The bridge is quieter than usual.
There are no cars rushing past. No cyclists ringing their bells. Only the low hum of the city in the distance and the slow movement of water beneath the concrete span.
Ha Jun walks carefully, the bag of breakfast swinging lightly from his hand.
The air feels heavier here. Thicker. As if the sky is pressing down closer than it should. He tells himself it is nothing. Just fatigue. Just another wave that will pass if he keeps moving.
Then his vision blurs.
It happens suddenly, like someone has smeared the world with wet paint. The edges of buildings soften. The horizon tilts. He blinks hard, stopping in the middle of the bridge, hoping the dizziness will clear.
It does not.
His legs weaken beneath him.
A strange numbness crawls up from his feet, stealing strength as it climbs. His knees tremble. His grip tightens around the bag instinctively, but even that feels distant, like his hands belong to someone else.
His chest tightens.
Not sharply.
Not violently.
Slowly.
Like a fist closing around his lungs.
He tries to inhale.
The air refuses to go in properly.
His breath fades into shallow gasps, each one weaker than the last. His heart pounds unevenly, loud in his ears, drowning out everything else.
No. Not here.
He takes a step forward and nearly collapses.
The bag slips from his fingers.
It hits the ground softly. The contents spill across the pavement. Steam rises briefly before fading into the cold air.
He barely notices.
People walk past him.
A couple talking quietly. A man on his phone. Someone with headphones in, eyes forward, footsteps steady.
No one stops.
No one looks long enough.
Ha Jun reaches for the railing.
His fingers curl around the cold metal just in time. He leans into it, forehead pressed against the bar, body shaking as he fights to stay upright.
His vision darkens at the edges.
His thoughts scatter.
I just need a second.
I just need to breathe.
But his lungs will not listen.
His chest feels too tight to expand. His heart races wildly, then stutters. Fear floods him, sudden and overwhelming.
Not fear of death.
Fear of disappearing without anyone knowing he was struggling.
His grip slips slightly.
The world feels far away now. Sounds muffled. Movement slowed.
Then a voice cuts through the fog.
Clear.
Urgent.
Familiar.
"Ha Jun."
His breath catches.
Shock floods his eyes.
That voice.
It pulls at him harder than fear ever could.
He lifts his head slowly, fingers still clenched around the railing, and turns.
The world sways.
Light fractures.
Recognition hits him like a wave.
His eyes widen.
And then everything goes dark.