POV: Male Lead (Ahn Min-jae)
Min-jae had always prided himself on being a rational man. He believed in logic, in things that could be explained.
But what was happening to him now… defied everything he understood.
It started small—the cravings, the memories, the strange familiarity with places he had never been.
And then, one night, it happened.
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A Voice in the Dark
Min-jae lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His body was tired, but his mind wouldn't shut off.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The steady rhythm of his heart filled the silence.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. But then—
A voice whispered in his mind.
"Min-jae… can you hear me?"
His eyes flew open. His body stiffened.
It wasn't Ha-neul's voice. It wasn't his own thoughts.
It was someone else.
His fingers dug into the sheets. "Who's there?" he whispered.
No answer.
His pulse pounded. Was he losing his mind?
But then, a memory flashed before his eyes—so vivid, so real, as if he were living it.
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A Memory That Wasn't His
He was standing in a hospital hallway. The walls were a dull white, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic.
A man in a doctor's coat walked past. Min-jae didn't recognize him, yet his heart clenched at the sight.
He turned his head—and suddenly, he saw a little girl sitting on a bench, swinging her legs back and forth.
She was laughing.
Her eyes… they were Ha-neul's eyes.
Her father's memory.
Min-jae gasped, stumbling back. And just like that, the vision was gone.
He was back in his bedroom, his heart hammering against his ribs.
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Losing His Identity
Min-jae rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face.
He gripped the sink, staring at his reflection.
That wasn't my memory.
That wasn't my life.
His breathing grew ragged.
The heart inside him—it wasn't just a part of his body. It was bringing pieces of someone else with it.
He turned the faucet off, but his fingers wouldn't stop trembling.
"Min-jae… please protect her."
The voice whispered again.
He staggered back. "Who are you?" he rasped.
No answer.
Only the sound of his own breathing, the rapid pounding of his heart—
And the unbearable truth settling deep inside him.
The heart wasn't just remembering.
It was speaking.
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