The morning sky was a dull gray when Jihoon arrived at the precinct.
He had taken the subway, blending in among yawning office workers and students. Nobody looked twice at him — just another man in a wrinkled coat carrying a cup of instant coffee.
The air smelled faintly of rain.
When he stepped into the office, Kang nearly dropped the files he was holding.
"Jihoon!" he shouted, eyes wide. "You—you're really back!"
Jihoon blinked at him, expression calm. "Morning."
Kang crossed the distance in three strides and grabbed his shoulder. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? You just vanished! After that night with the ghoul—" he paused, lowering his voice. "I blacked out. One moment I was fighting beside you, the next I woke up in the hospital. They said I was lucky. I looked everywhere for you, man. I thought—"
"I'm fine," Jihoon cut in gently.
Kang frowned. "Fine? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Technically, I might've."
That made Kang blink, unsure if it was a joke. Jihoon offered a faint smile and then looked toward the hallway. "Where's the body?"
Kang hesitated but gestured for him to follow. "In the forensics wing. Both of them."
The room was cold, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound. Two metal tables sat side by side — one with the ghoul's body, the other with the man it used to be.
White sheets covered both.
Jihoon stepped closer, his face unreadable. He lifted a corner of the first sheet. The ghoul's features were distorted, pale, eyes shut as if still dreaming. The other body looked peaceful — almost too peaceful.
Kang crossed his arms. "You're really calm about this. Before, you'd be all over the evidence."
Jihoon shrugged. "Maybe I've seen worse."
That silenced Kang.
They examined the reports, photos, autopsy notes — nothing unusual. No residue, no pattern, no trace of what had made the transformation possible. Just two corpses sharing one impossible story.
"Nothing," Kang muttered. "As if it just… happened."
Jihoon closed the file. "Everything happens for a reason. We just don't see it yet."
He didn't add that he felt something when he looked at them — a faint pulse, like truth trying to whisper through the dead air.
Later, Jihoon stepped outside.
He sat on a bench near the precinct entrance, the city moving quietly around him. Buses hissed, people laughed on their phones, and life carried on like it always did.
He leaned back, staring at the sky. The clouds looked heavy enough to fall.
He thought about the people who'd vanished, the ones who never returned. About pain, cruelty, and survival. About how fragile all of it was.
Maybe peace was just another illusion humans told themselves.
A shadow crossed his vision.
"Detective Han."
Jihoon looked up. A man stood before him, holding a paper bag of rice.
For a moment, Jihoon thought he was hallucinating again. But no — it was real .min jae hyun. The knight from that impossible kingdom , now wearing a simple gray shirt and jeans.
He smiled faintly. "It's been a while."
Jihoon blinked. "You sell rice now?"
"People need to eat," min jae hyun said. "Seems like a good business."
Jihoon chuckled softly. "You're adapting fast."
"I try."
For a while, they said nothing. Just two men sitting on a bench, one holding rice, the other a paper cup of coffee gone cold.
Then Jihoon spoke quietly, "There's something I need you to do."
Min jae hyun smile faded slightly. "I assumed you would say that."
"Keep it quiet," Jihoon added.
"Of course."
They exchanged no further words. Whatever Jihoon had asked for stayed between them, unspoken.
When he looked again, Min jae hyun was gone — as if he'd simply stepped into the rhythm of the crowd and vanished.
That night, Jihoon lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The rain had started, soft against the window. His phone buzzed with messages from Kang and Ha-eun, but he didn't check them yet.
He was thinking about what min jae hyun had once said — that there were things in the world meant to stay unknown.
Unlimiters.
Sequences.
Artifacts.
And the thin, trembling line separating humanity from madness.
He had walked that line already.
But now, he understood something new: if people like min jae hyun existed, then so did others — stronger, deeper, more dangerous.
He exhaled slowly, the room dark around him.
"I need to get stronger," he murmured. "If I don't, someone else will get hurt."
His reflection in the window looked back — calm, tired, resolute.
A faint shimmer of color flickered at the edge of his vision — the same aura sight from before, pulsing quietly.
He smiled a little. "Guess you're not going away."
The next day came gently.
He made breakfast with his mother, teasing his sister for oversleeping, laughing when his brother complained about the noise.
Ha-eun called during lunch, scolding him for not texting back. He apologized, smiling into the phone.
"Don't vanish again," she warned.
"I won't," he promised.
After hanging up, he stepped onto the balcony, feeling the sun on his face. For a moment, the world was still — no screams, no fog, no whispers. Just life.
And though the quiet wouldn't last forever, Jihoon held onto it anyway.