Five years. That was how long it had taken for Hana to vanish and for Shan to take her place. Five years of weaving a new identity in the sheltered folds of a tranquil village nestled among rolling hills. The memories of her past life—of Seoul's neon haze, of clenched fists and muffled screams—had faded, blurred by time and replaced by the slow rhythm of a quiet life. Morning light filtering through gauzy curtains, the scent of crushed herbs in ceramic bowls, and the melodic echo of a child's laughter.
Jain Luan.
The child was everything to Shan. His reason for staying alive, his reason for choosing each day. But Jain was also a mirror. At only four years old, the boy carried the unmistakable traits of Kang Jin-ho—his alpha sire. The strong, defiant jaw, the piercing stare that saw more than any child should. His tilt of the head, even the way he folded his arms when pleased with himself—these were Kang's mannerisms, inherited as if by divine irony.
Shan had never told Jain who his father was. In this village, Jain was loved simply for being himself. But for Shan, every smile, every new milestone, came with a trembling undercurrent of dread. What if someone came? What if they looked into Jain's eyes and saw not the child, but the man who had once claimed Shan's body and fate?
At the clinic—a joint venture run with Davey, Shan's fellow omega and closest friend—the days passed in herbal consultation and shared laughter. Davey had stood by Shan since the beginning, never questioning the past, only supporting the present. He had no alpha's strength to offer protection, but he offered loyalty and calm, the kind that grounded Shan when memories threatened to swallow him.
One afternoon, the clinic was especially quiet. The sun hung low, painting gold streaks on the floorboards. Shan, mortar and pestle in hand, worked in gentle rhythm, while Jain built a tower of wooden blocks beneath the window.
A tug at his apron broke his trance.
"Mom!" Jain beamed, clutching a handful of leaves. "I picked these from near the stream. Are they good?"
Shan smiled, lifting his son into his arms. "They're perfect, sweetheart. Thank you."
Moments like these made him forget. If only for a heartbeat.
That illusion shattered when Davey stormed into the room, face pale, eyes wide.
"Shan!"
The shout startled both of them. Shan's hands trembled as he set down Jain. "What is it? Davey—breathe—what's wrong?"
Davey grasped Shan's shoulders, shaking him with urgency. "Kang Jin-ho. Shan, I just heard—at the clubhouse—they said he's been marked."
The name. It struck like thunder in a clear sky. Shan's stomach clenched.
"What do you mean, marked?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
Davey's words spilled out in a flood. "Someone marked him during a rut. It's causing a scandal. They say Kang's gone mad. He's tearing cities apart. Looking for the one who did it. For his mate. They say he wants to kill them, Shan. And he's coming east."
Silence fell.
And then a memory, not one he'd held, but one that exploded inside his mind like a shattering dam. That night. The scent. The heat. The desperation. Kang's body, caging him in. His own scream—not of surrender, but of rebellion—as he marked Kang, teeth sinking into skin in an act of defiance. A final attempt to claim power in a world that had stripped him of it.
He'd run the next day. Fled with his unborn child.
And now Kang was hunting him.
Shan turned to the window. Jain looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes.
His child.
Kang's child.
"Davey," he whispered, "he doesn't know about Jain."
Davey's face was stricken. "We have to leave."
"Where? Where can I go that he won't find us? He's already scoured the south. We're next."
"But if we stay, Shan—what if he sees Jain? What if he takes him?"
"I won't let him," Shan said, his voice fierce, a mother's voice. "Even if I have to burn this village down, I won't let him take my son."
Davey reached for his hand. "I'll go with you. Wherever you go."
"You've already given me too much, Davey."
"You're my friend. You saved my life once—when I was alone, when no one else helped me. Let me do this for you."
Outside, thunder rumbled across the horizon.
Inside, Shan stood still, holding Jain close to his chest, his heart pounding with renewed terror. There were no easy choices. Only this: he had to protect his child. From Kang. From the world. Even from the truth.
But how long could you run from the past when it had your scent—and your mark?
The air was heavy, unnaturally still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The low roll of thunder in the distance was not just a signal of incoming rain but a harbinger of something darker—an echo of footsteps closing in, a force that could not be outrun forever. The sky above was veiled in bruised clouds, casting long shadows over the forest clearing, but for Shan, the truest shadow was not overhead—it was a name, a memory, a blood-deep tether he could never sever.
Kang Jin-ho.
Even thinking the name made Shan's chest tighten, his pulse quicken. It wasn't just fear—it was terror carved into muscle and marrow. And it wasn't just for himself anymore.
Jain.
The name struck with even greater weight. His son. His child. The living embodiment of both past and present. Jain had Kang's obsidian eyes, that unmistakable strength simmering beneath a child's innocent laughter. Shan had tried to pretend for years that the resemblance didn't matter, that no one would notice, but now… the fantasy had run its course. Kang Jin-ho was coming. And there was nowhere left to hide.
Davey stood opposite him, his boyhood friend now a man with watchful eyes, looking more concerned than ever. His presence had always been a small comfort—steady, grounded—but now that steadiness cut through the fog of fear like a knife. He was looking at Shan differently. Sharper. Closer. The silence between them stretched taut, until Davey finally spoke, his voice low but steady.
"Are you hiding something from me, Shan?"
The question struck like a gust of wind in a house of cards. Shan's throat dried, but his heart pounded wet and loud in his ears. There was nowhere left to retreat. Denial felt like an insult to their friendship, to the truth of everything that had transpired.
Still, he tried to stall, not out of deceit, but desperation. "Why do you think that, Davey?"
Davey offered a tired, knowing smile. "There's a difference between the Shan I knew growing up and the Shan I've seen these past five years. You're different. It's not just the way you talk or how you move. It's deeper than that. You're not hiding a secret. You are a secret."
The words broke something loose. Shan looked down, shoulders shaking with a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "You're right," he said at last, quietly. "I'm not Shan. I'm Hana."
"Hana?" Davey blinked. "You're not Shan?"
"No." The name felt foreign and intimate all at once. "You're going to think I've gone mad. But it's the truth, Davey. And I need you to believe me because… I don't have anyone else."
Davey's eyes narrowed with concern, but he didn't speak. He listened, waiting, as he always had.
"I'm not from this world," Shan—Hana—began, the words feeling unreal even as they left his lips. "Five years ago, I woke up in Shan's body. In my world, I was just… an ordinary girl. Bored, lonely, unloved. I had no family, no friends, no future. Just books. Stories."
He hesitated, watching for the flicker of disbelief. But Davey remained silent, gaze unwavering.
"I was reading a manga that day. This world—the one you live in—it was just a storybook to me. Shan was a character. Kang Jin-ho was… terrifying, even on paper. But I didn't expect to become her. I didn't ask for this."
He swallowed, hands trembling. "I remember, I got angry. I cried out to the sky, to God, to whoever's writing this twisted story: 'Will I ever be loved?' And then I fell asleep. When I woke up… I was here. In Shan's body. And she was already pregnant."
Davey's expression flickered, but not with disbelief. With sorrow.
"I didn't choose this, Davey," Hana whispered. "But Jain… he became my reason to stay. My reason to live. For the first time in my life, I had someone to care for. Someone who needed me. So I became Shan."
There was a long, loaded pause. Then, quietly, Davey stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I believe your story," he said.
Hana blinked. "You… do?"
Davey nodded slowly. "I do. Because the Shan I knew… she wasn't a bad person. But she wasn't this. She wouldn't have raised Jain like you have. She wouldn't have stayed, hidden, fought like this. He calls you mother. And he calls me uncle. That never would've happened before."
The wave of relief that crashed through Hana nearly knocked him off his feet. But even in that moment of comfort, the storm loomed.
"You can call me Shan," he said softly. "Hana… belongs to the other world. I've been Shan for five years now. That's who I am to Jain. That's who I've become."
Davey nodded. "Alright. Shan it is."
"But now," Shan said, his voice shifting from soft to raw, "we need to think about Kang. He's coming. I know it. I can feel it."
"Kang… doesn't know about Jain, right?" Davey asked, quietly.
Shan shook his head. "No. When I arrived in Shan's body, she had already run from him. I've pieced together bits—memories, rumors. She ran when she discovered the pregnancy. She was scared, desperate. She vanished before he could find her."
"And he thinks she disappeared?"
"Probably. Maybe he thinks she died. Or went into hiding and lost the baby. But he doesn't know the truth."
"That… might give us time," Davey said cautiously.
Shan's laugh was bitter. "Time? He's a hyper dominant alpha. Jain is too. You've seen him. He's just like Kang. Same eyes. Same aura. One look and Kang will know. Jain's blood will scream it."
A cold wind passed between them, tugging at leaves and nerves alike. The storm above echoed the one brewing in Shan's chest.
Davey's hand tightened on Shan's shoulder. "Then we move. We don't wait for him to find us."
Shan's fear flickered into something else. "You think we can escape him?"
"We won't fight him head-on," Davey said. "But we can disappear. Again. He's looking for Shan—the old Shan. Not you. Not Hana. He doesn't know what you've become."
"But… the mate bond," Shan whispered. "If I'm his mate, doesn't that mean he can find me? Feel me?"
Davey hesitated. "If he could, wouldn't he have already? It's been five years. Maybe the bond weakens over distance. Or maybe… he was too busy to chase shadows."
That thought struck a chord of fragile hope. "Maybe."
"Either way, we're not staying. You said it yourself—he's getting close."
"Where would we go?" Shan asked, glancing toward the hills. "Where in this world could he not find us?"
Davey looked west. "There's a small town on the other side of the ridge. A day's walk. Quiet. Ordinary. If we blend in, he might overlook us. He'll search the shadows, not the light."
Shan considered it, heart pounding. "Plain sight…"
"It's a risk," Davey admitted. "But so is staying. The storm's coming. We use it to cover our trail."
The rain began to fall, light at first, then heavy. It soaked the ground and masked the scent trails that would otherwise betray them.
Shan looked to the sky, then to the boy sleeping inside their makeshift home—Jain, his son, his miracle. For him, Shan would cross mountains, would defy fate, would challenge even the cruel ink of destiny written in the margins of a manga.
He turned to Davey, eyes bright with defiance. "Okay," he said. "Let's move."
And as they gathered their things beneath the veil of storm and shadow, Shan felt something strange stir in his chest—not just fear, not just dread.
Hope.
Hope that maybe, just maybe, the story wasn't over yet. Maybe, just maybe, it had only just begun.