Chapter 21
The Dead Walk (II)
Days bled together, but for Sung Ho, every second crawled.
Xin Min's laughter cut through classrooms and hallways like it had never stopped. The teachers scolded, the students whispered, and life returned to the same suffocating rhythm as before. For everyone else, it was normal. For Sung Ho, it was hell.
He had seen Xin Min's corpse. Not just seen—watched it sink into the river, lifeless, pale, unblinking. The memory gnawed at him every night, dragging him into cold sweats.
Yet here Xin Min was. Alive. Mocking him with every smirk.
His fists clenched under his desk until his nails broke skin. No one noticed the blood. No one noticed him.
At lunch, Maverick leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out, the picture of arrogance. His cronies laughed on cue, mocking a younger student who had spilled soup.
"Pathetic," Maverick drawled, the tone slipping perfectly into Xin Min's old cadence. The boy scrambled away in tears, and the cafeteria erupted into forced laughter.
Everyone accepted it.
Everyone but Sung Ho.
His eyes followed every movement. Too precise. Too cold. This wasn't Xin Min—this thing was wearing him. Pretending. Mocking.
When Maverick's gaze briefly flicked across the room, Sung Ho froze. He felt stripped bare, exposed. And yet, Maverick looked away as though he didn't exist.
That made it worse.
At home, Sung Ho sat awake, trembling. His mother knocked on the door once, asking if he was alright, but he lied.
How could he explain? That the boy who had tormented him daily was now walking around in stolen skin? That he had seen the body, drowned and broken, only for it to stand before him again?
No one would believe him.
The silence drove him mad.
Meanwhile, in Xin Min's gaudy bedroom, Maverick and his companions assessed their progress.
Zaratul, draped on the bed in his borrowed form, smirked. "The mask holds. These creatures are blind enough to fool themselves."
Voldrack remained sharp-eyed. "For now. But the longer we linger, the more cracks will show. Carelessness will draw hunters."
Maverick listened in silence, polishing Xin Min's cheap silver watch as though it were a crown. The vessel's memories whispered at the edge of his mind—names, habits, family. Enough to play the role. Enough to buy time.
But time was fragile.
And then there was the boy.
Always staring. Always trembling.
Maverick's fingers paused on the watch. His reflection stared back, Xin Min's sneer etched across his face.
The boy knew.
Not yet. But soon, he'd break.
The breaking came sooner than Maverick expected.
It was late. The halls of the school were nearly empty, the fading light casting long shadows against the walls. Sung Ho walked slowly, shoulders hunched, footsteps dragging.
Behind him, the sound of shoes scuffed against the floor.
He turned—and there was Xin Min, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, smirk curling his lips. His cronies flanked him, laughing low in their throats.
Something inside Sung Ho snapped.
He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be alive. The world was wrong, twisted.
"You…" Sung Ho's voice cracked, thin and trembling. He pointed, his hand shaking. "You're not him."
The hallway went silent.
Maverick tilted his head, feigning confusion. "What was that?"
"I saw you die!" Sung Ho's voice rose, echoing down the corridor. His eyes were wild now, tears stinging the edges. "You drowned—you were dead! I know what I saw!"
The cronies barked laughter, the cruel echo filling the hallway. "This guy's lost it," one sneered. "Too much manga, maybe."
But Maverick didn't laugh. His smirk lingered, cold and measured. He stepped forward, each footfall deliberate.
Sung Ho stumbled back, hitting the lockers with a metallic clang.
Maverick leaned close, his voice soft enough that only Sung Ho could hear. "Careful what you say. Some truths will bury you faster than lies."
The boy's breath hitched. His knees shook, but he held his ground, whispering through clenched teeth: "You're not him. I don't care what you say—you're not Xin Min."
For the first time, Maverick's smile faltered. Not much, only a fraction, but enough to make Sung Ho's stomach twist with dread.
Then the mask returned. The swagger, the sneer, the easy cruelty.
"Think whatever you want," Maverick said, stepping back. His voice carried, casual and mocking once more. "But no one's going to believe the trembling rat at the back of the class."
The cronies laughed again, the sound bouncing off the walls.
Sung Ho slid down the lockers, gasping for breath, as Maverick walked away without another glance.
But inside, a decision crystallized.
The boy was no longer harmless.
He was a liability.
And liabilities… were erased.