IDSEGI Chapter 72

Chapter 72

Could it be just his imagination?

The sense of déjà vu was strong, but with no way to rewind the news, Yeoul had to head to work first. Pushing aside the unsettled feeling, he left the house.

The commute was the same as always, the work almost identical to yesterday’s, and the same faces he saw every day in the office. Nothing had changed, yet he kept feeling a strange sense of disconnection.

As he was lost in thought, Assistant Manager Kim placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeoul, did you check the email I sent? I’ll need it back by tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, yes! I’ll check it now.”

The moment he heard “by tomorrow,” he hurried to adjust his schedule and clicked on his digital calendar.

Then Yeoul doubted his eyes.

April 42nd, 2305.

“…Forty-second?”

Maybe it was a glitch on the site. He grabbed the desk calendar in the corner of his desk.

January
1, 2, 3… 31

February
1, 2, 3… 28

March
1, 2, 3… 30, 31

April
1, 2, 3… 42, 43, 45…

From January to March, everything was normal, but starting in April, the days didn’t roll over to the next month when the end came. The dates just kept going on and on.

“What… what is this?”

As his complexion turned pale, Kim gave him a concerned look.

“Yeoul, what’s wrong? You don’t look well.”

“…Sir, do you know what date it is today?”

“Hm? Let’s see… April 42nd.”

“…”

Kim answered without the slightest hesitation, as if it was perfectly normal. Yeoul lowered his head, staring blankly at the calendar.

A world where the months after April didn’t exist. A calendar where the days went past the 30th—40th, 50th, 60th… and beyond.

Something in this world was fundamentally wrong.

“Ugh!”

A sudden wave of pain surged through his skull—far stronger than before. Yeoul clutched the corner of his desk to steady his staggering body. He had to endure it. He had to think. Remember.

Remember… who?

Who was it he needed to remember? Who had he forgotten?

“Ugh…”

The pain was so intense he almost wished he could smash his own head. His vision blurred, his mind dizzy, focus slipping away. Reaching out across his desk, he grabbed a pair of scissors and drove them into the back of his own hand.

“Yeoul! What are you doing?!”

Kim and the surrounding coworkers cried out in shock and rushed toward him. Yeoul slowly lifted his head, scanning their faces one by one as he muttered,

“It’s not you.”

These were not the people he needed to recall. He had to remember. Who exactly had he forgotten?

As the blood that had been pounding in his head drained toward his injured hand, the pain subsided a little. Focusing again, a faint image of someone surfaced in his mind—but only in blurry outlines, impossible to identify.

Ignoring his coworkers’ anxious voices, Yeoul bolted out of the office. He tore the ID card from around his neck and stood in the middle of the street, looking around wildly. Cars blared their horns at him, loud and impatient.

“Hey! Are you crazy? Get out of the way!”

Pedestrians rushed past. The traffic light blinked before turning red. The honking of cars pierced his ears. Nothing about the scene was unusual—yet he felt so dizzy he might vomit. Like a canvas smeared with every color until it turned black, his mind went completely dark.

It’s wrong. But what? What exactly is wrong?

“Excuse me! Your hand is bleeding a lot—are you okay?”

Someone’s panicked voice called out as they came toward him. Only then did Yeoul glance down at his hand. When he curled his blood-soaked fingers inward, the wound on the back of his hand split wider, spilling fresh crimson.

“Oh no. Should I call 119? You’re bleeding way too much…”

Then, a voice echoed in his mind.

“Stop the bleeding. Yeoul, there’s too much blood—too much blood…”

The trembling voice was familiar.

One by one, other voices stored deep in his memory began to resurface.

“Please imprint with me, Yeoul!”

“You’re so precious I feel like I could put you in my eye and it wouldn’t hurt. So… can I?”

“I love you, Yeoul.”

With those beloved voices came a rush of hidden memories, flooding into his mind all at once. The past spun through him like a roller coaster, threatening to split his head open.

“Don’t love me. Understand?”

“Ihan…”

Tears streamed down Yeoul’s cheeks. How could I have ever forgotten you? The longing that had been pressing on his chest all this time had been for one person.

Yoo Ihan. Ihan.

Yeoul softly called his name and then collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

“…Hah!”

When he opened his eyes, Yeoul found himself lying in a bed. The faint, stinging scent in the air told him he had been brought to a hospital.

When he tried to move his hand, a sharp pain shot through it. He forced his bandaged fingers open, and blood seeped through the wound and into the fabric.

It hurt.

That meant this wasn’t a dream.

He carefully retraced his memories. Meeting Ihan, imprinting with him, failing a guiding… meeting the one-eyed being.

He remembered going into the gate with Ihan and Yoon Geon, and the strange smoke that poured out inside… and losing consciousness.

If this wasn’t a dream, was it an illusion?

A monster that could manipulate the mind… the thought made his skin crawl. Still, if it could turn back time, doing something like this would be nothing for it.

“This isn’t the time for this.”

He had to break out of this hallucination. Yeoul ripped out the IV in his arm and stepped out of the bed.

Outside, he looked up at the building across from the hospital.

“One, two, three…”

He counted the rows of vertically lined windows, floor by floor. Twenty-five stories. That height would be enough.

He entered the building and headed straight for the roof. If the door had been locked, he was ready to break it open, but luckily it was unlocked.

And by another stroke of luck—or misfortune—the safety railing was low. Without difficulty, Yeoul climbed onto it and looked down. The cars rushing by below looked like toys.

The usual way to break free from an illusion was to realize it was an illusion. Most of the time, that alone would wake you up. But there were rare cases when a person wouldn’t wake.

In that case, there was only one method left.

Delivering a strong enough shock to force yourself awake.

Yeoul stepped one foot into the air. And when the other foot left the railing—

* * *

“…Hah!”

When he opened his eyes, he was staring at the ceiling of a room—not a cave.

Sitting up, he checked his body, but there wasn’t a single injury. Even the wound on the back of his hand from the scissors had completely vanished.

In a rush, he grabbed his phone to check the date.

April 43rd.

It had moved on naturally to the next day.

Just in case, he went to work, but his coworkers reacted as if nothing had happened the day before.

“Huh? Yesterday? Didn’t you just leave on time and go home?”

No one remembered the events of yesterday. So Yeoul jumped from the building again.

When he opened his eyes, he was back in bed, perfectly fine—just like the day before.

And the date had moved to April 44th.

No matter how he died, the result was always the same. The events of the day were erased, and the next day came as though nothing had happened.

By the seventh day, waking up in the same spot yet again, Yeoul ran outside and stood in the middle of the road. He shouted into the air.

“Let me wake up! Let’s make a deal! Toying with me is your hobby, isn’t it? Wake me up!”

No matter how he yelled, only the murmurs of passersby returned to him. Then, from far off, a truck came barreling toward him. Yeoul didn’t move. And just like that, the next day arrived.

He repeated this over and over.

Current date: April 51st.

Lying in the same bed once more, Yeoul went over the facts again.

First, this was a world made of illusions, where the ordinary life he had once wished for continued endlessly.

Second, after April, the months did not progress.

Third, no matter how he died here, the next day would always come without consequence.

He couldn’t stay here forever. Not knowing what was happening outside made it even more suffocating. What happened to Ihan? To Geon?

The tightness in his chest made his stomach churn. He ran to the toilet and retched, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and whispered quietly,

“What do you want?”

It had to be the one-eyed being’s doing. If so, then he had to figure out what kind of pleasure it was trying to gain from this endless play.

He would act out the kind of days it seemed to want—going to work, calling nonexistent family, meeting illusory friends. Maybe that would give him a clue.

He decided to behave just as he had when he first arrived here. After rinsing his mouth, Yeoul began getting ready for work. He threw on some clothes, walked into the living room, and turned on the TV.

—It’s another clear day today. The skies are expected to remain sunny nationwide throughout the week, though some areas may see occasional rain, so please be sure to carry an umbrella.

Heading toward the kitchen, Yeoul suddenly whipped his head toward the TV. Was it his imagination, or did it feel like the weathercaster was looking straight at him?

The slight curl of the weathercaster’s lips carried something unsettling, something that made his skin crawl. Looking directly at Yeoul, the weathercaster repeated the same words.

—And if you happen to be without one, the government-run ‘Beautiful Store’ offers free rentals, so feel free to use the service.

So far, he had confirmed three facts.

And the fourth might be…

Yeoul grabbed an umbrella and bolted outside.