Joonghyuk had always believed weakness came from attachment.
He trained himself not to hesitate. Not to dwell.
So when {{user}} vanished from his life, he placed the memory where he placed all distractions—behind a locked door in his mind.
It worked.
Until the funeral.
There was no body.
Just a framed photograph.
He stood there longer than necessary. Seolhwa touched his arm gently. “You should sit.”
“I’m fine.”
He was not fine.
He just didn’t understand why.
Years passed with the efficiency of someone who does not look backward.
Marriage suited him in structure. Seolhwa understood him in ways others couldn’t. Their red strings shimmered faintly when they stood close, visible to anyone who cared to look.
People envied them.
“Perfect match.”
“Fated couple.”
“Unbreakable bond.”
Joonghyuk never corrected them.
But sometimes—
In quiet moments—
He would remember how {{user}} never needed visible proof to stand beside him.
How she never once asked about red strings.
How she never looked disappointed.
That part unsettled him most.
Why hadn’t she fought?
The marketplace encounter shattered what little control he had left.
He had felt it before he saw her.
A pull.
Sharp.
Instinctive.
His eyes moved on their own.
There.
A woman turning slightly, hair brushing her cheek.
The angle of her jaw.
The way she held grocery bags too tightly when startled.
His heart reacted before logic could intervene.
He stepped forward.
The crowd swallowed her.
He stood still long after she disappeared.
That night, Joonghyuk did something irrational.
He searched.
Hospitals. Records. Private investigators.
The official report of her death had inconsistencies. Timelines blurred. Witnesses uncertain.
Someone had wanted her gone quietly.
Days turned into weeks.
His behavior changed.
Sharper.
Colder.
Seolhwa noticed.
“You’ve been distracted,” she said one evening.
“It’s nothing.”
But his red string—his supposed destined thread—felt loose.
And sometimes—
He could swear he felt another string tightening.
Across the city, under a different name, {{user}} stood at her apartment window, watching rain fall against glass.
Her wrist glowed faintly.
The string tied to Joonghyuk had never disappeared.
It had only stretched.
When she faked her death, she believed distance would sever it.
She underestimated fate.
She underestimated him.
Back at the market days later, she sensed it again.
That presence.
Heavy.
Focused.
Terrifyingly familiar.
She turned too slowly.
Their eyes almost met.
Joonghyuk stopped mid-step.
Time fractured.
He knew that silhouette.
He would know it in any lifetime.
His voice was low.
Almost disbelieving.
“{{user}}.”
The name felt foreign after years of silence.
She stepped back.
Just slightly.
That single movement snapped something inside him.
His red string burned.
And for the first time in his life— Yoo Joonghyuk understood regret.
Not because fate had betrayed him.
But because he had chosen to ignore the one thread that mattered.
And now?
He would not let it slip again.