Chapter 7: I Am Yours…
Three. Three connections so deep they could only be severed by death. Yet Dohyuk’s expression didn’t flicker. A faint, almost amused smirk tugged at his lips.
“An evil connection that can only be severed by death? How poetic.” He leaned back against the sofa, his voice casual, as if discussing the weather. “So, who are they?”
There had to be someone on the other end of those threads.
“I don’t know.”
Dohyuk let out a derisive laugh. Of course not. A convenient answer.
Yeon reached out, as if plucking something invisible from the air.
“I can’t trace where the thread leads unless I face the person connected to it directly.”
So for now, he could only see the threads starting from Dohyuk himself.
“You said it’s your job. If you cut them now, it should be done, right?” Dohyuk’s tone was sharp, challenging. He had already seen Yeon perform the act of severing threads. If there were three such vivid, malevolent connections, cutting them should settle the matter. That was what Yeon was being paid for, after all.
“Cut them. Right now.”
He didn’t believe in this nonsense about evil connections. He just wanted to see how Yeon would react.
Yeon stared at him, unblinking. Dohyuk expected him to mimic the motion of grasping at threads again, but he didn’t move. Had he finally run out of lies?
“Every person has dozens, even hundreds of connections,” Yeon said slowly. “Some are filled with malice so intense they threaten life. Some are fleeting encounters. Some last a lifetime as friends or colleagues. Sometimes…”
His voice faltered. Dohyuk’s reflection shimmered in Yeon’s blue eyes—steady, unshaken—until, for just a moment, something flickered.
“They are the connections that bind a couple.”
Yeon exhaled softly, his gaze dropping from Dohyuk’s face.
“Depending on the emotions they hold, these connections appear in different colors, different thicknesses. Among them, some are so strong, so unyielding, that not even my power can sever them.”
So the conclusion was that he couldn’t sever the evil connections tied to Dohyuk. Dohyuk’s smirk deepened, as if to say I knew it, but Yeon remained composed.
“I’m starting to wonder why you’re even here.”
His mother hadn’t brought Yeon here just to ward off minor misfortunes. Even shamans—or whatever they were—should know that. How dare he say I can’t so boldly in front of Dohyuk? Was he this shameless, or did he just think so little of him?
“At the very least, I can dull the connection enough to prevent it from leading to death.”
Yeon met Dohyuk’s gaze again. His blue eyes were steady, unyielding.
“Moreover, the evil connections tied to you—those filled with malice—are not just one or two. You already know that, don’t you? It’s just the seeds you’ve sown coming back to you.”
It was as if he knew exactly what Dohyuk had been doing all this time.
“That sounds an awful lot like a threat.”
How dare he.
“Have you done something that could be used as leverage for a threat?”
If Yeon had shown even a hint of arrogance or malice, Dohyuk would have drawn his knife and pressed it to his throat without hesitation. But Yeon’s expression and voice were eerily calm, still. Dohyuk couldn’t read him at all. It was the first time someone’s intentions had been so completely unreadable.
Silence stretched between them, neither willing to look away or speak first.
Buzz.
The vibration of a phone shattered the quiet. Dohyuk pulled his phone from his suit jacket—Director Choi’s number flashed on the screen. He answered.
“I looked into what you asked. Should I bring it up directly, or would you prefer a file?”
Dohyuk’s eyes flicked over Yeon’s face before he replied, “Send it as a file.”
He ended the call and stood, heading toward his bedroom. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back.
“I said you could use that room, didn’t I?”
He wasn’t particularly concerned about Yeon sitting in the living room all day. It was just irritating to see him there every time he passed by.
“I know.”
Despite his answer, Yeon showed no intention of moving. Dohyuk let out a sigh of exasperation at his stubbornness and went into his room. If that thing was human, not a ghost, he’d have his limits. He’d rest when he got tired, even without being told. Dohyuk didn’t worry. Even if Yeon collapsed in the living room, he could just send him back to wherever he came from.
***
The moon was hidden behind clouds, leaving not a trace of light in the night. It was the kind of night when vengeful spirits were said to wander. That was the night he had first met him.
“What is your name?”
A cold blade pressed against his throat.
“Who sent you?”
Unable to speak, he could only stare with wide eyes. Countless threads, tangled and chaotic, extended from the man before him.
Picking out a single thread from that mess wasn’t easy. To find the one he wanted, he had to unravel the tangled threads, again and again.
But why was only one color so vividly visible?
A bright red thread, as if soaked in blood, stood out clearly. It was wrapped around his own finger and the man’s wrist like a shackle. His eyes followed the crimson thread.
Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart began to race wildly. He had never searched for it, but he had always sensed that he would meet him someday. Even knowing that, his body reacted against his will, every sense drawn toward him.
He mustn’t be pulled in. This was a connection that led to death.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll cut your throat.”
The tip of the sword pricked his tender skin, and a drop of blood trickled down.
If he died by this man’s hand, the karma would pile up, and this connection would repeat endlessly, never truly severed.
“I am… yours…”
He moved his lips slowly. When he finished his answer, the blade at his throat disappeared, but the cold gaze still choked him.
***
Gasping, Yeon’s eyes snapped open. He must have dozed off while sitting. The clock on the wall showed it was past 2 a.m.
His heart still pounded. The humid air of that night seemed to cling to his body, making him shiver.
Hoo. He took a long, deep breath. Snap out of it. It wasn’t a new dream. It was the same dream he had repeated since he could remember—over and over again.
He had never seen the man’s face in his dreams. He had seen it in the dream, but upon waking, the man’s face was always blurred, as if censored.
But now, for the first time, he saw it clearly. The sharp eyes, thick eyebrows, cold gaze, the nose that looked chiseled from stone, and those stubborn lips… The face he had only ever seen in vague outlines…
A sudden wave of fatigue washed over him. He raised a hand to wipe his face, and his eyes caught the red thread wrapped tightly around his right index finger. That was why. Now that he knew where this thread led, the face he had never seen before became clear.
“I don’t know why you’re sitting there.”
Kang Dohyuk’s sarcastic voice echoed in his ears. Indeed. A self-deprecating smile crossed his lips.
He might sever others’ connections, but he couldn’t cut or bind his own as he pleased.
If he could, he would have severed this cycle of reincarnation long ago.
It was a futile attachment. He shook his head to dispel the thought, steadied his breath, and stood in front of Kang Dohyuk’s bedroom door.
“The only spaces you’re allowed in are this living room and the room at the end of the hall. That’s it.”
Dohyuk’s warning flashed in his mind, but he ignored it. He didn’t need the living room or the room at the end of the hall. The only space he needed was here—where Kang Dohyuk was.
He raised the white cloth to cover his eyes. Losing his physical sight didn’t matter. He didn’t need to see the layout of the room or avoid bumping into things.
When he removed the cloth, too many threads came into view. Unlike the people of Muryeong, whose human relationships were extremely limited, Kang Dohyuk was entangled with too many people. Finding what he wanted among those tangled threads wasn’t easy. Covering his eyes blocked his vision, leaving only his senses. Threads filled with strong emotions could be perceived not just by sight, but by another sense. So, he didn’t need to see.
He took a deep breath and grasped the doorknob. With a push, it opened smoothly—thankfully, it wasn’t locked.
He entered the room, suppressing any sound. He couldn’t see what furniture was where, but he could sense exactly where Kang Dohyuk was. The unique energy Dohyuk possessed and the intense, malevolent thread connected to him stood out clearly, even in the darkness behind his covered eyes.
He didn’t need to get too close to Dohyuk. He just needed to be within reach of that thread filled with malice.
He was probably lying in bed asleep. So, he only needed to get close enough…
He approached, judging the distance based on a standard queen-sized bed, but his thigh bumped into something. Reaching down, he felt the mattress—it seemed the bed was larger than he thought. He stood there and reached out toward the vivid, malevolent thread.
The moment his fingers touched it, a sharp pain shot through him. It was a connection that couldn’t be easily severed… Whether it was an evil connection or a benevolent one, forcing a change would cause the backlash to seep into his body like poison.
But he had to do it. It was his duty.
He couldn’t sever it completely, but he could at least dull the malice, weaken it somehow. As he focused his mind on the thread in his hand, something cold and metallic pressed against his neck.
“I never gave you permission to come in.”
The husky voice whispered in his ear, sending a chill down his spine.
