Chapter 1:

The hospital room was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of machines and the occasional shuffle of feet in the corridor outside. Joon Park lay still on the stiff mattress, his head resting against a thin pillow that smelled faintly of antiseptic. The air felt heavy, pressing against his chest, a constant reminder of the weight he carried.

It had been two years since he was diagnosed with stage 3 thyroid cancer. Two years of needles, scans, pills, and hope that dimmed with each passing month. He had fought hard at first, clinging to the fragile dream that he might beat it, that his body might defy the odds. But now, lying there in the dim light, he felt nothing but exhaustion.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. His mother stepped in, her face lined with worry and sleepless nights. She tried to smile, but it faltered.

"How are you feeling, Joonie?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Fine," he lied, managing a small smile. "Tired, but fine."

She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. Her grip was firm, as if holding him tighter might keep him here a little longer.

"Do you need anything? Water? More blankets?"

He shook his head. "No, Mom. I'm good."

They sat in silence for a while. Joon could see the way her shoulders slumped, the way she avoided meeting his eyes too long. She was bracing herself, just as he was.

"Mom," he said finally, breaking the quiet, "you don't have to stay tonight. Go home and rest."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"You're not leaving me alone," he said softly. "I'll be okay."

The words were meant to comfort her, but he wasn't sure he believed them himself.

After some coaxing, his mother finally left, promising to return early in the morning. Joon watched her go, the faint sound of her footsteps echoing down the hallway. When the silence returned, it felt deeper than before.

He turned his head to the window. Snow was falling softly outside, the flakes swirling under the glow of a streetlamp. It reminded him of the winters of his childhood—of snowball fights with his friends and the warmth of his mother's hot chocolate. He let the memory wash over him, a small comfort in the cold sterility of the room.

As the hours stretched on, Joon felt his body grow heavier. Breathing took more effort, and the ache in his chest deepened. He knew the end was near.

Closing his eyes, he thought of all the things he would miss: his mother's laugh, the taste of freshly cooked kimchi stew, the way sunlight warmed his face in the spring. He thought of the life he'd dreamed of having—a career, a family, a chance to see the world.

But instead of anger or regret, he felt an odd sense of calm.

"It's okay," he whispered to himself. "It's okay."

And then, he let go.

The first thing Joon felt was the jarring brightness of fluorescent lights. His eyes fluttered open, and the world around him came into focus. He wasn't in his hospital bed anymore.

The room was chaotic, filled with shouting and movement. Nurses rushed past him, their hands full of equipment. Monitors beeped urgently, and the smell of antiseptic hung thick in the air.

"Where…?" Joon muttered, trying to sit up.

Before he could process what was happening, a voice called out, sharp and commanding.

"Doctor! We need you over here!"

He turned toward the voice. A nurse was waving frantically, guiding paramedics who wheeled in a stretcher. On it lay a man covered in burns, his face twisted in pain.

Joon's heart raced. "Doctor? I'm not a—"

But his feet moved before his mind could finish the thought. He rushed to the nurse's side, his hands reaching out instinctively.

"IV fluids, now," he said, the words spilling from his lips without hesitation. "We need to stabilize him before we move him to surgery."

The nurse nodded and sprang into action, following his instructions. Joon's hands worked swiftly, checking the patient's vitals, assessing the damage. It was as if his body knew exactly what to do, even though his mind screamed that none of this made sense.

When the patient was finally stabilized and wheeled away, Joon stumbled back, his breath coming in short gasps. He looked down at his hands, still trembling from the adrenaline.

"What… what just happened?" he whispered.

The nurse turned to him, a look of relief and admiration on her face. "Good work, Doctor Park. You saved him."

"Doctor Park?" Joon repeated, his voice barely audible. He backed away, his head spinning.

He needed air. He needed to think.

Without another word, he pushed through the double doors and into the cold night. Snow was still falling, coating the world in a soft white blanket. Joon leaned against the wall of the hospital, his breaths visible in the frosty air.

"What is happening to me?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

But before he could make sense of it, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Looking down, he saw a knife buried in his abdomen, a man in black standing before him with wild eyes.

Joon's knees buckled as the world tilted. Voices around him blurred into chaos, and as the snow turned red beneath him, he closed his eyes once more.

When Joon opened them again, he was standing in the middle of a burning building. Flames roared around him, and a firefighter's helmet sat heavy on his head.

"What now?" he whispered, gripping the axe in his hands.

The sound of a child crying cut through the noise. Without hesitation, Joon ran toward the sound, his body moving as if it had always known how to fight fires.