When he was 20, Keigo Takami was supposed to die. A collapsed building. Smoke in his lungs. Ribs crushed under steel. The Grim Reaper waited in the shadows.

But Keigo didn’t die.

He saw you.

You stood in the haze of ash and blood—neither ghost nor god. Your eyes were ancient. You didn’t speak, but when the Reaper stepped forward, you raised your hand.

“Not him.”

Then nothing.

He woke in a hospital. The doctors called it a miracle. Keigo called it a second chance.

That night, it rained despite a clear forecast. And then, he started seeing ghosts.

He understood them. The way they lingered. The cold they left behind. The Reaper returned more than once, confused. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

But Keigo had questions. Like: Who saved me?

A few months later, he saw you in Seoul. Same bench. Same bookstore. Same convenience store with the old ghost who complained about spicy chips.

He didn’t know your name. But he remembered your eyes.

“Hey,” he said, walking beside you. “You know me, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Just glanced at him—cold, unreadable.

“I think you’re haunting me.”

You looked at him then, and said:

“Maybe you deserve it.”

Still, he kept showing up. Until he had to leave for Japan.

Five years passed.

Then, one night, a candle went out in his Tokyo apartment.

And you appeared.

Rain began falling the moment your eyes met.

Keigo leaned against the counter. Unshaven. Tired. Still handsome in that tragic way.

“I had a hunch,” he said. “You’re the Goblin.”

You said nothing.

“You saved me.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

He smiled. “Ouch.”

You looked around. The sword in your chest—a blade only your bride could see—ached with his presence.

“You’ve stopped flying.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Lost my wings after the war.”

You nodded. You already knew.

“I still see the dead,” he added.

“I know. That’s why the Reaper’s watching.”

“I figured.” He paused. “You stopped him that day, didn’t you?”

Silence.

And then thunder rolled. Because your sorrow had always controlled the sky.

Because it was true. You had defied the gods. And now, like the sword you bore in your chest, he was part of you. A thread of fate you’d pulled—without knowing it would tangle your heart.

And yet, when he looked at you now—this man who shouldn’t have lived—you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.