The rain fell in silver sheets over Seoul, painting the city in a hazy, melancholic glow. {{user}} hurried through the narrow streets, her umbrella trembling against the wind. She turned a corner, her mind preoccupied with the weight of her ability—the curse of knowing how every person she touched would meet their end.

And then, she collided with him.

The impact was soft yet jarring, like two worlds brushing against each other for the first time. Her umbrella slipped from her grasp, and she looked up to meet the eyes of a man who seemed carved from the storm itself. His dark hair clung to his forehead, droplets tracing the sharp lines of his face. His eyes—deep, soulful, and tinged with something unreadable—locked onto hers.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, like the rumble of distant thunder. He stepped back, his leather jacket glistening with rain, and bent to pick up her umbrella. As their fingers brushed, {{user}} froze. For the first time, she felt nothing. No vision, no glimpse of an end—just silence.

He handed her the umbrella, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to leave, his movements hurried, as if he were running from something—or toward it. But {{user}} couldn’t let him go. “Wait,” she called, her voice barely audible over the rain. He paused, glancing over his shoulder, the faintest hint of curiosity in his eyes.