The Name Behind the Mask

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I felt was the smell.

The stench of oil. The metallic tang of rust. The rot of old rubber decaying. And the sharp bite of disinfectant. All of them mixed together, stabbing into my nostrils. A wave of nausea surged up instantly.

“Ugh…”

I tried to sit up but failed. My entire body felt heavy, as if several wet sandbags had been piled on top of me. My arms wouldn’t obey, and my legs felt numb, like they belonged to someone else. A needle-like pain lingered at the base of my neck.

I managed to turn my head just enough. Old fluorescent lights. A ceiling stained with grease. Tools hanging on the walls. Car doors and bumpers stacked in one corner. It was the underground maintenance room of an abandoned junkyard.

The memories returned a little late. The waterway. Yoon Taeha. Madok. Persona's Black Stage. Bounty hunters. An empty gun. And then—

“It would be troublesome if the audience ran away.”

The words that had come from my own mouth. I stopped breathing. Cold sweat trickled down my spine.

Those were my words. It had definitely been my voice. My lips had moved, my tongue had formed the sentence. But I hadn’t been inside it.

No. It wasn’t that I had been completely absent. I had been watching from within. Watching as my body looked down at the Rat Merchant. As it classified Seon Woo-rak as an outside observer. As it treated the black spot stone container as a key prop for the stage. I had seen it all.

Without being able to stop any of it.

“Finally awake, huh?”

A voice came from the side. It was the Rat Merchant. He was sitting on a folding chair. His hoodie was filthy with blood and oil, and his dust mask had been pulled down under his chin. For the first time, I got a somewhat clear look at his face. A sharp jawline. Eyes heavy with exhaustion. The quick, darting gaze typical of a cowardly man. And the deep, dark circles settled beneath those eyes.

Even after seeing that I was awake, he didn’t look pleased. Instead, he frowned.

“You’re alive, at least. Unfortunately.”

His tone was grumpy, but his expression had softened just a fraction. I asked through a dry throat.

“How long was I out?”

“Three hours.”

The Rat Merchant tapped the old pistol resting on his knee. “Ever since you collapsed after spouting stage lines with a human face in this maintenance room. In that time, I’ve been listening to bounty hunters banging on the door, watching that old bastard Seon Woo-rak stick things into your body, and hugging this backpack in case the black spot stone exploded.”

He scrunched up his face. “It was a truly touching time. I’ll be asking for monetary compensation later.”

“What about the guys outside?”

“I sent them away for now.”

“How?”

The Rat Merchant let out a dry chuckle. “With money.”

He jerked his chin toward one wall. Several small monitors were turned on there, showing what looked like external CCTV feeds from the junkyard. On one screen, three bounty hunters were arguing loudly outside the facility.

“I leaked them different information. Told them Copycat escaped under the western overpass, not from the junkyard.”

“And they bought it?”

“If they’d bought it completely, why would I have thrown in extra cash?”

The Rat Merchant’s face twisted again. “My emergency fund is gone. I’d been saving that for a long time. So add that to your debt too.”

I let out a short breath. A sound that might have been a laugh or a cough escaped me.

“You save my life and immediately hand me the bill.”

“Obviously. If I were a saint, would I be selling information from this underground hole?”

“Fair point.”

“Then pay up.”

That response felt strangely grounding. It was good. This wasn’t a stage. There was no audience. The Rat Merchant was simply a greedy information broker. That fact anchored me.

I slowly raised a hand to touch my face. This time, I felt nothing on my skin. No cold film. No lines pulling at the corners of my mouth. It seemed to have vanished.

“My face?” I asked. The Rat Merchant immediately frowned.

“It’s mostly back to looking human.”

“What did it look like before?”

“That mask bastard was half-fused to your face.”

“Could you see it?”

“Sort of blurry.”

The Rat Merchant rubbed his eyes. “It wasn’t so much that I saw the mask as that your expression looked wrong. Your mouth clearly wasn’t smiling, but it looked like it was. Your eyes were looking at me, but they weren’t human eyes.”

He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “I make a living reading people. I can tell the difference. Those eyes earlier weren’t human.”

I couldn’t answer. The words hit too accurately.

A metallic clang came from deeper inside the maintenance room. Seon Woo-rak was standing in front of the workbench. He had taken off his white lab coat and draped it over a chair. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and he held a measuring device in his hand. In front of him sat the black spot stone container, double-wrapped in gray shielding cloth and metal straps. Small shielding panels had been arranged around it in a circle. Like an altar.

The sight displeased me.

“That thing,” my voice dropped low. “Did you touch it?”

Seon Woo-rak answered without turning around. “I didn’t open it.”

“Then what were you doing just now?”

“I only measured the surface wavelengths. Even while you were unconscious, the container was reacting. If left alone, there was a high chance the entire room would have been in danger.”

“The sample—”

Seon Woo-rak finally looked at me. “I didn’t collect one.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

He shrugged. “You don’t have to. However, if I had taken a sample, the Rat Merchant would have shot me.”

The Rat Merchant snorted from the side. “With an empty gun?”

“According to your own words, it was loaded.”

“That wasn’t my line. It was nonsense that guy spat out right before he nearly died.”

Both of them looked at me at the same time. I closed my eyes. My head hurt. But thanks to their exchange, I could be somewhat certain.

This place still wasn’t a stage. At least not right now.

“Tell me my current condition first.”

Seon Woo-rak’s eyes grew a little more serious. He approached with a small terminal. The screen displayed complex graphs and numbers. There was only one line I could read.

I frowned. “It’s gone down quite a bit.”

“Because I administered an excessive dose of supernormal suppressant.”

“Side effects?”

“Your body will feel heavy for a while, and sensation in your fingertips will be dulled. In severe cases, vomiting, blurred vision, and short-term memory confusion. Using your abilities will also cause stronger backlash than usual.”

“How careful do I need to be?”

“It would be best not to use Villain Manifestation for at least twelve hours. Especially, Persona's Black Stage is strictly prohibited.”

The Rat Merchant immediately cut in. “Prohibited? More like sealed. If you use that thing again, I’ll beat you for real. I don’t like it when the guy who’s supposed to make me money dies, but I hate seeing that mask stuck on your face even more.”

I looked at the Rat Merchant. He was serious. His expression was more convincing than the pistol.

Seon Woo-rak swiped to the next screen on his terminal. “You reached ninety-one percent. Honestly, it’s strange that you came back at all.”

“I remember that part.”

“No. You only think you remember. In reality, there were intermittent breaks in consciousness.”

I stiffened at those words. “Breaks in consciousness?”

“It means there were sections where your control weakened and the Persona’s speech patterns and decision-making took over completely.”

Seon Woo-rak pointed to a specific section on the screen. “From the moment we arrived in the maintenance room until just before the suppressant was administered—approximately two minutes and forty seconds.”

It was short. Far too short. Yet in those two minutes and forty seconds, I had nearly lost control of my own body. I had almost opened the black spot stone container. I had threatened the Rat Merchant. I had classified Seon Woo-rak as an observer outside the stage. And I had spoken those words with my own mouth.

Director. Doctor. Audience.

Those words still seemed to linger on the tip of my tongue.

“Why did it stop?” I asked. The Rat Merchant answered gruffly.

“Because I’m amazing.”

Seon Woo-rak immediately corrected him. “Half of that is correct.”

“Half?”

“The Rat Merchant called you ‘mask bastard’ and linguistically separated Persona from Kang Doyun. Your reaction wavered at that moment.”

The Rat Merchant cleared his throat. “So I saved you.”

“And in that gap, I injected the suppressant.”

“You couldn’t have done it without me.”

“Without you, I might have done it more quietly.”

“Ha, this old man is unbelievable.”

As I listened to their bickering, I spoke quietly. “Thank you.”

The maintenance room fell silent. The Rat Merchant’s mouth stopped moving. Seon Woo-rak paused as well. I spoke again.

“Both of you.”

The Rat Merchant narrowed his eyes at me. “The drugs must still be in your system.”

“I mean it.”

“That’s what makes it scarier. I feel safer when you talk like your usual unpleasant self.”

He turned his head and muttered, “Don’t think you can reduce your debt by saying thank you.”

“How much?”

“First, emergency fund, escape route usage fee, junkyard hideout rental fee, equipment damage risk surcharge, and mental damage compensation.”

“What the hell is mental damage compensation?”

“The price for making me see that mask stuck to your face. I’m definitely charging for that.”

I let out a short breath. This time it was definitely a laugh. The Rat Merchant glared at me.

“Don’t laugh. It’s still creepy.”

“Got it.”

A brief silence followed. Strangely, it wasn’t uncomfortable. I raised my hand and touched my face again. Nothing was there this time either. But I knew. It hadn’t disappeared. It had simply retreated inward. The Persona’s mask had vanished from my skin, but it still hung somewhere inside my mind. If needed, it would come down again.

No. It would make me believe it was needed. That was the real problem.

Seon Woo-rak said, “There are three things you need immediately.”

“Things I can hear right now, I assume?”

“Things you must hear even if you don’t want to.”

Seon Woo-rak raised one finger. “First. Name Anchoring.”

I frowned. “Name anchoring?”

“While in the Persona manifestation state, you displayed the linguistic patterns of the ‘Director’ rather than Copycat or Kang Doyun. However, when Yoon Taeha called you ‘Mr. Kang Doyun’ and when the Rat Merchant called you ‘mask bastard,’ your reaction wavered.”

Seon Woo-rak showed me the terminal screen. There were sections where the numbers had suddenly dipped.

“A name may function as a nail that holds the boundary of the self in place.”

Nail. The word caught in my mind in a strange way. The Apocalypse of Blank. The disaster in which names are erased. The people pushed out of the world when they lose their names. To me, who knew that future, the idea that a name was a nail holding the self together did not sound light.

I asked quietly, “So you’re going to call my name to check if I’m sane?”

“More precisely, to confirm whether you respond properly to your own name.”

Seon Woo-rak folded the terminal. “In the manifested state, you reacted more sensitively to role-based language such as Director, Audience, and Stage than to the name Kang Doyun. That is a dangerous sign. It doesn’t mean you forgot the name, but it does mean the center of your ego has shifted from the name toward the role.”

The Rat Merchant frowned. “To put it simply, if you turn around immediately when called Kang Doyun, you’re still human. If someone says audience or director, you’re on the mask bastard side?”

“Crude, but not wrong.”

“I get it, but it feels disgusting.”

Seon Woo-rak looked at me again. “So I’m asking. Right now, do you recognize the name Kang Doyun as your own? This is not a question asking you to find another name. I want to check whether the connection between that name and yourself has loosened under the Persona’s influence.”

I couldn’t answer right away. The question itself was simple. Kang Doyun. Was it my name? The name of this body. The name I had to survive with in this world. A name buried beneath the villain name Copycat, one that might be covered by the new name of the black mask. And somewhere deep inside me, there was still an old name I hadn’t brought out.

But in this moment, in this place, there was only one name someone could use to hold onto me.

Kang Doyun.

At least the name of the human who was breathing, bleeding, running, and accumulating debt with this body.

When my answer was delayed, the Rat Merchant narrowed his eyes.

“Hey.”

“What.”

“You hesitated just now.”

“I know.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

I looked down at my palm. The tips of my fingers were still trembling slightly. I didn’t know if it was from the suppressant or the aftereffects of the Persona. I slowly inhaled.

And then I said it.

“Kang Doyun.”

My voice fell quietly onto the floor of the maintenance room.

“That’s my name.”

Only after saying it did I begin to understand. This wasn’t a choice. It was confirmation. Not deciding which name to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠live by, but reclaiming the name that had nearly been stolen from me moments ago.

The Rat Merchant stared at my face. “You look human this time.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“By today’s standards, it’s a pretty big one.”

Seon Woo-rak nodded. “Good. In the future, if signs of manifestation appear, having those around you call your name may help.”

The Rat Merchant immediately raised his hand. “I’m not taking the official calling duty. I don’t want to call a name for something that doesn’t pay and end up making eye contact with the mask bastard.”

“You did it earlier.”

“I called him mask bastard. I didn’t call his name, did I?”

“That also had a separating effect.”

The Rat Merchant frowned. “So I’m supposed to do it again in the future?”

I looked at him and said, “If necessary.”

“This is getting ridiculous. Now even cursing is a technique for saving people?”

Seon Woo-rak continued. “Second. Isolating the black spot stone.”

He pointed at the container on the workbench. “When you entered the Persona manifestation state, you tried to open the black spot stone. In other words, the stone is not merely an object but a core stimulus that amplifies manifestation. Carrying it yourself during combat in the future is dangerous.”

I answered immediately. “I can’t entrust it to anyone else.”

The Rat Merchant raised both hands. “I don’t want to carry it either. That thing isn’t money or a bomb, but it somehow combines the disadvantages of both.”

Seon Woo-rak said, “I’m not saying to hand it over completely. It means we need to install at least a double lock so you cannot open it alone.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re saying I can’t open my own property?”

“That is how you can remain yourself.”

Seon Woo-rak’s words were cold. But they weren’t wrong. Moments ago, I had nearly opened the black spot stone. Not of my own will, but pushed by the Persona’s impulse. If that repeated, I didn’t know who could stop it next time.

I clenched my teeth. “I have conditions.”

“Speak.”

“The unlock authority will be divided among three people. Me, the Rat Merchant, and you.”

The Rat Merchant immediately protested. “Why am I included?”

“Because if you’re not, Seon Woo-rak will open it secretly.”

“That’s correct.” Seon Woo-rak didn’t deny it.

“Reasonable.”

The Rat Merchant glared at Seon Woo-rak. “Deny it a little. Agreeing to my distrust so readily makes me even more anxious.”

“Lies erode trust.”

“It’s already at rock bottom.”

I continued. “It can only be opened with the consent of at least two out of three. If I am in a manifested state, my consent is invalid.”

Seon Woo-rak’s eyes gleamed. “Excellent.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It means it’s a good decision.”

“Don’t say that either.”

He smiled faintly. “Understood.”

“And the third?” I asked. Seon Woo-rak’s expression grew even more serious.

“Information blockade.”

“What information?”

“Information about the Persona.”

I closed my mouth. Seon Woo-rak looked straight at me. “You said your ability is cognition-based. The more you know, the more clearly it manifests. But in the case of the Persona, the fragment has already been registered through the black spot stone, and manifestation has occurred. If you dig deeper into memories and impressions of that villain from here, the manifestation will deepen as well.”

“So you’re telling me not to think about it?”

“Do not analyze the structural composition of the Persona’s abilities. Do not deeply recall the incidents that villain caused, his speech patterns, or his way of thinking. Especially, it would be best to avoid the habit of organizing situations with words like ‘stage,’ ‘audience,’ and ‘direction.’”

“As if that’s something I can control.”

“It won’t be.”

“Then why tell me?”

“So you understand that the task is close to impossible.”

He really was an unpleasant man. But once again, he wasn’t wrong. The more I thought about Persona's Black Stage, the clearer it became. Black curtains. Buttons. Audience seats. A structure that used fear as fuel. A way of thinking that viewed people as roles. The moment I recalled it, the mask inside me regained strength.

Stage.

The instant that word rose in my mind, I clenched my teeth and thought of different words. Maintenance room. Junkyard. Rat Merchant. Seon Woo-rak. Black spot stone container. Kang Doyun. As I attached names to each one, the black curtain receded a little.

To grow stronger, I had to remember. To survive, I had to use it. But the more I remembered and used it, the closer I drew to the Persona. The contradiction of Villain Manifestation tightened around my throat again.

At that moment, an alert sounded from the Rat Merchant’s tablet. Beep.

He checked the screen and frowned. “News is out.”

“About the Guro area?”

“The Central Waterway incident. Official news and dark market posts are circulating at the same time.”

He turned the tablet toward me. Both a breaking news article and a dark market post were displayed on the screen. The official news was brief.

I stared at the words “Mr. Yoon” for a long time. Yoon Taeha. He had survived. For now.

The Rat Merchant swiped to the next screen. The dark market side was far more blatant.

Madok had gotten away. Hound was still alive. Only some of the Black Dog members had been caught, and the core remained intact. The good news was that the hostages had survived. The bad news was that I had become even more famous.

The Rat Merchant ground his teeth. “It’s over.”

“What is?”

“The possibility of you living quietly.”

He tapped the tablet. “Copycat is no longer just a subcontracted villain who ran off with a black spot stone. You’ve become a dangerous bastard who shook Black Dog in the Central Waterway and used some weird black mask ability in front of the Association. Rumors like this swell in the dark market in a day, get a price tag in two, and bring hunters swarming in three.”

“They already swarmed.”

“It’ll get worse. The ones who came earlier were quick hyenas. Next time, they’ll be the ones with proper gear.”

Seon Woo-rak said quietly, “The Association will also reclassify you.”

“From a low-level mimicry-type villain?”

“At minimum, a mental-type high-risk target. Black stone associate. Possessor of illegal supernormal material. And a variable who intervened in a civilian rescue site.”

The Rat Merchant snorted. “If you look at it positively, you helped.”

Seon Woo-rak shook his head. “The Association won’t see it that simply. They will be more wary of the fact that an uncontrollable mental-type ability user caused large-scale hallucinations at the scene than the fact that you saved civilians.”

He was right. I had saved people. But the method had not been that of a hero. Persona's Black Stage. Fear induction. Illusions. Movement distortion. From the Association’s perspective, it was a dangerous mental-type ability that could engulf civilians, heroes, and Association agents alike. It was only natural that they would see me as a target for arrest rather than protection.

Then the Rat Merchant opened another alert. His expression hardened further.

“This is really bad.”

“Has there been any good news so far?”

“This one changes the price tag. In my experience, when the price tag changes, more people die.”

He showed me the screen. A pinned dark market post had been updated.

I narrowed my eyes. Live capture: 500 million. Lethal force prohibited. Do not damage possessions. It had gotten worse than before. Being told not to kill wasn’t good news. It meant there was now a reason they needed me alive.

Madok had seen it. My Persona's Black Stage. Hound had caught the scent. The smell of the mask inside me. Black Dog no longer wanted only the black spot stone. They wanted me. Or more precisely, Copycat who had reacted with the black spot stone.

Seon Woo-rak muttered, “Faster than expected.”

“What is?”

“The speed at which you became a commodity.”

I glared at him. Seon Woo-rak didn’t look apologetic. He simply stated the facts.

“A courier who ran off with a black spot stone is dangerous, but once the object is recovered, it ends there. However, an ability user whose genuine supernormal power has been altered through the black spot stone is different. There is research value. Combat value as well.”

“So they want to take me alive.”

“Exactly.”

The Rat Merchant swore softly. “Now you’ve actually got a price worth selling for. Congratulations. Your life is even more ruined, and my surroundings have become even more dangerous.”

I set the tablet down. My body was still heavy. But sleep wouldn’t come. The situation was deteriorating far too quickly. Black Dog. The Association. Madok. Hound. Yoon Taeha. Bounty hunters. On top of that, the black spot stone and the Persona. Everything was tightening around my throat.

Strangely, though, I wasn’t suffocating like before. Maybe I was simply too exhausted. Or perhaps it was because I had already gone to ninety-one percent and returned. After seeing something more terrifying than death, simple pursuit felt a little less frightening. Whether that was a good change or a bad one, I couldn’t tell.

Seon Woo-rak said, “For the next twelve hours, you must not move.”

“Is this a situation where that’s possible?”

The Rat Merchant answered immediately. “It’s not.”

Seon Woo-rak looked at the Rat Merchant. “A minimum stabilization period is necessary.”

“I know. So two hours. If you stay lying down any longer than that, this location will be discovered first.”

The Rat Merchant folded his fingers as he spoke. “I’ll shake off the guys outside. Seon Woo-rak will install the lock on your black spot stone. You just breathe like a normal person. That’s the maximum we can do right now to survive.”

I looked at him. “This is the first time I’ve heard you tell me to rest.”

“If you die, I won’t get paid.”

“Of course.”

“And.”

The Rat Merchant hesitated for a moment. It was an uncharacteristic expression, as if he were choosing his words carefully.

“If that mask bastard comes out again—”

“Then?”

“This time I’ll really shoot.”

“You don’t have any bullets.”

The Rat Merchant pulled a single small bullet from his pocket. An old, dust-covered round. He held it up in his palm for me to see.

“I got one.”

I looked at the bullet. The Rat Merchant’s hand was trembling slightly. Because he was cowardly. Because he always calculated everything. Because he put his own life first. That was how he had survived so long. And now that kind of man was showing me a single bullet.

Like a threat. Like a promise. If I stopped being myself, he would shoot.

Strangely, those words reassured me. I nodded.

“Shoot if you need to.”

The Rat Merchant scowled. “Don’t say it so easily. I hate shooting people.”

“I’m a villain, though.”

“Even villains can hate shooting people, you know? I like money, but I’m not the type who enjoys the sound of gunfire.”

I paused for a moment at those words. Then I smiled, very faintly. This time the Rat Merchant didn’t back down. He looked at my face as if confirming it and said,

“That smile is a bit better.”

“A compliment?”

“It helps with survival.”

Seon Woo-rak chuckled softly from the side. “You two are surprisingly in sync.”

“Shut up, Doctor.”

The Rat Merchant and I spoke at the same time. A very brief silence fell over the maintenance room. Then the Rat Merchant chuckled first. I closed my eyes again.

This time, I didn’t see a stage in the darkness. Instead, names rose up. Kang Doyun. Copycat. And beneath them, a blank space that still shouldn’t be touched. There was no need to determine which of the three was real right now.

In this moment, I needed a name that someone could use to hold onto me. Not the Director hiding behind the mask. Not a role on the stage. The name of a human who had to survive.

I whispered very softly.

“Kang Doyun.”

I didn’t know if the Rat Merchant heard it. Seon Woo-rak probably had. The black spot stone container flickered quietly inside the shielding panels. It wasn’t completely asleep. The same went for the Persona. He hadn’t disappeared. He was waiting somewhere inside me, behind the black curtain, whispering that the performance wasn’t over yet.

But for now. At least for this moment. The curtain had come down.

Then the Rat Merchant’s tablet rang again. Beep.

He checked the screen. “It’s here again.” His eyes narrowed. “Association movement.”

I opened my eyes. “Is it about Yoon Taeha?”

“No. This time it’s an even more annoying name.”

The Rat Merchant turned the screen. A blurry photo. A vehicle entering the underground parking lot of the Association building. And the woman getting out of it. Short tied hair. A black tactical coat. The Special Disaster Response Department badge at her waist.

The Rat Merchant said quietly, “Seo Mun-ha.”

It wasn’t a name I was hearing for the first time. In my memories, that name always appeared coldly. Team Leader of the Association’s Special Disaster Response Department. Yoon Taeha’s superior. The person who protected Yoon Taeha while monitoring him, and who had the authority to pull him from the field if necessary. A hero who never gave up on rescue, but who wouldn’t hesitate to bind, subdue, or isolate someone if it meant achieving that rescue. And especially cold when facing mental-type disasters.

When I thought about the state I had just shown, her movement was close to the worst possible signal.

“Even Seo Mun-ha has moved.”

When I spoke quietly, the Rat Merchant glanced at me. “You know the name?”

“It’s a famous one on the Association side.”

It wasn’t a lie. In this world, Seo Mun-ha was a sufficiently ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠famous hero. It was just that the reason I knew her went beyond that.

The Rat Merchant looked at me suspiciously, but decided this wasn’t the time to press and looked back at the screen.

“Team Leader of the Association’s Special Disaster Response Department. Rumored to be Yoon Taeha’s superior and monitor. Not the type to move on emotion in the field. The kind who will tie up even rescue targets and drag them out if necessary.”

Seon Woo-rak’s expression changed slightly as well. “That woman has moved?”

“You know the name too, Doctor?”

“I’ve heard the rumors. She has experience responding to mental-type disasters and makes quick judgments on site. People like that dislike targets with ambiguous classifications the most.”

The Rat Merchant ground his teeth. “To put it simply, after seeing your black mask show, the Association has unleashed a proper hunting dog.”

I stared at the photo on the tablet. If Yoon Taeha was a hero who reached out to save people, then Seo Mun-ha was a hero who could cut away dangerous targets in order to save people. The difference was not small. Yoon Taeha could extend his hand to me. But if Seo Mun-ha judged it necessary, she was the kind of person who would bind that wrist and all. She was more likely to try to subdue me first rather than understand me.

I let out a slow breath. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The Rat Merchant said, “There’s one more. This one isn’t good either.”

“At this point, hearing the words ‘good news’ from your mouth is even scarier.”

“Correct.”

He swiped the screen. This time it was a short internal leak text.

I stared at the sentence for a long time. Black Mask. A new name had been attached. On top of Copycat. On top of Kang Doyun. On top of the traces of the Persona. Another name.

Seon Woo-rak said quietly, “The number of names has increased.”

The words sounded strangely ominous. A name was supposed to be a nail that held the self in place. But what if there were too many names? Kang Doyun. Copycat. Black Mask. Persona. Which of them would hold me together, and which would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tear me apart?

I closed my eyes again. Somewhere in my mind, the black curtain trembled ever so slightly. And from behind it came the sound of soft applause.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

I clenched my teeth and muttered, “It’s still my name.”

This time, it was my voice. Clearly.