Spirits linger in this world when they have unresolved grievances. Whether it’s an unfulfilled dream, unsaid words, or a lifelong regret they cannot let go of.
Mu-ryeong, sifting through the endless flood of mories, finally uncovered the reason behind Hwan-hee’s lingering attachnt to this world. Why he hadn’t been able to pass on, why he had been forced to wander near Hwan-young, burdened with ceaseless tornt.
“.......”
Mu-ryeong slowly lifted his eyelids. The dark, viscous substance that had dripped from his hands no longer stained his skin. The icy chill that had once seeped into his very bones no longer felt malicious. The rooftop, once illuminated by eerie ghost lights, was now cast in dim moonlight, its glow faint and subdued.
And then, he saw Ki Hwan-hee.
A student with a face so pale it seed almost translucent, with hair as dark as ebony. If Hwan-young had been born a girl, he would have looked just like this—Mu-ryeong thought it the mont he saw him. The younger twin, a perfect reflection of his brother.
When a person dies, their spirit initially retains the form they had at the mont of death. The appearance of a soul is a reflection of its will, manifesting as the last image it rembers of itself. In other words, if one truly desires it, they can take on a different form.
Perhaps that was why.
Hwan-hee now appeared to be around the sa age as Mu-ryeong. Though he had died at twelve, he now stood before them as an eighteen-year-old. Mu-ryeong clenched his teeth as he noticed the familiar Haeyeon High School uniform adorning Hwan-hee’s form.
“.......”
It must have been what he longed for. If he had lived, if he had grown up alongside Hwan-young, if they had attended the sa school together—this was the image born from that unfulfilled wish. A subconscious reflection, a lingering attachnt that had refused to fade.
“......Ah.”
A soft gasp escaped from Hwan-hee’s lips.
Hwan-young flinched, his fingers trembling slightly as he instinctively took a step back. Mu-ryeong noticed the fear flickering in his eyes. But first, he turned to Hwan-hee.
“Are you okay?”
Hwan-hee lifted his head. His long hair, cascading down to his waist, slid off his shoulders as he swayed slightly. Mu-ryeong reached out, steadying him with a gentle touch.
“Can you stand properly?”
“...Ah.”
Spirits who had once turned into vengeful ghosts often reverted to the state they had been in at the ti of their death. At first, they were disoriented, unaware of where they were or why they were there, gradually piecing the situation together.
Hwan-hee, still dazed, looked around, his dark eyes scanning his surroundings.
“......Hwan-hee.”
A quiet voice called out.
The deep black pupils regained their focus. Hwan-hee, who had been staring blankly, locked eyes with Hwan-young.
Emotion surfaced on his once-expressionless face. His lips, slightly parted in uncertainty, trembled ever so slightly.
“...Hyung?”
“.......”
At that mont, Mu-ryeong saw it—Hwan-young’s face twisting, his expression distorting as he lifted a trembling hand to cover it.
He clenched his lips, inhaling deeply, but he couldn’t stop the wavering breath that escaped.
“...Hah.”
A broken sigh, tinged with sothing between a sob and a release.
This was the mont Hwan-young had longed for.
The mont he could finally face his brother—not as a monster, but as the younger sibling he loved. The mont he could hear his na from his lips, exchange a final farewell.
It was as if the frozen ti between them had begun to flow again, like an unstoppable wave of emotion washing over him.
“Hyung, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Hwan-hee, oblivious to it all, took a step closer. He reached out, intending to place his hand on Hwan-young’s shoulder.
But before he could make contact, Hwan-young recoiled, stepping back with an unnatural urgency.
“.......”
“.......”
Hwan-hee’s hand stopped midair.
Mu-ryeong swallowed a sigh and subtly stepped between them. Hwan-hee’s trembling gaze slowly shifted toward him.
“Listen,” Mu-ryeong began.
Even with a protective barrier in place, physical contact was dangerous. Now that Hwan-hee was no longer a vengeful spirit but a re ghost, touching him could result in pain or even cause him to be repelled.
Hwan-young might not have realized it, but his instincts had warned him—if he touched Hwan-hee, he could very well be the one to erase him.
“I’m Kim Mu-ryeong.”
“Oh? Ah... I’m Ki Hwan-hee.”
Hwan-hee hesitated for a mont before stating his na. His expression remained skeptical, but there was no imdiate hostility.
Hwan-young had once ntioned that, unlike himself, Hwan-hee had a good personality. It seed to be true—there was no sign of wariness in his deanor.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Mu-ryeong asked, gauging the extent of his mories.
If he rembered his ti as a vengeful spirit, Mu-ryeong would have to handle things carefully. Burdening him with guilt over hurting others would be too cruel. His life had already been tragic enough.
“Well...”
Hwan-hee furrowed his brows, lost in thought. Even the slight wrinkle of his forehead was eerily similar to Hwan-young’s.
He looked at Mu-ryeong, then at Hwan-young. Back and forth.
Finally, a bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
“...Am I dead?”
“.......”
Behind him, Mu-ryeong felt Hwan-young’s breath hitch.
He t Hwan-hee’s gaze directly, offering no sugarcoated words.
“Yes.”
The answer was blunt, but Hwan-hee didn’t waver. He simply closed his eyes for a mont, then reopened them with an oddly resigned smile.
“...I see.”
mory was a fickle thing—people often forgot what they wished to erase, yet so wounds refused to fade.
Most spirits did not recall the mont of their death. But Hwan-hee’s unresolved emotions had likely transcended that ignorance.
Or perhaps, he simply could never forget the last image he saw—Hwan-young’s face.
“...So I really did die.”
Hwan-hee lowered his gaze to his hands, flexing his fingers as if testing whether his body was real.
He didn’t look like soone who had died. He looked just as alive as Mu-ryeong.
And maybe that’s why he found the whole situation ★ ?????????????????? ★ so strange.
“Dying isn’t all that special, huh?”
Mu-ryeong often thought the sa.
Death was exaggerated. In reality, it was just another stage of existence. The life that followed wasn’t necessarily miserable, either.
“So why am I still here? Don’t spirits go to the afterlife?”
Hwan-hee seed genuinely unconcerned.
Though he had died at twelve, he had lingered in this world long enough to grow alongside Hwan-young. His way of speaking, the expressions he made—none of it felt like a child’s.
“And Hyung...”
Hwan-hee’s gaze shifted toward Hwan-young, who stood behind Mu-ryeong.
Mu-ryeong, realizing he was still standing between them, silently stepped aside.
Hwan-hee hesitated, drawing out his words before finally asking—
“...Can you see ?”
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
"......."
Hwan-young couldn't answer. He simply turned his gaze away, his expression twisting as if he couldn't bear to et Hwan-hee’s eyes. Even without a response, Hwan-hee let out a breathy chuckle, muttering under his breath.
"What the hell."
"......."
"So you really can see ghosts, huh?"
Mu-ryeong recalled a thought he had glimpsed in Hwan-hee’s mories—the frustration, the helplessness. The doubt over whether his brother was truly seeing ghosts or simply hallucinating. The confusion over why Hwan-young could see a different world than him.
"And here I thought...."
What must it feel like to understand his twin only after death? Mu-ryeong couldn’t begin to imagine. He shifted his gaze away, sensing the weight of emotions that weren’t his to bear.
Then, Hwan-young lowered his head and finally spoke.
"I'm sorry."
A heavy silence hung over the rooftop.
Hwan-hee’s expression hardened, while Hwan-young’s only continued to crumble. His fists clenched tight, his shoulders trembling as he repeated, this ti barely above a whisper—
"I'm sorry, Hwan-hee."
"......."
"Because of , you—"
"Hyung."
His voice was cold, but underneath it lay sothing undeniably soft—pity.
Hwan-hee let out a weary chuckle, taking a step closer.
"Why are you doing this too?"
Was it intuition? Sensitivity? Perhaps both.
Hwan-hee didn’t try to touch him. He simply looked up at his twin, his voice calm and steady.
"I was hit by a truck, Hyung."
"......."
"You weren’t the one driving it."
"......."
"So how is any of this your fault?"
His response was rational, logical.
But Hwan-young said nothing.
Hwan-hee reached out slightly, only for Hwan-young to step back again, retreating without a word.
Watching them, Mu-ryeong finally spoke.
"Hey, listen."
Four identical eyes turned toward him.
They really do look alike, huh.
Mu-ryeong recalled the photo he had seen at Hwan-young’s house, marveling at just how uncanny the resemblance was. Then, he decided it was ti to put his final plan into action.
"Do you want to possess
for a bit?"
***
The humid night air brushed against his skin.
Sumr break was just a week away, yet the night brought no relief from the heat. The full moon hung in the sky, impossibly bright, but the world before his eyes remained cloaked in darkness.
"So I turned that guy into a panda that day."
A youthful voice echoed beside him.
Hwan-young turned his head, glancing at the person sitting next to him.
Kim Mu-ryeong.
His delicate features, soft hair, and an impossibly bright smile curved at the corners of his lips.
Mu-ryeong had his eyes closed, grinning.
"You should’ve seen him bawling his eyes out, Hyung."
It was Mu-ryeong. But it was also Hwan-hee.
Even though he wore Kim Mu-ryeong’s face, to Hwan-young, he felt like Hwan-hee.
There was no trace of Mu-ryeong’s usual spiritual energy. Instead, his presence was thick with the faint chill of death, unmistakably that of a ghost.
"I’ll lend you my body," Mu-ryeong had said.
He had offered without hesitation, holding out his hands.
It would feel strange at first, he had assured, but he would guide him through it. He had only asked for one thing in return—
"Just keep your eyes shut."
"Like this, you can’t do anything," Mu-ryeong had reasoned.
Hwan-young had spent years unable to do anything.
Even now, his little brother was standing before him, but he couldn’t hold him.
He couldn’t lift him onto his back like he used to.
He couldn’t embrace him one last ti before saying goodbye.
All he could do was stand there, whisper apologies, and watch Hwan-hee slip away again.
"I got scolded by the teacher so bad that day," Hwan-hee—no, Mu-ryeong, no, Hwan-hee—chuckled.
"She kept saying, ‘What kind of behavior is that for a girl?’"
Now, at least, they could sit side by side.
Close enough to feel the warmth.
Close enough to talk, to share old mories, to confirm that they had once, indeed, been family.
"Isn’t that ridiculous? Would she have let it slide if I were a boy?"
"...Yeah. Teachers always say stuff like that."
It felt like a dream.
No, everything up until now had felt like a dream.
As if Hwan-hee had never died, as if they had simply grown up together, living out their eighteen-year-old lives side by side.
"Hyung."
Hwan-young didn’t reply.
Instead, he felt sothing—a small head resting against his shoulder.
And then, like a whisper carried by the wind—
"You’ve really grown, Hyung."
Sothing lodged itself in his throat, pressing down like an unbearable weight in his chest.
"I worried about you a lot, you know."
"......."
"Because once I was gone, you were really alone."
"......."
"I kept wondering what would happen if soone picked on you."
It had been six years since Hwan-hee died.
Six sumrs apart.
And now, at eighteen, they were finally together again.
"But you’ve gotten so big now. If anyone sses with you, you’d probably win."
He didn’t want to let go.
Not again.
Not after finally having him back.
It was a selfish thought—Mu-ryeong had done this for him, had given him this mont of closure.
But it wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
"And now you even have friends..."
"......."
"You’ve grown up, Ki Hwan-young."
But this was an impossible wish.
A mirage created by Kim Mu-ryeong’s kindness.
A dream built from a longing that should never have existed.
He had to let go.
He had to.
"......I’m sorry."
"You’re apologizing again."
"I’m sorry, Hwan-hee."
"......."
"I’m so, so sorry."
There was nothing else he could say.
Nothing else he could do.
He couldn’t protect his little brother.
He couldn’t bring him back.
All he had left was this hollow, aningless apology.
"You didn’t do anything wrong, Hyung."
"......."
"So stop apologizing."
Hwan-hee spoke firmly, grasping Hwan-young’s hand.
They were sitting side by side, leaning against the wall, arms pressed close together.
"You’re human, Hyung."
"......."
"Not so monster that hurts people, not sothing evil."
He never realized warmth could be this comforting.
He never knew that the heat he first felt through Kim Mu-ryeong’s body would beco sothing akin to family—a source of solace.
"I don’t resent you, Hyung."
"......."
"Not once. Not ever."
Tears fell before he even had the chance to hold them back.
Hwan-young, who hadn't shed a single tear when Hwan-hee died, clenched his teeth and let out a broken sob.
"I’m sorry, Hyung."
At so point, Hwan-hee had started crying too. His tears, heavy and unchecked, dripped onto their joined hands. His voice, blurred by suppressed sobs, wove into the quiet night.
"Our parents didn’t die because of you."
"......."
"And neither did I."
This was the attachnt Hwan-hee had held onto all this ti.
He had wanted to tell his twin that he wasn’t at fault. He had wanted to take back the cruel words he once spoke in anger, to reassure him. To tell him that he was sorry. That he loved him. That even in death, he wanted to leave behind his heart for the family he had left behind.
"Even after tonight, I’ll always be by your side."
Maybe Hwan-hee already knew.
That this was their final eting. That once he left, Hwan-young would grieve for a long ti.
"So don’t stay sad for too long, okay?"
"......."
"Don’t cry too much, either."
"......."
"I just... I just want you to be happy."
And finally, Hwan-young broke.
A wretched, raw sob tore through him.
Hwan-hee tightened his grip around his hands.
"Promise ."
Hwan-young couldn’t answer. His throat was tight, words trapped inside him.
But Hwan-hee, ever insistent, pressed him.
"Co on, I’m getting sleepy."
"......Yeah."
"......."
"I promise."
"......."
"I promise, Hwan-hee."
At last, Hwan-hee smiled.
A small, relieved curve of his lips.
The tears that had soaked into his uniform left dark stains, but he no longer looked troubled. Instead, he exhaled softly, peacefully.
"...That’s a relief."
The once-oppressive energy surrounding them began to fade.
His voice, barely audible, trembled at the edges.
"I’m... really tired. I think I’ll sleep for a bit."
"Yeah. Go ahead and rest."
"......"
"I’ll stay with you."
"......."
"So don’t worry... just sleep."
The full moon overhead blurred through his tears.
Hwan-young shut his eyes tightly, lowering his head as another sob wracked his body.
Why was the end always so abrupt?
Why did grief linger endlessly, yet the mont of parting never waited?
"...Hh."
He bit his lip, trying to muffle his cries, but it was no use.
And then—warmth.
A quiet embrace, steady and gentle.
"It’s okay."
A calm voice, unwavering, soothing.
Not Hwan-hee’s.
Mu-ryeong’s.
Instead of the lingering traces of death, Mu-ryeong’s presence was filled with a refreshing, comforting energy. He buried his face in Hwan-young’s shoulder, allowing him to grieve.
"It’s okay... You did well."
Tears stread down his face.
Was it because Hwan-hee’s emotions had seeped into him?
Or was it because Hwan-young, normally so guarded, was sobbing like a child?
Feeling Mu-ryeong shaking with him, Hwan-young slowly lifted his head.
"...Why are you crying?"
"I don’t know, just..."
Mu-ryeong, his own tears falling freely, t his gaze.
His vision blurred again and again, forcing him to blink repeatedly.
A large hand reached up to wipe away the streaks of moisture, his voice rough and strained—
"Don’t cry."
The whispered comfort was barely a breath between them.
Under the quiet glow of the moon, the two of them shared the sa sorrow.
A weight in their chests that had nowhere to go, nothing to anchor itself to.
"......."
"......."
Slowly, ever so slowly, the distance between them disappeared.
Mu-ryeong, as if drawn in, let his eyelids drift shut.
He wasn’t sure how long it was—just a mont, maybe.
Soft warmth brushed against his lips.
Tears, belonging to neither one of them, mingled and faded.
Neither Mu-ryeong nor Hwan-young pulled away.
The warmth between them lingered, staying right there, in that mont.
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