Dokja catches himself. (I mean, I believe in you, buddy! You can do it!)

I give him an unconvinced look. (Listen, I really don't think you're taking this seriously enough. We wasted all that time we could've used for preparation, and for what? It's your *life* in the balance. This isn't a game.)

Dokja gives me a puzzled look. (I mean... isn't it kind of? If I die, can't we just go back to the start?)

(Well yes, but rewinding takes a great toll on the soul. Surely there was a plan that had a greater margin of error.)

(And... how many times have you rewound time?)

(...This is my third time.)

Dokja laughs. (Learn to live a little, man. Uh, no offense) 

(Offense taken.)

Ignoring me, Dokja continues. (Listen, it's my life on the line. I'm alright with whatever happens. If this doesn't work, feel free to leave me to die! If you can live with that. Uh, no offense, again.)

I stare at the man. He's taken to this situation a little too quickly.

I sigh. (Whatever. I'll give it a try.)

I possess the round in the chamber of the hunting rifle. Finally, I allow the flow of time to continue again.

The bullet is fired. I barely have time to react, but I'm able to barely move it off course. I feel the bullet put a hole through the pale man's baggy trenchcoat.

But luckily, I hit nothing but fabric. No blood is drawn.

(See, no sweat!) Dokja says.

(I... wouldn't necessarily call it that.)

"Dokja, get down!"

Back in the real world, Sooyoung tackles Dokja to the floor, trying to get him to cover just a bit late.

Dokja groans in pain.

"Are you okay, idiot?!"

"Yeah, I'm fine... I feel like your tackle hurt me more than anything."

"Well, it's the thought that counts."

(So how was this plan any better than just... getting you away from the window? Or making the margin of error any larger than razor thin?) I ask the orchestrator of this scene.

(Well... waiting for the laser point made it easier to find the guy. And making sure he actually fired a shot will make it easier for my coworkers to find him, too.)

"Can I get guys on the source of that gunshot?! Due west!" Sooyoung jumps to her feet and runs out into the hallway.

(Isn't she reliable?) Dokja muses, watching on as the female detective mobilized the force.

(...Just for that?) I reply. (Just for that, you'd risk your life? And what if I failed?)

(Then we'd just try again, [Phantom Detective.])

That title, again.

Dokja, almost enjoying his time in the world of the dead, floats upward. He lays out supine in the air.

(You know, I've been reading this webnovel since I was a kid. It wasn't anything too special-- a lot of the early writing is objectively pretty bad. But I don't know, something about it spoke to me, I guess. Whenever I had a bad day at school, a bad day at home... I would immerse myself in its pages and just tune everything out.) Dokja chuckles. (I, uh, read it pretty often. Day in, day out, I would await a new chapter. Between updates, I would reread the whole thing from the start, again and again. It wouldn't be a stretch to say it was my reason for living.)

Dokja continues. (The protaganist of the novel was always so meticulous with his plans, so paranoid that something would go wrong. Compromising. Taking the safest, known routes. Perhaps because he had been bitten for doing otherwise in the past.)

(But still, he would fail. And still, he would try again.) Dokja turns to look at me. (Don't get me wrong, I love him as a character. And I get that maybe that's what, for all of its clumsy writing, the story was trying to convey. But whenever I read and reread through those chapters, I would think to myself: if I'm going to risk anything, why not risk it all? Why not try again and find the perfect ending, where everyone is happy? I'd rewind again and again, toll on my soul be damned.)

(The title of that novel was the [SSSSS+ Phantom Detective: Three Ways the Dead Can Save The Living]. That setting, that protaganist-- though the details might be a bit fuzzy, they fit your powers and personality to a tee.)

(...A bit wordy of a title, isn't it?) I mutter.

(It was written by a fourteen year old.) Dokja shrugs, and points at Sooyoung. (That fourteen year old, to be exact. Well, closer to 30 now. Supposedly, it was also based on a true story. I think you might find some answers with her.)

(I see.) A new lead, then.

(Well then, I think this is where we part ways. Thank you for your help twice this evening, and thank you for putting up with me.) The detective waves goodbye, then his soul is pulled back towards his body. (Hopefully, we won't be seeing each other again.)

---

Police Station
8:30PM

Returning to the world of the living, Dokja stumbles to his feet. He picks up the potted plant next to the window that I had him knock over, then pokes his head out the window, looking to drop down during the commotion. He gives the clock a quick glance before climbing out of the window. He braces himself and prepares to jump.

A hand grabs Dokja's wrist and yanks him off the windowsill. He falls flat on his back as the wind is knocked out of him.

"Agh, fine Sooyoung, I won't..."

Rather than the short, black-haired woman he expected, a taller woman with light brown hair looms over him.

"Ah... Sangah-ssi..."

"Hello, Dokja-ssi." 

"I don't suppose... you would let me jump out of this window, would you?"

The woman gives him a polite smile.

I possess the flashlight on the detective's belt as he is dragged against his will and thrown into a holding cell, where Sooyoung is waiting.

"Thank you, Sangah-ssi."

Sangah gives a nod and a salute, then leaves the two detectives alone again. 

"So much for 'not in a holding cell.'" Dokja complains.

"What is going on, Dokja? What have you gotten yourself into?" Sooyoung replies. "I need you to be honest with me."

"I don't... I don't know why they're after me. But Sooyoung, I really need to get out of here. Please, just for tonight, then I'll stay in this cell as long as you want."

"I'm not letting you out when there are crazed gunmen out for your life! Who knows what you'll get up to if I let you out?! Just stay put, and I'll figure this out. "

Dokja grips the bars of the cell. "Can't you pull some strings, Ms. Special Investigations Unit?"

Sooyoung is silent. Wordlessly, reaches up and turns on a CRT screen that is hanging in the corner of the wall. 

What appears to be security footage begins playing on the screen. There’s no sound on the tape, and it’s in a grainy black and white. But it’s a scene I recognize: the junkyard. Footage from earlier that evening begins to play. It appears to be from a bit earlier than when I was able to rewind time to with Biyoo.

Dokja walks onto the scene. He appears anxious. He checks his phone for the time, then feels around in his pocket, checking if something is there.

The woman fast forwards the tape to 6:55PM, around when the murder happened. It’s then that I notice something: my corpse hasn’t appeared yet, despite this being the exact location I found myself this evening. 

As if on cue, I appear in frame. When my body isn't crumpled on the ground, my figure is rather imposing. There's gravitas to each of my steps. Each limb moves individually, stiffly into its next position, like the fine tuned march of a robot. 

There’s some small exchange between me and the detective. Dokja takes the object in his pocket, a small glowing rock, and tosses it to me. Another brief exchange, and I pocket the rock.

I take a few steps back. My entire body shakes, and I stumble to my knees. I look around confused.

The detective turns to walk away, but suddenly stops in his tracks. His entire body twitches once, twice.

Then, with zero hesitation, the detective pulls out his pistol and squeezes the trigger. I ungracefully slump onto the floor face-first. The detective then takes aim at the camera. There's a flash, cracks spread over the screen, and the tape ends.

"...Dokja, I really don't think I can pull enough strings to get you out of this one."

---

"What happened at the junkyard, Dokja?"

"I... don't know. I only remember finding the body."

"What, you drove and walked to the junkyard completely blacked out? What were you doing there in the first place? What was that rock you handed over?"

Dokja hangs his head, trying to think of what to say. "I..." 

Sooyoung walks up to Dokja and grips the cell bars. She lowers her voice. "...This is about the [case from 10 years ago], isn't it?"

Dokja remains silent.

"God, I knew it!" Han Sooyoung pinches the bridge of her nose. "I told you to stop snooping around that case. It only makes things worse for you."

"And I'm telling you, there's more to that case than everyone knows. That I-"

"I won't hear it, Dokja. You're not a killer. Not then, not now. There's [something else at play] here." Sooyoung gets up to leave. "Now you stay put, and I'm going to figure this out."

"...I liked your latest chapter, Sooyoung-nim."

Sooyoung trips over her feet, caught off guard by the comment. "Oh, uh, thanks. What about it?"

"I think you're really beginning to explore the abilities of the detective again. I feel like you hadn't done that since chapter 999, where he was able to rewind time again within another rewinding attempt to go further back in time."

"Well, someone wouldn't stop bugging me about it," Sooyoung huffs, but a small grin plays on her face. "I still think [dying intentionally to rewind time] is a bit too morbid for my usual audience."

"Hah, I suppose so. But I think it's a natural consequence of that power, no?" Dokja checks his phone for the time. "8:33, huh? A minute should be enough, right?"

"After that big speech about finding the 'perfect ending'... I'm feeling a bit embarassed about turning you down." Dokja looks up at the ceiling. "I'll make you an offer then, Detective."

Sooyoung looks back at Dokja "...Are you talking to me?"

Dokja continues, ignoring Sooyoung. "I'll help you, and you'll help me. We'll figure out everything: both [your identity] and the [case from 10 years ago]. And we'll do it all tonight. Sound like a deal?"

"It couldn't be..." Sooyoung gives her friend a deathly serious look. "Dokja, who are you talking to?"

"Well, you know where to find me." 

Finally, without warning, Dokja unholsters his pistol. With one deft movement, he puts the barrel up to his head, and squeezes the trigger.

---

You've got a lot of nerve, you know?

(I get that a lot.)

How am I supposed to trust you? I just saw clear footage of you shooting me.

(Hey, I can't hide anything from you in here. I truly don't remember anything, promise.)

As I recall, you figured how to quiet your mind a couple of minutes after you got here.

(My offer still stands, and I strongly doubt you'll find a better one. Sooyoung may have written the webnovel, but I've pored over its pages thousands upon thousands of times. [Nobody knows this story better than me.])

I think back to the beginning of this long night. I think about Biyoo's words to me. 

(Do we have a deal?) Dokja holds out a translucent hand.

Wordlessly, I focus my will, and pull us back four minutes into the past. As the clock ticks back, I place my hand into his. 

Fine. Let's do this.

Chapter Text

Special Investigation Unit Prison
9:00 PM

Brrring! A landline rings against a cold cement wall.

Two hands reach for the receiver. A large hand engulfs a smaller one, brushing skin for just a moment.

"Ah, sorry. You can answer it, Heewon-ssi." The large hand pulls back. 

A pair of officers sit idly at their desks in a dull, white room. The ringing of the phone bounces off the walls, filling the empty space.

"No, no. I got the phone last time. You can take it, Hyunsung-ssi." A black-haired woman gestures for her partner to take the call. Twirling a pen in her hand, she is completely ignoring her workstation. Her desk is sparsely populated, with nothing but the essentials: a mug holding a couple pens and a small digital clock. A bright yellow sticker on the side of the cup is a lone splotch of personality in the sterile setup. It appears to be a promotional sticker from a concert. 

"Ah, well, if you insist..." A tall, built man reaches to pick up the phone. His desk is arranged much more neatly. An entire half of his writing surface is dedicated to post-it notes filled with reminders, to-do lists, and daily platitudes. It's the result of productive energy and a clear desire to put that into his work, certainly, but the lack of any other papers suggests that not much is actually being done on this desk. Maybe there's just not much to do here.  

"I'll just put in on speaker, so we can both talk." The taller officer picks up the phone. "Hello? Dokja-ssi?"

"...How did you know it was me? Is there caller ID on those phones?" The familiar voice of the detective is heard over the phone.

"Dokja-ssi, nobody calls here but you," the woman calls out. "Not many officers, let alone regular people, even know about this prison."

"I see. Well, uh, I'm sorry I haven't called lately then."

"It's no problem! So, what can we do for you?" The taller man asks. "Did you... want to schedule a visit?"

The line is silent.

"Aha, of course not, sorry... You're always welcome, you know. She's always asking about you ever since... I mean- I, uh, know you told us not to tell her you were calling, but..." The taller man fumbles over his words.

The other officer grabs the phone from her partner. "What he's trying to say is that you're always welcome to visit. You could come right now, even. Even if you don't feel ready. It's up to you, but please, don't hesitate to ask."

The taller officer puts his hands together in thanks, mouthing "thank you" to the woman.

Finally, the detective answers. "No, uh, it's okay. None taken. And thanks, Heewon-ssi. Honestly, I might see if I can drop by tonight."

"Really?" The woman sits up in her chair. "Ahem. I mean, uh, really? That's great."

"But yeah, I was just calling to... let's say, check in. I don't suppose I could ask more specifically about the prisoners..."

"I'm sorry, Dokja." The officer cuts off the detective. "You know we can't say. We've probably already said too much."

"Yeah, I figured." The line is silent for a second. "Well, then, I guess I'll... see you around?"

"Yeah, of course. See you, Dokja."

"See you, Dokja!" the taller officer calls from off to the side.

The line ends, and the woman places the phone back onto the receiver.

"Uncharacteristically exciting week, hm?" Hyunsung remarks. "A phone call from Dokja, new inmates for the first time in years, and of course..."

The man frowns. "Well, I guess I wouldn't call it exciting."

"Well, I'm just glad that Dokja-ssi seems to be doing well. I do hope he drops by, and soon." Heewon leans back in her chair again. "Gosh, even with all the new inmates recently, I can't remember the last time we had a visitor."

Well, little do the officers know, they have one already.

--- 

Outside Police Station
8:00 PM

It's a simple matter to lock the door of the detectives' office and prevent one Detective Yoo Sangah from entering.

It is maybe less simple of a matter for one Detective Kim Dokja to safely and successfully jump from a second floor window without harm, but here we are regardless.

After the detective manages to avoid breaking his leg, he proposes the plan for the next hour: Dokja would go to the justice minister's office, where he had asked Yoosung to meet him, Meanwhile, I would enter the Special Investigation Unit's prison for special interest criminals to check on the status of Prisoner #79.

(I don't like this plan. How does this have anything to do with finding out who I am?)

"Ever heard of give and take? This time, you'll help me, and next time, I'll help you."

(I just saved your life twice. I think I'm owed a take.)

"Ugh, well..." The detective ponders for a moment. "It's not like there's nothing in it for you. That prisoner does have some information on the Phantom Detective story."

 (Didn't you say you were the one who knew the story best? What this prisoner know that you wouldn't? Just tell me everything you know.)

"Woah, pal. I'm gonna need at least 4 more gives before you get to take that much."

(Well, I guess the deal's off then.) I grunt. (I'm going to need a little more than that to trust you.)

"Hey, I'm lending you my phone." Dokja taps the device in his pocket. "You're not going anywhere without this bad boy. You're really underestimating how useful it is to have someone teleport you around wherever you want. Who else can hear your voice and is willing to cooperate with you?"

(Hmph. That's your bargaining chip? Everyone's got a phone nowadays.)

"And how many can hear your voice?"

(If I just stick with you and meet up with Yoosung, I can just ask her to call whoever for me, on her phone.)

"...which I seem to recall, you had shattered against the wall of my apartment, no?"

(...)

"You still there? You haven't gone away, have you?"

(...)

"Alright, I'm sorry. Listen, I really just need a few hours of your time. I have some pressing matters to attend to, then I'm all yours, alright?"

(...Fine.) I grunt. (After this, you're mine.)

"Coming on a little strong," the detective chuckles. "Listen, I know it's a little hard to trust the guy who just shot you in 4k."

("A little" is an understatement.)

"Fair. But... I hope you'll believe me in saying that I do really want to help you." A small smile forms on the detective's face. "And, it's not like I'm opposed to telling you everything. There are parts that I think other people would be better at explaining. Things about this story I'd really rather not recount."

Again, a flash of emotion emanates from the detective. He suppresses it quickly. 

"In time, I'll tell you everything."

(...It's fine. You're right. Practically, having someone on the side of the living working with me will make a lot of things easier.) The men in that conference room that I seemingly had made a deal with. The assassins after the detective's and maybe my own life. It's looking more and more likely that my past was a bit... unsavory, to say the least. (And I'm not looking to involve kids or civilians in this, if I can help it.)

"Glad to hear it." Dokja fiddles with his phone and dials the prison. "I'll call again in 30 minutes, from the justice ministry. Come back to the landline by then, ok?"

---

Special Investigation Unit Prison
9:15 PM

So that's how I find myself in a top-secret prison for special interest criminals. Though, I haven't made much headway in terms of actually finding my way to the cell blocks.

The office is sparsely populated, with extremely few objects for me to make use of to make my way farther into the prison. I need to find an opening, and fast. 

Meanwhile, the officers continue their conversation.

"A while since we've had a visitor?" Hyunsung cocks his head. "But didn't-"

"She doesn't count." Heewon snaps. "Our boss dropping by to pick us apart isn't exactly the hit of excitement I need to work in this dump."

I possess a stray post-it note on the desk of the taller officer. With a quick flick of my powers, I fling the post-it note in the direction of the cells. Bending and folding the paper, I manipulate the shape to glide as far as I can.

Unfortunately, I land well short of the door. Again. Well, I'm making progress. Just a few more tries, and I might be able to slide under the threshold...

Heewon notices the fallen note. "Hyunsung-ssi, you dropped another post-it note."

"Oh, thank you." Hyunsung reaches down to pick up the post-it note. "That's so weird, that's like the fifth one... Maybe the glue is weakening?"

"More like thirtieth. You think we're being haunted or something?"

"Haha, I guess that could be a bit of excitement." Hyunsung glances at the reminder hastily scribbled on the note. "Oh, speaking of, we should make the rounds early today to let the prisoners know someone from the unit is coming today."

The taller officer crumples up the note I am possessing and jams it into his pocket. Well, surely I was bound to figure out the post-it note route eventually... but, well, maybe following the officers might be a more promising path. This isn't me giving up or anything.

Down a long hallway, I hitch a ride with the officers as they make their way through the prison. The building is a lot smaller than I expected, holding only a few prisoners.

"Gahh!" A boy's voice sounds from down the hall. "Jihye, you..."

We make our way towards the noise, and find the first two of the inmates in this prison: a young boy and girl, likely teenagers.

The inmates have been afforded quite a few amenities: comfortable bed sheets, a small desk, even some posters and wallpaper. The boy's cell has been painted a dark purple. Not that you could see most of it: posters of seasonal isekai anime and games litter the walls, leaving little of the actual wall visible. His cellmate's room doesn't quite scream her personality in the same way, but it looks lived-in enough. A plush squid and sunfish sit on her bed, arranged neatly along the wall. They look well worn.

Save the single wall of metal bars, these two cells might look like two normal teenage bedrooms. Even their striped prisoner uniforms look closer to pajamas than jumpsuits.

The pair appear to be playing some type of fighting game on two handheld consoles. I vaguely recognize it-- a popular title decades ago, but still enjoyed by diehard fans to this day. A connection wire snakes between the bars of their cells, allowing them to play against one another, though they have to cram up against the wall shared by their cell for the cable to reach.

"Gah, if only I could once again summon that great power inside of me..." The boy mutters. He clutches his arm, which he has wrapped with toilet paper. "If it weren't for this seal on my right arm, I'd have defeated you in seconds."

The girl clicks start on her controller, and another round begins. "What are you on about, Namwoon? Do you have TP on your arm again?"

"Hey, you were the first-hand witness to my awakening! You said it was like something [took over my body]! Didn't you find my hidden powers cool?"

"I'd find it cooler if you actually played neutral instead of throwing out random moves all the time." The girl rolls her eyes. With a deft flick of the control stick, she maneuvers her character just out of range of her opponent's attack and lands a key opening hit. "Do you actually listen to anything Master says?"

One devastating combo later, victory music plays from the girl's device.

"Agh!! Again!" shouts the boy.

"Ahem." Heewon interrupts the pair. "Everything alright in here?"

"A-ah, unnie!" The girl quickly shuts off the game and straightens her posture. "Everything is alright!"

The boy clicks his tongue, annoyed that their match has been terminated. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"Good." Heewon's tone softens. "Listen, we've contacted your parents already. There's just a couple of questions someone from the Special Investigation Unit is ask you. She's a little mean, but she won't bite or anything. Just answer truthfully, and we should be able to get you home."

The two kids nod their heads eagerly. While it looks like the prison has been made comfortable for them, it has to be distressing to be kept here at such a young age.

The clicking of their controllers begins again as we continue on through the prison.

"God, what is going on in this city that a couple of trespassing kids are getting put in here?" mutters Heewon.

Moving down a set of stairs, we find another inmate: a woman with long blonde hair sitting at her desk. She's scribbling something down on a piece of paper and humming a tune to herself. Her cell looks equally as decorated as the boy's cell, but with drastically different tastes. Wall to wall are posters of attractive men, drawn in... compromising positions with one another.

She's afforded a small bookshelf, which is filled with comic books of a similar genre. Giggling to herself, she scribbles away. I can't see it from here, but I have a rough idea of what she's drawing.

The officers stop in front of her cell. Hyunsung looks idly at the ceiling, expecting Heewon to speak. Heewon, instead, elbows her partner in the side.

"Ah," Hyunsung plants a foot down to regain his balance. "Is everything alright here, Uriel-ssi? I'm sure this has all been very distressing for you."

"Hm?" The prisoner looks around, seemingly broken out of a trance. "Ah, yes, everything is alright! Honestly, this has kind of been a nice change of pace compared to my usual schedule."

"I'm glad to hear that. We were in the crowd at your show last week when this all happened, my partner here is a really big fan-"

A rain of embarassed elbows hit Hyunsung in the back.

He stumbles over. "W-what I'm trying to say is we'll do everything we can to make sure things are handled smoothly."

Hyunsung gives the same explanation about questioning from the Special Invesigation Unit that Heewon gave to the kids, then we're on our way to the final prisoner at the end of the hallway.

The cell number reads 79. This is my destination. I make my way out of the taller officer's pocket and in.

The space is a little less homey than the rest, a little more easily recognizable as a prison cell. There's a lot less strewn about the room compared to the others, but, the amenities, again, don't look uncomfortable. Stacked neatly on a desk are a collection of newspaper clippings and papers. Upon closer inspection, they're manuscripts for a book.

An older woman sits on her bed, pencil in hand, reviewing one of the manuscripts. She's arranged additional newspaper clippings on the sheets to refer to as she goes.

"Sookyoung-ssi. Revising again, I see." Heewon begins. Both officers bow their heads slightly to the prisoner. A strange sight.  "I hope things are alright."

"A bit livelier than usual, with the new faces." The prisoner's eyes don't leave the paper, but her tone is warm. "But mostly the same as always, I suppose. And what about yourselves? Did you enjoy that concert last week?"

"Haha, you actually won't believe it, but Uriel-ssi is actually one of the inmates here. As if [something came over her], she suddenly stopped in the middle of her song and began saying a sequence of numbers..."

While the three begin some idle chatter, I poke around the papers in Sookyoung's cell.

Spread across the desk are working papers. Outlines of chapters, condensing the story into its essential points.

The book is an autobiography. A fresh-eyed police academy graduate, entering the force with hopes of making the world a better place. Doing her part. Lifting up her fellow officers. Rising up the ranks. Even finding companionship. 

Coming up against corruption, maybe inherent to the system as a whole. How power changed those she thought she knew, or perhaps, revealed their true nature.  Proclaiming justice in the streets, but raising hell behind closed doors. Money changing hands. Conspiracies hatched. Ambitions of attaining a [greater power]. 

A once warm love, grown frigid, was slowly overtaken by a seething rage.

A boiling point. It all happened so quickly.

Blood, seeping between the floorboards.

But she did it to protect herself. To protect [her child].

This is the main plot of the novel, a personal story about a woman's life: her career, her struggles, her escape from an abusive relationship. But, pretty plainly between the lines, is an exposé of the corruption of the police force from a whistleblower. Between chapters in the manuscript are short reports and retellings of cases of police brutality, or internal corruption and harassment.

I take a peek at the newspaper clippings scattered along the bed. They all appear to cover different criminal cases, taken from different times. These aren't large stories-- most appear to be small, throwaway columns, page-fillers.

However, it doesn't quite look like all of these cases were meant to be used in the book. Rather, there's a different through-line connecting them... Notes are scrawled along the margins, mentioning a [manipulator].

Finally, one case catches my eye.

MISSING CHILDREN  

Yoo Mia  
Description:   
AGE: 3 years  
HEIGHT: 38 inches  
WEIGHT: 32 pounds  
Shoulder length black Hair, black eyes, fair complexion.  

Yoo Joonghyuk  
AGE: 15 years  
HEIGHT: 65 inches  
WEIGHT: 120 pounds.  
Black hair, black eyes, fair complexion.  

Last spotted February 13, 20XX on CCTV in Temsik Junkyard. Signs of foul play. If found, please report to local police!  

(Scribbled notes line the margins.) 

*Same date as the case.*  

*First appearance of the manipulator?*

Two pictures are attached. First, the girl. Though clearly younger, I can tell that the photo is the Mia that I had met tonight. Second, the boy. Again, clearly younger than I remember, but...

[Unmistakably, this is me.]

The conversation between the officers and the woman snaps me out of my trance. 

"Sookyoung-ssi..." Both officers shift uncomfortably. "I just want you to know that you were a great inspiration a lot of the younger officers. Even after all of this."

"Oh, come now. What's brought this on? I've been in jail longer than you two have been on the force."

"Listen, I... don't really know how to tell you this." Heewon continues. "They don't give us exact times, but... [your execution is tonight]. I'm sorry."

Finally, the woman looks up from her papers.

She sighs. "...I see."

"I'm really sorry."

"Ah, Dokja called-" Hyunsung begins.

Heewon elbows him and shakes her head. Why dangle hope in front of a dead woman? "The night shift is going to be coming in any moment now. I don't really understand why they pushed this up to be so sudden."

The two turn to leave. I again possess the note in Hyunsung's pocket. The walk back is silent. 

I suppose this is the information the detective had wanted. Clearly, he had reasons for not wanting to visit this woman... perhaps he wanted to ensure justice would be served.

We arrive back at the office, and I glance at a clock on the wall: 9:30. As the detective promised, the landline rings again. Neither officer is quite as excited to pick up the phone this time, but eventually, Hyunsung reaches for the recevier.

"Hi, Dokja-ssi?"

"Um... hello." An unfamiliar voice comes from the other end of the line. "This is Minister Bihyung. It was apparently the dying wish of Detective Kim to call the prison at this time, to send his farewell wishes to his mother."

Shock and horror fill the faces of the two officers.

...God, what has this idiot gotten himself into now?

Chapter Text

Justice Minister's Office
9:15 PM.

A man toils away behind an ornate desk, his figure framed by two mountains of paperwork. Putting the finishing touches on a document, he places it gingerly on the pile to his right before fetching another from the pile to his left.

He sighs, taking off his reading glasses and rubbing his temples. It looks like he hasn't been sleeping well recently. His skin, naturally teal, looks closer to chalk. The source of his stress is more than just paperwork-- standing above him is a very determined detective.

"You know why I'm here, Bihyung." Dokja places a hand on the table.

"That's 'Minister Bihyung' to you, detective." Bihyung squints at his spectacles, checking for any spots of dust. "But I don't, really. Why are you here?"

"It's tonight, isn't it?"

"...I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb. I have my sources."

The minister gives Dokja an amused look. "What, those two shmucks at the SI prison? Don't tell me you thought those calls were private."

"I'm well aware they weren't." Dokja's face remains still. "I'm not talking about them."

"Hm." Noticing a speck of dust, Bihyung grabs a cloth from his pocket and begins wiping his lenses. "What do you plan to do about it, detective?"

"You're going off the execution." Dokja responds. "I have irrefutable evidence that [she didn't commit the crime]."

"Oh, really?" Bihyung laughs and puts the cloth back into his pocket. "It's been 10 years, Dokja. Where'd this evidence suddenly appear from?"

"...Let's just say a ghost told me." Dokja turns his head to the side. "Anyway, Yoosung should be here with the evidence in question any minute. All we have to do is wait."

Satisfied with the clarity of his lenses, Biyhung puts his glasses back on. He faces the man standing at his desk head on.

"Detective. Could you remind me how many attempts on your life were made today?"

"...Two," Dokja replies. "Wait, how did you know it was multiple-"

"Technically, it was actually three," Bihyung interrupts. "I was recently made aware of a break-in at your apartment. They were waiting for you there."

"Again, how do you know-"

"Where I might remind you, my daughter was."

A chill runs through the room.

"And when I hear this, I think-- they've got assassins out against Kim Dokja? My Kim Dokja? Kim Dokja, the 'reformed' [son of a murderer?]"

Dokja's entire body goes stiff.

"And I think, surely not. I've kept this man under my wing for years now, and he's done nothing but honest work, just like I asked. And he has! Even became a detective, just like his parents. Why, I'd trust him to look after my own child.

"But then, I hear that he's been rooting around evidence bins. Scurrying around town, looking for clues. At the time of night he should be looking after my kid.

"And now, here he is, barging into my office. Raving about a decade-old case. Running away from the police, accused of murder. Lollygagging around with little regard for his own safety, even with hired guns after his head. Generally, not doing the one thing I asked him to do: keep his goddamn head down."

Finally, Dokja interrupts the minister's monolgoue. "What are you getting at, Bihyung?"

The minister gives the man a steely look. "Where's my daughter, Dokja?"

"She's... on her way here. She'll be here any minute now."

"So you're saying you don't know?"

"...What, you actually think it was safe to leave her in my apartment? When there are crazed murderers around?" 

"That's exactly it!" Bihyung slams his hands onto the desk and rises from his seat. Standing at his full height, he towers over the detective. "It wasn't safe to leave her in your apartment! Why weren't you with her in the first place?!"

Dokja averts his gaze, visibly shrinking in discomfort.

Bihyung sits down, still simmering. But his tone softens. "Listen, I know that deep down, you fancy yourself some kind of... hero detective. You stuck your neck out for those two officers when they were about to be arrested for assaulting a superior in that harassment case, lawyered it down to a demotion to prison guards. Reaching out to the kids of the perps you arrest. It's why I entrusted you to look after Yoosung. All of that, I've been perfectly fine with."

The minister continues. "But this and that are different things. I know you're just doing what you think is right, and you'll accept whatever happens to you. But you can't be running around like this. That hero complex isn't just going to get you killed-- it's hurting others, too. This goes way higher up than you realize. Some very, very powerful people are involved. People I've done many, many unsavory things to keep happy, so I can live my life. So you can live your life. All you need to do is keep your head down, let this go, and find your peace."

Dokja hangs his head. Finally, he replies: "...I can't do that. How could I do that? When I know..."

"...They've kidnapped Yoosung." The minister blurts out.

Dokja's head shoots up to meet the minister's gaze. Bihyung's eyes are sincere and full of worry. 

He continues. "I've been listening to their every word. I haven't been disobedient, not even once. But still, they found it necessary to have the... assurance. This is what these people can, and will do, Dokja. I had to push the execution to tonight. It's probably happening as we speak."

"I... can fix this. I just need some time." The detective's face remains calm, but a bead of sweat on his forehead betrays his demeanor.

"Hey, are you with us?" Dokja calls out. No response.

His entire body hot, Dokja pulls out his phone and checks the time. He unlocks it, then tosses it to Bihyung. "Can you call the prison for me at 9:30? If I don't come back... give her my farewell."

Bihyung catches the phone, fumbling it in his hands. "What are you-"

"See you when I see you, Phantom Detective." Dokja calls out. Then again, in one deft motion, he takes his own life.

Bihyung erupts into a panic. "Dokja, what are you-- Dokja!"

---

I look up at the sky, in disbelief at what I've just seen. Four minutes prior, I had left behind the two devastated prison guards to investigate what had happened. After finding the detective in a pool of his own blood, I rewound time on his body.

(Hey, why didn't you answer me when I called out for you?) Dokja asks.

(Can you stop doing that?) I reply.

(Stop doing what?)

(You know what.) I growl. 

The detective stares at me for a second, a little surprised at my reaction. He gives an aloof shrug.

(Hey, I mean, it basically gives us a little pocket of infinite time to think about what to do next, right? Kind of like a save point in a video game.)

(This isn't a game.)

(C'mon, it's not like it's hurting anybody. Nobody even remembers, anyway.)

(What if the minister hadn't made the call? What if I had decided to abandon you?)

(But he did, and you didn't. And if I die, it's no sweat off of your or anyone else's back.)

Back in the real world, Bihyung is grieving over Dokja's body. Slowly, he raises Dokja's phone to his ear and makes the call to the prison.

(That's hard to believe.)

(Bihyung is just my boss, it's a work relationship. He'll get over it.)

I scoff. (What about Yoosung? Heewon and Hyunsung? I've watched over your life for maybe a couple of hours now, and even I can see that you have people that care about you.)

(They'd be fine without me. I've only played a small part in their lives.)

I give Dokja an unimpressed look.

(Again, I don't see what the big deal is! Nobody remembers!)

(What about me?)

Dokja is caught off guard by that response. (Well, uh, you're the phantom detective! You're all about ends justify the means. Death is just a problem to solve to you.)

(...Joonghyuk.)

(Huh?)

(My name is Yoo Joonghyuk, not "Phantom Detective." Stop mixing me up with this novel character.) 

The detective gives me a strange look. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but closes it. He mulls over his response before giving it: (...Fine, well, we literally just met today. This whole thing, it's just a transaction. You shouldn't be caring about my wellbeing or anything.)

I pinch the bridge of my nose. (Listen, I'm not saying it's not... practical. You just do it too... too easily. Like it's something you've rehearsed before.)

(...)

(I'm not going to push further on that. Again, I agree, it's a useful tactic. But I just want you to at least think for [one second] before you pull the trigger. Otherwise, this deal is off. I can't trust a suicidal maniac to help me.)

(Fine. I guess that's fair.)

(Promise me.)

(...Ok, I promise.) Dokja averts his gaze, clearly uncomfortable. (Now can we figure out what we're going to do next?)

---
Justice Minister's Office
9:20 PM.

We rewind time once more.

"Hey, are you with us?" Dokja calls out. 

I possess the flashlight on the detective's belt and flick it on.

"Good." The tension releases from the detective's body as he reaches to turn off his flashlight.

With that, fate has changed, and the Dokja's ghost returns returns to his body.

"Seriously Dokja, what is going on with you recently?" Bihyung asks, watching the interaction.

"What do you mean?" replies the detective. Did the minister hear any of our conversation in the world of the dead, right?

Come to think of it, why can [some people hear me, but some cannot?]

"According to the novel, those who have been saved before can hear your voice," Dokja mutters under his breath, answering my question.

Hm, I guess that seems right. For the most part.

Dokja turns to leave. "I'm going to make this right, Bihyung. I promise, I'll be back with the evidence and Yoosung, both safe and sound."

"Wait, Dokja."

The detective stops in his tracks.

"Listen, I know things have been... tough." The minister speaks slowly. He's clearly not used to having talks like this. "But... you don't have to do this. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Just live your life."

"I do have to do this. You, of all people, should understand."

"Call me crazy, but, I just get this weird thought of you... doing something you regret. In this very room." The minister's tone is vastly different from moments before. As if he had seen something that would turn him from a superior scolding a subordinate to a concerned mentor. His face is pained, his features contorting as though struggling to hold onto his thoughts.

...Could he possibly have memory of the [rewound time]?

The minister sighs, effort draining from his face. He's given up on trying to express himself further.. "Just don't do anything rash, Dokja."

"I'll be fine. See you, Bihyung."

I tag along with the detective as we exit the building.

We walk in silence for a bit, until we are outside.

"Ok, Joonghyuk," Dokja finally says. "I'm going to need you to break my mother out of prison."

I figured as much.

Chapter Text

Outside Justice Minister's Office
9:35 PM

--- 

"Ok, Joonghyuk," Dokja finally says. "I'm going to need you to break my mother out of prison."

I figured as much.

(Ok. Call the prison.) 

"...What, no retort? What happened to 'what about helping me?'" The detective laughs.

(We don't really have time for that. Call the prison, then go find Yoosung. If you trace her route from your apartment, you might be able to find some clues.).

"That's... surprisingly well thought out for you. Props to you, Phantom Non-detective."

(Not the time.)

"What? You told me to stop calling you 'Phantom Detective.' I feel like this is a suitable replacement."

(...)

"Hey, you there?" The detective turns his flashlight (which I am possessing) on and off. It's uncomfortable, like he's repeatedly flicking me in the forehead.

(...Everything's going to be fine, Dokja.)

Surprised, Dokja covers his face in embarrassment. "Where'd this come from?"

(You try to drum up banter when you're nervous. You did it with the other detective, and you did it the first time we split up. We don't have time for it right now, so I'm... reassuring you.)

The detective, dumbfounded, opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

(Call the prison, Detective.)

"Hah." Dokja opens up his phone. "Sure. Your wish is my command."

One ring, two rings. If I recall, at this point in time, he and Heewon have likely just come back from breaking the news to Lee Sookyoung.

"Hi, Dokja-ssi?" Hyunsung finally answers the phone after the the third. His voice is somber. 

Heewon is slumped forward in her chair. Her face is obscured by her hair.

"Hi, Hyunsung!" Dokja's replies. "I was thinking about dropping by. I should be there at around [10:30PM]."

"I..." Hyunsung begins, then pauses. "I apologize for misleading you earlier tonight. Something came up. Tonight is off-limits for visitors."

"...I see." The detective grimaces. "Well, best of luck tonight. It's an important job, that [only you can do]."

Dokja's tone is cryptic. Those words weren't meant for the prison guards.

"Ah, th-thanks Dokja-ssi." Hyunsung rubs the back of his head, taking the compliment at face value. "Well, be seeing you. Maybe."

I travel across the line as the call ends.

"Nice save." Heewon mumbles from her desk.

"Yeah. I feel really bad... who would've thought they'd move the time up so quickly?"

So the execution has been moved up. I need to move fast.

Let's see what I can do.

--- 
Special Investigation Unit Prison
9:45 PM

"Hah, what an awful day," Hyunsung sighs as he bends down to pick up a fallen piece of paper. "This whole... thing, and I've had to replace at least twenty different notes."

The larger man tosses a subtle glance in Heewon's direction as he places the note back onto his desk, empty words attempting to alleviate some of the discomfort in the air. 

"Mm." Heewon grunts in reply, not looking up.

It doesn't seem to be working, though I really wish it would.

It has somehow slipped my mind that I have no access to the wider area of the prison without the guards moving around, and they are in no mood to do so.

"Are you alright, Heewon-ssi?" Hyunsung rolls his chair over towards his partner. "I know we're only coworkers, but... if you feel comfortable, I'll listen to whatever you want to talk about. This is a lot to take in for me, too."

"I..." Heewon finally speaks. "I don't even know why we're doing this. Any minute now, a woman arrested for what was clearly self-defense is going to die. And we're just... sitting here at our desks. While Sookyoung-ssi is being dragged away to her death. While detaining a beloved pop idol. While we keep two reckless children in prison cells. Like, what are we doing? Didn't we join the force to help people?"

"...We did." Hyunsung replies. "Our day to day isn't exactly what we imagined, but maybe it's all we can do to help now. Even if we don't get to see the bigger picture. It's thanks to Dokja-ssi that we're on this side of the cell walls at all. The best way to thank him for that is to do our job faithfully. The job only we can do."

Jung Heewon raises her head and give Hyunsung a pained look. "How can we face Dokja-ssi now? After all this?"

"I'm sure he would understand." Hyunsung, after hesitating for a moment, lightly puts his hand on his partner's shoulder. "It'll be ok."

"...He would." Heewon lightly grabs ahold of the man's hand. "He would, and that's the problem. That glassy, nonchalant tone when he speaks to us. Dodging thanks and praise... it's like he doesn't understand how much what he did means to us. What he means to others."

"I get what you mean," replies the other officer. "[To have been helped so much without being able to give anything in return]... it weighs on me. But all we can do is do our best to show our gratitude and live our lives honestly."

Jung Heewon nods in agreement.

This heart-to-heart has been great and all, but it isn't getting me any closer to saving the woman they are so pensive about.

I rack my brain for ideas. I could knock over these desks, destroy this room. That would only startle the guards.

Could I try and manipulate a pen to write a message? Manipulate objects into the shape of a word? Is my control over objects even fine enough to do that? Do I even have [time] to find out?

I can't imagine a single way I could get these stupid guards to go to the execution room within the next five minutes. What do I do?

What would that idiot do? 

I think back to his words. A job "[only I can do]."

...Hah. And here I thought he was done with the morbid plans. Time was never an issue.

The thought hadn't even crossed my mind. 

I compose myself, and await the execution of Lee Sookyoung.

--- 
Special Investigation Unit Prison
10:20 PM

Ok, so "any minute now" didn't really pan out. Why hasn't the execution happened yet?

The two officers have somehow found paperwork to mull over despite the grand total of four prisoners under their watch. 

Suddenly, there is a loud buzzing noise and the room goes black. The power has cut out. Well, not that it's too much trouble to me. Entering the world of the dead, I'm able to see the outlines of the two guards' souls as they fumble about.

"Hyunsung-ssi? Are you ok?" Heewon calls out.

"Yes, I'm fine!" Hyunsung replies, a little out of breath for some reason.

"Maybe some kind of power surge? Which means... Sookyoung-ssi has been..." Heewon pulls her hat down a little bit. "Anyway. Let me look for the emergency light."

Heewon scoots her hand along the wall, finally finding the swtich. She flicks it on. A red emergency light flicks on, momentarily blinding my entirely red vision in the world of the dead. Some warning would've been nice, though I guess it's not really their fault.

"Found it! Are you-" Heewon stares at her partner dumbfounded.

Hyunsung is dancing, shuffling his hands back and forth and walking backwards rhythmically. He then begins wiggling his arms and turns around to walk in the other direction, coming face to face with Heewon.

"Ah, Heewon-ssi, this is... a, uh..." Heewon stops wiggling his arms and scratches his head sheepishly (though he has not stopped moving his legs). "This is a little dance my parents did for me through whenever something bad happened, like a power outage after a bad storm. It's become kind of a habit to do it now, it always calms me down."

Heewon can only gawk. Despite the interruption, Hyunsung has not actually stopped dancing. He begins waving his arms back and forth above his head. He turns one last time towards Heewon, and takes a small bow.

Heewon lets out a snort, as does Hyunsung. A beat passes, then finally, the two erupt into full on laughter.

"I'm guessing we just need to go check on the breaker," Heewon says, wiping a tear from her eye. "And... thanks, Hyunsung. I also feel like that calmed me down."

"S-sure, no problem!" the other replies, only now realizing that he had done something a bit embarassing. "Let's go fix the power."

Hyunsung grabs a flashlight so they can navigate through the darkness.

I possess the light, tagging along with the two as they finally make their way out of the office.

--- 

We make our way through the prison once again. The two teenagers both appear to be sleeping, having finished their gaming session. Uriel is also sitting in her bed, but she is still scribbling away in a notebook.

Sookyoung's cell is empty. Her papers have been gathered and stacked neatly on her desk. 

We walk past the cells into the back of the prison. This area seems to be reserved for maintenance, save... one room.

Entering the world of the dead, I can see the glow of a soul through the door. One recently deceased.

"A-ah!" A guard standing outside the room, a stout, older man, yelps as Hyunsung turns the corner, blinding him with his flashlight. "Some warning would be nice!"

"Ah, sorry, Pildu-ssi..." Hyunsung points the flashlight at the floor, illuminating the hallway without directly pointing in the man's eyes.

"Is it... done?" Heewon asks.

"...Yeah. It's done. We haven't used that chair in so long that it basically exploded as soon as I turned it on, but... It's done." 

A moment of silence passes between the three. There they stand, each complicit in the death of whom they all felt was an innocent women.

What emotions they are feeling, I cannot tell. It isn't my job to save the living from themselves, from their own emotions. Only from death.

I seize the opportunity to make a move, manipulating the flashlight to roll out of Hyunsung's hand and into the execution room.

"Ack!" Hyunsung chases the flashlight. The three officers barge into the room as I roll to a stop.

The beam of a flashlight casts a spotlight on the body of Lee Sookyoung, slumped over atop the electric chair.

The officers avert their eyes. I, however, must look at it straight on. I possess the corpse and enter the world of the dead.

Chapter Text

Special Investigation Prison: Execution Chamber
10:30 PM

I possess the corpse of Lee Sookyoung and enter the world of the dead.

(Hello. Can you hear me?)

(Hm...) The blue flame in front of me flickers and shifts into the body of the woman lying on the floor. (Where... am I?)

(This is the land of the dead, Lee Sookyoung.)

(Lee... Sookyoung?)

This again. (See that body? That's you. The dead lose their memories.)

(Ah. So I'm dead, am I?) The woman settles into a comfortable expression. (I didn't realize that. Thank you.)

It's a little unsettling. (...So do you want to try and remember a bit about your life...?)

(No, I'm quite fine.)

(Huh?)

(What use are memories now that I'm dead? It'd just make me sad to remember what I've lost.) The woman chuckles lightly. (What are you then, the grim reaper? You look the part. Go on, take me away then.)

(...I'm sorry to say, but I'm not here to take you away to the afterlife, but rather the opposite. I'm here to save your life on behalf of [Kim Dokja], and to ask you some questions.)

("Kim Dokja"?) The woman ponders for a moment. Recognition flashes across her face. (...Hm. And here I was, so happy to forget. I'm sorry that boy has tasked you with something so difficult. Gosh, what has he gotten himself into?)

(I often find myself asking the same thing.)

(Hah. I'm glad at least someone else is worrying about him too, now.) The woman gives me a knowing smile, but it fades quickly. (Well. Down to business then.)

I nod in reply.

(Then, you must be... The one able to possess objects and manipulate others. The  [manipulator]-- no, the "[Phantom Detective]" who saved my son's life.)

That title. Again. (While I can do those things, I'm no Phantom Detective. I'm just a dead soul like you, with no memory. But I saw my face and name in your papers. I think you know me. My name is [Yoo Joonghyuk].)

Sookyoung scrunches her nose and looks downwards, looking through her memories like the papers scattered across her desk. (Ah! Yoo Joonghyuk... the first case. I apologize for assuming who you were then. I can tell you what I know.)

Finally, a real lead. (Please. Go ahead.)

(Really, it's a tragic case. We don't have much detail, but there was some security footage and a small investigation...) Sookyoung begins her tale. 

A poor home life. A boy determined to run away from it all with his little sister. Taking a path through a restricted area. An officer who didn't like the look of a boy who was a little too tall, a little too bitter for his age. Foul play. Fired shots. Miraculously, the boy was unharmed as he charged down the best shot on the force. An empty clip, yet not a single bullet found its mark. As though some [guardian spirit] were looking out for him.

With each word that leaves her mouth, memories come flooding back to me. The images, the emotions. My heart pumping out of my chest as I snuck out of the house with Mia. The pain in my lungs as I made a mad dash away from that officer, from that life.

(...From there, the trail runs cold. A lot of the higher ups were furious at your case, seeing this as a potential threat to our authority. The rest of the force only hoped that you two children found some place to go home. Your family didn't really care to look for you, so... the end result was that the case was left unsolved. They didn't have the resources to look into it further.)

(I see. Thank you, that's plenty. I remember now.)

The woman smiles. (...I'm happy to hear that. I'm sorry that I couldn't have helped you. That was the same day I ended up getting thrown in here, after all. Though that's a longer story.) She glances at her manuscript, and adds sarcastically, (...which you can hear for the price of 10.99 on kindle. So now that you've remembered, what now, Phantom non-Detective?)

Like mother, like son, I suppose. (I have one last debt to pay. Let's get you out of here.)

(...What do you mean? I'm dead, aren't I?)

Wordlessly, I focus my will and rewind time four minutes before the execution of Lee Sookyoung.

--- 

Special Investigation Prison: Execution Chamber
10:30 PM

(Welcome to the past. Specifically, four minutes before your execution.)

(Huh?) Sookyoung says, disoriented. (You can time travel?)

(Yes. By possessing someone's corpse, I can return 4 minutes before the death of that person.)

(That's... good to know.) She's quick on the uptake. (So you really intend to save me, then.)

I give her a staunch nod.

(...I see. Do you really think this is the [right thing to do?]) The former detective asks. (To save someone like me? After what I've done to that boy?)

(...What, save his life?)

(Airing out our family's dirty laundry with that book of mine.) She looks at the ground wistfully. (I can't imagine what my son has gone through.)

(...How your son feels isn't for me to decide. I just owe him a debt for leading me to you.) I reply. (For whatever reason, he wants you alive. Maybe that's some solace.)

(Hah. I suppose that's fair.) She gives a light chuckle. (Well. If that's the case, I'll give it my all. Down to business then.) 

(Right.)

Sookyoung's smile fades and her back straightens. A former detective through and through. 

(I'll give my report, then.) She closes her eyes and recites what she remembers from this time. (Around this time, I'm being led away from my cell to the execution chamber. The guards trust me enough to not cuff me, so my arms and legs are both free. I'm about two paces in front of Pildu-ssi-- ah, that's the guard leading me away-- which is short enough for me to give confident odds of me subduing him. Gosh, I always remind him to be a little less lax around suspects... I'd give 80% odds. 95% if there's some kind of distraction. However, it's extremely unlikely that I'd even attempt that given I had prepared myself to die.)

I'm a little taken aback by the quality of the report. (That's... very helpful. Well, after your execution, the power went out. I imagine we could do something with that.)

She inspects the electric chair. (I imagine that's to do with this rickety old thing. Can I take your lack of worry about my intent to mean I'll be returning to my body?)

(That's right. After your fate has been directly changed, you should be returned to your body.)

(Good. I was a bit worried I'd have to live the [rest of my life as a ghost]... Ah, no offense.)

(...None taken.)

(Well, then. First, let's stop this execution.) I locate the switch to turn on the electric chair. True to the inmate's words, the device does look quite rickety and old. It's likely been decades since its last use.

(Wait. Before proceed, how do you plan to escape the prison as well? Will you come with me when I return to my body?)

Oh. That's a good point. (I... I'll figure it out.)

She chuckles. (I'll come get you. Now, let's get this show on the road.)

I flip the switch. The chair hums to life, then begins to violently shake. The wood crackles and burns as the lights begin to flicker. 

With a loud pop, the lights abruptly turn off, and the prison goes dark.

Sookyoung gives me a wave as her soul returns to her body.

From down the a hall, I hear a muffled "Oof!" and then  a loud thud.

The door to the execution chamber opens, and light pours in.

Sookyoung-ssi is holding out a flashlight she grabbed off of the guard's belt. "Shall we, Joonghyuk?"

---

The other inmates are still sound asleep as we pass by their cells (As is the guard Pildu, who is out cold). Sookyoung keeps the flashlight off to avoid alerting any of them. She feels along the wall to guide herself. 

"Not quite thrilling escape you expected, huh?" She whispers to me. "They don't keep this prison staffed very well. There aren't any violent prisoners kept here, except for, well, me. And for a while it was just me, anyway."   

(...Right.)

"It's just Pildu-ssi who does the maintenance in addition to his guard duties, and the two working the front..."

As if on cue, a flashlight shines right in our faces.

Looks like we've been spotted.

"...Hello, Heewon-ssi, Hyunsung-ssi."

Silence stretches between the guards and the former detective-- someone they had looked up to so dearly.

"Looks like the jig is up." Slowly, Sookyoung raises her hands. She sighs. "I'm not about to try and resist against the two of you. And I'm not going to try and guilt you two into jeopardizing your jobs. I know this is important to you--"

"Go, Sookyoung-ssi." Heewon says. "If anyone asks, we didn't see you, and you escaped in the darkness."

Hyunsung nods in agreement.

A tight grin forms on the inmate's face. "...Right then. Thank you."

We make our way past the two guards. "Ah, and do fetch Pildu-ssi an ice pack."

"Eh?"

---

Outside Special Investigation Prison
10:30 PM

We make our way outside the prison.

Well, it looks like my job is done here. I've successfully delayed the execution and broken Dokja's mother out of prison. Though I feel like there's something I'm forgetting...

(Ah, right. I think Dokja is going to call the prison at around 10:30.)

"Ah, ok. Did you want to speak with him?"

(No, it's so I can travel across the phone to meet up with him again.)

Confusion flickers on Sookyoung's face, but again, she's quick on the uptake. "Ah, so you... Haha, you really are just like the [Phantom Detective], huh? I can see why my son opened up to you."

(God, again with this [Phantom Detective] nonsense... I'm my own man.)

"I really think you should give the book a read. Sooyoung-ah has such a way with words."

"Thanks." A woman says, blocking the fugitive's path.

"Ah, speak of the devil."

"Who were you talking to, Sookyoung?" Detective Han Sooyoung asks. She puts her hand on her holster.

"Just... thinking aloud. It isn't everyday a dead woman walking gets to feel the fresh air."

"Right. Mind telling me what you're doing out here?"

"...I took part in what seemed like a fun game, and here I am. What about you?"

"I came to ask some of the new inmates about what they might remember about [the manipulator]. And to pick up some of your notes, like usual. I had no idea your execution was today until a few minutes ago, so I rushed over." Sooyoung averts her gaze. She draws her weapon. "I really wish... I wasn't the one to find you here. That I had to find you here at all."

Sookyoung raises her hands. "It's alright. I understand."

(I don't suppose she'd let you go like those guards, would she?)

"I don't suppose you'd let me walk free, would you?"

"...No. I don't want to do this but..." Sooyoung's grip on her weapon tightens. "No one is going to even know you were outside tonight. Anything that links your actions with Dokja's is a liability. I don't want that rat getting into anymore trouble than he already has."

"Well, I'm glad you're still looking out for him." 

"Well, someone had to. Given what you put him through." 

Han Sooyoung's biting words sit in the air. Both women are silent.

Finally, the detective breaks the silence. "...Look, we're this close to figuring things out, Sookyoung. I can solve all of this. Just keep your head down, and I'll get things done."

"I'll be honest, dear, I helped you kind of on a whim. There isn't much to do in that old cell of mine, and, well, I can't turn down my son's cute childhood friend. This [manipulator] theory of yours... it seems so far fetched."

"Oh yeah?" Han Sooyoung bristles a little at that. "Well at least I'm actually trying to help."

"...Or rather, I should say, it seemed so far-fetched." Sookyoung flips the flashlight I am possessing in the air. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a little nauseating.

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm saying is that I'll go quietly, Sooyoung-ah," the older woman says. "I trust you. But... would you mind allowing me one last phone call?"

The detective stares at the Sookyoung for a moment, but eventually obliges. Weapon unwavering, she unlocks her phone and tosses it to the fugitive. "...Knock yourself out."

Lee Sookyoung catches the device. Rather than dialing a number, she immediately opens up the notes app and types a message.

[GOING TO CALL DOKJA, UNLESS THERE'S ANYWHERE ELSE YOU WANNA GO?]

A message for me. Hm. Now that I know about my past, I guess I can just go about my way to... rest in peace I guess. But I still have this nagging feeling that there are some loose ends that haven't been tied up yet.

...[Yoo Mia]. Why could Yoo Mia hear me when I hadn't [directly saved her] in Dokja's apartment? And [who was the "Yoo Joonghyuk"] she was speaking to on the phone?

(Sorry. I think I want to make a detour.)

Dokja can wait a bit. After all he's put me through, I think I'm due a bit of me time. Besides, no matter what happens, I can always just [rewind time], right? 

I relay to her Yoo Mia's phone number number, which I had made a mental note of.

"What are you doing over there?" Sooyoung asks, suspicious why a simple phone call was taking so long.

"Just checking on your novel notes. It's fun to see them again, after all this time."

"Why you...!" Sooyoung shouts, embarassed.

"It's the last time I'll be able to read them, after all." 

Sooyoung's grip on her gun relents a little at those words. "...Just make your stupid call."

Sookyoung deletes the note and opens up the phone app, calling the number. She mutes the phone and turns the brightness to minimal, making the phone appear off despite the call being active. She holds the phone up to her ear for a second before feigning disappointment. 

"Looks like no one picked up." 

"My condolences," replies Sooyoung.

"Before I go though... I just wanted to... express my gratitude. To this 'Phantom Detective.' of ours. You know... despite our long silence with one another, Dokja did visit me once."

The detective remains silent, weapon steady.

"He didn't say much. And when he did, he spoke with no emotion... perhaps he was overcome with too much emotion to express it. That is, except for when he talked about that webnovel." Sookyoung chuckles lightly. "Seeing my son talk about that story... I feel like it's the last time I truly saw that boy I left behind."

"So I'm thankful to you, Phantom Detective." Sookyoung grips the flashlight I am possessing, and looks at it fondly. "From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Maybe not as a literal savior of my son, but the [story that you represent.] You lit the way for him, took care of him, when I could not. I'm ashamed as an officer, as a mother, to have not done so. And if I may... I hope you continue to take care of him, from here on out."

Sookyoung bows her head in respect as she tosses the phone back to the detective. I possess it before it gets too far out of reach. 

(I will.)

"I will," replies Han Sooyoung.

With that, I travel across the call to properly meet my sister.

Chapter Text

Unknown Apartment

10:40 PM

I find myself possessing the familiar smartphone of Yoo Mia. I take the time to drink in the surroundings, an unassuming studio apartment room. Almost too unassuming-- there's scant anything in the room besides two mattresses (Mia's has a used bedframe, at least), a kitchenette, and a bathroom.

That isn't to say there are no luxuries at all. First, a thin curtain that splits across the room, allowing for a bit of privacy between siblings. Second, a small analog clock sits against the wall. I guess it's a rental, and we couldn't hang it. Second, a small laptop sits on the floor on my side of the room. I think I... won it in some contest years ago? What did I win again?

My memory is still a little fuzzy, but as my eyes pass over each nook, each piece of furniture (of which there are few), I can feel bits and pieces returning to me. This place was our home.

I notice some oddities. The windows are boarded up, perhaps to keep out prying eyes. Additional locks have been installed on the door. What were we so worried about?

My train of thought is broken by a loud but familiar voice. "Phantom-ahjussi, are you here yet?!"

(Hello, Yoosung.)

The brown-haired girl is sitting on Mia's bed, kicking her feet. Looks like she was safe after all. Those higher-ups must've been bluffing.

Yoosung pouts. "God, what took you so long? We picked up and all we heard was this weird woman talking, so we just left the phone on speaker on the floor."

(You shouldn't respond to suspicious numbers in the first place, though in this case, I suppose I'm glad you did. Is Mia here?)

"Well, we figured it was some ghost business. And yeah, she's just over here."

Yoosung pokes the comforter on the mattress on the floor with her foot. A suspiciously 13 year old girl shaped lump under the covers begins to squirm.

"She doesn't usually stay up this late." Yoosung giggles. "I, well... don't really feel like sleeping right now."

(Fair enough.) These girls have been through a lot tonight. (But why isn't she sleeping on her own bed? It's not good for her back to sleep on that old thing.)

"She said she feels safer in her brother's bed," Yoosung replies, then looks down at the mattress she's sitting on. "Hey... how did you know that this was her bed?"

(Well... you'll see.)

I possess the comforter and, as gently as I can, pull the covers down to reveal Yoo Mia.

(Mia... I'm sorry to wake you. Can you hear me?)

"Mm." The girl groggily peeks open one eye. "Is that you, Phantom-ahjussi?"

(Yes. Well...) I pause for a moment. (No. I'm not 'Phantom-ahjussi'.)

"Hm?"

(I'm Yoo Joonghyuk. Your brother.)

Yoo Mia's eyes open wide.

---

Unknown Apartment

10:55 PM

"Lalalalalala! You're not my brother!" Mia is plugging her ears and kicking her feet under the covers.

(You know I'm talking directly into your brain. Covering your ears won't do anything.)

Well, this could have gone better.

After my declaration, Mia had immediately begun grilling me on her favorite shows, specifics of what had happened at school throughout the week, and what her favorite foods were-- all of which hasn't quite returned to my memory yet.

After the third question I responded "I'm sorry, I don't remember" to, she started doing... this.

"Lalalalalalalalaa!!!!!" Mia begins rolling around.

Yoosung gives me an unimpressed look. "...Seriously Phantom-ahjussi? Didn't you literally see her call her brother after you saved us? Why did you think that lie would work?"

(No, I really am her brother. That must've been some imposter or something.)

"Suuure." Yoosung pretends to wipe away a tear. "You know, I really misjudged you. I thought you were a good guy..."

Sarcasm drips from her tone. I can guess who she gets that from.

(If you have time to joke around, could you at least help me calm Mia down?)

"Listen, Phantom-ahjussi. This isn't a lie you should be telling lightly. I don't know if you're trying to get some information out of her or whatever, but Mia really cares about her brother."

(And I really care about Mia. Please. I'm telling the truth.)

Yoosung is silent for second, letting those words simmer in the sea of "Lalala!" reverberating throughout the room.

"Fine," she says finally. "I'll help out. But only because you've been helping out Ahjussi."

She hops off the bed and crouches down next to the squirming comforter. She lightly pats Yoo mia. "Could you hear him out just one more time Mia? I don't think Phantom-ahjussi is trying to trick you. He's a good guy. Maybe he's just... confused."

The squirming subsides, and the singing stops. Her voice sounds a bit hoarse from the yelling-- she was probably getting tired of it too. "...You think so? You think he's just being a dummy?"

"Yeah! I mean, who else would think they could stop a home intruder by slowly tipping a bookcase on top of them?" Yoosung replies, a little too enthusiastically.

(Hey.)

Mia quietly laughs at that. She pokes her head out of the covers. "...Fine, Phantom-ahjussi. You get one more chance. Tell me something only Oppa would know."

I take a deep breath. Or at least, the ghost equivalent.

(I remember... that fateful night we ran away.)

I tell Yoo Mia the story of how we had escaped from our wretched family. How I had carried her on my back as we ran through alleyways and streets. How an ill-considered shortcut had almost cost us our lives.

More detail comes to me as I speak.

(I remember it so clearly... The throbbing of my lungs, the adrenaline pumping in my veins, bullets brushing my skin.) I didn't know where these memories, these visions were coming from. (I remember I had... nightmares. For months. Of what could have happened. [Dreams so vivid, I thought them memories], of being shot and killed in innumerable, slightly different ways that night. A bullet in my liver, one puncturing my lungs. One barely tickling my hair, another right between my eyes. A stray shot hitting my most precious person on my back.)

I pause to find the words to express my thoughts.

(I'd wake up thinking I was dead, that we were dead. Unsure of what was reality, and what was a dream. [Sometimes, I believe I actually died that night.])

The girls are completely silent. Maybe that was too much of a downer on the mood. Mia was barely three at the time, I'd be surprised if she'd even remember...

Tears roll down Mia's eyes.

"Look what you did, Phantom-ahjussi! You made her cry!" Yoosung shouts.

Yoo Mia tugs on Yoosung's pant leg. "No, Yoosung. It's ok. I believe you, Phantom-ahjussi."

She finally comes out of the covers and sits up on her knees. She hugs the comforter, somehow sensing my presence entwined within its layers of fabric. "The truth is... that night is also burned into my memory. You used to always comfort me whenever I had nightmares. Nightmares of us... dying. Clutching each other as we breathed our last breaths. You never told anyone, but I knew. I knew you struggled with them too."

She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "Nobody but my Oppa would know that. You're my Oppa."

A wave of fulfillment washes over me. Finally, my place in the world is clear, and my long journey tonight has found meaning. That [something important] I had forgotten when I died... it was here. I need to watch over my sister, Yoo Mia.

"But wait!" says Yoosung. "If Phantom-ahjussi is your brother... then [who was the guy who brought us to the apartment]?"

(...I think there might be someone [impersonating me]. That person that called you before we left Dokja's apartment... are you sure that was your brother, Mia?)

"...Yes. I'm sure," replies Mia. "I'm confused too, but... I'm confident that was my Oppa. Just as confident that you are my Oppa, too."

(Perhaps it was some kind of fake voice? I'm sure we've had many calls before... someone could have stitched together different recordings.)

"No!" shouts Yoosung. "We physically [met Mia's brother, Yoo Joonghyuk!]"

My world screeches to a halt. What had made so much sense suddenly had fallen to pieces.

(Explain.)

"I was walking over to my dad's office with the book that Ahjussi wanted, then I met Mia and her brother along the way. I even remarked that he looked [so similar to you]-- really muscular and wearing all black."

Are those really my only defining features?

(And you're sure that was your brother, Mia?)

"Yes. There's no mistake," Mia replies.

Yoosung continues. "He told me to stay the night at their place, because it wasn't safe to walk around at night. Especially given tonight's events, it seemed like a good idea. But I refused, because I had to bring the book to my Dad's office for Ahjussi. But he really insisted. He practically dragged me here, saying he would bring the book over for me. He took it, then he left us here."

(Well, that book clearly never made it to the office, and your father currently thinks you've been kidnapped. We should at least let him know that your safe. Can you call him?)

Yoosung looks away. "...Dad doesn't let me have his work number. He's... embarrassed about me."

(...I see. I'm sorry to hear that. Then... let's all walk over together, then. You'll all be safe under my protection.)

"Are you sure, Phantom-ahjussi? You won't have any bookcases to defend us with."

(I'm sure I'll manage.)

Yoosung laughs. "Mia, are you feeling up to it? I know you're tired."

"I should be ok. I'd rather be with people right now, anyway..."

The girls walk up to the door to leave. Yoosung twists the doorknob and gives the door a push. "Huh, It's locked."

"Are you sure all the locks are undone? We have a lot," Mia says. "Oppa, can you check?"

I possess each lock and ensure that they've been undone properly. (Looks fine to me... let me check the outside.)

Reach out beyond the door to take a look, I'm shocked at what I see: a huge, metal storage locker is blocking door to the apartment from swinging open. Someone was really trying to prevent people from getting in here... I possess the hunk of metal and attempt to push it with all my strength. I get barely a wiggle of movement out of it.

Judging from the scratch marks along the walls of the hallway and the banged up appearance of the locker itself, it looks like it was ripped right out of the wall and dragged over to block the entrance. How much does this thing even weigh? Whoever or whatever wanted this door locked... they're [stronger than me].

I go back inside the apartment to report back to the girls.

"So that means... we've been locked in?" asks Mia.

(...Looks like it. Maybe we could get some maintenance guys to move it somehow.)

"I don't think they don't usually work this late..."

(Well. Maybe my report is enough, given I can relay it through Dokja. At least I know you girls will be safe. Whoever moved that locker must have really wanted to make sure nobody got into this room.)

"Or... they really [didn't want us to leave]," says Yoosung.

(...Hm.)

The gears begin turning in my head. The image of me in that shady meeting room. Assassins after Shin Yoosung, Minister Bihyung's daughter. An [impersonator] insisting that Yoosung stay the night. The girls, stuck in this room with no way out. Bihyung's report that [Yoosung had been kidnapped].

It was all clear. The girls had been kidnapped, and by "me." But why Mia? Who am "I"?

My train of thought is suddenly interrupted by the chimes of the clock leaning against the wall. It's a dinky sound, clearly playing from some cheap speaker somewhere within the old thing.

"Ah, it does that on the hour," says Mia.

11PM. Didn't Dokja say he was going to call at 10:30? Sure, I ditched him at the prison, but surely he'd have been able to find his way here by now-- I'd hope he's not a total sham of a detective. Unless...

(Mia, can you call Kim Dokja?)

One ring, two rings, three rings... he doesn't pick up.

(Call him again.) I get a sinking feeling of deja vu.

"O-ok."

One rings, two rings... nothing.

(Again, c'mon, pick up idiot... how many times is this gonna happen...?!)

The phone picks up on the first ring.

"God, will you shut up?!" The voice on the phone is clearly not the detective we all know. But it's familiar. "My condolences to whomever this is, calling three times like some clingy wife. Your beloved detective is dead."

"Phantom-ahjussi, go!" shouts Yoosung. "Save him!"

Without a word, I immediately leap across the call.

A pang of guilt hits me for not reconvening with Dokja at the designated time. But it fades quickly. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this whole rewinding time thing-- How hard can saving this idiot detective one more time be?

Chapter Text

11:00PM

XXX Street

"God, that really killed the mood..." A familiar bespectacled, blue-skinned assassin ends the call on Dokja's phone."Now, where was I?"

The hired gun has a tarp slung over his back and a bucket and mop in hand. He whistles as he turns a corner into an alley,

A gruesome scene greets us. "Riddled with holes" is a generous description of the detective's body. In addition, the detective is clutching his own sidearm, pointed squarely at his temple. I can guess what happened here.

It's difficult to look at-- an extra heaping of guilt for me.

But... things will be alright. I can fix this.

"Jesus, he offed himself?" The assassin lays the tarp out onto the ground, then repeatedly kicks Dokja's body to roll it on top. He roughly folds the tarp around the man, then dumps the body into a nearby dumpster. "Well, that's what you get for messing with Paul, detective. Took me ages to dig old reliable out of that junkyard..."

Lying against the wall of the alley is a familiar gold-plated shotgun.

Paul brandishes his weapon, then flings Dokja's discarded phone into the air. He blasts it from the hip, shattering the device into pieces.

He takes a look around, noting the blood and debris having been scattered everywhere. "Yeesh, maybe I went a little overboard... well, time to clean up this mess."

The blue-skinned man dips his mop into the bucket, and begins to wipe down the scene of the murder.

The assassin is right. It's time to clean up this mess. I possess Dokja's body and enter the world of the dead.

Dokja's soul sits in front of me, flickering weakly. For some reason, he has decided not to materialize his body.

(Hey.) I call out.

(...)

(Hey, I know you're awake. You've been through this enough times that it shouldn't faze you.)

(...Oh, Joonghyuk! Sorry, it took me a bit to wake up, I was uh... planning to spook you.) Dokja finally responds. His voice sounds a bit forced. (Guess I died again though, haha!)

(Yeah, yeah. I'm used to it at this point. What are we dealing with this time?)

(Well... I think you should just take a look for yourself.)

(Sure.)

I focus my will. The familiar sound of a ticking clock reverberates throughout the alley. It's funny. I've only learned to rewind time just tonight, but I already feel so used to the sound.

10:30 PM

XXX Street

The scene is set. Dokja has turned into an alleyway off the road, fiddling with his phone to make a call.

But bullets are already in flight.

Dokja lies prone on the floor, blood seeping into his coat.

"Told you I'd make it messy, detective."

"G-gah..." Dokja lies on the floor, limp.

"You know, I get the weirdest sense of deja vu about this. I could've sworn [I've seen this exact scene before]. And god, does it feel good." Paul begins to monologue. "I reaaally got chewed out after I scampered back to base."

"I don't... see... how that's my problem," grunts the detective between haggard breaths.

Struggling, Dokja manages to crane his neck to the side to take a peek at his phone, which has fallen onto the pavement screen-side up. Miraculously, the phone is still on, though the screen was a bit cracked.

The call screen was visible on the device-- Dokja began the call before he was shot. But it had gone to voicemail immediately. At this time at the prison, I had just triggered the power outage, after all.

This meant that the length of the call was visible on the phone screen, and still ticking upwards, an ad-hoc clock for the detective.

0:30. So 30 seconds have passed since Dokja was shot.

"Well, forgive me for being a little grumpy at the promise of [eternal life] being taken away before my eyes. Those higher-up bastards so obviously just want to keep that [Temsik] stuff to themselves. Hell, it's why they wanted you dead."

"I don't... know what that is..." Dokja wiggles his fingers, trying to move his right hand down towards his holster. But his arm won't move.

0:50

"...Hm." The assassin stares at the detective. "Well, you said it. Not my problem. Gotta say, real shady fellas I'm working for."

"You think... they'll actually... give you what you want?" Dokja tries to reach his belt again with his left hand, slowly snaking behind his back towards his holster.

1:10

"I'm not just some hired gun, you know." The assassin scoffs. "I was selected out of a crop of veeery few from the force. Some genetic [special sense] or whatever."

"'The force?' So you're..." Dokja's fingers barely brush his weapon.

"Yes, detective." The assassin kicks Dokja's hand away from his holster. "I was a lowly traffic cop, not a nepo baby like you. So forgive me for doing a couple of unethical things to climb the ladder and win my shot at eternal life and unearthly powers."

"Have fun bleeding out. I'm gonna go get my cleaning supplies." With those words, the killer soccer kicks the detective's head, and Dokja's body goes limp.

1:30

The detective lies motionless on the floor.

2:00

Twitches of movement here and there, but still, the detective appears to be out cold.

3:00

Dokja's eyes just barely peek open. He sees the remaining time he has to salvage this awful situation.

3:10

With all his might, he reaches for his weapon. He claws at his back to inch further and further, unable to properly move his shoulder.

3:20

Dokja finally touches cold steel. He coaxes the weapon out of its holster with his fingertips.

3:30

He doesn't have the strength to pull his arm back towards his side.

3:40

In one last ditch heave of strength, Dokja tries to heave his body to roll over supine. He gets about halfway.

3:50

With his last dredges of strength, he makes it over. His hand is free.

3:55

Slowly but surely, Dokja brings the barrel of his pistol up to his temple.

3:59

His finger touches the trigger. He can pull it at any moment.

[But he hesitates, for just a second.]

4:00

A gunshot. The detective has perished.

Four minutes before the death of Kim Dokja, he will have already been shot.

(So... there you have it,) says Dokja. (Any bright ideas?)

I hold my head in my hands. (Is... is there even anything we can do? The bullets were already in there air when we rewound.)

(Maybe you could manipulate the bullets like we did at the station? Shouldn't be too hard, right?)

(For a shotgun blast? There are like twenty pellets flying at you.)

(Oh, come on! The [Phantom Detective] did this in chapter 41. He rewound time a hundred times to redirect two sniper bullets being shot at the heroine!)

My eye twitches. Just what kind of impossible tasks does he expect of me?

(Again, again with this Phantom Detective nonsense!) I shout. (Is this all just some fun mystery novel to you? This is real life, Kim Dokja!)

(...I'm sorry,) says Dokja. His facade has broken. (I'm sorry. Don't... I just don't know how we-- I mean how I'm going to get out of this one.)

(...)

(You can leave, Joonghyuk. I've already swindled away too much of your time already. I'm just... I'm just glad to have met you.) Dokja looks at the sky wistfully. (It was nice to feel like all that time I wasted away thinking about that dumb story had some meaning. And for that, just for that, I exploited you.)

(Hmph. So you admit it.)

(Ha, maybe if I were prettier, you would've denied that. But... fair.) Dokja chuckles lightly. (It's a little embarrassing to admit, but... I had dreams of meeting the Phantom Detective. I'd chat his ear off, asking about his powers. Maybe we'd chat about mundanities while he did his poltergeist routine. Then... he'd save me. From my mess of a home life.)

The detective continues his story. (Those dreams were so vivid. So wildly imaginative and detailed that I could hardly believe I had dreamt them. For a while... I was convinced that it had [actually happened]. I told Sooyoung about my dreams when I was in the hospital for... a thing, and she wrote a webnovel based on them.)

Dokja looks me in the eyes. (That's the secret I've been keeping from you, Joonghyuk. That's the "true story" behind the Phantom Detective. The dreams of a sad child.)

(...I see. Dokja, I...)

(And the kicker is... you could have just used your powers to [save your own life]! You didn't need to save me at all in the junkyard tonight!)

(That's... not possible.) I think back to what Biyoo had told me: [You cannot reclaim your life through ghost tricks]. With the gravitas with which it was said... I'm sure the lamp would've mentioned a loophole, if it existed.

Dokja continues. (If you had just used your ghost tricks to help the assassin kill me in [less time] instead of save my life, you probably could've been able to have me die less than four minutes before you did! So you could just rewind time before your own death and [save yourself!] Wouldn't that work?) Dokja laughs deliriously. (I just [tricked you] into saving me!)

(Tricked me? You were unconscious and dead.) I am bewildered at this man's logic. (Do I look like the kind of guy who can just stand back and watch a man get shot? You think any sane person would think to actively kill someone just to rewind a couple minutes back in time? Or do you really just have a death wish?)

Dokja is silent. I stare at him, a tiny, weak, blue flame.

I think back to what Biyoo had said. About not [playing with the fate of others.] I remember the horrified faces of Heewon and Hyunsung, of Minister Bihyung. The panic in Sooyoung's face as Dokja bled out in her arms.

I think back to my own flippant thoughts that everything would be fine, just because I had my ghost tricks. I think back to the conversation we had about Dokja not using his own life as a "save point" so often.

I think about how Dokja had actually listened to me, had actually given it a second of thought before he pulled the trigger this time.

And I think about how somehow, it had never occurred to me that maybe this detective, who was running around a city that seemed to actively want him dead, who had no problems shooting himself in the head just to make a deal with me, might not be okay.

And it pisses me off.

(Fine.) I mutter. (Fine!)

(H-huh?)

(I'll be your [Phantom Detective], Kim Dokja.) I declare. (No matter how many rewinds it takes... [you will leave here alive].)

Chapter Text

10:30 PM

Unknown Alleyway

-- Attempt 3 --

The unsettling crunch of bullets tearing through flesh is starting to grate on my ears.

(So, onto attempt four then?) A voice sounds.

(Yeah.)

(Well... I think you've got a handle on moving away a single pellet, at least.) That touch of mischief is back in Dokja's tone. (Just 19 more to go.)

The detective's mangled corpse lies on the ground. A lone shotgun pellet, which I am possessing, has managed to embed itself into a brick wall along the alleyway.

(I have to say, you got back into character really fast after you spilled your heart out to me.) I possess debris and chunks of flesh to make my way to the body. I focus my will and rewind time once again. The sounding of gears is accompanied by the nauseating feeling of our very beings ripping across the fabric of space and time.

Dokja lets out a small groan once we land, but follows up with one last snarky remark. (Hey, I've been bottling up those feelings for 10 years. Now that they're out, I can keep this up for another decade.)

(I'd prefer it if you were at least a little stressed.)

(You wound me, Joonghyuk.)

(Yeah, yeah.)

I take a deep breath. Or at least, my astral body mimes the action.

Mere milliseconds are all that separate twenty bullets from ripping through the detective's body. The blast has been aimed squarely at the detective's lower body, intended only to maim, not kill. The assassin wanted Dokja to die slowly and painfully, writhing on the ground.

For just a moment, I unfreeze time and shove a projectile out of the way. In that instant, the rest lurch forward. Two make contact with Dokja's upper thigh. The rest stop millimeters away from his legs and crotch.

It's hopeless, but I grit my teeth and try and knock another pellet off course. It lodges itself into the detective's hip, albeit at a slighter angle.

So there's only one way through. Perfect timing, not a movement wasted. As far as I know, there's only one way to get those: lots and lots of practice. And we've got all the time in the world.

-- Attempt 12 --

I'm able to get a second bullet to graze Dokja's leg rather than embed itself into his flesh. The detective has been trying to keep the mood light.

(So, uh... now that you're starting to remember things, do you remember any of your favorite movies or anything? Maybe books?)

(...Not really. I think I've mostly just remembered things that came with strong emotions.)

(Any games? Do you like Mario? Are you a Mario guy? Big man on the Mario?)

("Mario," huh?) A memory washes over me. (...I remember I was too poor to buy a Switch for Mia's eighth birthday. She wouldn't stop crying about it, saying it was unfair that I could play games but she couldn't. I felt like such a failure of a brother that day.)

Dokja freezes. (I, uh... sorry to hear that.)

(Well, her grades were certainly better before I was finally able to get her one.)

Dokja gives a hesitant chuckle.

-- Attempt 21 --

I'm finally able to move a second bullet out of the way. The detective congratulates me on my small win, but I shrug it off. We've still got a lot of work to do.

I have to say though... the repetition, incrementally getting better, never settling for less... it's familiar, in a way.

-- Attempt 41 --

The third pellet seems impossible to get to. By the time I've moved a second bullet, it seems like every other bullet has already met its mark.

(...Maybe we're looking at this from the wrong angle.) Dokja says. (Why don't we just... find a way to make me die faster? Manipulate the bullets into a trajectory that will helps me die faster? Or just help me get the gun...)

(No.)

(Huh?)

(I'm not going to do that to you.)

(What, you'd rather sit here and watch me die a thousand times in a row? I would've thrown up twenty times over if I had a stomach with all this rewinding. God, if only I had just pulled the trigger a little faster, we wouldn't be-)

(Don't finish that thought.) I interrupt. (I'm not going to help you kill yourself, Dokja. I don't want you to think you were wrong for hesitating. For [valuing yourself].)

Dokja is silent at that. We don't talk for a long while.

-- Attempt 79 --

I haven't made any progress. I've stopped trying to just grind out the technique of moving the bullets and am now looking for smarter ways to get the bullets to fly off course. It feels like I've possessed and tried to use my ghost trick on every single scrap of garbage in this alleyway.

Dokja and I still haven't spoken. That's fine by me. I'm not willing to face him until I make some progress, and prove that I'm right.

-- Attempt 98 --

A huge breakthrough. With a good yank on Dokja's trenchcoat, I can get the buckle to move at just the right angle to block three pellets at once.

I glance over at the detective's spirit. He's taken to floating supine, looking at the sky.

(...Wipe that smirk off your face,) he says, but there's no bite behind his words.

I rewind time once more.

-- Attempt 123 --

With a yank on the detective's belt, I can get him to lean back ever so slightly. It's got a good shape for possessing-- I don't really know how to explain the feeling, maybe try becoming a ghost-- so I can execute this maneuver with relative consistency. This buys us a single frame-- I mean, another ten or so milliseconds. With that time, I'm able to manually move a third bullet out of the way along with deflecting another three with the belt buckle.

The third bullet barrier has been broken. I give Dokja a look, and he returns it with an unimpressed eyebrow raise.

-- Attempt 253 --

I've tried many things, but I haven't make progress for another hundred or so attempts. I guess it's just time to optimize the current route, and see what time I can shave off.

Dokja, by this point, has begun reacting poorly to the rewinds. We have to spend at least a few minutes in between rewinds so he can gather himself.

-- Attempt 556 --

Another attempt that goes mostly the same as the prior three hundred. Dokja and I spend an hour in stopped time bickering about my methods, but it quickly devolves into something off topic. We need the break.

-- Attempt 727 --

Dokja and I haven't talked for a while. I don't know if it's the physical toll of the rewinds, or he just wants to let me focus.

I've really gotten the hang of things now. I manage to squeeze out a fourth bullet from manual manipulation, and I find a more optimized buckle pathing that blocks five bullets instead of three.

Almost halfway there.

-- Attempt 998 --

Finally, another breakthrough on the level of buckle technique. By manipulating the detective's weapon off of his belt, it too can block a large number of bullets. Its large metal body should potentially allow for a ton of additional bullets to be blocked, but it's just matter of tweaking the positioning--

(Ok, just-- just stop!) Dokja shouts, interrupting my train of thought. (If you could do that, why won't you just manipulate the gun into my hand?!)

(What are you on about? I'm telling you, I'm not going to do that. Especially not when we've made so much progress. Look, this new tech is going to get us up to 10 bullets no problem.)

("Tech?!") Dokja gapes at me, indignant. (You're telling me to stop treating my life like a game and you're going on about "tech?!")

I grimace. I've been in my own head for way too long. That was definitely not the correct way to word things.

(Take this seriously, Joonghyuk. Give me the gun.)

(I-)

(This isn't a game. Take this seriously.) Weariness peeks out behind the detective's eyes.

(...Fine. We'll try it.)

-- Attempt 999 --

Rather than deflect the bullets, I allow Dokja to be shot. I manipulate his gun into his hands when he reaches for it.

(God, finally! Now we can just go back further in time and get out of this hell.) Dokja's spirit says. (Was that so hard?)

The detective in the physical world grabs ahold of the weapon, and looks at it in a daze. Shakily, he points it at his assailant.

The assassin is startled for a moment, but settles quickly into an expression of bemusement. "Hah, we both know how this song and dance goes, detective. You're not going to shoot me. Just like at that junkyard, you're going to chicken out."

(Don't listen to him, Dokja...) I whisper. But the weapon in Dokja's hand begins to shake even more.

"I can see it in your eyes." The assassin shoves his face towards the pistol, inviting Dokja to shoot. "You're no killer. Guys like you... you won't fight for anything. It's either handed to you, or you sit down and cry about it."

(Shut up. He's not...!)

The detective's grip on the weapon tightens. His hand stops shaking. For a second, fear flashes across the assassin's face.

Dokja points the weapon at his own temple.

And without thinking, I knock the weapon out of the detective's hand before he can pull the trigger.

(Wha- Why on earth did you do that?!) shouts the detective's spirit.

I don't respond. Why... did I do that? This is clearly the most practical option. Why am I still so against this?

The detective continues. (Are you dumb? Is this some kind of gamer pride or something?! What the hell do you want from all of this?)

<< a/n: recommended sound track here: ghost world >>

(What... do I want from all of this?)

That's... a good question.

Time rewinds around me. It's become as easy as breathing.

-- Attempt 1000 --

Why am I going so far for him?

(A little warning would be nice... blergh.) Dokja wretches, but nothing comes up, as he is a ghost.

In two deft movements, I push the buckle of Dokja's coat and his weapon into place, cutting off almost half of the deathly cloud of metal. Eight bullets are knocked off of their path.

I feel... strong. Focused. Like a man possessed, I manually move another six bullets off their mark. Fourteen bullets, fired point blank, have been neutralized.

The detective gawks at me, but quickly composes himself. (Ok... cool. You deflected another bullet. But I still don't get it. Why are you so stubborn about this? For what [end] are you still here? Let's just... take the easier way.)

I don't respond. I rewind again.

-- Attempt 1132 ---

What do I see in him?

(You don't get it, do you?) Dokja lets out a dry chuckle. (All this effort...)

It takes another hundred attempts before the fifteenth bullet is neutralized. Within another 30, I have my route down to a science.

There are no fancy tricks anymore. Just focus, repetition, and force of will.

-- Attempt 1271 --

Glimpses of... [myself].

(...Is this because you read my mom's book? Do you feel bad for me or something?)

Memories flow back into me, like water.

The sixteenth bullet whizzes by Dokja's pant leg, punching a hole through a wrinkle. But the detective himself is untouched.

-- Attempt 1355 --

Born into hostility, rather than a home.

(I don't know what you think you know about me, but I... I'm no victim. Sure, my parents weren't the greatest... Ok, that might be an understatement.)

My early life was still a blur. Lots of shouting and bruises. I grew a shell pretty quickly. As soon as I was 18, I'd said, I was going to run away and never look back. I could hold out until then.

But when my dad showed up with Mia... that was the last straw. I knew I had to get her out of there.

The seventeenth bullet, aimed straight at Dokja's kneecap, is a little tricky to deal with. A little push won't quite clear the line. My initial attempts send the projectile hurtling into tendon.

-- Attempt 1468 --

Beaten down by the unfairness of this world and its systems.

(But I'm no saint either. I had... a lot of resentment in me.)

Somehow, I was an outlaw for saving my baby sister. Fighting a police officer who started firing at me for no reason certainly didn't help, but the nail in the coffin was my parents reporting it as an abduction.

Having run away from home without identification and living in fear from law enforcement, there wasn't a lot of work I was able to take on.

If a little push won't work, then we just need a big one. The seventeenth bullet turns abruptly, almost perpendicular to the detective's leg.

-- Attempt 1589 --

Forced to hide away in stories and games.

(I buried myself in my phone, my stories. Anything to numb that feeling.)

So I became a "professional gamer." At least, by technicality.

I'd always had a knack for games. Between the oddjobs and manual labor, I hustled rich kids at PC bangs, and ruthlessly swept local tournaments for prize money.

Eventually, I was making more playing games than any other gig. So I just played all day. Even made a name for myself: "Supreme King," I was called. A little contrived, maybe... but it definitely beat being "Yoo Joonghyuk".

The eighteenth bullet needs but a small push to barely graze the skin of the detective's calf.

-- Attempt 1683 --

Slinking away in the corners of society. Doing everything we could, just to survive.

(But even that was hard. Everyday was walking on eggshells. My dad would come home and wave around his gun to scare me and my mom into doing what he wanted.)

I remember one night, I'd come home way past Mia's bedtime. Again. There was a kid who just wouldn't give up on trying to beat me, kept throwing away his money. So I just kept taking. I taunted him, jabbed at his pride, anything to get him to keep going. He couldn't have been older than 15. I had almost had a decade of age on him.

Was that really what I was doing with my life?

The nineteenth bullet kisses Dokja's inner thigh. It draws blood, but it's barely a flesh wound. It'll have to do.

-- Attempt 1789 --

Accepting the world like it was set in stone. Like [readers] passively experiencing the world, rather than taking control of our own stories.

(I'd pretend that I was an outside observer to my own life. Like I was possessed by some spirit, puppeteering me through life. My actions weren't my own. My emotions weren't my own.)

I sat on the edge our fire escape, looking down at Seoul as the sun rose. I saw a father making his way to work, giving his wife a gentle kiss, trying not to wake the kids. A couple holding hands, drunkenly making their way back home after a night of merriment. A lanky kid going for a morning jog, trying to better himself.

From the vantage of my run-down studio apartment, they looked like ants. So far away.

We're stretching time into the tenths of milliseconds by the time I'm able to move the twentieth bullet. Maybe I should just let it hit. After all, it's not like this will kill him.

But for some reason, I just keep trying.

-- Attempt 1863 --

That's how he lived. That's how I lived. It wasn't our story, it was theirs.

(And somehow, after a particularly bad argument between my parents... I found myself on the other end of that weapon. The side that put me in control. And with fingers that seemed to [move by themselves]... I pulled the trigger.)

I continued to stare down at the city. I was hit with a sudden feeling of vertigo. Rather than nauseating, it felt... welcoming.

And so, it would end on their terms too.

With just my fingertips tethering me to the world, Mia's voice snapped me out of my daze: a muffled cry to get her some water. I gripped tightly back onto the metal. After collecting myself, I walked back into the room. That wasn't the first time, and certainly, I had thought, not the last time I would be out on that railing.

(...[I killed my father, Joonghyuk]. And my mother covered it up. I should be the one executed tonight, in her place. Every action I've taken tonight... it's been to move towards that [ending]. It's not "perfect," but... it's the only one that makes sense to me.) The detective looks towards me. (I had no intention of following through on my promise to help you. So please, just... just leave me to die. It'll save you the trouble.)

For the first time in almost a thousand attempts, what feels like years, I look Dokja dead in the eyes. I can't tell what mix of emotions are reflected in his pupils. Pain? Weariness? Relief, perhaps, that he was able to finally tell someone all of this? Yet still, I can't find the words I want to say to him.

(What do you want from me, Joonghyuk? I don't think I can give it to you.)

(...You're wrong.)

One last time, the sounding of gears.

-- Attempt 1864 --

What do I want?

The twentieth bullet is knocked off course.

We've done it. The detective has survived a point blank shotgun blast barely a scratch on him.

I just want...

Dokja, in the physical world, is stunned that he is unharmed-- the assassin even more so. I take the opportunity to rip the shotgun out of the would-be killer's hands. His feeble human grip strength isn't a match for me anymore.

"Gah, what the?!" Paul cries.

The detective looks around in a daze. He takes a step back, frozen in fear. He wants to run. Paul scrambles to pick his weapon up off of the floor.

[I want to stand up and fight, Dokja, for once in our god forsaken lives. For the "perfect ending" we deserve.]

He just needs a push.

An unknown strength comes over me. For reasons I can't quite explain, I possess Dokja's still-living body. With all my strength, I try to exert my will upon it.

And to my astonishment, [he moves]. A leg flails forward-- and so the detective stumbles forward too, unsure why he was moving towards the man who had just tried to kill him.

I try again. Another step forward. Then another. With each push, the detective gathers his confidence. Like a kid riding a bike without training wheels for the first time, we go faster and faster. He's walking, then jogging.

Then, he doesn't need me anymore.

Dokja sprints at full speed at the assassin.

"W-wait!" The blue-skinned man covers his face.

Dokja takes the heavy metal flashlight off of his belt and bashes Paul across the head.

"...So that's it, huh?" Dokja flexes his fingers, having returned to his body. "Feels weird to be back in this old thing."

(Must be nice. Can't say I remember the feeling.)

"Hah. Sorry, no offense." Dokja exhales through his nose.

I let the pleasant atmosphere sit for a bit. We'd just done this impossible, after all.

I can't stand the silence anymore. I awkwardly start. (So... do you wanna talk about... any of that?)

Dokja's face flushes. "Ah... yeah, uh, tensions were high. Why don't we just... forget about that-"

(No.)

"I figured. So, uh, what now?"

I ponder for a moment. (After my big speech about finding the "perfect ending..." I'd be remiss if I didn't chip in a little myself. So I'll make you an offer then, [Detective].)

"...Hah."

(I'll help you, and you'll help me. We'll turn this rotten system on its head, save both you and your mother, and make sure my sister can live a normal life. And we'll do it all [tonight]. Sound like a deal?)

"Of course." Dokja grins, and holds out his hand.

I possess the detective's hand, and give it a firm shake.

"Ok, so now that we're back in business... You, uh, mind telling me how you keep doing that? Moving my limbs for me? Your ghost tricks work on [living beings] now?"

I possess the detective's body once more, and make him throw his arms in the air. (Looks like it.)

"Waugh!" Dokja exclaims, caught off guard by the sudden movement. "Geez, Sooyoung is going to be really upset about this. She hates powercreep in her novels... God, speaking of, she is going to be extremely pissed that I opened up to someone else before her."

(The detective who interrogated you in a holding cell?)

"Yep, that's the one... I think you ought to get to know her, if this partnership is going to last. She's..."

"Oh, speak of the devil." The detective's phone rings in his pocket. He answers the call from Han Sooyoung. "Hey idiot, you ready to pardon me of all of my crimes yet?"

No answer from the other side. Just muffled noise. I feel like I've seen this pattern before.

Dokja sighs. "Hey, Joonghyuk, I know we just spent god knows how long together rewinding time, and we've just rekindled our partnership on new terms but... I might need to ask you to go a few more loops."

I roll my eyes. (I'm on it.)

I possess the detective's smartphone and travel across the line.

10:35 PM

Police Station

I find myself back in the detective's offices. But it looks a lot messier than the last time I saw it, even with the potted plant I knocked over (though that seems to be the only thing that has been put back into place). Chairs and desks are strewn about. But that seems a bit besides the point.

More pressingly, Han Sooyoung, gripping the phone I'm possessing, is sitting in a pool of blood.

Or rather, even more pressingly, the culprit of her likely murder towers above the small-statured detective, literally holding a smoking gun.

A moody black coat cloaks his chiseled torso. While you might mistake it to have been forged by many hours on the bench press, it was actually built through long hours of manual labor. A face that can be described as "incredibly handsome" sits atop it, though that face has been scrunched into a permanent scowl-- a squint developed from countless hours behind a computer screen.

Detective Han Sooyoung's killer is, unmistakably, me.

Chapter Text

10:31 PM

Police Station

Han Sooyoung sits at her desk, twiddling a chewed up lollipop stick between her teeth. It's well past closing hours, and the lamp on her desk is the sole light in the station. She hums a tune as she pours over documents scattered across her desk: newspaper clippings, hastily marked in red.

A small click sounds as the door opens. That's funny. She could've sworn she locked the door.

It's possible someone forgot something at their desk. But Sangah-ssi rarely forgets things, and Kim Dokja would sooner run through the streets naked than be within a mile of his workplace past 5pm. Though, she supposed tonight of all nights might be an exception. Maybe that idiot finally decided to rely on her for once.

An unknown man clad in all black enters the room.

"...Can I help you?" Sooyoung says, without even looking up. "I'm in the middle of something important here."

Step by step, the man moves closer, marching rigidly like a soldier. He towers over the detective, easily twice her size.

He stops at the foot of her desk. After highlighting a particularly important line of text, the woman rubs her eyes, taking a momentarily break from her work. Finally, she raises her gaze to meet the man's.

"Hm... you must be... Yoo Joonghyuk?" She squints, eyes tracing his features before raising her eyebrows in recognition. "If I recall, you were our... murder victim tonight."

The man doesn't reply.

"I can't quite say I was expecting you, but I do have a pretty decent idea of why you're here." Unbothered, the woman returns to her papers, flipping through to find a particular file. "Gotta say, it has been a doozy to try and put a name to that perfectly chiseled face, what with how much you've covered your tracks. You know, you looked a lot cuter as a kid."

She slides a familiar newspaper clipping about two missing kids across the desk.

After a moment, the man grunts out a reply. His pronunciation is awkward, his speech stilted. "You don't seem very surprised to see a dead man walking."

The detective lets out a soft snort.

"You ever heard of, uh, SSSSS+ Phantom Detective?" Han Sooyoung can't help but cringe a little when saying the name of her own webnovel. It'd been years since she'd come up with the title, but every time she thought about changing it, she received visions of Dokja teasing her with the old name. And she couldn't give him that satisfaction.

"...No."

"Hah, worth a shot." Han Sooyoung shrugs. "Well, I've spent a lot of time writing and thinking about the supernatural, so you could say I'm more prepared than most to encounter a man such as yourself."

The so-called "Yoo Joonghyuk" glowers at the detective, unimpressed with her answer. "I'm not a part of some made up story."

"Oh, I know. As much as it disheartens me creatively, writing, for me, is just a hobby. But there's a surprising amount of overlap, you know, between 'making up' a story and chasing down the real one behind a case. It's all about answering questions, and finding the most logical answers. If a dragon captured the princess, how would we save her? If I were the killer, how would I have done it?"

Sooyoung leans back in her chair, putting her feet onto the desk. "[If I were a 'phantom criminal,' why might I be possessing the living?]"

With a force unbefitting of her small frame, Han Sooyoung kicks her desk forward with all her might, sending the taller man stumbling back. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to meet you, [manipulator]. It's time to see if my answers are correct."

The taller man is stunned for a moment, but remains on his feet. He begins to approach the detective once more.

"Well, let me check my work first. You are dead, right?" The detective unholsters her weapon and shoots the intruder square in the chest, right over his heart. "At least, you should be now."

"...Yes." the man grunts. His body shudders from the impact, but still, he remains on his feet. "Yoo Joonghyuk is, and has, been dead."

The man looks down at his chest. Without hesitation, he plunges his fingers into his wound, tearing the metal projectile out of his body and tossing it to the ground. No blood seeps from the newly formed wound. Peeking behind the dark fabric of his inner shirt, the flesh seems to instantly reform itself.

"Hah... you know, I expected that, but it's still damn creepy to see." The detective re-holsters her weapon. "That would've been a hell of an autopsy to put my boys through, if you didn't up and leave after being shot. Don't suppose that has anything to do with that [rock in your pocket]?"

"Pardon?" The man growls, stalking forward.

"Not an innuendo." Han Sooyoung raises her hands in mock apology. "The, uh, meteorite fragment-"

"This blasted thing, [which turned me into what I am]? Yes, I'm well aware." Contempt flashes on the the man's face as he gives a look to the small blue stone weighing in his pocket. "I suppose it's paying me back a little, keeping this body on the brink of [life and death]"

"...Not the biggest fan of your magical powers?"

"What would you know?" The man spits back. "All those years of wretched loneliness..."

It looks like the beginning of a long monologue, but he stops and settles himself. "It's fine. When the sun rises, I'll have my life. And you won't be remembering the tale, regardless."

"Don't tell me you think they'll actually keep their word," Sooyoung scoffs. "What makes you think they won't take the fragment and leave you for dead?"

"I think I've demonstrated my powers to them well enough. You think they would cross me?"

The detective fishes two papers off of the ground, and flashes them to her assailant: the case reports of the inmates at the special investigation prison. “If by demonstrating your powers you mean having a popstar sing gibberish and getting a couple kids to trespass, then yeah. Real scary.”

“What about killing the head detective of the Special Investigation Department?“ The man asks coldly.

“Sure, keep going after the women and children. Real brave.” Sooyoung laughs. "You're just their lapdog. When the time comes, they'll take you out back."

“What about killing that ratty detective you’re so fond of? What was his name?”

The atmosphere in the room takes a nosedive, and it's the detective's turn to calm her emotions. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, crumpling up the reports in her hands. With a long exhale, she allows the wads of paper to fall between her fingers, then opens her eyes. “You know, there is one case I’ve never been able to figure out.”

The man smirks, sensing he’s finally touched a nerve. Satisfied, he strolls forward, steps away from his soon to be victim.

Sooyoung's gaze is hard, unafraid of the man twice her stature with unearthly powers and an immortal body. In an instant, she unholsters her weapon and empties the clip.

Two shots to the man's kneecaps cause him to buckle and trip. Two shots find their mark in the man's chest, fired almost automatically, drilled over years of training. And one shot lands true in the center of the man's perfectly handsome face, right between the eyes, for good measure.

As he tumbles forward, Sooyoung front kicks him in the stomach, sending the man flying backwards. He lands flat on his back.

"February 13, 20XX." The detective's gaze is hard as she reloads her weapon. "A certain up and coming police officer is patrolling a restricted area when he is confronted by an unknown trespasser. Sound familiar?"

The man begins to prop himself up on his hands, his wounds quickly closing. A quick shot to the elbow sends him back to the ground supine once more.

"This officer has a lot of pride, a lot to prove," Sooyoung continues, weapon unwavering. "So how do you think he feels when he is beaten black and blue by a fifteen year old boy? What do you think he does?"

The man writhes on the ground. He looks almost confused about how to get up, like a newborn baby unable to walk.

"Well, he goes home to beat his wife and son, same he does every night. Standard fare for the pathetic man in a position of authority." The detective is now the one stalking forward, emboldened by the phantom's seeming helplessness. "Except this time, he has a [tagalong]. The boy who just humiliated him, astral projecting or doing who knows what to become a phantom, back for more."

"And so, he goes and finishes the job." Han Sooyoung is now the one standing over her assailant. "Not that that part of the story is any particular tragedy. The world is better off without that scum of a man. But does he snap his neck with his unearthly magical powers, maybe trips him as he crosses an intersection? No, no, that would be too easy."

"Instead, he makes it the family's problem. He puts a gun in the hands of the officer's scared, abused child, and [manipulates him into taking his own father's life]. " Sooyoung stamps on the man's chest as he tries to sit up once more, crushing him down to the ground. "Dooming that family to a life of misery, labelled as murderers. Driving a mother to think, for some godforsaken reason, that writing a book about the whole thing and drawing more attention to themselves would make things better somehow. Always watching over his shoulder, hounded by depraved reporters and curious bullies, the boy drew inwards. He even hid himself from his only friend for years."

"That boy cried to me, Yoo Joonghyuk. Incoherent ramblings of guilt, memories that he had already died. Delusions of a dashing, ghostly savior. I helped him the only way I knew how," the detective continues. "Knowing what I know now, it makes me sick. Like all the words I wrote willed you into existence."

She stamps on the man's chest again and again, trying to make the dead man hurt. There's no hint of emotion from the body underneath her boot. "So don't ask me what who that 'ratty detective' is."

She stares the man dead in the eyes. No emotion, no life reflects in them. She doesn't know why she expected there to be any in the first place.

"Kim Dokja." She takes one last shot at the man, hitting him square in the forehead. "Remember it."

For a moment, there is silence. The room is still.

"...God, will you stop f***ing shooting me?*"

Bullets spontaneously dislodge from the man's body, eerily popping out of his flesh. Pivoting directly on his heels, he floats to his feet, sending the detective sprawling backwards.

"I thought this would be a fun bit of practice," the man says, irritation oozing from his voice. His coat vibrates, shaking dust off of itself. If there was a slight uncanniness to his movements prior, the man now looked clearly like a puppet on strings. "This is the body you'll be spending the rest of your years with, so why not get used to it? Learn to move like a human again. No moving things with ghost tricks."

"H-hah..." the detective breathes out in disbelief. In her rage, she'd forgotten what she was actually dealing with.

"Do you know how difficult it is for me to even be speaking to you right now? How much time it took for me to get this much control? Let me tell you: at least three corpses worth. Their jaws rotted off before I could figure out how to say my own name."

The detective crawls backwards, all her instincts telling her to flee. Her hands find the cool metal of Yoo Sangah's desk. Her back to the wall, she tries to scramble to her feet.

But an unseen force pushes down on her, pinning her to the floor. Rhythmically, it increases and decreases in strength, stomping on her chest. Unlike when their roles were reversed, Han Sooyoung is very clearly experiencing pain.

"So while my 'demonstrations of my power' might seem paltry to you, I assure you, they cannot throw me away. I have a decade of experience, unparalleled strength and fine control with my ghost tricks. A newly formed phantom can barely move a paperclip, let alone a person."

"So... gah!" Sooyoung gasps for air. So what? You think that... agh! Will impress them or something? What are you..."

"What I'm saying, detective..." The man reaches his hand towards his victim. Her revolver frees itself from her hand, floating into the grasp of the phantom. "Is that even if they tried to stab me in the back, maybe even found a few brainwashed loyalists willing to die and become phantoms... I'd defeat them all."

The weight on Sooyoung's chest disappears as figurative "life" returns to the man's body.

His movements much more natural, he points the weapon at Sooyoung's heart. "There isn't a phantom stronger than [Yoo Joonghyuk]."

Sooyoung grips the desk behind her, trying to crawl to her feet and run. She knocks over pens and files, narrowly missing a cold cup of coffee, left there since morning. It's a valiant effort, if in vain.

Yoo Joonghyuk, for his part, calmly adjusts his aim, then pulls the trigger.

I'm dumbfounded at the four minutes that have unfolded in front of me. Answers to some questions, yet even more questions raised.

But above all, I know one thing for certain: if we're going to get anything done tonight, we'll have to go through "me."

I peer down again at the world of the living. As Sooyoung bleeds out, she fumbles with her phone inside her pocket. With the last of her strength, she clicks a random contact from her list and hits call. Well, I say random, but there's just the one.

Hoping somehow that she might be able to capture some incriminating words, she puts the phone on speaker. The tension leaves her body as her eyes glaze over. A detective through and through, to the end.

I sigh, weary in soul and mind, my consciousness hazy. Having just rewound time close to 2000 times will do that to you, I suppose. Hopefully this time there will be a lot less of that.

If nothing else, it was nice to at least have had someone to talk to for that eternity.

I give a glance to the soul next to me, whose fate I had just witnessed.

(Hey,) I call out to it. (You awake?)

The flame shudders.

Chapter Text

(Hey,) I call out to the soul whose fate I had just witnessed. (You awake?)

The pale blue flame shudders.

My mind is still on the impossible task ahead of us, somehow defeating the so called "strongest phantom." From the looks of it, he shares my background, my memories, yet he's been a ghost for a [decade]. His powers seemed so much stronger, so much more in tune than mine... Could I hope to--

(Oh wow.) A bleary voice sounds to my side. (That is one beautiful guy.)

Ah. Looks like she's awake.

("Eyebrows seemingly drawn by a single, uninterrupted stroke of a famed artist's brush...") The voice muses. ("A nose and chin shaped in perfect angles that defy attempts to measure them through mere devices of men...")

(Ahem.) I make a noise as though I were clearing my throat, despite having none, to get her attention. I begin the the usual song and dance. (You're in the world of the--)

The detective's train of thought had left the station, and there was no stopping it. ("A pair of deep eyes, seemingly carved out of a beautiful jewel containing all of the misfortunes found in this world.")

(You're dead. That's your body on the--)

("If someone saw those features and wasn't immediately drawn in by them, then there must be something wrong with that person.")

(We are communicating with our thoughts. I'd appreciate if you kept them in check while I'm trying to talk to you, flattering as they may be,) I say, trying my best to project my voice.

Detective Han Sooyoung's soul takes form. She blinks her eyes a few times. (Oh, so you heard all that?)

(...Yeah.)

(I see. So? Your thoughts?)

(What?) I give her a puzzled glance.

(I'm asking you, what did you think of my description of you?)

Somehow, after that embarrassing ramble, I'm the one being put on the spot. (Thank... you? I'm... thanks.)

(Well clearly, you have a greater way with words than I.) She chuckles. (But no problem. Your face is a good prose warmup.)

The woman nods at me with a small, mischievous grin, triumphant in flipping the awkwardness onto me.

I consider Dokja's words once more, that if our partnership were to last, I'd need to get to know Han Sooyoung. My impression of the woman was that she was a hardboiled, straight-edge detective who'd been more an obstacle than an ally tonight-- though in fairness, our encounters have exclusively entailed my trying to set accused murderers free and her doing her job.

But during said encounters, I had only seen her with furrowed brows and tense shoulders, always on edge. The relaxed expression on Han Sooyoung's face was completely foreign to me. Perhaps, had we met in different circumstances, even a slightly different time, it wouldn't be so jarring.

(So, uh, mind telling me what's going on here? My head feels so fuzzy...) The detective sticks her hands in her pockets and begins looking around to get her bearings. Her gaze falls upon her dead body, and her expression immediately hardens as her memories return.

This looks a bit closer to what little I know of Han Sooyoung.

(Before you--) I begin.

The detective lashes at me, but her fists meet air.

I sigh. (Would you just listen to me? I'm here to save you.)

Though not without interruptions, I'm able to calm down Sooyoung and explain to her the very basics of her situation.

(Ok, so I'm dead, and you're a ghost. What are you here to do then, gloat that you killed me?)

(I understand you might be distrustful of phantoms at the moment given the situation, but I'm not the guy that killed you.) I look down at my astral body, which is an exact match of the man I had just seen put a bullet through her chest, down to the moody outfit. (Despite the... evidence indicating otherwise.)

(Ok, so who are you?)

(I'm Yoo Joonghyuk. I died tonight.)

The detective gives me an unimpressed look.

(Ok, so that obviously... doesn't really clear things up.) I grimace. (But I believe we have a common interest in one Detective [Kim Dokja]. I've formed something of a... partnership with him. For his sake, would you please listen to me, no interruptions, for just five minutes?)

(A partnership with that idiot, huh?) Sooyoung stares hard at me for a moment. Eventually, she sighs, relenting. (Well, at least you remember his name. Fine. Not like I have anything better to do while I wait to be dragged down to hell. Go on then.)

I catch the detective up on what had transpired in the world of the dead tonight, the numerous times I'd saved Dokja, saving the girls, and breaking Sookyoung out of prison. For the sake of both brevity and Dokja's and my own privacy, I omit the details of our 1864 rewinds just minutes prior.

True to her word, Sooyoung remains silent-- though I sense that this is more due to her dumbfounded stupor rather than any sort of respect for me.

(You have to be joking…) A chuckle escapes her lips. (You sure you’re not just plagiarizing my stupid webnovel? This… I can’t believe…)

(My powers match your main character's exactly, according to Dokja. With only a few discrepancies.)

(God, this has to be a joke. Am I already in hell and this is like, the devil's prank on me? You think they'd do that?)

(You know, the others took this a bit better. But well, I suppose your reaction is a bit more normal.)

(Well, you've quite literally upturned my understanding of the world. God, this...) Sooyoung scrunches her face, gears spinning wildly in her head. (This throws all of my theories off course. Phantoms can actually rewind time...! I just can't wrap my head around all of the possibilities. How do the specifics work?)

(Well, lucky for you, you'll get to have some firsthand experience.)

I possess the detective's body and focus my will.

10:31 PM

Police Station

(We're really in the past.) The detective watches the scene of her death unfold with wide eyes. (You know, I thought Dokja might have actually had a single creative bone in his body when he pitched this part of the story to me all those years ago, between his insane ramblings. Guess I was wrong.)

(Seems a bit harsh.) I'd be remiss to not even attempt defending the man.

(I doubt he'd argue, he knows I'm the talented one.)

(He surely has some redeeming qualities...)

(He likes to say he's the pretty one, and I like to humor him.) Sooyoung waves a hand in front of her body, pouring over documents. (So the people in the rewound time can't see us or hear us at all?)

(Not to my knowledge. But I can manipulate objects...) And now, people, I keep to myself. Somehow, it feels like it wouldn't help my case to mention that I can move living objects like Sooyoung's killer can. (...In the rewound time to [change the fate] of the dead.)

The detective closes her eyes and shakes her head back and forth. She takes a deep breath, and when she opens her eyes, they are sharp and focused-- no longer those of a writer excited to see her novel come to life, but a detective reporting for duty. (Alright then. What's the plan?)

(I think...) I rack my brain for something solid, but the idea of fending off that phantom still seems impossible. (I don't know. I was thinking about just fending off his last few attacks where I can, and buy you some time to escape. But I'm open to any other ideas-- you're the expert on my powers here, Miss SSSSS+ Phantom Detective.)

Sooyoung winces like she's been punched in the gut, seemingly embarrassed by the novel she'd spent years working on. How that seems to fluster her, but not waxing poetry to a complete stranger, I cannot understand.

I hesitate for a second, reflecting on my hundreds of attempts with Dokja, and remember Biyoo's words that set me off on my journey tonight. But I continue. (In the absolute worst case, we can just... rewind time again.)

(Well, I appreciate your trust in me, but you're the actual phantom here.) She pinches the bridge of her nose, deep in thought. (But I agree, that's probably our best course of action at the moment. I'll let you know if I come up with anything or have any questions.)

We watch the events preceding the detective's death unfold once more. There isn't much to do here, given how thoroughly Sooyoung physically dominated her killer for the first few minutes before her untimely demise.

(Hey, I guess while we're waiting for our opportunity...) As her physical body stamps on my corpses chest, Sooyoung peers at something in the corner of the room. (You think you could settle something for me real quick?)

I sneak a glance at her eyes-- while still mostly serious, I can see the author's curiosity peeking out behind them. I follow her gaze and see the potted plant on the windowsill. It appears to have been gingerly put back into place after I'd knocked it down.

(...I went through this with Dokja. Sorry to break it to you, but I'm able to manipulate plants.)

(God, that rat... And you're 100% sure you were moving the plant itself? Not the dirt?)

(Yes, I'm sure.) I make my way over to the plant and possess it. I give it a gentle push, and it momentarily sways back and forth. (See?)

At that instant, "Yoo Joonghyuk's" eyes snap onto the plant, his body instantly rising to its feet.

(That's... different from the first time around,) Sooyoung notes.

"So [you're] here," the man says, venom seeping into his voice.

"H-hah..." The detective in the world of the living breathes out. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man ignores her. "Come to play [hero], have you?" He manipulates the gun out of Sooyoung's hand.

Rather than the slow, smooth motion he'd demonstrated prior, the weapon snaps to his hand like a magnet. The man wastes no time in pointing it at his victim.

(What, already?!) Sooyoung shouts as I leap into action.

The crack of the gunshot is barely cut short by my entering the world of the dead. The bullet shrieks to a halt in mid-air, and I rush over to knock it off course-- it's muscle memory at this point.

But... the bullet won't budge. Try as I might, any force I exert on the tiny projectile is fruitless, met by an equally strong force pushing against me.

(How does it feel, ["Joonghyuk"]? The dulled senses, the endless vertigo; trapped in that [crimson] fog, forgetting what it feels like to have lived at all.) A voice whispers in my ear. (Powerless to change fate.)

(Y-you?) My "grip" on the bullet slips, and it seems to lurch forward, growing ever closer to its final destination. (I can't...!)

(One thousand, two thousand tries won't be enough. Struggle, suffer, Joonghyuk, for years and years, minutes and minutes at a time.)

The all too familiar sounds of metal crunching through flesh and cartilage ring through the room. Dread creeps into the back of my mind. Would I have to do the impossible again? How many rounds would it take this time?

(And after all that, when you realize you can't beat me... [give up.] I want you to [despair] as I have. Only then, will it be enough.)

As I rewind time, that all too familiar sound of gears booming in my ears, my own voice cackles at me.

We land in the quiet of the station, the detective sitting at her desk.

(Wait, I didn't even die yet,) Sooyoung remarks. (And you weren't even possessing my body. How did you rewind time?)

The dread is dizzying, quickly becoming self-doubt. My spirit aches as I imagine the thousands and thousands of rewinds ahead of me. How long would it take this time? If I wanted to find the [perfect ending], would I truly need to rewind for years?

Translucent fingers wave in front of my face, wiggling in a snapping motion.

(Earth to Mr. Phantom Detective.) Sooyoung snaps, her fingers unable to do so on account of their lack of solidity. (You with me?)

(Oh, uh, yeah.) I reply, roused from my stupor. I relay Biyoo's explanation about rewinding, how the root of the power lay in a strong desire to [change fate]. (I don't necessarily need to be possessing the body to do it, once we're in the rewound time. Especially with all of the... practice I have rewinding, I just need to focus on that desire to change fate and I'm back to the beginning.)

Back when I had gone through the rewinds with Dokja, I had essentially been spending milliseconds at a time on each attempt, immediately rewinding after any small mistake.

(So... when do you stop being able to do that? When does the [rewound time end]?)

(I, uh... huh. That's a good question. Probably just when their fate has changed.)

(Yes, but shouldn't any change you make to the situation change their fate? Even if they still die, the future has changed.) Sooyoung taps her chin. (Yet you can still rewind. In that case, do you think you could rewind time back to the death of someone you've already saved now?)

(I don't...) A prickly, nervous sensation continues to spread down my spine. I can't focus on the conversation. (I don't think so. It's been much longer than four minutes.)

(How precise is that? What if you were to delay someone's death by 1 second and then let them die? Could you still rewind at will?)

(I, uh...) The crimson fog of the world of the dead seems to further cloud my vision. I can barely see in front of me. (I think I may have done that before.)

I had some long bouts of conversation with Dokja in between attempts, babbling about something unimportant while his corpse lay dead on the floor. With some final rebuttal to a snarky comment, I would turn back to my attempts and rewind time.

I don't think I possessed his body to rewind time past the first rewind. I couldn't really bear to look at it.

(Hm... so you can rewind [further than four minutes] back in time, given certain circumstances. Maybe the rewound time "ends" when you yourself feel like you have truly [changed fate]? Like it's more up to the phantom's interpretation.)

(...Sure. Whatever you think.)

(What is your problem?) The detective glares at me. ("I'm here to save you,") she says in a her best impression of a baritone voice. (Get over yourself and let's figure out how to get out of this.)

(I just don't understand what the point of these questions is,) I snap. (There's only one way to get you out of this, and it's through that demon.)

(So what? If it's the only way, it's the only way. Why don't we at least verify that that's true or not?)

(That's easy for you to say.) I avert my gaze.

(What are you talking about? You haven't even tried anything yet! I'm the one with my boots on the ground getting shot out there!) Sooyoung floats in front of me, not letting me look away.

(You get what's going on, don't you? Any ghost trick I try, he will [immediately kill you]-- and there's nothing I can do about it. His ghost tricks are just as strong if not stronger than mine. Once he knows I'm there, I [cannot change anything].)

Sooyoung looks down at the scene of her death unfolding once more. (Yeah, but for better or worse, it looks like things are playing out the exact same-- that means he [doesn't remember] the rewind. That's our advantage. We--)

(What, we have infinite chances to defeat him? You want me to rewind a million times until I'm somehow strong enough to win?) Rage creeps into my voice. (Know what you're asking, Han Sooyoung.)

(No, that's not what--)

I'm not quite thinking my words through. I keep my thoughts running, drumming up banter to poke and prod the detective. I try to find words that can sweep away that dread for what's to come.

...Maybe that idiot is rubbing off on me.

(I'm not about to abandon someone in need, but forgive me if I'm a little reluctant to rewind my soul into mush.) I pause, then add, perhaps unwisely: (And especially not for the sake of someone who seems to be an active hindrance to Dokja and myself.)

(...What is that supposed to mean?) Sooyoung's voice turns frigid.

(You heard me.) I cross my arms. (And look, I'm not saying I won't do it, but--)

(I'm a "hindrance" to Dokja? What do you even know about me? About him? From what you've told me, you've known him for a single night, and me for all of 10 minutes.)

She had me there, but I give my best effort at a retort. (...I've seen enough to know that you think you know better than him. That you're above him, that he should stay locked up for his own good.)

(You couldn't possibly know what we-- I mean, what he went through. Why I'm so worried about him.)

(Oh, I think I have some idea. You save a guy's life a few times and it's harder not to know him.) I float above the detective's smaller astral body, towering over her just like her killer had. (And contrary to you, I'm working with him to fix everything. Not locking him away and working behind his back.)

(I'm not-- I did that to protect him!)

(How about you try actually protecting him from dying, then?) It was a low blow, and I knew it the second the words left my mind.

Sooyoung's eye twitches. I had clearly touched a nerve. (I-- I literally did, at the station today, when he got shot through the window!)

(No, you didn't. That was me, manipulating the bullet off course.) The words felt like acid in my mouth. I didn't care.

A beat of silence passes between us, some sick sense of superiority allowing me to keep my expression even.

(Ok, smart guy.) Sooyoung cranes her neck, raising her chin. Her lip curls. (How about watch your best friend, the only person who ever even talks to you or finds you even the slightest bit interesting, get mercilessly bullied, hounded by reporters that look at him as their latest scoop, and spat on by grown adults who hate him for what his mom did?)

(I don't see how that's--)

(How about you watch him jump off a roof?) She spits out, her prideful facade breaking. (Without being able to rewind time.)

There isn't much I can say to that. Sooyoung continues.

(How about you visit him on his hospital bed, delirious and covered in bandages, talk to you above some ghost that saved his life when you're right there and you were the one who found his mangled body and brought him to the hospital and he won't listen to a single thing you're saying? How about you get cut out of his life, talking only through the comments of a sh*tty web novel you're writing about that stupid ghost because the only thing that will get him out of bed in the morning is a [story written just for him]?

How about you have him drop back into your life five years later with a new corrupt policeman father and a kid somehow, and he talks with you like nothing happened? How about you chase him to the police academy, giving up your dreams to become a writer to play the part of a dutiful soldier for the very system that got us here in the first place? How about you hold his hands steady when he can hardly bear to even look at a pistol, let alone pass the shooting exam? All the while managing your own work, all the while looking into every scrap of text I can about the case that put his mother behind bars, all the while still writing that damn novel to an audience of one.)

(Wait, you weren't a successful author?) I think back to Dokja's apartment, that that huge hardcover he wanted Yoosung to bring, with the bright-colored cover... what color was it again? I recall having [trouble seeing it...]

(What, did you see those books at Dokja's place? Call that an ill-advised purchase I made under the influence. I got them vanity published and showed up at his door, drunk out of my mind, asking him to just talk to me, tell me something. And you know what he did?) Sooyoung laughs in my face, though at her own expense.

(He asked me to sign the book,) she whispers. (With that same polite smile that never quite reaches those sad, stupid eyes of his, he told me that he loved my writing, and he cherished the story I'd written. Not a single mention of anything else I'd done for him over the past ten years. And so I scribbled my name on the book, and I stumbled home.)

(So tell me, why do you get to barge into our-- into his life, and form a [partnership] with him in a single night?) She meets my gaze once more, her eyes neither those of a detective nor an author. (What gives you the right to tell me I'm a hindrance? What do you know that I don't?)

I avert my eyes from her intense stare. I float down to her level, and stare out the window of the station, into the night sky. We sit side by side, our translucent bodies suspended in air. (Nothing, I suppose. Or at least, nothing you don't also deserve to know.)

And so, I tell Han Sooyoung about the thousands of rewinds Dokja and I went through together. I don't leave out a single detail: our mirrored pasts, his confession of guilt, the fractured moments that made up my memory. How the repeated rewinds had taken a toll on our souls and our sanity. My refusal to allow Dokja take the easy way out, and the pact we made to fight for our [perfect ending].

(You have every right to hate me,) I breathe out. (I'm probably the one who's caused him the most suffering tonight.)

(Hah...) Sooyoung sighs. (Yes, it's certainly your fault for making a case that could have been solved in one or two rewinds take a thousand times longer, but it's also his for snooping around back alleys alone when he knows there's at least two assassins after his head.)

(Fair.)

She turns her head towards me ever so slightly. (You know, I think I get it. You two are really cut from the same cloth.)

(Terrible early home lives culminating in untimely traumatic encounters with law enforcement?)

(No, the matching narcissistic martyr complexes.)

And here I thought we were done fighting. I jerk my head to look at the detective. I heave a relieved chuckle at her light expression. (I suppose that's one interpretation.)

(Hey, for the record, at the very beginning of this dumb argument, I wasn't even implying that we had infinite chances to beat your evil ghost twin. Only that we had the jump on him. You were the one so ready to throw yourself into another eternity of suffering.)

I wince at that. (...Ok, you got me.)

Sooyoung laughs. (You know, you're nowhere close to the phantom detective I wrote-- he was careful, meticulous, efficient. But you're just an idiot that goes in guns blazing, thinking that suffering for suffering's sake makes you a better person somehow. But lucky for you, I like idiots like that, for some god forsaken reason.)

(So I'll help you out. You don't want to rewind another thousand times? Then we'll do it in one shot,) the detective declares. (I'm smartest damn writer-detective in the world when it comes to ghost tricks. But, if we're going to figure this out, I'm going to need you to tell me your story again. This time, without leaving out a single detail.)

Chapter Text

Police Station

10:33 PM

The plan is set.

"...God, will you stop f***ing shooting me?*" The killer in black growls as bullets spontaneously dislodge from the his body, eerily popping out of his flesh. He floats back to his feet, sending one Detective Han Sooyoung sprawling backwards.

(God, that is still so creepy,) that same Detective Han Sooyoung remarks, watching the scene of her own death as a spirit for the second (and hopefully last) time.

"I thought this would be a fun bit of practice," the man says, irritation oozing from his voice. His coat vibrates, shaking dust off of itself. "This is the body you'll be spending the rest of your years with, so why not get used to it? Learn to move like a human again. No moving things with ghost tricks."

"H-hah..." the detective breathes out in disbelief.

An unseen force pins her down the floor, rhythmically beating her down into it like a sledgehammer. She does her best to spit back a few pithy retorts as the man rants to her about how difficult being a phantom is.

"Do you know how difficult it is for me to even be speaking to you right now? How much time it took for me to get this much control? Let me tell you: at least three corpses worth. Their jaws rotted off before I could figure out how to say my own name."

(I have to say, this guy really hates being a phantom with supreme supernatural powers. Is it really that bad?)

(Well, I guess I haven't been one for very long, but... not really. The feeling of constant weightlessness was a little hard to get used to at first,) I reply. (Though, I imagine it'd be a lot harder if I didn't have anyone to talk to. So, uh, thanks for that.)

(Thanks for what, dying?)

We don't quite have time to unpack that, as the man reaches his hand towards his victim. Her revolver frees itself from her fingers, floating into the grasp of the phantom.

(Here's your cue,) Sooyoung purses her lips, a serious look now on her face. (One shot, remember? I've given you a flawless plan, so if we have to rewind again, it's on you.)

I roll my eyes. (Sure.)

(What, don't trust me?)

(I never said that. I trust you maybe... 60%.)

The phantom points the weapon directly at Sooyoung's heart. I track his trigger finger like a hawk.

(Really? Barely a passing grade after all that? You said you agreed with my reasoning.)

(Theory and practice are two different things. And in the US, 60% would be failing.)

The detective grips the desk behind her, trying to get to her feet and run. Her hands flail around like fish on dry land, knocking over pens and documents as they try to find purchase on the surface behind her.

The killer calmly adjusts his aim and pulls the trigger.

At the first twitch of movement in his hand, I pull the scene into the world of the dead. The bullet shrieks to a halt, as do the miscellaneous items falling off of Yoo Sangah's desk. Let's see if this plan will actually work.

Han Sooyoung must have spent at least three hours in stopped time grilling me about every minute detail of my powers and what I had done tonight. She certainly recorded some useful data: she'd uncovered everything from how far away I could possess objects from, to the an approximation of my maximum force output, to the limits of my reaction speed.

She also prodded me on things I found decidedly less useful. The material of my trench coat (which is apparently quite cheap), certain bodily measurements, my tendency towards analogies and phrases from a subculture pertaining to interactive electronic entertainment-- I swear, she was pressing me on that last one for at least 15 minutes. At a point, I could tell she was more concerned with finding ways to amuse herself than finding a way to save her own life.

But after many, many rounds of questioning and retellings of the night's events, the detective was finally satisfied with her preparations.

(Alright then, Yoo Joonghyuk. This plan hinges upon three things...)

Condition one, what we've already established: even though the killer knows of the existence of ghost tricks, he won't know I'm here until I've revealed myself. That means the first ghost trick comes free.

I knock the bullet off course as I had done thousands of times before. It embeds itself in the floor, punching a hole through the thick fabric of her trench coat. It's a bit of a shame, as the coat looks rather expensive-- at least a bit more than the one Dokja wears, and certainly more than mine.

I give Sooyoung a look. (So if this next part fails, it's on you, right?)

(Not yet,) she scoffs. (Wipe that smug look off your face. You still have one more job to do.)

Condition two: there is one way I can manipulate the scene without the killer's knowledge, even after he's noticed me: if I manipulate something that you would expect to move on its own. That is, something [living].

The detective's hands are still fluttering around the desk, diligently searching for some position that would allow the woman the leverage to push herself up. This is to no avail, and especially not with what I do next.

I give her right hand a slight push inwards. My control over the living isn't quite as fine-tuned as the killer's, but I do my best to make the movement small and precise.

This accomplishes a couple things. First, this knocks Sooyoung off balance, causing her to fall flat on her back. Second, her fingers catch the edge of a cold mug of coffee, sending it and its contents tumbling down onto the detective's head, spilling all over her face, hair, and of course, her coat. The coffee seeps into the fabric, dying it a deep brown, the beverage dripping onto the floor. Luckily, there do tend to be tailors working at dry cleaners, so at least she'll be able to remedy all this in one trip.

(Well, one last thing then. And, uh, sorry in advance.)

(It was my plan,) Sooyoung shrugs. (Do try to be gentle, though.)

There's one last ghost trick I need to perform, and it's a bit... uncomfortable. But the entire plan is hinging on this and one last condition.

I cause the detective to convulse once, as though she had been struck. Then, I hold her body in place, preventing any further movement. To a passing onlooker peeking through the window, it'd look rather like the the detective has just been shot in the heart and killed.

We were never going to beat the killer with brute strength-- but that was [never our goal].

The slight twitches in her muscles as she struggles against my control only further serve to sell the illusion. It's the spitting image of the, well, thousands of firearm deaths I have unfortunately witnessed tonight.

But the detective is still alive.

(Well done, Joonghyuk,) Sooyoung mimes a golf clap in mock reverence, her hands clearly passing through each other. (You haven't quite strangled me to death yet.)

(I've done my part,) I reply, still holding the woman's body in place. (Now, if this fails, it really is just on you.)

(Hey, it based on the information that you told me right? My logic is sound, you agreed.)

Condition three is the dodgiest, but unfortunately, it's the lynchpin of the plan. If the three conditions the detective has laid are true were true, then we have just saved Detective's Han Sooyoung's life.

The man clad in black lowers the pistol. He stares down at the detective, scrutinizing her body, a puddle of the room temperature coffee pooling around the woman's waist. While you might have mistaken the woman's fall as a shooting from a distance, from up close, it looks rather like she pulled an all-nighter at the office and passed out before she could get that one last hit of caffeine to keep her going. Certainly, her killer would notice this, and realize something was up. That, unless the third and final condition of Sooyoung's plan holds true.

Condition 3: phantoms are [unable to properly discern the color red], as the crimson fog of the world of the dead tinges everything in a scarlet hue. Sooyoung had noticed this when I'd mentioned that I [hadn't been able to identify the SSSSS+ Phantom Detective novel on Dokja's shelf] when I had knocked it off of the bookshelf for Yoosung, despite the gaudy red cover.

So to me and the killer, there shouldn't any visible difference between that pool of coffee and a puddle of detective blood.

The man scoffs, his lingering gaze apparently just him basking in how awesome his ghost powers were, and discards the detective's pistol onto the floor. He stalks out of the room, leaving the way he came. The door locks behind him with a click.

Finally, I allow the detective to move again. She begins swinging and punching at nothing, flat on her back as she finally gulps some oxygen.

(Case solved.) Now, Sooyoung is the one to give me a smug look. (And that's why we work smarter, not harder.)

I'm still uneasy-- we'll have to fight that phantom at some point, if we want to accomplish our ultimate goal. But true to her word, Sooyoung has solved this case in a single try.

(I'll admit it you were right,) I reply, a hint of a grin in my tone. (But I feel like it's a little unfair to say we didn't work hard at all-- I still don't get why you needed even half the information you asked for.)

(Again, I just needed all the raw data I could get. I had hundreds of other plans in mind-- you just heard the best one. You wouldn't get the processes of a professional, Phantom non-Detective.)

I swear, these people must think that is the funniest joke in the world, or some stupid creator above is playing a prank on me. How have three people independently come up with that? (So you're saying that one of your plans hinged upon knowing my chest measurement?)

She waves a hand at me, looking away. (Well, I suppose we'll just have to pick that up another time, Joonghyuk, I'm a very busy woman, returning from death at all.)

(Sure. Whatever you say.)

As her spirit returns to her body, Han Sooyoung flashes me a cheeky grin.

(There's still one thing I don't get about... How were you so sure your killer wouldn't check your body?)

"Simple." Sooyoung inspects her the stained, bullet punched coat with a sigh, propped up against the desk on the floor. "I didn't peg you as someone thorough enough to check your work."

(First, ouch. Second, what does your assessment of me have to do with anything with what the killer has done?)

"Call it a... pet theory of mine. The killer's main motivation is clearly that he's a phantom who wants to be human again-- ack!" The detective grabs her side, wincing in pain. "Jesus Christ, that dude really paid me back tenfold for what I did to him." She points at her desk. "Hey, you think you could grab me a couple things? Should be in the bottom drawer."

I oblige, supplying a plain, purple hoodie and a bottle of pain killers from the bottom drawer of her desk. I toss the sweater to the detective. She doesn't raise her hands to catch it, and it lands on her stomach with a thud.

"Thanks. Hey, which way are you facing? Or just... can you close your eyes? "

Out of courtesy, I face the wall as the detective struggles out of her coffee soaked outfit, though she can no longer see my astral body. I don't quite have the heart to tell her that my view of the world is a constant flat 2D view, and I can't really look away.

"At first, I thought it might be some twist where the killer was the real Yoo Joonghyuk, and you were someone totally unrelated." Sooyoung wriggles into the sweater. "But as we talked, your memories seemed too vivid and personal for that to be the case. You are definitely Yoo Joonghyuk." She points at her mouth, from behind the hood, arms not yet in their sleeves. "Could I get an ibuprofen, too?"

(Tell me something I don't know. Why are you so sure that guy was Yoo Joonghyuk then?) I roll the bottle along the floor over to the detective.

"Well, at the very least, he's someone who wants to be you so bad he'd puppeteer your corpse around like a skinwalker." A pair of hands pop out the sleeves of the sweatshirt. "And aside from your rugged good looks, I don't see many reasons a phantom would pick you of all people as a new identity." The pill bottle hits her thigh, and she picks it up. "What, couldn't work the child-safe cap?"

(Fine. Here.) I rip the cap of the pill bottle clean off, ignoring the what flimsy mechanism it has to stop a toddler from downing the capsules like a bag of skittles. (Maybe the complete lack of paper trail is attractive to him?)

"...Maybe. Again, I'm still not quite sure about it, but... just try and [put yourself in his shoes]." The detective pops a couple pills into her mouth, swallowing them dry. "How would you feel if you had to live as a ghost and watch someone [live your own life in front of you?]"

(...I'll give it some thought.)

With a bit of help from me, the detective is back on her feet, though still leaning against a desk.

"Well then, what's next? You think Dokja's gotten himself killed yet?"

"Who's gotten himself killed?" A familiar voice sounds from outside the door, and Sooyoung whips her head towards the sound. The lock clicks open.

Detective Kim Dokja enters the scene. He looks just as I left him-- coat lightly tattered with bullet holes, belt hanging loose with the buckle having been shattered into pieces, but luckily, no worse for wear. "Figured I'd find you here. And hopefully... Joonghyuk?"

(Hey.)

"Hey. Looks like you got pretty banged up, but well... given the lack of bullet wounds on you, you beat the killer." He gives a glance at Sooyoung, inspecting her face. "And judging by the fact that you still have that smug look in your eyes, I'm guessing it didn't take too many rewinds."

"Yeah, took me 1/2000th of the time you did," Sooyoung begins hobbling over to Dokja.

"And... hey! Looks like you two have gotten pretty close, so no need for introductions." Dokja takes a small step back. "Sooyoung, I haven't seen you wear that hoodie since high school."

"We didn't talk in high school." Shuffling forward faster, the woman's lopsided footsteps patter in an aggressive rhythm. "You didn't tell me anything."

"...Right." Another step back. That trademark guarded grin pokes out of the corners of Dokja's lips. "And listen, it's not that I don't trust you, it's just that--"

"Oh, save it. Your ghost boyfriend here already told me everything. Partnership my ass, you really didn't think I would help you prove your mother's innocence? Why do you think I even joined the Special Investigation Unit in the first place?"

"Joonghyuk! It was implied that I told you all that in confidence!" Dokja protests, clearly hamming up his reaction to get the heat off of him.

(She deserved to know.)

Dokja heaves an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, you wouldn't get--"

At that moment, Han Sooyoung trips on the discarded coffee mug, magnificently crashing into Kim Dokja, and the two collapse on top of each other like dominos.

"Agh..." Dokja groans. "Second time you've tackled me to the floor today, Sooyoung. "

"Shut it. You're not the one with bruised ribs." She props herself with her hands, "unintentionally" placing her elbow directly onto Dokja's solar plexus, then grabs him by the collar. "You get two sentences to explain why I shouldn't throw you in the holding cell so you stay put for once."

"Hey, technically you did that already tried that and... or, I guess you wouldn't remember that, because we rewound time--"

(I'm not helping you get out a second time.)

"That's sentence one," Sooyoung shoots.

"Um, pretend there was a semicolon after that?" Sweat runs down the detective's back; his eyes flit around the room, trying to focus on anything but the woman staring him dead in the eyes.

(You know what to say, Dokja. You were the one who told me to trust her.)

Kim Dokja takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then opens his mouth. "I want your help, Han Sooyoung, because you're the smartest, most capable person I know."

He peeks an eye open at her.

"And?" She pulls him ever so slightly closer.

"A-and... I'm sorry for being an idiot."

"Good." Without warning, she gives him a swift smack on the cheek.

"Ow!"

"That's for your second sentence being a run on." She throws her arms around him and nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that for a decade. Of course I'll help."

"Thanks." Kim Dokja hesitantly puts his hand on Sooyoung's back, accepting the embrace. "And... I hate to ruin the moment, but your elbows are still..."

"Mr. Phantom Detective, please join the group hug."

(Huh?) I was trying to make my presence as invisible as possible.

"As in, come join this bonding moment to commemorate our new partnership between all three of us," Sooyoung says, voice muffled with her face still buried in Dokja's side. "And also, I really cannot move without great pain so I'd appreciate it if you also picked us up."

With a sigh, I wrap their bodies and lift them back to their feet. I give them a light squeeze before letting them go, my best imitation of a hug.

"Gah!"

"I feel like I'm being smothered!"

(You get what you ask for.) The ghost of a grin plays on my lips, though the duo cannot see my face. Even as my memories return, I can't quite remember any moments where I had any sort of relationships like this, be close with someone my own age.

In the back of my mind lingers the anxiety that things are worse than ever. The girls are still trapped in my apartment or perhaps worse, Dokja's mother is still on the execution block, there are no doubt more assassins still after Dokja's life, the [strongest phantom] seems to want nothing more than for me to suffer, and not to mention there's a shadowy organization behind it all who seems to want [something] from the man named Yoo Joonghyuk.

So far, we've done nothing but die and rewind, and every small success we've had has been accompanied by a disproportionate amount of struggle.

"Uh... Joonghyuk? You can let go now," Dokja tries to wiggle out of my grasp.

"I'm glad you're taking my suggestion seriously," Sooyoung gasps out. "But I agree, this is probably enough."

(Just give me... four minutes,) I reply, squeezing a bit tighter. (I know you two can hold out that long.)

"Ack!"

For this short moment, at least, I'll put my fears aside.

Chapter Text

Police Station

11:00 PM

Though a little disheveled after our long coping-with-the-situation-hug, we fill in Dokja on how I had saved Sooyoung.

"So you essentially spilled coffee on Sooyoung, and then strangled her?" asks Dokja. "Then that tricked the bad guy, who was possessing your corpse, into thinking she was dead? Then he just left? And that worked?"

(Well... when you put it like that...)

"Hey, it's certainly more creative than 'Please stop the bullets for me, Joonghyuk,' which appears to be your bread and butter," says Sooyoung. She looks a little less worse for wear after some rest, but still a bit banged up. Once again, the woman has propped herself up on Detective Yoo Sangah's desk.

"Well, when you put it like that..." Dokja winces. "Ok, I wasn't saying that the plan was bad or anything. There are just so many unanswered questions." He rubs his head, deep in thought. "Like, that phantom's ability to manipulate multiple objects at once, when he popped all those bullets out of his body like pimples."

"Gross wording, but ok."

"And, of course, there's the big question," Dokja looks at the ceiling and taps his chin. "Is it even possible beat him?"

(...We'll have to be able to.) I declare. (I can't overpower him, but our strength is at least comparable.)

"That's not what I mean," Dokja says. "Say we do manage to incapacitate him somehow, if that's even possible for a ghost. Wouldn't he just be able to [rewind time] at any moment? He's possessing Joonghyuk's body, right?"

"Well, If he could rewind time," Sooyoung says. "He probably would've done it while I was stomping on his 47-inch chest."

"Well, that's not-- Wait, 47 inches?" The tips of Dokja's ears flush. "God, those pecs must be mountains, how do you--"

(Not relevant. But I agree with Sooyoung. He could've rewound time at any point, and he certainly had cause to. I think it's reasonable to assume he cannot rewind time.)

"While I appreciate your opinion, because I am often right," says Sooyoung. "I don't mean to say that the killer [can't rewind]. Only that he couldn't rewind on [your body]."

(...You still think that guy is Yoo Joonghyuk.)

"So you're saying that the phantom couldn't rewind time on Joonghyuk's corpse because... that was his [own corpse]?" asks Dokja. "Our Joonghyuk couldn't rewind time on his corpse either. How could there be two Yoo Joonghyuks?"

"I have a few theories in mind." Sooyoung shrugs. "But for all we know, he can just go back in time at any losing moment, at least on one of [our corpses]. So maybe you're right Dokja, we can't actually beat him."

An uncomfortable silence fills the room.

"Well, I have to say, sounds like you guys had a more exciting past hour than I have," Dokja clasps his hands, breaking the silence. "Mine was pretty uneventful."

(I'm assuming you went directly check on the girls after I left?)

"Yeah, I managed to track them back to this apartment building that they were being kept in, super run down place. I hope they weren't too scared there."

I keep to myself that the girls were being actually being kept in my apartment.

"I was a little more thorough in scoping out the place this time, given the... number of times I've been caught off guard tonight," Dokja says. "And to no surprise, there were a couple of guys in blue around the apartment."

"And you didn't go greet them as the upstanding member of the police force you are?" Sooyoung asks sarcastically. "I'm guessing they were expecting you."

(Well, looking as how you're back here, I'm guessing you didn't rush into the building.)

"Do you have such little faith in my abilities?" Dokja asks. "How do you know I didn't take them all out in hand to hand combat?"

Sooyoung and I each cock an eyebrow.

Dokja sighs, then continues his story. "I immediately backed up from the building and tried my best to scope it out from the outside."

"Second smartest thing you've done all week," Sooyoung scoffs.

(Saved me the trouble.)

"Thanks guys, feeling like a very valuable member of the team," Dokja grumbles. "But anyway, on the west side of the building, I spied an open window and the ladder of the fire escape unfurled. So..."

"You think they escaped," says Sooyoung.

"It's our best bet right now. I've tried calling Mia multiple times, and nothing."

(I was there at my-- at that rundown apartment building at around this time.) I speak up. (The girls were locked in by a gigantic metal storage container, but were otherwise uninhibited. They should have been able to answer the call if they were still in the room.)

"So where do we think they went, then? Not to your apartment, given that's where they were attacked," asks Sooyoung.

"Probably to Bihyung's office," says Dokja. "It's where I asked them to go in the first place. And while he might be a little ashamed of Yoosung's existence, it's not like he'd throw her out to the street. So if they're there, then they'll probably be safe. But..."

(But?)

"In the worst case, which... I'm sure you can both imagine," Dokja says. "I figured it might be necessary to get Joonghyuk. So I came here."

"So you didn't stop by to check on me while I was being murdered?" Sooyoung asks.

"Hey, I trust you guys. I knew you could handle it."

Sooyoung rolls her eyes. "Fine then. Let's go."

(So... we just go to Bihyung's office then? Then what?)

"That seems like the most logical option, yes," Sooyoung says, getting up slowly, taking care to avoid further injuring herself. "You don't sound too thrilled about it."

(I just feel like we've been on the back foot all night. We've resolved ourselves to fight, but we've just been reacting to their movements. Is there anything we can do to strike back?)

"I suppose I haven't fully grasped the scope of the partnership I'm joining." Sooyoung narrows her eyes. "As far as I'm concerned, our safety and our loved ones' safety are the priority. I'm not interested in launching suicide missions against the higher ups."

(Bringing down those higher ups is what will secure our safety in the long term.) I shoot back. (And it wouldn't be a suicide mission.)

"Oh really? And how can you guarantee that? You two have no idea how deep this rabbit hole goes, what they're after," Sooyoung scoffs. "The endless waves of goons, potential hostages, the [phantom] who we just theorized to be unbeatable-- you of all people should know how screwed we are."

(Then we just need to stay alive,) I declare. (If we're going to fight, we need to believe we can win.)

"Easy for you to say, dead man," says Sooyoung. "If you're seriously still thinking about straight up fighting that guy, you can leave me out of it. Weren't you the one scared of him in the first place?"

(I had full intention to confront him. I was merely... mentally preparing myself.)

"Sure, sure."

She'd struck a nerve, but I wasn't about to show it. (Aren't... aren't there other angles of attack? You of all people, should know that-- we just outsmarted that so-called [strongest phantom].)

"'We' outsmarted that phantom? It was me. And yes, I of all people would know best about any alternative angles of attack," Sooyoung replies. "And I'm saying that I don't see any. We've been in this line of work for a long time. You don't know the half of how deep this goes. Right, Dokja?"

(Tonight's partnership was founded on the shared goal of taking down the systems that bind us, not skirting just out of their radar. Right, Dokja?)

Sooyoung and I glare at the pale-skinned detective. He ducks behind his hands like a small hamster hiding from two predators.

"Well?"

(Well?)

Dokja peeks out from behind his fingers. "...I agree with Sooyoung. It's a little rich coming from me, but we should prioritize our safety right now,"

"Right. See?"

"But... I agree with Joonghyuk that our long term safety will depend on taking down whatever force has been targeting my mother and me and preventing Joonghyuk and Mia from living normal lives. It's what we agreed upon." He holds his hands out invitingly. "Now, let's all get along, shall we?"

We both stare at him.

"So... you're not taking a side," says Sooyoung. "I swear, this guy, always the smooth talker, weaseling his way out of things."

(Hm,) I grunt in agreement.

"Eh? How has this flipped on me?"

"You can think about it on the way." Sooyoung holds out her arms. "As punishment, you're carrying me to the minister's office."

"Why can't Joonghyuk do it?"

"What, Mr. Crush You for Four Minutes I Know You Can Take It? I'd rather not."

(...I apologized for that.)

At that moment, Dokja's phone rings. I tense. Things have rarely gone well after Dokja's phone rings. Usually someone is dead-- especially when the person calling is someone we've just been talking about.

"Oh, speak of the devil," says Dokja. "It's Bihyung."

He answers the call. I prepare to hop across the line.

"Bihyung, we were actually just about to head over to your office, are the girls--"

"Hi, Dokja," Bihyung interrupts. He takes a few haggard breaths.

"You... ok there?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm... I'm fine. I won't die," the minister reassures. "I just... needed to call you."

"Well, we'll be right over, so there's no need to--"

"I'm sorry, Dokja. For... for everything." He pauses. "For pinning the safety of that girl-- of my daughter on you."

"Oh, uh, it's fine." Dokja purses his lips. He doesn't like where this is headed either.

“…They took the girls,” The minster breathes, and a chill washes over the three of us. “Yoosung came into the office with her friend, insisting I take a look at that [evidence] you had found. All I could think about was how angry I was that she was even there. Why she’d come all this way for something so stupid, not that she was safe and sound.”

Dokja remains silent.

“It was awful timing. [They] showed up and…” Bihyung falters. “They took the girls. I’ve never once disobeyed them. I licked their boots, turned a blind eye to things I didn’t agree with, even did some of their dirty work. But still, they took her.”

“I… I’m sorry for—“

“All it took was one slap, one wave of a gun. A simple flourish of steel, and I, rolling over like a dog as I have for years, happily watched them take her. I’m in no position to accept any kind of apology from you.” There’s nothing but static on the line as the minister finds the words to say. “…I never needed any evidence, Dokja. Your mother’s case has always been open and shut self-defense. They will execute her over my dead body.”

The detective opens his mouth and closes it again. His pupils shake, whether from relief, from fear, from anger, I cannot tell.

"If there's anything I can do to... make up for this. All of this. Just say the word."

Dokja clenches his fist, resolving himself. “Where did they take the girls?”

“…They’re planning to leave the country in a submarine. ‘An [ark] to bring then from the old to the new…’ I’m not sure of the details. They’ll be leaving before midnight.”

“Alright. Well… looks like I’ll be dropping by another day. That is, if we both survive tonight." Dokja unfurls his fingers, tension dissipating. Now isn't the time to think about this. "We have a lot to talk about.”

Bihyung chokes out a nervous laugh. “Well, yeah, hopefully. And Dokja…”

“Yes?”

“When this is all over… do give your mother a call, as well.”

“…Alright.”

The call ends. Though he may be a coward to his last breath, the minister has at least solved one of our issues tonight: Lee Sookyoung will live. Whether this is a cheap ploy to ease the negligent minister's guilt or a gesture of true remorse is not for me to decide.

“Well, worst case scenario it is then,” Sooyoung chuckles. "A three-man raid on an isolated, underwater submarine."

It was hard to deny her assessment.

(…Detectives, I won’t force—)

“Do you take me for some heartless witch who would leave two children stranded in a submarine with a shady organization?” Sooyoung shakes her fist. The sudden movement makes her sputter in pain. “Bleugh. Especially not children that are important to you two,” she mumbles in addition, keeling over. “Even if it is extremely stupid.”

Dokja bends down and rubs Sooyoung's back. “And come on, it can’t be that bad. We’ve spent years arguing in comment threads about what we’d do in scenarios like this. I think under chapter 3500ish? When the Phantom Detective was raiding Nirvana’s underground lair? You were quite optimistic then.”

“I’m not betting my life on my fifteen year old self’s 2AM ramblings.” Sooyoung sighs, crawling back to her feet. “But you’re right. If there’s anyone who might have an even slim shot at winning against a ghost, it’s the two of us terminally online phantom-fanatics. And we have a half-decent ghost on our side as well.”

(”Half-decent?”)

“You heard me.”

“That’s beside the point,” Dokja interrupts before we devolve again into useless bickering. “Let’s figure out a plan as we head over, shall we?”

Dokja helps Sooyoung to her feet, and we begin to discuss our options— though the discussing ends up as bickering anyway, at least it’s been put in a productive direction.

The streets are dead silent as we speed towards the dock in a police cruiser.

With the smell of salt in the air, the moon hanging over a pitch black ocean, the scene is set to end this long and perilous night.

Submarine Yonoa

11:30 PM

We have little trouble hopping a few haphazardly placed barriers and some caution tape to get through to the submarine.

There’s a suspicious lack of guards or really any tangible defense as we crawl down into the vehicle.

It isn’t long until we learn why.

We find ourselves in a completely blank, dark chamber. Not an object, a panel, not a speck of dust for me to possess exists in the room. There is no way for me to make my way further into the submarine without hitching a ride on someone or something that can move on its own-- as if by design.

Dokja reaches for the flashlight on his belt, and he flicks it on.

A single man stands in our way. A moody black coat cloaks his chiseled torso. The cheap fabric is caked with dried blood and tattered with bullet holes. His face morphs into a sneer unnatural and terrifying, an expression ever so slightly incompatible with our human facial muscles, to the point that you might miss that he was actually quite handsome.

“Took you long enough.”

Chapter Text

Submarine Yonoa

11:30 PM

We find ourselves in a completely blank, dark chamber. Not an object, a panel, not a speck of dust for me to possess exists in the room. There is no way for me to make my way further into the submarine without hitching a ride on someone or something that can move on its own-- as if by design.

Dokja flicks on his flashlight, and illuminates the room.

A single man stands in our way: "Yoo Joonghyuk," the manipulator.

“Took you long enough,” he says. “I took the liberty of instructing the crew to leave the front line to me. Not like anyone else could stop you anyway.”

He raises his chin, his large frame towering over the two detectives, a full head taller than Dokja and two over Sooyoung.

A bead of sweat rolls down Dokja's temple, the corners of his lips twitching into a nervous grin against his will. "I'd hoped we'd get some confidence boosters first."

(We knew we would have to do this at some point. The time doesn't matter.)

"Yeah, well, I'm with Dokja on this one," Sooyoung mutters as her hand hovers over her weapon holster. "Shooting a goon or two before I died would make my death feel a little less worthless."

“It appears you managed to save that woman through some trickery.” The phantom eyes Han Sooyoung.

(...It was simply more efficient to do so,) I reply. (We worked smarter, not harder.)

Sooyoung exhales softly through her nose.

”All that tells me is that you weren’t strong enough to beat me outright.” Cold, sullen eyes lock onto my presence. The phantom speaks directly into my mind. (You took the easy way out after countless rewinds, didn't you?)

(For the record, it only took one.)

"...Is that so." The manipulator tilts his head to the side. The spotlight of Dokja's flashlight casts dark shadows across on the man's face, obscuring his eyes. "Then it appears you have not suffered enough."

The man surges forward, his feet sliding along the floor like it were made of ice. He raises his arms and strikes both detectives in the abdomen, sending them sprawling backwards.

Sooyoung rolls as she hits the ground. Dokja, having been sent flying, slams against the metal rungs of the ladder we came down.

"...Plan A then?" Dokja coughs out.

(I don't like plan A. I'm not going to leave--)

"Well, it's plan A for a reason, because it's our best shot at saving the girls," scoffs Sooyoung. "Now get in, loser."

The detective pushes herself up back up to her feet. Without hesitation, she unholsters her weapon and opens fire on the manipulator. Sooyoung's aim is impeccable, each shot pinpointed directly at a vital area.

"Really, what is it with cops and loose trigger fingers?" scoffs the manipulator. "Surely you had a better plan that this."

The bullets seem allergic to the black-clad corpse. They fly off course in unnatural parabolas and arcs, clanging into the smooth metal panels of the hallway behind the phantom as he manipulates each off course. But Sooyoung does not stop firing.

One bullet, however, screeches to a halt in mid-air-- the bullet I am possessing.

"Ah, I see," laughs the manipulator, his face morphing into a sneer. "Thought you could pull a fast one on me again?"

Our goal wasn't necessarily to defeat the phantom-- only to save the girls. All we need to do is get [past him].

"Well, there goes Plan A," says Dokja.

"Shut it." Sooyoung keeps her weapon trained on the manipulator.

"You shouldn't have revealed yourself to talk with me, Joonghyuk," the phantom flings the bullet, with me in it, back at the detectives. It clatters softly onto the floor. "I'll admit, you almost had me there. Though, I suppose I should've guessed that this was your plan. Truly, [you have the mind of a coward,] ready to run away and abandon your companions at a moment's notice."

(It wasn't my plan.) I help the Dokja up, floating him lightly back onto his feet. (These idiots insisted on trying it first. From the beginning, I was resolved to fight you here and now.)

"I wouldn't have it any other way." My corpse raises its hands, as though presenting the opening act of a play. "Let's set the stakes now then, shall we?"

The ground shudders beneath our feet. The submarine lurches off the dock, submerging into the water.

"[Four minutes]," says the phantom. "For four minutes, I will keep you here, unable to move forward, unable to escape, unable to rewind, unable to die. Then, we will leave you here for dead, at the bottom of the ocean, to rot for all eternity."

The detectives shift nervously. They know the implications of the manipulator's plan: If we are truly stuck for four minutes of uninterrupted time , unable to win or even die and rewind, then there will be [no way for us to rewind time before we stepped on the submarine].

If what we had wasn't enough, then we had lost. No amount of rewinding would allow us to win.

(Well then, detectives,) I say. (I believe it's time for Plan B.)

XXX Street, in police cruiser.

11:15PM

A lone police cruiser speeds through the city. The roads are eerily empty, and we haven't needed to use our sirens to get through any oncoming traffic.

Detective Han Sooyoung sits in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel. Detective Kim sits at her side, thumbing through a webnovel app on his phone.

"3701, 3702..." Dokja mumbles. "Man, how did I read all of this as a kid? This is so sh--""

The car swerves into a pothole.

"Agh! Watch where you're driving!"

"Oh, I was," says Sooyoung.

"Ok then, Joonghyuk, watch where she's driving!

(I wouldn't know what to look at. I can't drive.)

"Well, I can't either, and even I could tell that wasn't proper defensive driving." Dokja rubs the growing welt on the side of his head. "Anyway, I found the thread we were talking about. Ahem. 'My dear readers, thank you so much for reading this week's chapter! If you have any thoughts on this week's chapter I'd love to discuss :3 I hope--'"

"Dokja, if you don't want me to drive this car off a bridge, you will not read ':3' aloud ever again." Keeping her eyes on the road, she grabs at Dokja, finding purchase against hair, jacket, and the man's pale cheek before snatching the phone out of his hands. "I'll read it myself. Joonghyuk, take the wheel."

(I literally just said...)

"Just keep it straight."

I possess the steering wheel of the car to make sure we don't drive into a wall. The detectives take turn reading aloud each other's comments, each trying to win some contrived war of embarrassment.

The result is mutually assured destruction, but, well, I guess we can use the levity.

SSSSS+ Phantom Detective Chapter 3707 Comments (51)

[tls123] My dear readers, thank you so much for reading this week's chapter! If you have any thoughts on this week's chapter I'd love to discuss :3 I hope you all enjoyed and found everything to make sense!! How do you think the Phantom Detective will defeat Nirvana? Will his ghost tricks be able to overpower his nemesis's human-manipulating phantom powers?

[kimdokja215] *raises hand* Author-nim, I have a few theories...

Submarine Yonoa

11:35 PM

"Here goes nothing." Dokja leans forward into a sloppy running position. "Everyone remember what we talked about?"

"How could I? I don't think I'll forget all those emotes and roleplay for the rest of my life," Sooyoung groans, "which is hopefully going to longer than four minutes."

<a/n recommended soundtrack [the last desperate struggle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CU4ZZCSrGxo)>

[kimdokja215] *Taps chin, deep in thought* I think a reasonable interpretation is that his human manipulation works by directly manipulating the circuitry of the body, mimicking the electrical signals that our body send to our muscles, taking in electrical signals from our sensory organs. If this is the case...

Kim Dokja rushes forward at the manipulator.

"Really?" The phantom holds out a single palm, grabbing the smaller man by the collar, and raises him into the air.

Flailing around in the air, Dokja reaches a hand into his coat pocket. His fingers grip around a small plastic device. Keeping his hand in his pocket to obscure it from the phantom's view, he swings his coat across his body and plunges two metal prongs from the device through the inner lining and into his captor's arm.

[kimdokja215] *holds up finger* Then it should be possible to attack Nirvana directly, back through that circuitry!

Dokja activates the taser, sending arcs of electricity directly into the corpse's flesh. The voltage reinvigorates the half-dead tissue, muscles visibly rippling and twisting under dark fabric.

[tls123] Interesting theory! Thank you for being the first commenter as always, kimdokja215 :3c

[kimdokja215] *bows head bashfully* Well, I usually am the only commenter...

The phantom's body seizes up, the corpse given life by the electricity fighting against the manipulator's control.

[tls123] But I don't think Nirvana's powers work like that. I imagine them to be similar to the Detective's, just exerting forces on objects in the living world, not actually 'taking over' another human. Unfortunately, this makes them as immune to any kind of physical attack as our dear Detective.

But still, the grip on Dokja's collar is strong. The man smoothly reaches his free hand over to his other, despite the tendons under his knuckles rippling and spasming against the movement, and yanks the taser out of his body.

"Not a bad first attempt." He flings Dokja to the floor. "But that is your first minute mark."

[kimdokja215] Hm, then for my second theory, what if the Detective tried to confuse Nirvana's sense of sight, similar to their previous encounter? Especially if you're confirming that Nirvana does not have access to the other senses of the body, something like a smokescreen could prevent the phantom from perceiving the world at all, while the Detective's living companions could sneak past.

Sooyoung produces a small canister from her pocket, and slides it along the floor. It begins to leak thick, white smog. Soon enough, the room is filled with smoke. I can barely see a thing, which hopefully means the phantom cannot either.

I hitch a ride on Dokja's flashlight, who is crawling along the sides of the wall.

[tls123] I think Nirvana would be on guard against something like that, after the first time their sight was tricked.

A loud flapping noise fills the room. A gust sweeps through the hallway, through Dokja's hair and clothes.

The manipulator's long black coat twirls and whips around his body. The smoke dissipates in an instant as a wall of air smashes into the detectives like they are standing directly in front of an industrial fan.

The gust sends them back to their starting place.

"Got anything else?" The manipulator stalks forward again, his thumbs sticking in his pockets. "These little tricks won't work on me."

[kimdokja215] *snaps fingers* Then, perhaps the answer is as simple as the Detective outmatching Nirvana in terms of strength or control?

(...He's right. There was always only one way forward.)

I reach out to possess my own corpse directly. I'm anxious that nothing will happen when I try to manipulate it again, like at the junkyard, anxious that I'd be easily overpowered, like my initial attempt to save Han Sooyoung.

But my fears are unfounded as I find my grip on the flesh.

I exert my will on the body I call my own, and the manipulator's gait falters. He takes a wider step than intended, anchoring his front foot into the ground as I try wrestle back control.

"You...!" he sputters. "You aren't strong enough to do this! You will never be strong enough to do this, not until you've [suffered like me]!"

[tls123] Do you really think I'm that bad of a writer :< Of course the answer wouldn't be that simple. Besides, Nirvana has years of experience as a phantom on the Detective, jumping from host body to host body as "the reincarnator." He wouldn't win.

With a burst of force, the manipulator seems to shove my soul out of my own body. I feel my strength escaping me, the grip of my possession slipping.

"Hah! Of course you're not strong enough to outright defeat me." He laughs as he regains his footing. "But it's infuriating that you're even close at all. You shouldn't be this strong. It hasn't even been 12 hours since you've become a phantom! No more playing around."

At that moment, Dokja and Sooyoung's legs freeze up, the manipulator taking direct control of their bodies.

"We are just going to sit here and wait until your four minutes is up."

Despite my effort having some effect, I'm well aware of the bleak reality of the situation. Stifling the manipulator's movement for just a moment won't be enough to defeat him. I take a glance at the detectives.

I see the fading trace of a glimmer of hope in Dokja's eyes. Perhaps for a moment, in his heart of hearts, he believed that the Phantom Detective might just be strong enough to win.

(...I'm sorry.)

"It's alright, Joonghyuk." He gives me a cheeky, but tense grin, the same one I've seen countless times. "That's all we need from you."

[kimdokja215] *frowns* Author-nim, I'm starting to think you don't have any idea how to continue your story, and are just looking to the comments for a solution!

[tls123] No, no, you just don't understand my genius >;3

[tls123] Call it... my life bleeding into my art, a bit. Or perhaps the reverse. Some way or another, daydreaming about how to defeat impossible criminals like that has been relevant to my day job.

(Wait, your "day job"?) I cut in as the detectives are reading. (Didn't you say you wrote this when you were 15?)

"U-uh..."

(When was this posted?) I manipulate Dokja's finger to scroll to the top of the chapter to see the publish date. (You guys were actually roleplaying with each other in the comments not even two years ago--)

"Let's keep reading! There's important brainstorming in these documents!"

Sooyoung's eyes are still sharp, her mind racing with ways out of the situation. She will not give up on our lives, no matter what.

"W-why are you doing this?" she spits, her mouth running on autopilot to give her brain even a nanosecond of extra time to think.

"What, are you stalling for time? You know, that cliche might work in a different scenario, but I'll remind you the time is ticking down for you, not me."

"No I just don't get why you're licking the boots of the people who put you in this situation."

"I could say the same to you, Miss Special Investigation Head." the manipulator looks Sooyoung up and down. "You took no time at all kissing up to the boots stomping down on your precious detective's face."

"What would you understand...!" Sooyoung grits her teeth. "What would you--"

"What, pray tell, is there to understand?" the manipulator asks coldly. His expression completely blank as he diverts energy away from keeping up any human appearance and exerts more and more force onto the detectives' bodies. "Why should I care about your teen angst and petty problems when I've been stuck in hell for the past decade?"

"Imagine watching someone [live your life] in the worst way possible, running like a [coward] as he puts your sister in danger, in awful living conditions, and throws his time away gambling on children's games," rumbles the phantom. "Any meager manipulation of fate required thousands upon thousands of rewinds, and the people I saved don't remember any of it! A wretched, useless existence, where no one can hear me, no one knows who I am, and nothing I do seems to change anything."

"So forgive me for wanting something even a modicum better, at the expense of my 'morals.'" He tightens his grip on Sooyoung specifically. "For taking back what is rightfully mine."

What he does not realize, however, is that this has released the pressure on Dokja just enough for him to do what he does best.

[tls123] I'll give you a hint then... you're viewing this too much as a "fight." What would the end result of a straight up fight between two phantoms even look like? They don't get tired, and they don't get hurt. A straight up fight is what Nirvana wants... to find an eternal nemesis, someone who has suffered and will continue to suffer just like them.

Dokja's hand shoots to his holster, returning just as quickly holding his trusty sidearm.

(Dokja...!)

"Hey, trust me." He still has that stupid grin still plastered on his face. "I trust 'you,' after all. If not, well... here's a good 'save point' as any."

The barrel of the gun finds a familiar home on his temple.

[tls123] Instead, think about what the opponent truly cares about, what they are defending, and seize it. That is their weakness. That is where the solution lies.

"You little...!" The phantom quickly seizes a hold of the gun, jerking it off course just as Dokja pulls the trigger. True to his word, he will not allow us to find a way to [rewind to before getting on the submarine].

What he does not realize, however, is that this has released the pressure on Sooyoung just enough for her to do what she does best.

Her eyes widen as she finds her solution, the manipulator's weakness.

Why did the manipulator puppeteer his body into the police station when he could've snapped Han Sooyoung's neck as a ghost? Why did he go to such lengths to ensure bullets did not remain in his body as the flesh regenerated? Why does he have such a grudge against me, Yoo Joonghyuk, specifically?

The phantom wants to live a new life, not just as anyone, but Yoo Joonghyuk. And to do that, he would need to "live" in the body of Yoo Joonghyuk.

"He's defending the corpse!" she shouts. "And the thing that's protecting the corpse is..."

She lunges forward, hand reaching out for the pocket of the manipulator's long, black coat. "[The meteorite fragment]! It's keeping his body on the brink of life and death!"

A force like a battering ram slams Sooyoung face first into the ground.

"You will not--"

She swipes at the man's ankle, shaking him off balance as she falls.

Dokja dashes forward to support, but he too is stopped by the manipulator's powers, which pin him against the floor.

Both detectives are pinned against floor of the submarine, struggling against the invisible force. The manipulator's body is barely keeping itself upright as he diverts all of his attention to keeping the detectives in place.

"Joonghyuk, now!" shouts Dokja.

I reach out once more towards the manipulator, not to possess my own body, but my jacket. It only takes a small tug to coax the small glowing blue rock, no larger than a marble, out of its pocket.

"No!" The manipulator's spirit instantly returns fully to the corpse, allowing the detectives back to their feet.

Dokja snatches the rock off the ground. "Call that the Kim Dokja Classic, risk your life and get away with it!"

Sooyoung gives an unimpressed groan from the floor. Given her injuries from her previous fight plus what's just been done to her, she's likely going to be there for a while.

"Just be happy I didn't die this time," Dokja says, giving her a light kick. "Now listen here, Mr. Manipulator, you're going to let us--"

"No... you!" The manipulator is not paying attention to anything Dokja is saying. His full attention is on using his ghost tricks to force his body to remain in place, wounds and gashes appearing in droves along its flesh from our fight, the power of the meteorite fragment no longer maintaining its state of death. "What have you done?"

Like trying to hold up an already falling house of cards up with your hands, the manipulator ultimately fails. The corpse ragdolls onto the floor.

"I, uh..." falters Dokja.

(Always, always, everything is taken from me. You always take everything away from me.) the manipulator's voice sounds in my mind, his body no longer in any state to communicate for him. (If... if you rewind, you can fix this. You will fix this. You will fix this now.)

Why is he asking me to rewind? [Can the manipulator not rewind time himself]?

I have no time to fix this as Dokja's arm spontaneously aims his weapon directly at his head.

"Woah!" Dokja ducks under his own bullet.

Suddenly, his entire body goes stiff.

"If... if I kill you... within the next four minutes," says Dokja in a stilted voice which is clearly not his own. "You will rewind."

I reach out to possess Dokja's body, and push against arm holding the gun that is slowly aiming towards the detective's head.

(This one was easy to control,) whispers the manipulator into my mind. (It felt so easy to pull the trigger to end your life at that junkyard. So that [mine could begin].)

(Shut... up!) I resist with all my might, but I know I'm weaker than him.

I hold on for two minutes. I'm losing ground.

(Usually when I possess the living, there's a ton of resistance. Especially at first. Eventually, they tire and submit, but there's always that initial fight or flight instinct. That will to live.)

The gun brushes lightly against Dokja's hair.

(But this one... there was nothing. it's almost like he was ready for it.) The manipulator lets out a low chuckle. (He was ready to [die] tonight.)

(That's not true,) I bite out. (He's not...)

The barrel of the gun finds flesh.

(Why don't you let him do what he wants?)

Just as Dokja pulls the trigger for the second time, Han Sooyoung grabs the gun and yanks it off target. The bullet fires into the ceiling.

"Don't give up on me, Joonghyuk! Keep fighting!" She grabs both of Dokja's hands, pulling them apart to look him dead in the eyes. "And don't you dare stop fighting either, Dokja. I know you always did, in your own ways."

The possessed detective's eyes widen. I can feel the detective's thin muscles begin to strain with all their might against the manipulator. The gun stops moving towards Dokja's head.

With the three of our combined efforts, he returns to a neutral stance.

Four minutes have passed since Dokja took the meteorite fragment from the manipulator.

The manipulator stops exerting force on Dokja's body. (I suppose that's it, then. There goes everything again.)

He appears to sit in silence as I help the two detectives to their feet.

"Now... you can't say I never helped save Dokja's life," says Sooyoung between haggard breaths.

(Hah. You got me.)

"Yay," she cheers weakly.

"Thank you, Sooyoung, Joonghyuk." Dokja chuckles. "For... everything."

"Hear that Joonghyuk-ah?" coos Sooyoung. "He said my name first. That means--"

"Plotter." We are interrupted by a voice over an unseen intercom. "You are to return to the cabin 3807 with the meteorite fragment."

The manipulator sighs deeply in my mind. (Sure. Whatever.)

Dokja's neck suddenly twists at an unnatural angle.

Then, before Sooyoung and I can react, his corpse flies off down the hallway, deeper down into the Submarine Yonoa.

Chapter Text

The manipulator sighs deeply in my mind. (Sure. Whatever.)

Dokja's neck suddenly twists at an unnatural angle.

Then, before Sooyoung and I can react, his corpse flies off like a bullet down the hallway, deeper down into the submarine.

“Wh-what the— after him!” shouts Sooyoung. She makes an attempt at running after the flying corpse, but her injuries have finally caught up with her.

(Easy there.) I catch the woman as she is about to fall flat on her face. (One step at a time.)

"You take it easy-- why couldn't you hang onto Dokja?! Don't you have the reaction time to catch a bullet?" snaps Sooyoung.

(...Only if I know it's coming. Listen, I'm just as angry as you are about this--)

"We're saving him. You're rewinding, right now."

(Huh?) I glance at my discarded corpse on the floor. (I can't rewind time on my own body, how will I--)

Sooyoung reaches for her weapon and points it at her head.

(Woah, woah!) I knock it out of her hand before she can pull the trigger.

I hold the detective in place, preventing her from grabbing at the gun again. She takes a few shaky, deep breaths.

"...Sorry. Not the smartest thing to do, I know... I just..."

(It's alright.) I let the detective free. (I get it.)

The two of us understand the situation. Even if we were to rewind back to after we had beaten him and saved Dokja, there was still no guarantee he would let us go farther into the submarine. He might continue fighting us, out of spite. It's what I would do, at least.

Though we had the upper hand by taking the stone, we'll still need to [convince the manipulator] to let us pass. It's... regrettable, but we should take the opportunity to gain more information while we can.

We make our way down the empty hallway further down into the submarine. Aside from the odd lever or doorway, there is nothing in sight, again as if by design.

The manipulator had set up the empty room at the entrance to prevent me from having a path past him, but why would he need to set up the [rest of the submarine] if he was confident he would win? But more than that...

(Where is everyone? Why did they need all this space if there's not even anyone here?)

"Beats me," says Sooyoung. "Maybe they're just overcompensating for something."

"It's because they were scared of me," says a familiar sounding voice from the room up ahead, though the speech is slow and stilted. Where there once was a playful lilt to each syllable is now completely monotone. "Or perhaps, of us."

Sooyoung's teeth clench as she throws a lever to open the door to the next room. We walk in to cabin 3807 to find the body of Detective Kim Dokja. He's sitting on the floor, back against the wall, clutching the blue meteorite fragment. He looks just as we left him.

"Hello," the manipulator says simply through the corpse's mouth, not bothering to look at us. "I imagine you're here to negotiate."

Sitting beside Kim Dokja are Shin Yoosung and Yoo Mia.

"What do you mean, 'negotiate?'" scoffs Han Sooyoung. "We've won. Let the girls go free."

"Right. You have secured a [four minute] segment of time where you have the stone." The manipulator continues to stare lifelessly at the wall. "As far as I'm concerned, you've gone from a sure loss to stalemate. For that, I commend you. But stalemate is far from victory."

(Listen, we know you want [my corpse] and the stone. We're willing to rewind time to before we took the stone if you're willing to cooperate.)

No response.

I press harder. (You already know that the three of us can defeat you. You have no leverage here.)

"Do I?" The man gestures towards the girls, who have been suspiciously quiet this entire time. Yoosung flinches at the movement.

Around the girls' necks are two metal collars, each fitted with a bright LED.

"Remote C4," says the manipulator. "If any of the higher ups [sense a ghost] in the main cabin, they'll detonate the collars."

“You would stoop so low as to rig bombs on children?!” spits Sooyoung.

“Wasn’t me.” The manipulator shrugs. I catch a glimpse of emotion behind his empty eyes. “But it’s another thing in your way.”

A deep, metallic rumble cuts through our conversation, the floor shaking beneath us. There are no windows for us to see outside the walls, but [we feel ourselves start to sink]. We don’t have time to worry about that right now, however.

(They… did it to threaten you. To [control you].)

“Insurance, they called it. Given my powers, I suppose it’s fair.”

(…Why are you doing this? If you care about the girls, why would you risk bringing them here?)

“We needed the minister’s daughter to threaten him. The… other girl just happened…” The manipulator looks around, wary of any unseen onlookers. He drops his head, seemingly giving up. “Oh, whatever. I’m guessing the cat’s already out of the bag with that big speech I made earlier. I wanted to bring my sister with me.”

This all but confirms our suspicions. Somehow, the manipulator is another Yoo Joonghyuk, or at least thinks himself one. If that’s true…

(Still, I just don’t get your scheme. Who are you, actually? Why do you want to be me so bad? Why can’t you just let me and Mia live [in peace]?)

“…Live in ‘peace?’” The manipulator clenches Dokja’s fists. “You were living in [fear]. How long did you think you were going to live off of swindling money off of children? How long do you think you could’ve kept Mia in school by hopping from district to district on fake papers?”

(You… you were watching us?)

“You never took any risks, never even tried to rise above your station,” says the manipulator. “I was always watching, wondering why it was you who got to live. And I couldn’t bear to watch any longer.”

(Well… we’re fighting now. We’re going to take down the—)

“Right. At the eleventh hour, now you’ve decided to stand up and fight. ” The manipulator slams his hand onto the ground. “Where was this gusto a year ago? Two years ago? A decade ago?”

(You— If you were watching, where were you then? Why not use your powers to help us instead of… whatever all this has been?)

“You think my powers were always this strong? The tiny fragment which gave us our powers doesn’t contain even a fraction of a fraction the amount of radiation of the [meteorite it came from]. The phantoms born from it start out incredibly weak. For years, I could barely move a pencil, let alone a person.”

I recall my awakening as a ghost, Biyoo’s surprise at my strength. (If that’s true, then why…)

“Why are your powers so strong, so soon?” The manipulator laughs. “Why do you think? It’s because of me. Our souls were [once one and the same], so you bummed off of the experience I had as a phantom. I swear… everything has been handed to you and you don’t even know it.

(What do you mean ‘one and the same’? You still haven’t outright answered my question. Who are you, actually?)

“I am Yoo Joonghyuk,” says the corpse of Kim Dokja, looking me dead in the eyes, “and you are but a fragment of my soul.”

None of this makes sense. I know I’m Yoo Joonghyuk— I’ve spent half of tonight confirming that very fact.

(Perhaps it’d be easier to just show you) the manipulator’s voice sounds in my mind. (To show [everyone] here what really happened a decade ago. Everyone here has been through the [rewinding of time], correct? Everyone can hear me?)

Sooyoung, Yoosung, and Mia nod their heads. I ponder the manipulator's words again for a second. I’ve rewound time on Sooyoung and Yoosung tonight… but I haven’t directly rewound time on Mia. So how…?

“…The case ten years ago. A fifteen year old boy was able to incapacitate a police officer with his weapon drawn, rushing at him from a distance of over 30 meters. Big for his age or not, that's... a miracle.” Sooyoung says. “That’s when you became a ghost, right? You rewound time on [Mia].”

The corpse of Kim Dokja smiles. It’s not the same sneer the phantom had plastered onto my face so many times. It’s closer to the grin the detective usually puts on, a hint of sadness propping up the corners of his lips.

The phantom projects his thoughts into our mind, rather than words, a series of images and moments.

Sneaking out of the back door of my parent’s house, Mia on my back, taking a “shortcut” through an abandoned junkyard, coming face to face with a suspiciously aggressive police officer… much of it is similar to my own memories. There was, however, one difference.

That fateful night Mia and I had run away…

[Yoo Joonghyuk died.]

In that fight or flight moment, staring down the barrel of the gun, Yoo Joonghyuk chose to fight. He barreled headlong at the police officer, opting to run through him rather than turn his back to the gun and have the bullets hit Mia first.

The first shot grazed his thigh. His legs burned, but he kept running.

The second shot hit his abdomen. He felt his breath hitch as blood pooled in his lungs, but he kept running.

The third shot missed its mark. Joonghyuk jerked to the side, the gunshot ringing in his ears but his body left unscathed.

The fourth shot hit his shoulder. He buckled to the side as he lost grip on the girl on his back. It was then that he realized that the third shot had indded [found a target]. Yoo Joonghyuk stopped running, because he didn’t have a reason to anymore.

His momentum carried him forward, collapsing onto the officer, who stood coldly at the sight of the victim’s touch. He pushed the boy off of him and prepared his weapon for a final shot.

Joonghyuk saw something in the man’s hand as he fell towards the ground, something he deemed so important as to shoot two children at just the chance information about it would leak.

[The meteorite fragment.]

Joonghyuk was dead before he hit the ground.

When he awoke, he knew nothing about ghost tricks, about his powers, weak as they were. But his regret and his desire to save Yoo Mia had allowed him to rewind time.

For thousands, maybe tens of thousands of attempts— if you could call them that — Yoo Joonghyuk could only watch as he and his sister died over and over again, yet he could not bring himself to move on from this one moment.

The strain of rewinding weighed heavily on his soul, his only comfort was seeing Mia’s soul flickering softly beside him.

Eventually, he learned he could affect the world in minute ways, push things ever so slightly. His powers were nascent, a fraction of a fraction of what I could do when I first awoke. But Joonghyuk knew what this meant: he might be able to change fate, to save his sister. Perhaps this way, he could pass on.

The time nurtured his newfound powers. As he focused more on his powerlessness to save the world, his abilities of [manipulation] grew. As he focused more on [changing fate], he found [rewinding] to be as easy as breathing.

Finally, after thousands and thousands of attempts, Joonghyuk was able to push that [third bullet] off course, embedding itself harmlessly into the ground.

A sense of elation washed over the phantom as Mia’s soul returned to her body.

But then, he saw his own body bleed out, while Mia, smart girl that she was, played dead on the damp, cement floor of the junkyard. Finally, after the police officer was well out of sight, she crawled over to her brother and attempted to shake him awake.

That triumphant feeling was soon replaced a sickly sense of shame. Was this really the [ending] he wanted? To let his sister fend for herself, while his pursuer got away scot-free?

If he could stop one bullet, why not two? Why not three, or four?

Why couldn’t he save his own life?

He wasn’t satisfied. He still wanted to [change fate]. He rewound time again, tearing Mia’s soul from her body. She found her place by Yoo Joonghyuk’s side once more.

With each attempt, the shame that drove him became frustration, which soon became an obsession, a morbid curiosity with just how far his powers could go.

A couple thousand more attempts passed.

A teenager stood over the body of a police officer, having beaten him into the ground, fueled only by adrenaline and sheer force of will.

Mia’s soul returned to her body, as it had before, though a little more fragile. Yoo Joonghyuk relaxed, ready to return to his body.

…Yet as the body of the Yoo Joonghyuk in the world of the living comforted his sister on his back and dashed off into the night, moving forward to a new future, he found his soul to be quite still.

‘You cannot save your own life with ghost tricks,’ Biyoo had told me. And the lamp was right.

That fateful night, Yoo Joonghyuk and Yoo Mia had survived their encounter with the police officer.

But Yoo Joonghyuk, the [manipulator], had not.

(…I was alone, then,) says the manipulator. (I followed the police officer, followed you and Mia for a bit, but I just couldn’t bear to see the life I’d lost. I wandered around aimlessly.)

(I… I don’t know what to…) I stumble over my words.

(What to say? What to do?) The manipulator scoffs. (I think you know very well what you could do to make it up to me. Give up. Rewind and let me have my body. I’ll netogiate a way to let the minister’s daughter free, then take Mia with me and live with her in a new country. They’ve promised us new identities, citizenship, passports, a small property of our own… We’ll even be paid a hefty monthly stipend in return for my… services.)

(Detective.) The manipulator turns to face Sooyoung. Dokja’s face beams up at her with a smile more genuine than she'd ever seen on her childhood friend's face. (You get it, right? This is a win-win. I can tell you’re not the type to run in guns blazing into a situation like this. I’m offering you a peaceful solution with no downsides to yourself.)

”…He’s… he’s not wrong, Joonghyuk,” admits Sooyoung, averting her gaze. “All we came here for was to ensure the safety of the girls, right? But I can’t ask you to…”

(You’re right, Sooyoung,) I sigh. (We came here to ensure Mia and Yoosung’s safety. But…)

(But what?) The manipulator looks up at me, almost hopefully.

(I can’t accept this method.)

The manipulator’s face morphs back into a scowl. (What do you mean by that?)

(You call me a coward, yet you’re kowtowing to these men… selling these unearthly powers to claw back a sham of normalcy. Sooyoung is right. If you’re really planning to give them the stone, they’ll replace you without a second thought,) I say. (And then, who knows what they’ll do next, with those powers. Is this really the [ending] you want?)

(God, how self-centered can you be? You had a decade to fight against the police that threatened you, to bring Mia to a better life, and you wasted it away playing video games. You don’t get to turn around as soon as I finally have a new life in my grasp and opine that my “methods are cowardly.”) The manipulator floats to his feet. (How can you see how much I’ve suffered, how much you’ve squandered, and not realize that [you do not deserve to be Yoo Joonghyuk]?)

I have nothing to say to that. Sooyoung has nothing to say to that. What could we say, in the face of all that malice and rage?

(I think I’ve suffered quite enough. I [deserve] to have my life back.) The manipulator straightens out Dokja’s tattered coat and leans against the wall. (I’ve only shown you a fraction of that eternal hell. No one has suffered more than me. Nobody knows what I went through.)

It’s at that point, one of the two girls, the entire reason we were here in the first place, stands slowly to her feet.

“I know, Oppa” says Mia, in a small voice. ”I was there.”

“Wait, we can talk?” Yoosung whispers, hands instinctively moving to her blinking collar. “With these things over our necks, I kinda just assumed…”

Sooyoung reaches over and pats Yoosung’s head, comforting the brown-haired girl but also trying to stop her from interrupting the sibling-bonding moment that might actually get us out of this mess.

(Mia,) the manipulator says in a restrained tone. (…I understand you’re trying to comfort your brother, but it’s really not…)

“I remember the way you fought for me, for both of us, Oppa,” Mia clasps her hands together.

The manipulator is silent, for a while. (No. You don’t mean that. You weren’t…)

“In my nightmares,” Mia interrupts. “You would speak to me. About what ‘attempt’ we were on, to keep yourself sane.”

(...)

"You saved me for the first time in attempt 7942. I remember the relieved look on your face as I re-entered my body."

(That wasn't...)

Mia's speaks louder, gaining confidence with each word. Her eyes are closed tight as she tries to picture every detail of that endless night in her mind.

"In attempt 9158, you just barely were able to move the first bullet off course. I think it was then that you realized how many more rewinds you were going to have to do. How much strain you-- no, we would have to go through."

(If I'd known, I would've...)

"In attempt 21763, you started letting us die, over and over again in frustration--"

(Enough,) the manipulator's voice blares in our mind, shaking the entire room. (Please, just... enough.)

A beat passes.

(Did you... did it hurt you?)

"...A little." Mia had a way with minimizing herself. She never asked for anything, even something as simple as a glass of water when she was sick, unless she really needed it. "Even now, it's so easy to imagine the bullet hitting me, at every possible time, at every possible angle."

(Why didn't you say anything? Why did you leave me all by myself?)

"...Because you would've stopped. I wanted you to live too, Oppa."

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the dull hum of the submarine's electronics.

The manipulator puts his head in his hands. (What have I done...)

“Look, we can still… we can still get out of this," Sooyoung cuts in, sensing a moment to negotiate. "You still have the stone, so we have leverage to get them to resurface and let us free. We can figure out what to do after that.”

The body of Dokja is stone-still against the wall.

“You… you have the stone, right?”

The manipulator finally speaks. (…They have bombs around my sister’s neck. You think they wouldn’t force me to give them the stone once they knew I wasn’t using it to maintain my body?)

We are interrupted by static over the intercom.

“Hello, Plotter, or should I say, Mr. Yoo Joonghyuk,“ A voice blares. “If you’re listening to this, you should know we’ve ejected cabins 3707, 3807, and 3907 into the water, and we are long gone. Hopefully you enjoy our… parting gift.”

Suddenly, the submarine around us shakes violently as we hear a loud boom. The cabin begins to take on water.

“This is a pre-recorded message— I assure you, no one will be able to reach you or find you ever again— so as a last courtesy, I’ll do my best to preemptively answer some of your most burning question.”

(Why… why did they—)

“Why have I decided to go back on our agreement? With just the stone and what you’ve told us about phantoms, it would seem to require us years upon years for us to harness the stone’s power. So why waste the time-investment you’d put in to train those powers, in exchange for just paying for a small-household’s expenses and forging a couple documents?

“Well, that’s obvious. You are [not the strongest phantom], and we have found a [larger source of the meteorite fragment]. We’ve managed to locate the original landing point of the meteorite, and we’re in contact with a manipulator equally as strong if not stronger as you, a man named [Sissel].

“As a result, your services will no longer be required. We can’t have a monster like you running amok though, so… terribly sorry about that. Well, I imagine an eternity at the bottom of the ocean isn’t too different from your usual day to day. Who knows, maybe the boredom will let you finally pass on.“

As water pools around our ankles, a sharp *thud* shakes through the cabin, letting us know that we had reached the cold, rocky bottom of the seafloor.

Chapter Text

12:00 AM

Bottom of the ocean

As water pools around our ankles, a sharp thud shakes through the cabin, letting us know that we had reached the cold, rocky bottom of the seafloor.

This was about as conclusive of a "bad end" as we could get. Fighting, at this point, is meaningless. That's not what anyone is particularly shaken up about that part though-- we do have the power to [go back], after all.

What's up in the air is what other pathways are open to us.

(You're saying that all those rewinds, all that suffering I went through... it only caused more pain for those I cared about?) The manipulator laments. (Then, [what was all this for]?)

"Listen," says Sooyoung. "I know this is a lot to take in, but you know what this means, right? These people were never intending to let you and Mia go."

(No. This... this was just a momentary mistake,) says the manipulator. (If I withhold the stone from them at the correct timing, they'll have no choice but to--)

"Fine, fine, go ahead," says Sooyoung, "you've already traumatized Mia enough by making her get shot thousands of times. What's a little head explosion on top of it all?"

Mia visibly flinches at that.

(Shut up. I know they're bluffing. Mia is the only leverage they have against me, they wouldn't waste her on something so trivial.)

"Are you so dumb that you don't see what they'd do in that case? There are two girls here after all. They'll just blow the minister's daughter up instead." Sooyoung tussles Yoosung's hair, who suddenly looks a lot less comforted by the detective patting her head.

I cut in. (Sooyoung, I know you're playing hardball, but I think you're scaring the girls...)

(You shut it, fragment. As soon as we rewind, our fight begins again,) the manipulator says.

(...I don't get it,) I reply. (You keep talking about [when "we" rewind], telling [me to rewind]. Even during our fight, you weren't saying that you would rewind, but rather commanding me to. What's stopping you from rewinding on Dokja's body right now?)

"...That's true," says Sooyoung. "We have the leverage, having posession of the [stone] most recently, but there's really no reason for you not to rewind right now. Unless..."

(...) The manipulator doesn't reply.

"You [can't rewind], can you?"

(...I swore not to, not since that fateful night.)

"Then, that's all the more reason you should cooperate with us, right?" says Sooyoung, exasperated. "You literally have no other options here! If we don't work together, you're going to be stuck here at the bottom of the ocean, just like us."

(I'm well aware.)

"Then why...?"

(What will be the result if we cooperate? Even if we get off of this submarine, heck, even if we restart this entire night, I still won't get my life back. As far as I'm concerned, it would be no different from sitting at the bottom of the ocean,) replies the manipulator.

"What, are you asking us to rewind time to [10 years ago] and save you then? You have 4 minutes. Take it or leave it."

(I'll leave it, then. You will suffer with me for eternity.)

We are at a standstill. Sooyoung and I rack our brains for any possible solution. Yoosung and Mia hug, doing their best to accept their fate. But all three of the living people in the submarine are visibly shuddering from the cold. The water level has risen to the girls' waists.

I think back to all of the conversations the detectives and I have had about ghost tricks, any loopholes or strategies we could use to get our way out of this mess.

Suddenly, it hits me.

(...Fine, then, manipulator,) I begin. (There just might be a way for us to rewind even further.)

(There have been instances where I've been able to rewind [further than four minutes] back in time. Sooyoung theorized that this was because I still perceived myself to be in "rewound time.") I reply. (In other words, as long as you still think you're in the process of [saving someone], that you have not truly [changed fate], then you are still able to rewind.)

"Ah," says Sooyoung. "So you're saying you could rewind us back to a [previous chapter] in tonight's story? If you, for example, interpret this end result as a failure to change Dokja's ultimate fate from the very beginning, at the junkyard... you could go back!"

(Right.)

A thought lingers in the back of my mind. Would rewinding to the beginning of [tonight] really change anything?

(Ha,) scoffs the manipulator. (By all means, if you think you can do that, go ahead. I will [still go ahead with my plans] to cooperate with the higher ups.)

"You still..."

(It's the only way I can see to get back even a sliver of a normal life,) the manipulator replies coldly. (If you can't offer me anything better, I will never stop fighting for that [ending].)

A chill runs through the room. Save the sloshing of water into the cabin, everyone is still. Truly, it seems that nothing can convince the manipulator to cooperate with us, because he wants nothing but the ending he was fixating on.

Then, the flashlight on Dokja's belt flicks to life.

(Then, perhaps... would 10 years be enough?) A familiar voice asks: Kim Dokja's.

(Dokja! How...?)

(Think again about how I died,) he replies.

When we saw the detective alive last, we had fended off the manipulator after Dokja had stolen the stone. Then, the manipulator had blindsided us and snapped Dokja's neck without warning.

"You died while holding the [meteorite fragment]," says Sooyoung. "Which means..."

(That's right,) says Dokja. (I've become a [phantom].)

"I see, then..." Sooyoung's snatches the flashlight off the manipulator's waist and smacks it with her hand. "Why didn't you say anything until now, idiot?!"

(Ow! Well... I was looking to see if I could make some sort of sneak attack, but it looks like I can barely move anything with my powers.) Dokja says sheepishly.

(Anyway,) Dokja directs his voice to the manipulator. (If the trigger to go back farther in time is feeling as though you had failed to change fate... There's one case that I'm confident a phantom here is unsatisfied with, a case that has left him bitter and vindictive.)

I think back on this long night. As many ups and downs as there have been, I truly believe I've changed the fate of everyone I've rewound time on. (You mean...)

(That's right,) says Dokja. (It's the case we've just heard about, Yoo Joonghyuk, the manipulator, rewinding time on Yoo Mia 10 years ago-- because he doesn't truly believe he changed [his own fate].)

(Ha!) The manipulator scoffs. (Even if I could rewind back then... what difference would it make? I still can't save myself with [ghost tricks].)

(Then perhaps... we just need [another phantom] to go with you instead. If there's anything I've been focusing on tonight, or maybe even my whole life... it's been to [find the perfect ending] to my own rotten story,) says Dokja. (Of all people to become phantoms, weak as I may be, I'm best positioned to be able to rewind time. So once we go back to save Yoo Mia, I'll rewind time on Yoo Joonghyuk's body.)

(So if you're the one doing the rewinding...) I say. (We won't get stuck. Yoo Joonghyuk, all of Yoo Joonghyuk, will [return to life].)

(...I see,) says the manipulator. Though he's continued to possess Dokja's body to prevent me from rewinding time on it, he's left the corpse unmoving since we'd been left at the bottom of the ocean. Despite that, the ghost of a crooked smile appears on the detective's face.

(Haha...) The manipulator chokes out a chuckle. It grows into a deep belly laugh. (Hahaa... HAHHAAHAHA!!)

"That's..." whispers Yoosung to Mia. "Mia, I don't think I ever mentioned it, but your brother is kind of creepy."

(Very well, detective. I'll take you up on your offer. If this works as you all say... I just need to [focus on my desire to change Mia's fate], correct?)

(...That's right,) replies Dokja, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

(Very well,) the manipulator says.

Suddenly, the world appears to come to a standstill. The turbulent water at the girls' stomach line halts in place, the peaks and troughs of the little waves frozen in place like mountain ranges. An eerie chill creeps up my back (or at least, where I think my back would be, if I had a body), tracing up my spine. The feeling suddenly turns smothering, encapsulating my entire being and yanking my sense of proprioception towards the sky.

As I hold back a mental retch from the vertigo, I look around at the others: The girls and Sooyoung are going through the same thing. The manipulator is taking all of back to that night 10 years ago.

Squeaks of rusted metal pop and whine, like gears and teeth and pullies having sat unused for years are finally being put to work once more. It comes like a slow, rolling rumble: the all too familiar sounding of gears.

Hopefully, it's the last time we'll ever have to hear it.

Junkyard

12:00 AM, 10 years prior.

True to the visions that the manipulator had shown us, we find ourselves in the junkyard where this all started. Trash is still trash, no matter the time, but if you looked closely, you'd see out-of-fashion brands and printed copyright years that were a decade out of date.

The crimson fog of the dead lays thick upon the heaps of discarded goods, and I see my companions floating idly in translucent bodies. It feels like a rewind attempt like any other.

(Finally awake, fragment?) My attention is drawn the astral form of a single man-- well, more of a teenager. A young version of myself observes us, chin slightly raised. He's about as tall as I am, but his chest and shoulders aren't quite yet as broad. He appears to still have imagined himself in my signature dark coat, perhaps to continue to project an imposing figure, but he looks more lanky than intimidating.

(...Sorry. I'm ready.) I guess I've always been the one pulling people back in time rather than the other way around-- the sensations are way more intense. I suppose I can't blame the others for having been unconscious when I first tried to wake them up.

((The detective's already rewound time on my body. We're ready to begin.) The manipulator surveys us, then nods his head. (In the absolute worst case, you can jump in to help. I'm not leaving any of this to chance.)

The world of the living comes back into the view. A lone boy, carrying his sister in a bundle of spare towels on his back, stands like a deer in the headlights.

A single man stands in their way, a gruff looking police officer with a five-o-clock shadow and a scowl that seems burned into his cheeks. Dokja's face tightens at the sight of him.

The officer holds something close to his chest (likely the meteorite fragment) as well as something in front of him (definitely a revolver). Just one man, just four shots, just one bullet at a time... among the impossible feats that we'd accomplished today, this seems almost laughably easy to defeat in comparison.

The boy bolts forward at the officer, aiming to run through him rather than away. The officer, hand shaking, squeezes the triggers. I prepare to leap in and knock the bullet off course.

(Allow me,) the manipulator says, his voice gentler than we'd ever heard it.

The manipulator's astral form floats towards the bullet, and with a wave of his hand, it halts all of its moment, falling harmlessly with a clink on the ground. Both the boy and the officer are too hopped up on adrenaline to notice.

(Detective... Dokja, was it?) The manipulator says, peering over his shoulder at the rest of us.

Dokja nods his head slowly.

(Perhaps I owe you and your partner an apology. I've neglected to mention that there was... one other life I'd rewound time on, one other I'd desired to save.)

The boy is picking up speed, gripping Mia's legs tight against his waist to take care she does not fall off. The second bullet is fired.

(I'll admit, it wasn't my initial intention. I'd lost hope in changing my own fate, after all... so I thought the next best thing was to take revenge on the man who'd taken it.)

The manipulator points his finger downward, and the bullet turns sharply downward, almost 90 degrees.

(What I found when I followed him home, however, was... a grisly sight. A domestic fight gone too far. A young boy, shot dead in cold blood.)

The officer sighs, realizing that the one-handed shots were not quite landing, and reaches with his off-hand to the meteorite in his pocket. The manipulator flicks it out of his hands. The blue stone rolls away from the officer, who paws after it momentarily before remembering the fifteen year old boy barreling towards him.

(My powers still weren't quite strong enough, so it'd still taken quite a few rewinds. We had talked, then. Perhaps at that moment I should have realized the pain I had caused Mia.)

The officer wastes no time taking that dreaded third shot that had taken Mia's life, the two handed motion of firing the gun drilled into him since his time in the police academy.

(To be honest, I found you a little annoying at first, asking me so many questions about myself. But more than anything, I was simply happy to have my story be heard.)

Rather than move the bullet, the manipulator knocks the barrel of the weapon slightly off course just as the officer pulls the trigger. The momentum in addition the recoil causes the man's arms to flail wildly. He doubles back and pulls his arms in to regain his balance.

(And... despite how it's been warped and reinterpreted by a certain author here, I'm glad that my my suffering had not been forgotten, that it helped you to continue living)

In his bluster, however, he appears to have forgotten his gun safety rules. His gun is pointed to the sky, the barrel's line of sight to the clouds blocked only by the soft flesh under the man's chin, and a couple inches of grey matter.

(What I resent, however, was tainting that memory of myself with my vindication. Those ugly, twisted feelings of despair allowed me to use your hands to do what I was too weak to do.)

The manipulator finally takes the moment to possess the officer himself, wrenching control of his body away from the man. His muscles lock up, and a look of panic takes over his face. His facial expressions lock into place, his breath quickens.

(Whether that was your wish or not... it's not my place to say. What I will say now, however...)

The veins on the officer's arms pop as he strains against this sudden bout of waking sleep paralysis. But it had taken the strength of two detectives and one other phantom to fight against the manipulator's powers. There was no way a single man could resist.

The manipulator coaxes the officer's fingers to squeeze, little by little, until the hammer of revolver slams forward into the bullet casing.

(...is that... I was happy to have been remembered at least, in some way, as the Phantom Detective.)

The officer slumps over, dead.

The boy's footsteps slow to a halt, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He had no idea why the officer had just done what he had done, but the boy was in no position to consider it. He readjusts Mia on his back, gives her a pat on the head, and dashes off into the night.

(So long, Kim Dokja. I'll remember you.)

The manipulator turns to face us completely, his back to the grim sight in the world of the living. With a tight smirk, he waves his hand as his soul spirals off towards the little pair of fugitives, finally rejoined.

The crimson fog of the world of the dead begins to dissipate. We all feel a distinct pull on our astral forms, an attracting force coaxing our souls back to the world of the living, where we belong.

It appears, however, to be quite a bit weaker than that of the manipulator's, giving us a bit of time to bask in the end of this long night.

(So... that's it? We did it?) says Sooyoung.

(Seems so,) I say, heaving a sigh. Looks like I didn't need to do much of anything. (Girls, are you ok?)

(I imagine I'll be a little scarred for life, seeing all this gore,) says Yoosung. (Especially at my age of... wait, if we're 10 years in the past, are Mia and I going to be 3 years old again now? Am I going to be a scarred three year old?)

(That's... a good question,) I reply.

(You'll make your way through it, Yoosung,) says Mia. (I did, for the most part, and you're stronger than me.)

(We'll get through it together.) Yoosung turns to face Mia. (I'll come find you!)

(You're three years old,) laughs Sooyoung. (How are you going to do that?)

(Ugh...) Yoosung grimaces, acknowledging the point. (Then... at least, in ten years! When we meet again, in school! Don't forget about me, Mia!)

Mia cracks a small smile. (I won't.)

(That goes for you too, Mr. Phantom,) Sooyoung attempts to elbow me, though her arm phases through mine, as expected. She pretends not to notice. (Even if you've technically only known me and Dokja for a night, I think it's safe to say we've packed in more than a lifetime's worth of key character interactions together in the past 12 hours. Don't be a stranger, alright?)

(Hah,) I exhale through my nose. (Of course. Thank you, Dokja, Sooyoung.)

(Oh, so you say Dokja's name first?) Sooyoung says playfully. (You wound me.)

(...Dokja,) I say, to seeming silence. I try again. (Kim Dokja.)

(What? Oh, hi,) replies the detective, finally. (Sorry, zoned out for a bit. I just... can't believe this is all over. That there really is a [perfect ending].)

(Well, it's all thanks to one last dumb sacrifice by you,) Sooyoung smiles at him. (At least this time it wasn't self-inflicted. Now let's go back, shall we?)

(...Yeah, for sure. Just... drinking the moment in, you know?) Kim Dokja tries to scratch his head.

(Dokja,) I say, one more time.

(Yeah?)

(You'll come find me, right?)

He laughs. (If I don't, then Sooyoung is going to drag me over to introduce us.)

(You didn't answer my question.)

(I...) He looks to the side for a moment, before meeting my gaze. (Yeah. Of course I'll come find you.)

I nod slowly, holding the detective's gaze.

(Let's go back now, then!)

We each succumb to the force pulling us back to the world of the living, swirling off in different directions after saying our goodbyes. Sooyoung shoots off in her own direction, Yoosung towards where I recall the minister's office being.

Mia heads towards where the manipulator had gone, and I follow not too far behind.

The night is finally over. We'd fended off multiple assassins, saved Lee Sookyoung from certain execution, defeated supernatural beings, and done the impossible, over and over again. I believe that's enough struggle for one lifetime-- I'm cautiously optimistic that we might be paid back with a bit more luck in this next decade.

With Lee Sookyoung completely unimplicated in her husband's death, maybe she'd even look into my case like she said, and I'd be cleared of any wrongdoing. And hey, I have 10 years worth of future knowledge, future patches for all my favorite games-- I'm going to have a huge headstart on anyone else in the next decade. It'll be fun to tear through everyone.

I wonder what will happen to my personality, now that both the manipulator and I will be rejoined in the same body... will we merge together? Or will we exist in parallel?

But more than anything, I have people I'm forward to meeting, people I can trust with everything. I repeat their names in my mind, worried that they'd slip away from me.

Kim Dokja, Han Sooyoung. Han Sooyoung, Kim Dokja...

The sounds of their names on my tongue pulls my lips into a small smile. I close my eyes as I drift off into the night.

But as I float off towards my new future, I can't help this nagging feeling that we might have left something behind.

Chapter Text

Half stumbling, half sprinting, a man runs for his life. Tossing a smoke grenade behind himself, he nearly runs straight into a wall. After regaining his footing, he continues his escape. He's not three steps away from turning a corner from when...

Bang!

A rifle round slices through the smoke, punching a hole of clear air in the cloud. The man looks back: the barrel of a gaudy, gold-plated assault rifle, flashes through the opening in the smoke, crosshairs clearly settled on his cranium.

Now, Yoo Joonghyuk isn't the kind of guy who can just stand back and watch a man get shot...

But luckily, this is just a video game.

Lee Jihye clicks her mouse, and Kim Namwoon's character ragdolls onto the floor.

< a/n: recommended ghost trick sound track: REINCARNATION >

"There, that's 15-7," Jihye says cheerfully.

Two teenagers, still in uniform, sit across from one another in a dimly lit PC bang, LED lights tinging the room in a moody blue. Jihye, who had been keeping her unblinking face inches away from the screen for the duration of the one versus one match, finally sits back in her chair to rub her eyes. Namwoon, who was already sitting far back in his chair, seems to recess even further back into it.

Watching from behind them sits one (very much alive) Yoo Joonghyuk, who dons a black compression shirt and sweat pants. His signature black trench coat hangs on the back of his chair rather than the man's torso, the biting February chill having been squarely defeated by 10 powered-on gaming PCs in a cramped room.

"Not a bad shot, Jihye," Joonghyuk hums. "Your movement's improved a lot too."

"I've been practicing the drills you showed me," the girl says cheerfully, almost instinctually bowing her head. “Namwoon hasn't beaten me for weeks!”

"God, you're still so dumb, just sitting out in the open! The only difference is that now you shoot me in the head!" whines Kim Namwoon, who throws his headset onto the keyboard in front of him. "Why not use some strategy for once?"

"If your idea of 'strategy' is sitting in corners with a shotgun, then I think I'll probably improve faster if I do things my way." Lee Jihye rolls her eyes.

"Jihye, he's right," says Joonghyuk. "You'll need to take every little advantage you can get over stronger opponents-- don't look for fair duels, look for unfair ones. Never work harder when you could work smarter. And Namwoon..."

The white-haired teen looks up at his senior expectantly.

"...Well, you could work a little harder."

The boy rolls his head back towards the sky in defeat.

"I could say the same to you," he mutters.

"What did you say to Master?!" shouts Jihye. "Show some respect!"

The two teenagers continue to bicker. Yoo Joonghyuk sits deeper into his chair, resting his cheek against his fist atop the armrest.

When the two kids first stumbled into this PC Bang, they were starstruck by Joonghyuk, the esports pro who'd shot onto the scene at just 16 years old. Without a penny to his name, he chased his dreams while supporting his family. That's not to say he didn't have any advantages going for him. He was fostered by a former pro, after all.

Jihye was too shy to say a word, and Namwoon was doing his best impression of a new military recruit. Joonghyuk was happy to see his two proteges opening up more.

The sound of stomping feet coming closer and closer snaps Joonghyuk out of his reminiscing. He moves his arm to get up, but it's too late. His gaming chair is whirled around from underneath him, and he finds himself staring up at one Namgung Minyoung, former Spacecraft II pro, owner of the PC Bang they're in, and Joonghyuk's legal guardian.

"Joonghyuk!" she says. "Why are you here? You already failed the tryout?"

Joonghyuk was a large man himself, but Namgung Minyoung had a few inches on him even when they stood back to back. So looking up at the woman while he was sitting down made Joonghyuk feel like he was a child again.

"Do I need to report everything to you? I'm just back for the day. We have a break until Monday."

"Well maybe you should be practicing then! Do you want another team to drop you?"

"Guh..."

Despite Joonghyuk's meteoric rise through professional esports, he'd garnered something of a "bad boy" reputation among the major teams. He had a bit of a temper and a huge chip on his shoulder, which led to no small number of dramatic altercations and viral clips. But somehow, Joonghyuk would manage to hop from game to game, immediately picking up and dominating new titles before quickly moving onto the next.

His ability to adapt was astounding, and on day one he'd be playing completely new games like [he'd been playing them for 10 years].

But lately, the genius had hit a bit of a dry patch.

"I saw your last few matches-- you've been coasting on talent too long." Namgung Minyoung grips the back of Joonghyuk's chair hard, the foam stretching like a water balloon in her fist. "You need to drill your basics again, Joonghyuk. From the beginning."

"Hey, they weren't that bad--"

"Three kills across three games, Joonghyuk. You're supposed to be their ace!"

"I... see your point." Joonghyuk tries to shrink back in his chair. "But really, I was just planning to drop by today. I came home because I had other plans-- you're going too, right?"

"Oh, it's... Hah." The woman eyes the man warily, keeping one hand on the chair as she checks her phone. "You're right, it's today. I completely forgot."

She lets go of the chair and Joonghyuk scrambles to his feet, putting on his coat.

"Heh, not so tough when mom's around, huh?" snickers Kim Namwoon, to which Lee Jihye smacks him in the back of the head.

"Do you need a ride then?" Namgung Minyoung pats down Joonghyuk's sleeves, clearing off residual dust. "Ai, our part-timers need to do a better job of wiping down the chairs."

She eyes the two teenagers, who instinctually straighten their backs and get back to work.

The entrance bell chimes as someone familiar walks in.

"I've got him," says one (very much not in law enforcement) Han Sooyoung, twirling a pair of expensive looking car keys. She's wearing the same old white trench coat, though layered with a plain purple hoodie rather than a police uniform.

"Ah, Sooyoung-ah! Thank you for always taking care of this stupid boy." Namgung Minyoung gives Joonghyuk what she thinks is a light shove, which sends the man sprawling forward. "Go on then, Joonghyuk. I'll see you both tonight."

Joonghyuk and Sooyoung walk outside and over to a striking red sports car.

"...How did you afford this?" asks Joonghyuk.

"I got a hefty advance for my latest novel." Sooyoung smiles. "So I got it lease to own."

"That... doesn't sound very financially sound."

"Hey, it's either this or sitting on the money," the woman shrugs as she steps into the driver's seat. "I don't want to laze around, I want to fight until I die. The struggle keeps me honest."

Perhaps that sounds a little melodramatic for someone who spends 99% of their time in front of a screen, but Sooyoung truly wrote like she was fighting for her life. She'd been one of the most prolific webnovel authors of all time, churning out multiple hundreds of thousands of words of fiction per year. She'd recently broken into traditional publishing as well.

Joonghyuk was hoping for a bit of idle chatter as Sooyoung tested out her new car. But instead, Sooyoung lands the two at their apartment in 20 minutes flat for what Google Maps deems a 40 minute drive.

Joonghyuk shakily opens the sleek door of the car, almost stumbling onto the hard ground of their parking garage. "You think... you could've driven a little slower?"

"It's your fault for being late," Sooyoung slams the driver's side door and opens up the trunk..

"Come on, they always keep him late at the office." Joonghyuk walks after her. "We've got time."

"They better not keep him late today," growls Sooyoung. "Or I'll drag him back here myself. Here, take this."

She heaves a 3 pound bag of all-purpose flour from the trunk and throws it at Joonghyuk, which is soon followed by a couple bags of sugar and a carton of milk. Sooyoung herself carries only a carton of eggs as she walks towards the elevator up to their apartment..

"Struggle keeps you honest, huh?" Joonghyuk mutters as he follows the woman.

Kim Dokja (also very much not in law enforcement) sighs as he scrolls idly through his phone. His evening commute is always the worst-- Usually, he'll have already read through all the webnovels chapters for series that released in the mornings, yet it'd a bit too early for those with nightly releases to have published new chapters.

This in conjunction with learning that he was not, in fact, going to be getting a full time extension to his contract position as a QA engineer (on today, of all days) was putting quite the damper on his mood.

Giving up on digital media, Dokja produces a hardcover volume from his messenger bag. The cover sleeve is a deep crimson. The main subject is a man in a black trench coat with his face planted firmly into the ground and rear end sticking into the air. The title reads: "Three Ways the Dead Can Save The Living."

Dokja smiles as he leafs through the well-worn pages. He glances at the inside of the front cover, where a signature and loving personal note has been scrawled in sharpie. His gaze lingers on the words for a moment before he flips to a random spot in the middle of the book and reads until his stop is called.

He strolls from the train station to a tall, sleek apartment building. He'd never thought he'd be able to afford living in an area like this, but he was fortunate enough to have a few well-off roommates. Fumbling around in his bag, he realizes that he's forgotten his key.

With a yawn, he punches the button for his room in the call box of the apartment.

"Hey, it's me, could you let me in?" he calls out into the receiver.

After a few seconds of pause, there's an audible click as the door to the apartment building unlocks. Dokja makes his way to the elevator and over to his room.

As he walks up to the door, he can hear hushed whispers and hissing, as well as the clattering of of one the few pots that they own. He prepares for the worst-- maybe a feral animal had broken in, or there was a robber in the apartment-- and takes a deep breath before rapping his knuckles on the door.

Suddenly, the whispers disappear.

There's a tense few moments of silence as Dokja waits to be let into the place where he lives and pays rent (at least a small portion of it).

"...It's unlocked," a gruff but familiar voice calls from the inside. Hearing that, at least, puts Dokja a bit at ease.

Dokja twists the door knob and walks inside. He's greeted by utter darkness, when...

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIM DOKJA!!!" A chorus of cheerful voices shout as the lights flick to life, revealing friends, loved ones, and a truly massive single layer cake spread out on a folding table in the center of their living room.

Dokja, for his part, was doing his best to not look like a spider on the wall, having been scared silly by the sudden noise. Chuckling, he walks inside and closes the door behind him.

After the initial cheers and a bit of mingling, everyone lines up to grab a slice of cake.

You might expect our birthday boy Kim Dokja here to get the first slice. But, as the sack of skin and bones he is, he would only ever cut himself a little sliver of the gigantic cake his partners had so lovingly baked for him. It's all he would ever willingly accept.

To get around this, Sooyoung and Joonghyuk had a plan: put Dokja on cake distribution duty, and make him eat whatever was leftover.

Obviously, the children get to go first. Yoo Mia steps up to the table, holding out a paper plate expectantly. She's not shy at all about taking the first slice of cake, having lived in the same apartment as our trio for the past five or so years as well.

Dokja makes the first incision on the cake, then traces a hefty arc around the circle with the base of his knife. "Is here good for you, Mia?"

"...Maybe like, one fourth of that, Ahjussi."

"...Right, of course."

Behind Mia stands a somewhat familiar brown-haired girl of the same age.

Kim Dokja had only ever met her in passing, when Yoo Mia brings the girl over for a playdate— though they’re just about getting to the age where they find that term childish— yet inexplicably, the young girl, Shin Yoosung, seems to adore the man. He tries his best to maintain that high image she has of him, but he’s never quite sure how good of a job he’s doing.

He tries to offer the girl a similarly large slice, but like her friend, Yoosung negotiates down to something reasonable.

"You need to eat more, Ahjussi." She gives him an innocent smile as she leaves him to his gigantic sugar disc.

Up next, the... elderly? Dokja isn't sure if he's quite ready to start using that term for Lee Sookyoung. There had always been a certain tension between mother and son, but a lot was smoothed out with time. Especially after moving out of the house and finding some time to process alone, their relationship and settled comfortably.

"Mother, I heard you've been having a little trouble with your health recently... you need to eat more!" Dokja tries to cut his mother a big slice.

"Dokja-yah, you know my stomach isn't good for these kinds of treats. Joonghyuk made sure to make some easy-to-digest side dishes for me, so you don't have to worry." She gives a light chuckle. "And don't think you can get out of eating more yourself."

Dokja grits his teeth as he gives his mother a polite smile. "...Of course."

The second "elderly" was Shin Yoosung's father, Bihyung. If Kim Dokja barely ever saw Yoosung, he barely recognized the older man's face. The most interaction they'd had was a wave behind a car window as Kim Dokja saw the girl off.

"Thank you for always taking care of Yoosung." The man steps forward to accept some cake. "That girl speaks dotingly of you whenever she comes home, you know."

"Ah, is that so?" Kim Dokja scratches his head, unsure how to act around the man. "I'm flattered."

Dokja decides not to try and skirt his responsibilities and goes to cut the man a reasonable slice.

"You know, you can give me a little more." Bihyung pats his stomach. "I'm good for it, and it looks like you might need the help."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly..." The daunting figure of the cake looms in Dokja's periphery. "You know what, I'll take you up on that."

"Thank you, Dokja." The man's arms falter a little bit as a hefty slice of cake lands on his plate. "For everything."

Dokja is hopeful that Namgung Minyoung will take a similarly large slice, but the woman forgoes the cake entirely with some excuse about having digestion problems lately.

The birthday boy sighs as he looks down at the remaining three quarters of cake.

Up next are Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon, a couple of police academy dropouts that were now helping out at a local bar. Apparently, they'd been ready to join the police force within the year, but a chance encounter with Lee Sookyoung's memoir had made the pair reconsider.

One night while he was out with Sooyoung and Joonghyuk, Dokja had noticed the volume sitting behind the counter. Uncharacteristically of the introverted man, he'd struck up a conversation, and somehow, they'd really hit it off.

"Hyunsung-ssi, Heewon-ssi! I'm glad you could make it," says Dokja. "You two always work so hard, make sure to take a big slice."

"Oh, we couldn't possibly..." says Hyunsung.

"I insist," says Dokja.

"Well if you say so-- oof!"

Heewon, whom Sooyoung had locked eyes with to non-verbally communicate the plan-to-make-Dokja-eat-more, elbows the larger man. "Really, we'll be fine with just a normal portion."

Dokja grumbles under his breath as he cuts them their cake.

"Ah, that's right! Dokja-ssi, Heewon was just telling me that Uriel was a huge fan of Joonghyuk-ssi and was wondering-- oof!"

Heewon gives the larger man another elbow and quickly pulls him to a couch to eat. "Thanks Dokja-ssi. Happy birthday, again!"

Up next is Yoo Sangah, one of Dokja's coworkers. Apparently, she'd also considered joining the police force at a time, but was similarly dissuaded by Lee Sookyoung's memoir.

"Sangah-ssi?" Dokja says, a bit surprised. "How did you get off work so quickly?"

"Oh, I pulled some strings so I could help out with some of the preparations today," she replies. "You know, you could've made your escape with me too."

"Wait, so... that fire alarm today...?"

"Hm... I don't know what you're talking about," she says with a wink. "Ah, I'd like about a five-degree slice of cake, if that's alright?"

"Ah... o-of course." Dokja does as the woman asks.

Finally, of course, are Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung, his partners and roommates who organized this little party. But there was still an entire half of cake remaining.

"Ah, Joonghyuk-ah, Sooyoung-ah, you simply must try this cake," Dokja says in his best impression of a doting K-drama lover. "Here, allow me to cut you each a nice, big slice--"

"Dokja, we literally made that cake. We know it's kinda mid," replies Sooyoung.

"I thought we did alright..." mutters Joonghyuk. He'd been working on his cooking ever since they'd moved in together. His dishes were shaping up, but he still had some ways to go.

As Kim Dokja goes to cut a couple normal slices, Sooyoung puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You know…” she says. “It’s been just over 10 years since [that night], and we haven’t talked about since. I just… do you want to talk about it all?”

Where was this from? Dokja thought.

“Oh, uh… like, my dad dying?” says Dokja. “It’s… yeah, it certainly was a shock, and the lost of human life is never something to celebrate… But Sooyoung, you of all people should know that life kind of only went up from there.”

After the untimely death of Dokja's father, Lee Sookyoung was able to reflect on her life with a much more carefully written and focused work on her time as a detective, laying bare how his rising the ranks had led her husband down such a path-- or perhaps, simply allowed him to reveal his true colors.

It was still a scathing and pointed piece at the system of law enforcement, yet it was written in a much more tactful and restrained way, as Sookyoung was no longer trying to garner as much blame as she could to take attention away from her son as a murder suspect. After all, it was plain to see that her husband, suddenly overcome by some emotion-- whether it be guilt, shame, or something else entirely-- had taken his own life that fateful night ten years ago.

The result was a small but significant lapse in the footing that the police institution had in their little corner of the world. Perhaps it wasn't quite "fighting the system" in the dramatic way we had wanted to, but it was still a step forward.

After that, she'd tied up a few loose ends, helped out on some last few cases, including the case of an [abused boy falsely accused of kidnapping his sister], and resigned to a quiet life with her son.

"So yeah, I'm fine," says Dokja. "But... thank you for asking. I really appreciate you guys for always looking out for me. Seriously, the past few years have been... well, they've been like a dream."

Sooyoung gave him a hard look. “…Really? There’s nothing else you want to say?”

“Um... I love you? I love both of you so much?” Dokja says, unsure if he's being tested. "Listen, there's like kids and older adults here and it was already enough of a headache trying to explain us to Mia--"

"Relax, idiot. Save that for tonight." The shorter woman smacks Dokja in the back of the head. "I was just... checking up."

"Yeah, of course. And... thanks again, for putting on the party, for everything." The birthday boy goes back to cutting the cake.

"Oh yeah, and we don't want any cake. You eat the rest of it." Sooyoung begins to walk away, dragging Joonghyuk by the arm. "If you haven't licked the plate clean by the time we check on you again, we'll be considering it a rejection of our love and you'll be sleeping on your own tonight."

Dokja gulps.

"Wait, Dokja," Joonghyuk stands firm, accidentally yanking Sooyoung's arm backwards. "May I cut a slice?"

"I thought you didn't like sweets, Joonghyuk."

"...It's not for me."

Han Sooyoung gives Yoo Joonghyuk an indiscernible look.

"Uh... sure," Dokja hands the knife over to the taller man.

Joonghyuk eyes the remaining cake, which is all but a perfect semicircle. With expert, honed precision, he cuts a thin sliver of cake-- it's barely [1%] of the entire circle.

"There," Joonghyuk delicately pushes the almost translucent slice of cake onto a plate and takes it gingerly in his hand.

"I swear, you guys are just making fun of me..." Dokja mutters.

As Joonghyuk and Sooyoung walk off to mingle or munch on other snacks that have been laid out on the table, Dokja finally begins to sit down and eat the cake.

He spoons off a little section for himself and takes a bite. Sooyoung was right-- to be honest, it really wasn't anything special. Though it may wound Joonghyuk's pride, the simple recipe they had followed was about as good as a pre-made cake mix, and the lack of any special adornments didn't quite make it stand out against something store bought either.

Dokja knew it was his fault-- he was the pickiest eater out of the three, after all, and he was sure that Joonghyuk and Sooyoung just wanted to make something he would eat without forcing himself.

But Dokja couldn't help but feel like there was [something missing] from the cake. Maybe if he had been a bit better about expressing his preferences, leaving a tactful comment about cinnamon or something here or there, his partners might have felt more comfortable to spice things up. But that would require him to shake the delicate balance of this dreamlike reality, to assert himself.

So Dokja ate each bite gladly, knowing that each bit of this gigantic cake was for him. This, to him, was [perfect].

Han Sooyoung slips away from the party into her room. Their apartment had four bedrooms, for four tenants: Mia, Joonghyuk, Dokja, and Sooyoung-- though the latter three often found themselves in a single one.

Sooyoung walks over to her desk, and pulls out a series of notes, a rough outline for a new novel. Always the workaholic, she leafs through the pages, imagining how she'll actually draft the novel itself.

Joonghyuk quietly opens the door and walks into the room, holding the small plate of cake.

"Ah, I really just feel like the ending is a bit unsatisfying," she says aloud. "What do you think, Dokja?"

She's mistaken Joonghyuk for Dokja-- pretty hard to do, given the difference in their stature. Kim Dokja is still in the other room, making his way through a mountain of sugar and cream.

"...I saved this slice for you, Dokja," says Joonghyuk.

His are actions completely unintelligible. Dokja is in the other room, enjoying all the cake he could ever want in the world.

"...Did you think we wouldn't notice?" Sooyoung says to no one in particular.

They've both gone a little mad from the number of people in the apartment. Perhaps a bit of sugar would help-- they should eat a bit of cake.

"Enough of this. We know, Dokja," says Sooyoung, exasperated.

She receives no reply.

"Don't pretend you don't hear us," says Joonghyuk. "You've been watching this whole time, right?"

Finally, I answer. (...How did you know?)

"You said you'd come find me."

You know, I thought I'd be better at this. I thought it would suit me just fine to curl up and watch the strange beautiful patterns of their lives unfold. It was painful at times, sure. And at times I considered just wandering the world aimlessly like Joonghyuk had.

But I was greedy. I'd found myself engrossed in that story I'd seen to the end, and I didn't want to let it go. I couldn't look away-- this was the small affordance I'd allowed myself. Because who was I to be unhappy? Clearly, this was the [perfect ending] I was looking for. Everyone is happy, and everyone is alive, right?

"No, Dokja. Not everyone is here," says Sooyoung. "Because when [Kim Dokja the phantom] rewound time on Yoo Joonghyuk, he inadvertently [saved his own life] by causing the death of his would-be killer. Thus, Kim Dokja lived his life, and Kim Dokja the phantom remained behind."

(...Someone had to remain behind. If you cannot save your own life with ghost tricks, then this is the logical conclusion.)

Joonghyuk grits his teeth. "Why did it have to be you? Why didn't you at least talk to us first?"

(Would you have listened? Would you have thrown away the other half of yourself instead?)

"No."

(Then, how--)

"We'd find a way," says Joonghyuk. "We always did."

"And we will find away," adds Sooyoung.

(...Enough of this. I'm not going to rewind back 10 years. I'm... fully satisfied with how fate has changed.)

"...Aren't you forgetting one more phantom?" says Joonghyuk. "One we met at the [very beginning] tonight."

Sooyoung, still sitting at her desk, reaches across her papers to turn on an inconspicuous [red desk lamp].

(Hi, Ahjussi,) the voice of a young girl comes from the lamp. It's [Biyoo].

Memories suddenly flood our brains, images and experience flood from the spirit of Biyoo-- or rather, judging from these memories... [Shin Yoosung.]

What comes to us is another version of that fateful night's events. One where Yoo Joonghyuk [did not save Kim Dokja at the junkyard]. The manipulator had personally gone to kidnap the minister's daughter, "accidentally" killing her so that they could use the convenient replacement hostage right next to her: Yoo Mia.

But what he didn't realize, was that she had died within range of the [meteorite fragment].

(I've been trying to save you for a long, long time, Ahjussi. But... I couldn't. I had to rely on Joonghyuk to do it for me.) Yoosung says. (But now... I can help you, one last time.)

(No, Yoosung you--) I look around at the resolute faces of those around me.

< a/n: recommended ghost trick sound track: Epilogue ~The End of the ''Night'' >

(Hah.) I sigh. (Really, you guys don't know where to stop, do you?)

"Neither do you," Joonghyuk and Sooyoung say in unison.

(...Fair.) I laugh. (Fine. We'll try it.)

To be honest, I'm... not very hopeful. The rules of ghost tricks are clear-- unless we somehow find a way to confront the god pulling the strings or find some other bizarre loophole, I don't see a single way we can find our way to a happy ending where all of us, truly all of us, get to live. But I trust these people who are willing to risk everything to make it happen.

To change your fate is to struggle, yet to struggle alone is no virtue. Take the hands of others into your own, and both in life and in death: struggle, fight, and try again, no matter how many times it takes.

"Ok then," says Joonghyuk. "How's about one last go around, then?"

"Why are you talking like you're the one rewinding?" Sooyoung laughs.

"Sorry, habit."

(Everyone ready?) says Biyoo, the crimson fog of the world of the dead already seeping through the apartment walls.

Somehow, I think we'll be alright.

One more time, the sounding of gears rings in our ears.