Double Junk - 161

Ajin was staring outside so long that his eyes began to feel dry.

Still, he wasn’t utterly overwhelmed with surprise. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was still trapped in the aftermath of his near-death experience or if this body he inhabited was simply accustomed to the environment around him.

“No, unni. It’s amnesia, you know, amnesia. They say acute stress disorder can cause it too. Jin must’ve been under a lot of stress commuting to work recently. Yeah, I know. Maybe I’ve been too hard on him.”

Seonhwa, sitting next to Ajin, was on the phone with someone. She was speaking into a flat, palm-sized rectangular device that Ajin vaguely recognized as a phone commonly used in this world.

“Dementia? Oh, no, no. I was a bit worried too, you know? They say even young people can get dementia these days. But no, that’s not it. Physically, everything’s fine. But, honestly, that makes it even scarier. Seriously, what’s happening here? Should we have a shamanic ritual or something?”

Seonhwa clicked her tongue in frustration. Ajin scratched his temple, troubled by her mention of dementia. He didn’t have dementia. It wasn’t amnesia either. Well, strictly speaking, if you considered it from the perspective of this body, it wasn’t entirely wrong to call it either.

Then what was he exactly? Was he possessed? Could he be… a ghost? Did he die and enter his body in another world?

Ajin’s expression darkened. That’s right. Maybe he really was a ghost. In that case, wouldn’t holding a ritual be a bad idea? Rituals were meant to drive ghosts away, weren’t they?

As he clung to this peculiar thread of thought, Seonhwa’s phone call was nearing its end.

“What? You’re coming back to Korea? No, it’s fine. He’s in one piece, no injuries at all. Stress-related issues heal quickly, so just wait a few more days and then decide. Okay, got it. Bye.”

Ending the call, she slipped the phone into her glossy handbag. Then, suddenly, her gaze landed on Ajin. Their eyes met awkwardly, and Ajin forced a stiff smile before quickly turning away. He found himself staring at the back of Seokju’s head.

Seokju was sitting in the passenger seat. Seonhwa’s secretary was driving. Ajin studied him intently.

The Seokju in this world had slightly longer hair than the Seokju he knew. His suit also looked somewhat different—more fitted, with a slightly shorter jacket. But that seemed more like a fashion trend of this world rather than a change in Seokju himself.

Apart from that, there weren’t many differences. His handsome face, towering height, and solid build were the same.

Oh, but there was one more difference. He was overly polite and courteous.

The Seokju Ajin knew had been kind, but this Seokju’s kindness felt different. It wasn’t born out of affection but resembled the respectful demeanor one might show to a superior. The politeness was striking. After all, the Seokju Ajin knew had been more akin to a king, accustomed to ruling over others.

Ajin tapped his heel against the floor, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the back of Seokju’s head. Then, with a deep breath, he rubbed his knees.

None of it mattered right now. What truly mattered was that his two legs worked perfectly.

The car came to a stop in front of a grand hanok-style mansion. Ajin felt slightly disappointed. They were going home, and he had hoped they’d be heading toward one of the towering buildings he had seen from the car window. Instead, it was just another hanok.

He pouted in dissatisfaction, but Seonhwa was already walking into the house, her heels clicking against the ground. Absentmindedly, Ajin followed her inside.

The moment he stepped inside, however, all his disappointment evaporated.

The house, though structured like a hanok with traditional roofs and beams, was entirely different on the inside.

Among all the hanoks Ajin had ever seen, Seokju’s house had been the grandest. But this house far surpassed even that. It was enormous and luxurious, resembling a palace. It felt as though this was the kind of place where royalty and nobles lived, akin to the inner quarters of Gyeongbokgung Palace.

Crossing the serene, picturesque yard, they entered a hallway where the wooden floors were replaced by smooth, hard marble. After changing into indoor shoes, they walked down a long corridor. Along the walls were paintings larger than Ajin, exquisite ceramics, and mysterious lighting fixtures he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Finally, they arrived in a living room the size of a small sports field. The space was adorned with a massive sofa, delicate lantern-like lights, and a wide glass window offering a full view of the expansive garden. There were countless other unfamiliar objects whose purposes Ajin couldn’t fathom, as they clearly belonged to this world.

Ajin stared blankly at the living room.

This… is my house? I live here?

Am I… a noble? Not just any noble, but one of the most prominent ones in town? Then, does that make me the noble’s son?

As Ajin indulged in this pleasant fantasy, Seonhwa spoke while taking off her jacket.

“Son, it’s time to eat.”

“Yes.”

“Seokju, you should eat with us. You can stay the night if you want.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Seokju, who had been carrying Ajin’s belongings, nodded in response. At this, Ajin’s brows furrowed slightly. Seokju seemed entirely too comfortable in this house. It wasn’t just about staying for a meal—the way Seonhwa casually invited him to stay overnight, along with the ease with which she addressed him, made it clear this wasn’t the first time.

“I don’t like it,” Ajin blurted out suddenly.

“What?” Seonhwa asked, startled.

“I don’t like it. I don’t want Secretary Kang staying here or even eating with us.”

Ajin pouted defiantly, his lips tight. He looked like a Maltese pup throwing a tantrum.

Ajin wanted to put distance between himself and Seokju. He still didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but one thing was clear:

Being around Seokju wouldn’t end well. They would end up in disaster, just like before. There would be pain, tears, and suffering, and in the end, blood would be spilled.

Ajin had to separate from Seokju. He wanted to.

He glared at Seokju, who stood frozen in place, but Seonhwa marched over to him. Then—smack!—she slapped him hard on the back. Startled by the sudden hit, Ajin flinched.

“Ouch…”

“I thought you’d mellowed out a bit, but you’re still just as rude. How dare you speak to someone like that?”

She clicked her tongue in irritation and raised her hand again, but this time, Seokju stepped in front of Ajin.

“It’s all right, Chairwoman.”

“Seokju.”

“The president seems to be feeling unwell and is a bit sensitive right now.”

“We’ll have our meal when we return.”
Seokju smiled faintly, taking Ajin’s side. Seonhwa glared at Ajin, displeased.

She thought, Where in today’s world can you find someone as kind and reliable as Seokju? Yet Ajin, who always seemed to pick a fight with Seokju whenever things started to settle, was frustrating. After all, when a child lacked manners, it was the parent who bore the blame.

“…”

Ajin stared at Seokju’s back, which was blocking his view. A faint, unfamiliar scent wafted through his nose. It was Seokju’s scent.

The first feeling Ajin had was confusion.

It was different. This wasn’t the scent of the Seokju he knew. There was no smell of cigarettes, paper, or the wind. Instead, there was an unfamiliar, fragrant aroma—something that might come from an extremely expensive soap.

Is he really not Seokju?
As Ajin continued his train of thought, memories of the old Seokju surfaced naturally. The Seokju who used to wear a sleeveless undershirt and a traditional robe, smoking cigarettes. The Seokju of the past.

“Ajinah.”

“Come here.”

“Ajinah.”

The Seokju who would call his name tenderly and sometimes sternly. The heat radiating from him, the firm grip of his hands on Ajin’s body—it all rushed back like a tidal wave. That warmth now felt like it was tightly gripping Ajin’s throat.

“Ah…”

Suddenly, his vision blurred. It felt like sharp needles were piercing his temples, and a bullet lodged in his chest was convulsing, tearing through his heart.

Without realizing it, Ajin clutched at the hem of Seokju’s clothes. Then, he collapsed sideways.

“President!”

“Ajinah!”

Two voices—eerily similar yet subtly different—echoed faintly from afar.

When Ajin opened his eyes, he was lying on a soft bed. The room was dark, but a sleek, linear light in the corner provided a gentle illumination, enough to see his surroundings.

The space was vast, larger than Seokju’s usual room. Thick wooden beams lined the ceiling, light gray wallpaper covered the walls, and the floor was marble, different in texture from the living room.

Seokju sat on a nearby single sofa. He was looking at a rectangular device, about four times the size of a regular phone, common in this world. It emitted a bright light, changing colors as Seokju moved his hands.

“…”

Ajin blinked slowly.

Seokju’s large hands. The white dress shirt he wore. The meticulous gaze he directed at the tiny numbers on his documents.

He looked the same as the Seokju Ajin knew, but he wasn’t. There were no scars on his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. Instead of holding a cigarette, he held the tip of a pen. And most strikingly:

“Oh, President, you’re awake?”

That polite tone. The title “President.” The excessive formality in his words and the composed gaze he directed at Ajin. It was all different. In the past, his eyes resembled those of a tiger. Now, they mirrored the loyal gaze of a hunting dog.

“…”

As Ajin stayed silent, Seokju set the tablet aside. Then he walked to a small refrigerator in the room, took out some cold water, and poured it into a glass. Naturally, he brought it to Ajin.

Ajin accepted it without a word. He was thirsty.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, Seokju asked gently, “Are you in pain or feeling unwell anywhere? You collapsed so suddenly—I was quite startled. I was wondering if we should return to the hospital. The chairwoman was very worried about you.”

“I’m fine…”

“It’s 3 a.m. now. Would you like something to eat?”

“Uh… more than that… it’s hot.”

It’s too hot. Food didn’t even cross his mind. From the moment he woke in the hospital, all he could think about was the heat. It was a suffocating warmth he had never felt in his life. He thought it was the lingering aftermath of his near-death experience weighing on his body and mind. Even now, it persisted.

It felt as if he were trapped in a tiny room with an overheated floor in the height of summer. The discomfort was unbearable. His chest felt tight, sweat beaded on his forehead, and despite just waking up, he felt as though he had been running endlessly.