“How could this... possibly be Kim Hyun?”

Her pale face tilted. That couldn’t be. How could this be Kim Hyun? With eyes devoid of any sense of reality, she stared fixedly at the rotting corpse.

This lump of flesh, all festering and reeking so horribly, how could it possibly be the same person who once gave me flowers...?

“No... It can’t be. It can’t be him.”

It shouldn’t be. I even spoke to him on the phone. He was definitely a top agent...

She clung to the rising suspicion like a lifeline. But when her thumb brushed over the brow—if she followed down from there... ah... A light flickered in Seoryeong’s eyes.

Yes. That round scar right around here, the nostrils that were subtly different on each side, the corners of the lips that dipped slightly downwards, the thickness of the lips... Her hand didn’t stop moving.

“No... Still no...”

But she only kept shaking her head like a broken wooden puppet. Seoryeong widened her eyes in desperation, frantically brushing the rotting, darkened corpse, searching for anything that might prove it wasn’t Kim Hyun.

There had to be at least one thing different. My husband isn’t this silent, or this sleepy, or this filthy. But soon her eye sockets throbbed as if about to burst, and her vision grew blurry. No matter how much she looked, how much she traced it with her fingers over and over—this was the face she had drawn a hundred times in her mind.

“Instructor...”

Seoryeong lifted her head in a daze, as if possessed by a ghost.

Lee Wooshin was frozen in place. He hadn’t fully put down the bag, nor had he managed to push it away.

The zipper was already undone, yet he was still clinging to the bag with such desperate force that his veins stood out.

The moment their eyes met, it scraped across her chest like a blade. One lens was gone—probably from being struck across the face—exposing one iris unnaturally and revealing a raw, devastated tremble.

“Why... why did you bring a bag like this?”

“......”

“This wasn’t the deal. I said to bring back Kim Hyun—my husband—not this... I never asked for something like this...!”

Her voice was growing louder.

“This is wrong. This isn’t right...!”

Seeing him remain silent somehow made her sorrow swell beyond control. She didn’t even stop to think that her anger might be misdirected.

He was the only one she could spit out this madness to—so she grabbed his sleeve and shook it violently.

Even from that weak motion, Lee Wooshin staggered back a few steps. For someone of his level, it was almost laughable.

“You brought the wrong one... It’s not... it’s not him...”

Seoryeong’s legs finally gave out and she collapsed onto the riverbank.

“Han Seoryeong...!”

Lee Wooshin dropped to his knees to support her. But she couldn’t even cry—she simply pounded weakly on the bag. Their pant legs darkened with water.

Just then, a rustling sound came from within. Seoryeong flinched, reaching into the bag, and suddenly something thin and sharp grazed beneath her nail. She grabbed at it reflexively—pulling out a wad of papers.

One was an unclaimed death report. The other was...

“――.”

It felt like her heart had stopped. The moment her eyes landed on that black-and-white photo, it stabbed in like a thumbtack. All noise cut out at once, then slowly returned. The sound of wind rustling through reeds pierced her ears and grew clearer.

A man in a tuxedo and a woman in a sleeveless dress. He looked so awkward holding the bouquet that his arm had gone numb the whole time they were taking it. Their modest wedding photo, taken at a neighborhood studio, had bent corners and creases all over.

Yes... that’s definitely my face, and this... This man, whose gentle smile fit him like a painting...

Seoryeong couldn’t take her eyes off the unfamiliar wedding photo. Kim Hyun was holding her hand tightly, and she looked stiff, her shoulders tense as if unsure what to do.

So this is how we were. We used to smile like this... But why is this photo... in the arms of this corpse?

Seoryeong blinked vacantly. At that moment, Lee Wooshin beside her let out a sharp breath and snatched the photo away. He turned it over in his hand with a frozen expression, confirming both sides. His face contorted ominously.

Even so, Seoryeong simply looked down at the corpse. No. It’s not him. It can’t be.

She pressed her forehead and nose bridge against the corpse’s dark, festering skin. As if she wanted to melt into it—become one with it—she burrowed deeper and deeper. A groaning sob like acid slipped out of her mouth.

“Ah...”

So it is you after all... This is what you looked like now... She embraced the rotting corpse, overcome with bliss.

“Hyunie...”

For the first time, she saw the face of her husband—the face she had longed to capture with her own eyes. The yearning that had sprouted ever since she started going blind bloomed inside the putrefying flesh of Kim Hyun.

You should’ve stayed alive. I hated you so much. I wanted to make you pay. But still... you should’ve just stayed alive.

The denial she clung to shattered, and a searing flame engulfed her tear ducts.

“Hyunie...”

Why did you show up like this—looking like something I couldn’t even chase after? I thought you were working for the NIS. So what is this? Why is my husband being thrown away like garbage...?

A tidal wave of rage slammed through her chest. Her head burned red-hot and her eyes swelled as if they’d burst.

“Why...!”

The despair hit even harder than the day he first disappeared. She couldn’t breathe—her chest convulsed painfully. Being stripped naked and whipped would’ve been easier to endure. Seoryeong screamed so loud her throat nearly tore.

“Aaagh!”

If you push me this far, what am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go? How do I go on living? Do I have to beg on the street?

She buried her face in the corpse and sobbed violently—until her vision was suddenly blocked.

“...Don’t look. Please. Don’t look.”

Lee Wooshin wrapped a hand over her eyes and pulled her into him. His voice was hideously cracked.

His large palm soon pressed down over her temple, locking her head in place so she couldn’t move. Her skull pressed tight against his chest like it had been bolted there.

“Let go. Let me go...!”

Seoryeong clawed and tore at the back of his hand. All her fury was directed at the one pulling her away from Kim Hyun.

“I said let go! Let...!”

His solid jaw grazed the crown of her head and clenched even harder. But his strength, like someone subduing a wild animal, was too firm to break free from.

She beat at his thighs nonstop, kicked, and punched his face without end. Yet Lee Wooshin remained utterly still, not even exhaling. His stillness only made her angrier—made her feel even more betrayed.

“Who the hell do you think you are, interfering...! That’s my husband...! If I don’t see him now, when will I ever... this is the first time I’m seeing him, ever... Even if it’s just his body, I... I have to take it, even if it’s just the body—!”

“...Don’t look.”

“How can I not look—!”

Blood tinged her scream.

“The one I’ve been searching for, it’s him, it’s that man... it really is...!”

“......”

“It’s Kim Hyun, he’s my husband. I know. That’s my husband...!”

Seoryeong wept and screamed, pleaded and raged. As she kept repeating “It’s him, it’s my husband,” Lee Wooshin tightened his grip around her so hard it could’ve crushed her bones.

And then, a low, heavy voice, like a fallen body crashing into a river, resonated from deep in his chest.

“I... I’m sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done this.”

“......”

“I should never have brought him. I shouldn’t have done this.”

“Let go of me!”

Her struggling kicked up gravel around them.

“So don’t cry. Don’t cry like it’s all over.”

There was something desperate in the way he clung to her. She was the one who had lost everything—her reason for living, her only person. But it was Lee Wooshin who lowered his head to her shoulder.

Then suddenly, the unyielding pressure in his hands weakened. Her tear-wet lashes peeled off his palm. The darkness cleared.

But the reality before her hadn’t changed at all.

An unknown white bird was pecking at the riverbank. She stared at it in a daze.

“—If it’s a woman, I think I’d undress her politely. If it’s a man, I’d just shove him into the water. Let him soak and puff up, then try peeling the skin off.”

What... was that?

What would you do if you found out the face of someone close to you was actually fake? It’s not just about tech—we’re already far past what you think... Lately on YouTube, there’s a lady named Jonna Mendez, former CIA chief of disguise...

What the hell is this...?

A jumbled mix of voices slammed into her brain. It was like the world had suddenly frozen—like she'd stepped into a windless vacuum.

Her ragged breath caught. Then her heart started pounding wildly. As if her collapsing body had grabbed one last support, her fingertips clenched tight. Her ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) dying eyes glinted with terrifying clarity.

No. No way. That’s impossible. She shook her head, trying to pull herself together. That kind of thing doesn’t exist. It’s just some nonsense rumor. She repeated it coldly, again and again—but then—

“Fuck, Han Seoryeong...!”

She didn’t know where the strength came from, but she yanked up the bag and leapt into the river.