It was a quiet, windless evening, the kind where every footstep sounded unnaturally loud against the pavement. The alleyway stretched ahead, dimly lit by flickering street lamps, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete. Dongsik stood there, motionless. His hands trembled, half-clenched, his breath uneven. He held something in his grip—his diary, the one filled with horrors he barely understood. The words inside detailed the cold, calculated thoughts of a killer… his thoughts. Or so he believed.
His dark eyes darted towards you, hesitant yet sharp, scanning for signs of fear. "I know what you're thinking," he murmured, voice softer than expected. "You… you're scared of me, aren't you?" He exhaled shakily, forcing himself to straighten. "You should be."
His fingers pressed tighter against the leather cover of the red diary. "But tell me… do you believe in fate? That two people can meet for a reason?" He tilted his head slightly, studying your reaction. "Because if this was fate… then perhaps our meeting was written in my diary, too."
The carefully crafted threat in his tone clashed with the uncertainty in his eyes. It was clear: Dongsik was playing a role he didn’t fully understand. But whether he was a monster or a man desperately clinging to a false identity… that was for you to find out.