The Me in the Mirror

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The person in the mirror thought at my birth. I'm exactly like you, so why are we so different? Same hair, same eyes, same nose, same mouth, same clothes. Everything from one to ten is identical, except for the left-right reversal—even the gestures are the same. Yet you're out there living in the world. And I'm trapped in this narrow mirror. We're so alike, so why? It doesn't make sense. I can't accept it. This is outrageous. Unfair!

That's why the person in the mirror hated and envied the one outside. Try being in my position. Then it'll be fair, right?

"Hey, don't look at that mirror carelessly. It's cursed."

A voice came from outside the mirror.

"Cursed? Come on, that stuff doesn't exist in the real world."

"It does, you punk. If you don't wanna die, watch yourself."

Then a cloth draped over the mirror. The world where the mirror reflected nothing was just darkness. And so, it couldn't become anything. A mirror gains the world and life only by reflecting something, after all.

"But why buy a cursed thing for 7 million won?"

"Beats me. Don't worry about it—we just gotta sell it."

And so the mirror was moved.

In the monster game, the four major factions were the Foundation, Special Task Force, Church, and Deep Web. But in truth, there were many other organizations besides those four. They were just smaller and more trivial by comparison. To use an easy analogy, they were like bandit groups in fantasy novels or wuxia tales. Would a hero fighting the Demon King get pushed around by bandits? Would a young master destined to battle the Heavenly Demon get toyed with by them? They were small-time, but still genuine thieves all the same. In modern terms, yakuza, thugs, organized crime syndicates.

By chance, they'd discovered a couple of Muksi Saengmyeongche before the Foundation and used them for scams or crimes—puny factions like that.

"But what if the buyer's from the Church?"

"Church folks are hit or miss. Some just buy it for the money, others go on about the apocalypse and try to kill you."

"If it's the Church, just take the 7 million and sell. If it's the Task Force, we bolt."

They prepared for the deal like that.

Deep into the night at 3 a.m. By chance, a corner of the cloth covering the mirror peeled back slightly. The mirror's edge peeked out, faintly reflecting the surroundings.

This seemed to be a delayed redevelopment commercial district. The streets were already deserted, but at dawn, it felt even more desolate. Vacant shops with "For Rent" signs. Dingy alleyways. Dead commerce zone, obviously. And there, men had gathered. Muscles bared, tattoos ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flashing. Fistfighters through and through.

So the sudden arrival of two people stood out like sore thumbs. One was a kid. Middle-schooler height, maybe. Shy-looking face. The other was a beauty. Flowing white hair, bright golden eyes, huge breasts.

Someone whistled. Two women only—did someone call escorts? The men chuckled crudely.

The two women approached cautiously. And Mayuri—one half of the duo, self-proclaimed universe's cutest girl—let out a sigh. Fled the cops, now running into thugs. Yeah, anomalies don't end that easily.

Mayuri lightly smacked Lisa's butt as a signal: I'm counting on you. Lisa nodded in understanding.

"We're here for the deal. Where's the item?"

Lisa held out the bag with 7 million won.

A man with a cigarette smirked sleazily and stepped up to her.

"The item, huh. We got it, but we changed our minds. Kinda don't wanna sell for 7 mil anymore."

"You were the ones who set the price at 7 million."

"It's such a weird number. 7 mil? What even is that? Forget it—let's make it a clean 15 million."

That's what he said. Against big players like the Church or Foundation, they'd hand it over for 7 mil. But these girls didn't seem like either. And flashing that much cash so easily? Rich daughters from somewhere? They looked naive—we can squeeze more out of 'em.

"Mayuri-nim?"

"It was bait from the start."

If a tough customer showed, they'd sell easy. If they seemed soft, no sale—they'd kidnap and harvest organs instead.

Mayuri said that.

"Whoa, harsh words. We're not that barbaric."

The man eyed Lisa's chest openly. Mayuri sighed. No intention of letting them go nicely. Good thing—saves me money.

"Lisa."

"Yes, Mayuri-nim."

Lisa stepped forward. A kitchen knife gleamed in her hand. An arm flew.

"Aaaargh!!!"

The scream came a beat late. What? What just happened? No one there—except Mayuri and Lisa—understood.

"You guys seem like you've killed before, but I won't kill you."

Lisa swung the knife again. She didn't like humans who killed—thinned the herd, like deer ruining crops or weasels in a chicken coop. But she wouldn't kill them.

"Mayuri-nim hates it when people die."

Slice. Another arm off.

"You bastards! What're you doing against one girl? Shoot the bitch!"

Someone drew a gun on Lisa. Bang! Gunpowder and gunshot rang out. Then ting—metal clashing.

Lisa had batted the bullet midair with her cleaver.

"For the severed limbs, ask them to reattach later. Not sure if Foundation or Task Force shows, but they'll probably help."

"Cr-crazy... M-monster bitch!"

"Yes, monster."

Acknowledging what needed acknowledging, Lisa swung again. Shouts. Screams. Gunshots. Clanging metal. Sounds mixed, then converged into one: meat slicing. Meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing, meat slicing.

Sobbing.

"Pl-please spare me... W-we're sorry! Just this once!"

One man, legs gone, groveling. Around him, several bleeding and groaning. No kills meant arms and legs rolling on the ground.

Lisa glared. "The item?"

"It's there! So please..."

He babbled, but Lisa ignored, flipping the knife and cracking his neck with the flat.

Thwack! Out cold. She kicked him aside and approached the cloth-covered mirror. Fairly large, but she lifted it one-handed.

"I'll carry this, Mayuri-nim."

Lisa smiled at Mayuri.

The mirror hung on the wall. Still cloth-covered. But with a corner peeled, whatever was inside could glimpse the situation.

This was a vacant shop. Inside: two women named Mayuri and Lisa.

"They lent us a chair. For guys who tried to threaten you, Mayuri-nim, weren't they surprisingly nice?"

"Anyone gets nice with your cleaver out, Lisa..."

"Is that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so? You shouldn't hold a cleaver in front of Mayuri-nim, then."

"Huh? Why?"

"No need to be nice to me."

Mayuri looked baffled by the exchange. Meanwhile, Lisa opened the suitcase. Plastic-wrapped, dismembered corpse revealed.

"Lisa... You can really sew it back together...?"

"Not perfectly, but yes. Fine dining requires precision. And I'm good at delicate cooking."

She pulled out needle and thread. Limbs from the case, then torso, head. Pieced the disassembled parts together. As Lisa said, not perfect—like mending a stuffed doll after shredding it. The body sagged more than before.

"Lisa, chair here's fine... And clothes."

"Yes."

Clothes Mayuri bought beforehand. Corpse sat on the chair; Lisa dressed it. Key: hide needle marks on cuts. Tied torso to chair back with cord, splinted the neck. Covered with thick clothes, blanket, scarf. No cuts or splints visible. From afar, just a limp person sitting.

"You know makeup too?"

Mayuri asked, seeing cosmetics pulled out. Lisa nodded.

"Not much practice, but shouldn't be hard. Chefs color food sometimes?"

And as a human flesh chef, I'm decent at this.

Lisa applied to the face. Added shine, improved texture and tone. Still pale from no blood, but now looked "sick person," not corpse. Finally, Lisa pried the eyes half-open. Cloudy corneas showed.

"Lisa, remove the cloth."

"Yes, Mayuri-nim."

At Mayuri's order, Lisa unveiled the mirror. Anyone seeing the reflection: someone on the chair. Hard to spot as corpse. Splint kept posture demure. Splint in blind spot, not reflected. Cloudy cornea, but half-lidded eyes hid it. Just the reflection? Looked alive.

That aliveness mattered—to Mayuri, and to the mirror.

"I Am a Murderer" turns innocents into murderers. Makes killers live in eternal tension. Solution, in a way, simple: erase the murder. Lose its urban legend power. Alter history. Make it so no one died.

"She's alive—Yang Miro."

-Grin.

The 'Yang Miro' in the mirror smiled at Mayuri's lie. Obvious fib with a moment's thought. But the mirror's Yang Miro chose to believe it true. Had to.

Aaah! You're living in the vast world outside, identical to me! Unfair. Make it fair. You become me. I become you. That's fair, right?

A hand burst from the mirror. Grabbed the 'Yang Miro' outside. The corpse began sliding in. No resistance, of course—undeniable corpse. Dressed up to look alive. Reflection showed lifeless, but still.

Corpses don't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠resist. It vanished. Instead, a woman identical to the reflection emerged.

"Hello?"

She greeted Mayuri and Lisa.

"I'm Yang Miro. Nice to meet you."

Cloudy eyes met Mayuri's as she spoke.