Chapter 19
[Who are you?]
He slowly approached me. From his body emanated the smell of disinfectant and the scent of death.
[You know, don't you? You thieving bastard.]
[What...?]
[My body, my Mom, my older sister.... And my life!]
He grabbed me by the collar and shook me roughly. His grip was incredibly strong. His eyes, bloodshot red, blazed as if to devour me.
[Do you like stealing everything? Are you happy? Huh?!]
He leaned close to my face and screamed in a voice that felt like it would tear my eardrums.
[You are a fake!!!!]
"Huk!!"
I screamed a dying gasp and snapped my eyes open. My heart was pounding like crazy, and my back was drenched in cold sweat.
"Heok! Heok...! Ugh...."
My ragged breaths tore through the silence of the living room. My chest, heaving like someone who had just surfaced from water, was violently throbbing, and cold sweat poured down my forehead and neck like rain, soaking my expensive shirt.
My sense of reality hadn't returned. In my ears, the sound of rain and his shouts accusing me of being a 'fake' still buzzed like tinnitus.
Thump-!
Just then, a dull thud was heard from the master bedroom. Following it, hurried footsteps echoed on the Penthouse's marble floor, rapidly approaching.
"Minho-ya!"
It was Hye-jeong. She seemed to have thrown aside even her smartphone, which she had been talking on, and rushed over in one breath.
"Oh my goodness.... You, what's wrong with you? What happened!"
Hye-jeong's face turned pale as she ran up to me. She didn't know what to do, seeing me half-sprawled on the sofa, drenched in sweat. The relaxed and captivating queenly demeanor she had shown just moments ago was gone, replaced only by a mother's instinct to worry about her child.
"Uh, Mom...."
"Good heavens, look at all this cold sweat. Are you running a fever? Are you sick? Huh?"
Hye-jeong's trembling hand felt my forehead and cheek. Her touch was warm and soft. As that warmth reached me, the chilling cold of the nightmare that had seeped into my bones felt like it was slowly receding.
"No.... Just... a dream...."
"A dream? Did you have a nightmare?"
When I nodded with difficulty, Hye-jeong's eyes contorted with pity.
"Oh dear, my child.... After such a big accident, it's impossible for you to be perfectly fine. Mom is sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone...."
Hye-jeong didn't ask any further. Instead, she leaned over the sofa and hugged me tightly.
Pwooh-.
"It's okay. It's okay, Minho-ya. Mom is here. I'm not going anywhere."
My face was deeply buried in the valley of her ample bosom. The metallic smell of blood and the stench of exhaust fumes I had smelled in my dream instantly vanished, replaced by Hye-jeong's unique luxurious perfume and the sweet, rich scent of her skin, filling my nostrils.
"Haa...."
A suffocating pressure. But it wasn't pain; it was unparalleled comfort. Her rapid heartbeat and body temperature, transmitted through the thin silk blouse, proved that I was 'truly' alive, and that, at this moment, I was the most precious being to this woman.
"It was just a bad dream. Forget all about it. Mom will protect you. Who dares to bother my son? Huh?"
Hye-jeong gently stroked the back of my head, whispering as if soothing a newborn. As her soft breasts pressed against my cheek and her warm hand stroked my back, my sharply frayed nerves miraculously relaxed.
'Yes.... This is reality.'
It didn't matter if that guy in the rain was real or fake. This place, with this woman who offered me her warm embrace and teared up for me, was my only sanctuary and reality.
I raised my now steady hands and carefully embraced Hye-jeong's waist, which was wrapped around my face.
"I'm sorry.... For startling you."
"Sorry for what.... It doesn't matter if Mom is startled. As long as you're safe."
Only after confirming that my complexion had somewhat returned to normal did Hye-jeong let out a sigh of relief.
"Phew.... Look at all this cold sweat. Mom will go get you some clothes to change into and some cool water. Don't move from here. Understood?"
"Yes, please go."
She picked up the phone she had dropped, stroked my cheek once more, and then hurried out of the room. The door closed, and silence returned. However, apart from the comfort Mom's embrace had just given me, the lingering unease in a corner of my chest didn't easily disappear.
"Hoo...."
I sat on the edge of the bed, dry-washing my face. That guy from the dream. He looked exactly like me, but his eyes were filled with hatred.
'You are a fake.'
Those words echoed in my ears like a hallucination. It was too vivid and specific to be merely an illusion created by my subconscious; the hostility he exuded was too real.
'Is it just guilt? Or... has a real Vengeful Spirit possessed me?'
A chill ran down my spine. What if my taking over this body wasn't a coincidence? What if the soul of the real Minho was watching me from somewhere?
"Damn it. What a mood killer."
I shook my head, trying hard to shake off the ominous thoughts. So what if I was a fake? This body was already mine, and this luxurious Penthouse and these sensual women were all within my grasp. There was no way I was going to give them back now.
'Still... they say if you know your enemy and know yourself, you will win a hundred battles.'
I sprang to my feet. Right now, I was hiding behind the very convenient shield of 'amnesia'. But I couldn't keep acting like a blank slate forever. I needed to know what kind of guy the original owner of this body, the 'real Minho', was, and what he usually thought about and lived for. That way, I wouldn't put a scratch on this perfect act.
"Let's see...."
I approached the massive desk. The desk, finished with top-grade leather, was strangely cluttered, as if reflecting its owner's psychological state. There was an unfinished existential philosophy book, a fountain pen with its cap off and ink dried up, and crumpled memos. I opened a few drawers, but there were only school handouts and useless junk.
(There must be something more. Kids these days don't just write their true feelings in diaries, do they?)
My gaze fixed on a tablet PC charging in a corner of the desk. A brand new iPad Pro. I pressed the home button as if possessed. Fortunately, there was no fingerprint recognition or password. Or rather, he might have been so lethargic about life that he couldn't even be bothered to set a lock. The wallpaper was pitch black. There were only a few apps installed. Among them, one icon particularly stood out.
"Bingo."
Without hesitation, I touched the personal SNS icon. I was already logged in. The account name was [@No_Where_Man]. The profile picture was a default gray image with nothing on it.
'150K followers? 0 following?'
A hollow laugh escaped me as soon as I saw the numbers. There were only about 10 posts, yet 150,000 followers. And 0 following. It was the account of a typical celebrity, no, even more, a 'noble'.
I scrolled through the photos on the feed one by one.
[Photo 1: A night view of Gangnam from the Penthouse window. Black and white filter.]
Caption: A prison without bars. What's the point of looking down if I can't go down? #Suffocating #Zoo
[Photo 2: A place presumed to be a school classroom. The backs of female students are blurred in the photo.]
Caption: Their gazes are sticky. Hyenas wanting to tear off my flesh. Disgusting. Please just leave me alone. #Meat_Market #Disgusting
[Photo 3: His own shirtless upper body reflected in a mirror. But his face is cut off.]
Caption: It's not me they need, but this body. A Male Stud. A Breeding Stallion. That's my name.
"Ughhh...! Fuck, my hands and feet...!"
I screamed and threw the tablet onto the bed. The moment I read the last post, that part about 'Male Stud' and 'Breeding Stallion', every hair on my body felt like it stood on end.
"Ughhh...."
I scratched my goosebump-covered forearms and chest furiously. It was an itch and a cringe, like a swarm of fluffy ants crawling all over my body. This was torture. To be living the life of the top 0.1% in Korea, and yet, even with such a full belly, to seriously write comments like a protagonist from a third-rate web novel...
"This bastard, he was really severely ill. A terminal case of chuunibyou."
I clicked my tongue. While others would shed tears of envy for this Harem Kingdom life, he was cosplaying as a tragic heroine—no, a Tragic Male Protagonist—calling it a 'prison without bars' or a 'meat market'.
I looked at the tablet sprawled on the bed with a pathetic gaze. The depression and self-loathing filling his feed. It was an arrogance and a luxury that only those who knew no lack could afford. However, along with my sneer, a question mark popped up in a corner of my mind like a pop-up window.