He began moving his feet toward the library.
Perhaps he was not allowed there, but he wanted a book—any book.
When he entered, the candles hanging from the chandeliers that lit the place were still burning.
He wondered if someone else might be there; hesitation crept in, yet he stepped inside regardless.
The shelves holding the books were enormous—
towering so high that he could not reach them despite his height.
The desks were small, and even the quill and ink placed inside one of the cups felt deliberately arranged.
The place resembled the fantasy stories he used to watch on television.
He sat before one of the papers and began writing down his thoughts.
First, he drew a map of those he knew.
Then another map of those he could rely on.
Among them were the people of the palace—except Mariana and her brother.
Beside their names, he placed an X and wrote:
"Not a matter of trust—but your father could bring about my downfall."
He folded the papers and slipped them into his trousers, then stood up, searching for a book as a thought struck him.
Is there any scholar who ever discovered something like this—or even spoke of it at such a time?
He let his hand glide over the spines of the books—
until a voice behind him said,
"Have you heard of the book 'The World as a Stage' by the writer Rodriguez Mark?"
He turned in alarm to find Seongjin leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed before his chest.
He wore casual clothes; he must have come looking for something to read before sleep.
Jinho shook his head.
Seongjin stepped closer, pulled a book from a shelf higher than Jinho could reach, and handed it to him.
"I feel like you'll like this. I read it last week—I recommend it."
Jinho took it, surprised.
"What is it about?"
Seongjin replied with a calm smile.
"It discusses a theory—what if someone from another world were to manifest inside another person's body?"
"Manifest in different worlds? Isn't that nonsense…"
He said it mockingly—then fell silent.
That nonsense was happening to him.
A moment—
His breathing grew unsteady; he trembled as he stepped back, grabbed a sheet of paper, and drew a cell he remembered from his dream.
Slowly, things became clear.
The face that emerged was his own.
Seongjin stared in confusion at the strange places Jinho was drawing—
even a prison he had never set foot in before.
"The palace dungeon…? How do you know it? How could you draw it so precisely?"
The dream flowed through Jinho's mind like an intact recording tape.
Almost all the gaps he wanted answers to were now filled.
The dream had been strange—but Jinho was satisfied with what he was doing.
If that is the case, then this is good
I wonder where his soul went.
And when I might meet him again.
He paid Seongjin no further attention, simply patted his shoulder with gratitude and said cheerfully,
"Thanks, man. I should go. Good night."
He left—
but forgot something important.
The drawings related to the dream remained behind.
Seongjin picked them up and examined them closely.
He draws well.
And he drew himself without needing a mirror—I can tell it's him.
But who is this…?
He focused on the second face—
the one with an earring drawn on the ear.
The features were somewhat different from Jinho's.
I should color this later—then I'll know if they truly resemble each other.
The second head was Songmin's face.
Jinho had drawn it unconsciously, afraid of losing even the smallest detail—
it had taken him two weeks to remember that encounter.
I can't even call it a dream anymore.
It feels like internal communication.
If we meet again, I truly will wait.
Perhaps this book will help.
Perhaps the novel has begun to pity me.
Morning arrived.
He placed the book beside him. Because of it, he had not slept—
yet there was nothing useful.
The book felt like a riddle.
On its first pages, it read:
In a world like this, does watching performances not make you react to them?
A puppet play bound by strings.
A system that governs the world.
It suppresses the weak—yet they either take revenge or die.
But what if they did not die?
What if another soul manifested within them before their suffering?
What if the soul inside you now is merely a reckless one—
would you accept it?
Let us say that soul is capable of forcing your body to rewind every time.
You do not die.
The path cannot be changed.
But if you change the path—and die—
there is no return.
These are points I will explain in this book.
First: how does this occur?
___
This introduction is pointless.
It has ignited my excitement for nothing.
Instead, it added even more confusion.
He left the palace with the book in his bag.
He had been ordered to buy some fish and bread this time—
but decided to bring the book, perhaps to read while waiting for the baker to finish preparing the order.
He passed through the same market as yesterday and began shopping.
The weight of the groceries was manageable.
He sat before yesterday's bakery, placed the book down, bought himself a sweet, and began reading again.
First: how does the soul cross between worlds?
I find nothing that explains it better than a person's desire to have another take their place.
It resembles requesting the delivery of a new soul when all hope has vanished.
The viewer of the play is like someone trying to make decisions—
convincing themselves that the one before them will follow them.
When concentration reaches a level nothing can disrupt,
the viewer finds themselves living inside the role without realizing it.
They cry, they grieve,
they make decisions they believe are right.
This may be one of the first reasons souls transfer:
Request and emotional immersion.*
Jin-ho sensed something clinging to his leg.
He looked down to find Suhan there, hugging him tightly as if he were a lifeline he could not afford to lose.
Jin-ho set the book aside, lifted him up, and said with a smile,
"Suhani… did you miss me?"
He gently pinched the boy's cheek, making him smile shyly as he lowered his head.
"Do you want to eat something? Or should I buy you something?"
Jin-ho bent down to his bags and took out some bread, handing it to him.
Suhan ate eagerly while Jin-ho slipped the book into his bag so he wouldn't forget it.
Carrying the groceries with one hand, he lifted Suhan with the other.
The boy was chewing the last bite of bread, crumbs falling onto Jin-ho's clothes.
"Do you want something else to eat?"
Suhan shook his head, so Jin-ho guided him to a nearby food stall, seated him on a chair, and asked him to wait.
After a while, he returned holding a bowl of soup in one hand and mashed potatoes in the other.
He placed the food in front of Suhan, then left again to bring more bread.
When he returned, he sat across from him, watching him eat.
Suhan was unbearably adorable—
so much so that everyone around them noticed without effort,
even in his worn and pitiful state.
"Suhan… if I brought you to live with me, would your mother agree?"
The boy looked at him sadly and said,
"She's not my mama. I don't know her…"
"Then is Nayun really your sister?"
Suhan shook his head and whispered,
"She's not my sister either. The lady just makes us call each other siblings."
"Can you endure a few more days? I'll discuss it with the prince and see if I can take care of you."
"Huh?"
He said it in confusion, eyes wide with disbelief.
Was he really about to leave his miserable world behind?
"Yes. I'll try to take care of you."
Jin-ho repeated his words with a wide smile, making the boy suddenly feel as if the dark chains binding his feet were slowly loosening.
"Now finish your food and go back to your sister. I'll come here every day."
"Promise me that when you see me, you'll run to me before I even notice you."
Jin-ho extended his pinky finger, trying to make a pinky promise.
But Suhan didn't understand and simply stared at the finger extended toward him in confusion.
"Raise your finger like this."
Suhan did as Jin-ho asked, and Jin-ho hooked their fingers together, holding it firmly.
"This is a pinky promise. You must never break it, no matter what happens."
Suhan nodded shyly, his cheeks faintly flushed.
…
Two weeks passed.
Raphael suddenly found himself overwhelmed with complaints and petitions from his people.
"Damn it…"
"Seongjin, get ready. We're going out—disguised."
"Disguised?"
Seongjin questioned the reason, but didn't want to burden him with explanations. He simply obeyed.
Jin-ho was stirring a pan of fish, trying to fry it.
A rich, appetizing smell filled the kitchen.
Everyone was working hard to prepare the prince's favorite dishes, hoping it might improve his mood.
Suddenly—without any warning—
a small fire ignited around the maid's pan in front of Jin-ho.
She panicked and slowly stepped back, causing some oil to spill onto the flames beneath the pan.
The fire flared up violently.
Everyone froze in panic, rushing to fetch water to pour over it.
But Jin-ho shouted before it was too late,
"Don't pour water on the oil!"
The air filled with the smell of burned skin,
scorched hair,
and even blood.
Thick smoke rose around them.
Everyone held their breath.
"What in the hell just happened?"