_How… how can this be Hyeon?_
His pale face tilted in disbelief. It couldn't be. How could this decaying thing possibly be Hyeon?
Her sense of reality blurred at the edges as she stared blankly at the corpse. How could this swollen, rotting body be the same person who once gave her flowers?
"No! No way. **No way.**"
It shouldn't be like this. She had spoken to him on the phone. He was supposed to be an amazing agent—brilliant, untouchable. She clung to her doubts like a lifeline, desperate to stay afloat.
But then her thumb brushed against his eyebrow and traced downward.
_Ah._
A flicker of terrible recognition passed through Seoryeong's eyes.
Yes—**there**. The familiar round scar. The slightly asymmetrical nostrils. The faint downward tilt at the corners of his lips. The exact thickness of those lips.
Her hand showed no sign of stopping.
"No! It's still not him! **No way!**"
But she could only shake her head like a broken doll, denying what her fingers already knew.
Desperately, Seoryeong widened her eyes, searching for **anything** different from Hyeon. Her hands moved frantically across the decaying flesh, tracing every gruesome bruise, every discolored patch of skin.
_There must be something different._
_My husband isn't like this—he's not this quiet, not this helpless, not this **dirty**._
But soon her eyes felt like they would burst. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to shed.
No matter how many times she looked, no matter how many times her fingers mapped that ruined face—it was still the face she had memorized hundreds of times.
"**Instructor!**"
In a daze, Seoryeong looked up as if spellbound.
Lee Wooshin stood frozen, neither fully releasing the bag nor gripping it tightly. Even with the zipper open, he clutched it with white-knuckled desperation, veins standing out along his forearms.
The look in his eyes tore at her heart.
His cheeks were bruised and swollen from Chairman Joo's slaps. One lens of his glasses was missing, leaving his naked iris exposed—trembling, raw with despair.
"**Why!** Why did you bring this bag?!"
"…"
"We made a **different deal**. I asked you to bring Hyeon—my **husband**—not... not something like **this**. I never asked for this!"
Her voice grew louder with each word, cracking at the edges.
"This is **wrong**. This isn't what I wanted!"
Seeing his silent, shattered expression, an overwhelming sorrow surged through her chest—uncontrollable, relentless.
She didn't even care if her anger felt misplaced. Not knowing who else to unleash the emotions driving her to madness, she grabbed the man's collar and **shook him violently**.
Even with her weakened strength, Seoryeong managed to push Lee Wooshin back several steps. He staggered.
It was almost comical—an Instructor of his caliber, thrown off balance like that.
"Instructor! You... you brought the **wrong thing**. This is wrong."
Finally, Seoryeong's legs gave out. She collapsed onto the riverbank, her knees sinking into the damp earth.
"**Han Seoryeong!**"
Lee Wooshin dropped to his knees beside her, catching her as she fell. Seoryeong didn't cry—she just kept hitting the bag in front of her with soft, desperate blows. Their pants slowly soaked through with cold river mist.
Then—a rustling sound.
Seoryeong hesitated, then slipped her hand into the bag. Something sharp scratched beneath her fingernail, and she winced. She reached deeper and pulled out a bundle of papers.
One was an unclear death report.
The others…
"—."
It felt like her heart stopped.
The moment her eyes caught the black-and-white photo, the world went **silent**. Then sound slowly began to return—the mournful rustling of reeds in the wind pierced her throbbing eardrums, growing clearer and clearer.
A clumsy man in a tuxedo stood beside a woman in a sleeveless dress. He held flowers shyly, his arms stiff and tense throughout the photo session.
It was a simple wedding photo they had taken at a local studio. The corners were worn and folded from handling.
_Yes. This is my face._
_And this._
Seoryeong couldn't take her eyes off the unfamiliar wedding photo.
Hyeon held her hand tightly. Seoryeong, with tense shoulders, looked like she didn't know what to do—her nervousness forever captured in the frame.
_So this is us._
_We smiled like this._
_But why is this photo with that corpse?_
Seoryeong blinked in confusion.
Suddenly, Wooshin snatched the photo from her hands, examining it with a cold expression. He flipped it over and over, his face twisted with something bitter and unreadable.
But Seoryeong's gaze had already returned to the corpse.
_No. No way._
_This is really impossible._
She pressed her forehead and nose against the bluish, decaying skin, as if wanting to **merge** with it.
A low groan escaped her lips.
"**Ah!**"
_So it really is you._
_This is your face now._
She hugged the decaying body tightly, almost reverently—like an act of worship.
"Hyeon! **Hyeon!**"
For the first time, she saw her husband's face—the face she had longed for, the one she wanted to remember clearly with her own eyes.
That longing, which had been simmering ever since her vision began to fade, now bloomed **instantly** amidst the decaying remains of Hyeon's body.
_If only you had stayed alive._
_I hate you so much._
_I wanted to avenge everything._
_But still—if only you had stayed alive._
Her last stronghold crumbled as searing heat flooded her eyes.
"**Hyeon!**"
_How could you appear like this—so far gone that even I can't catch up to you?_
_I thought you were doing well at the National Intelligence Service._
_Then why... **why** did my husband have to be returned to me in this terrible state?!_
A storm of rage shook her heart, boiling her thoughts to the crown of her head, making her eyes swell almost to bursting.
"**Why!**"
A sense of loss deeper than when Hyeon first disappeared hit her like a tidal wave.
Her breath came in broken sobs.
She would have preferred to be beaten and abandoned a hundred times over rather than experience **this**.
Seoryeong screamed, her voice straining until the veins in her neck stood out like cords about to snap.
"**Aaah!**"
_If you made me like this—where do I have to go now?_
_How am I supposed to live?_
_Am I supposed to survive?_
She buried her head against the corpse's chest, shivering as she sobbed.
But then her vision suddenly went **dark**.
"Don't look. Please... **don't look.**"
Wooshin's hoarse voice broke as he covered Seoryeong's eyes with his hands, pulling her into his embrace.
His large palms pressed against her temples, locking her head firmly against his chest. She couldn't move. Her skull felt nailed in place.
"**Let go of me! Let go!**"
Seoryeong clawed at his hands, furious at being separated from Hyeon.
"**Let go of me! Let go!**"
She could feel the hard line of his jaw pressing against the top of her head as Wooshin bit down even harder, teeth clenched.
But she couldn't break free from that iron grip—like a wild beast being forcibly restrained.
She kicked his thigh. Wooshin didn't budge.
She struck his head and face with her fists. The man remained silent, unmoving.
The fact that Wooshin could endure all of it without a single complaint made Seoryeong hate him even **more**, and she screamed in fury.
"You think you have the **right** to forbid me?! He's my husband! If I don't see him now, **when will I ever?!** This... this is the **first time** I'm seeing him... even if he's dead, I **have to**—I have to see him!"
"Don't look."
"How can I **not**—!"
A metallic taste filled her throat as she screamed.
"He's the one I've been looking for all this time. **He's the one I've been looking for!**"
"…"
"He's **Hyeon**. He's my husband. I **know** him—he's my husband!"
Seoryeong cried and pleaded through her anger, voice cracking.
"That's Hyeon. He's my husband."
With each repetition, Wooshin tightened his grip on Seoryeong's arms as if he could **crush** them.
At the same time, his low, heavy voice rumbled from deep in his chest—like something sinking to the bottom of the river.
"I... I'm sorry. I was **wrong**. I shouldn't have brought him here. I shouldn't have done this."
"**Let go of me!**"
Her desperate struggle sent pebbles scattering noisily across the ground.
"So don't cry. Don't cry as if everything is **over**."
For some reason, his grip felt like that of someone desperate—like **he** was the one who had lost everything: his purpose, the only person he had.
And then Wooshin finally lowered his head onto her shoulder.
The hands that had been so firm suddenly lost their strength.
Seoryeong's wet eyelashes finally detached from the man's palm, and her blurred vision began to recover.
But the reality around them remained unchanged.
A strange white bird was pecking at the riverbank, dipping its beak into the shallow water.
As she gazed at the bird in silence, a large finger suddenly touched her lips, parting them gently.
The bird continued to lower its head, over and over.
"Breathe."
Wooshin murmured the word softly, patting Seoryeong's back while placing his finger between her clenched teeth.
Seoryeong only realized how tightly she had been clenching her jaw when sudden pain shot through her temples.
---
Then—unbidden—fragments of memory surfaced.
> _"If the victim is a woman, I'll undress her carefully and respectfully. If it's a man, I'll just throw him in the water. Let them swell up first, then I'll pick them apart one by one."_
_"What?"_
> _"How would you feel if the face of someone you trusted turned out to be fake? Not just because the techniques exist—but because we've gone beyond the limits of imagination. Oh, recently there's a former CIA disguise expert on YouTube. Jonah Mendez..."_
_"What is this?"_
Suddenly, those random voices echoed in Han Seoryeong's mind—and everything **stopped**.
She no longer felt Lee Wooshin's embrace. It was as if she existed in a windless void.
Her breath hitched.
But her heart pounded **fiercely**.
Her hands clenched with sudden, desperate strength—as if grabbing the only solid ground left in a collapsing world.
Her once-empty eyes now flashed sharp and terrifyingly alert.
"No. No, this **can't be**."
_Such a thing didn't happen in this world._
She shook her head, trying to force herself back to logic, back to sanity.
_No. This is just a ridiculous rumor. Something nonsensical._
But even as she tried to deny it—
"**Damn you, Han Seoryeong!**"
With strength that seemed to come from **nowhere**, she grabbed the bag and **jumped into the river**.