Shattered Mirrors and Phantom Suicides
Something was seriously off. Enemies lurking in the darkness!
"Your turn, fake S-man."
I scooped up the S-man—his face now cracked like a spiderweb, unrecognizable—and charged at the wall like a battering ram. Crash! As expected, the wall shattered easily, but instead of revealing the office exterior, it reflected yet another infinite illusion.
By now, I was starting to doubt if anything would go according to plan. I pressed my face right up to the transparent barrier blocking the illusion beyond.
In that infinite realm of reflections, identical office scenes existed—but not the wreckage here, not my current self. In other words, those infinite reflected worlds looked exactly like this one, yet they were independent, untouched by events like these.
That meant I existed in the world right across from me, and beyond that, and beyond that—a countless multitude of me's, each fully independent, existing infinitely.
"Fascinating."
I gazed at the humans in the mirror, reduced to shattered glass sculptures, then traced back how I'd ended up in this world. I remembered first hearing about the mass child abduction case on the news, wondering if it tied to the supernatural. I'd visited various buildings myself, experimenting with elevators.
That must have been the trigger for all this. But when did I unknowingly skip over more than ten worlds?
I dumped the entire bottle labeled "salt" from Maxim coffee into my cup—the elegant, premium Cano coffee now tasted like it was loaded with sugar. Sipping it in one hand, I paced the wrecked office, deep in thought, until I recalled how many times I'd tested the elevator ghost story.
"...Did jumping from mirror world to mirror world happen because I experimented with that elevator tale so many times?"
If I'd done it twice in the first spot instead of stopping at one, I'd have returned to the original world. But I'd judged it ineffective after one try, moved to another location for a second, then repeated across sites—leading here.
The missing kids probably followed the same pattern. Even after crossing into the mirror world, they thought they were still in reality and got off the elevator. It was so perfectly identical—even I could've been fooled. Innocent children just settled in, mistaking the reflection for the real deal.
Now it all made sense. I peered into the countless illusions beyond—all showing the same place, yet utterly separate worlds. No Han Daeri in sight.
'If the same world is infinitely reflected, shouldn't there be a me like this S-man's wife—identical copies everywhere?'
But no matter how hard I looked, no Han Daeri appeared in those infinite office reflections. Every office beyond this one was completely empty.
Abandoning the search for another self, I sipped my coffee and stepped out through the still-intact office door.
This mirror-world reflection matched the original perfectly—unless shattered. Everything functioned fine until broken.
Strolling streets teeming with normal people, I checked my pocket watch. The hour, minute, and second hands were frozen.
The surroundings looked no different from downtown Seoul. Not that I had room to talk, sipping coffee in the middle of the street—but everyone had proper faces, living their lives diligently.
Yeah, grinding away in Hongdae streets, even in broad daylight. Definitely different. Blending in like the iced Americano addicts, I set my cup on the bench.
The tradition of stacking drink cups as street art got cleaned up by the sanitation workers, turning it into a cultural fixture. Riding the flow, I placed my cup under the bench, stretched out leisurely, and soaked in the cool sunlight.
A world identical on the surface, alien within. Mirror images—visible as is, yet reversed in truth. So were all things here mere reflections of the real, making them real? Or illusions?
If illusions, how could real me exist inside one? Illusions can't contain reality—they don't exist.
The cool sunlight felt damn good. Not blinding even staring straight at it—that part especially appealed.
'Am I an illusion too?'
Lying amid diligent folks thriving in Hongdae's "night" daylight, idle thoughts crept in. Nah, couldn't be. Not any more than Satan's hell, heaven for nonbelievers being eternal truth.
"...Fuck my mom."
I grabbed my neck with both hands and twisted hard. No satisfying crack of breaking bone—instead, a shatter as my neck exploded like glass, shards scattering everywhere.
"That's the 12th boss suicide."
"Sooner or later, they realize they're illusions—kill S-man first, then themselves. Clears the spot for us."
Through the shattered-glass mirror, I'd watched my illusion-self curse and suicide without hesitation—12 times now.
S-man and I dove into a mirror world right after the child abduction news hit, pushed along relentlessly until we reached one without us. In the 13th mirror world—where S-man and Han Daeri had vanished—we confirmed our absence beyond, in the 14th.
Meaning, in all those countless mirror worlds post-13th, S-man and Han Daeri had offed themselves long ago. Before we entered.
From the 12th world back: 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. A countdown of Han Daeri and S-man dying, until we faced the original world, separated by a single barrier.
"The real issue is the fakes who stole spots from the abducted kids—and us, who came willingly. All those previous me's and bosses died for the real us, but the fakes in the true world won't."
"They're enjoying it, even."
The fake S-man, gobbling his real counterpart's wealth and good looks, dove into debauchery. Fake Han Daeri relapsed into alcoholism, holing up and neglecting everything.
The kids we'd reclaimed one by one in the 13th world? Fakes had filled their spots, turning the "mass child abduction" into a mere blip.
"First illusion or second, they're all just one of countless reflections in the true world's mirror. We'll be trapped in illusions forever, living backwards."
"Not living backwards. Dying."
"Ah, right."
The illusions we'd passed were long destroyed. Only the dimensionally lost kids we'd barely rescued—and us—remained.
Watching them trail us, whining about missing parents, stress boiled up. Pure, unstained souls like theirs go straight to heaven upon death—no extras needed.
I didn't have to bust my ass saving them. But those sneaky swap-ins? Couldn't leave a single one in the real world. Hence dragging dozens of kids around.
"Suddenly having trash thoughts—maybe I'm just another illusory Han Daeri? The real one thinks nicer!"
"You've always been like that, boss. No worries—I'll vouch."
"Yeah, figured."
Real recognizes real. Anyway, facing the unyielding transparent barrier—unbroken even pounding it with knuckled fists—I entered strategy mode.
"We entered the mirrors; impostors slipped out in our place. Entry and exit are possible. Mirrors count as ghost gates, letting spirits freely cross to the mortal realm."
"So we're real—physical, not spiritual—so we can't pass ghost gates back?"
"Exactly. But entering from mortal realm to ghost gate? Simple. Shed the annoying flesh shell, cross as naked ghosts."
"Then... those outside possess our real bodies? This just got worse."
"Nah. Easier now. True world and this mirror? One sheet of glass apart. Spiritual interference is a breeze. Ever feel creeped out by your bathroom mirror while washing up?"
"Uh... yeah, everyone has that once. Doing something else in the mirror feels off, like something else is watching from inside—subtle dread."
"That's it."
I rapped the razor-thin yet impenetrable barrier—unless real-body space opened.
"Ghost pranks sound fucking fun, right?"
Ghosts deserve a taste of reversal terror too. Admit it? Yeah, admit it.