Taiwan, A Certain Hotel in Tamsui · Friday, May 17, 2024
Raindrops gently tapped against the windowpane, blurred streetlights trembling faintly in the humid night air. Yu Yong-An stood silently at the center of his room, exhaling slowly. His eyes were fixed on the cross resting in his palm—the cool metal surface shimmering subtly under the dim glow.
He had gazed upon it numerous times already. Ever since he'd brought it back from Mackay Clinic, fragmented visions had incessantly surfaced in his mind—dreamlike echoes, unfamiliar yet somehow familiar scenes, a faded photograph, and an inexplicable feeling of displacement.
He didn't understand why he hid the cross, only instinctively aware that no one else should find it.
As he lay on the bed, the cool touch still lingered in his palm. Gently closing his eyes, he allowed himself to sink into the softness beneath him. The day's strange encounters had drained him, quickly pulling his consciousness into a deep slumber, like a stone sinking into an endless lake.
He fell deeper and deeper and deeper—
Elsewhere, within a space the world forgot, a girl sat by a window that didn't open.
Rain pressed softly against the glass, yet not a single drop touched her skin. She leaned forward, whispering toward the reflection that looked back with eyes almost—but not quite—her own.
"You always leave without telling me."
She traced her fingertip across the condensation, drawing a line between her face and the other—her shadow, her echo, her quiet grief.
"Is it because you're afraid I'll follow?"
The rain answered with silence.
Her voice trembled slightly, but she continued, as if speaking across dimensions:
*"If you vanish again, will I vanish too?"*
A flash of faint light flickered across the windowpane. The other girl smiled—but the smile didn't reach her eyes. It was a farewell wrapped in knowing.
And just as quickly, the image faded.
Temporal Displacement · Entering Deep Sleep
Darkness consumed his senses entirely.
He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, nor could he discern the boundary between dream and reality. It felt as if he floated in a non-existent space, surrounded only by profound emptiness, with the sound of his breathing echoing through his mind.
Then, he heard a countdown.
Tick— Tick— Tick—
A metallic sound, cold and mechanical, resonating like a slow, relentless clock striking directly into his mind, pulling his soul toward some unknowable destination.
He tried to open his eyes but found himself immobile.
A cold suffocation enveloped him, held captive by an unseen force, suspended motionless in darkness.
Suddenly, a faint glimmer appeared ahead—a door.
Its form was unclear, a fissure floating in the void, faint light seeping through the edges, drawing him inexorably forward.
What awaited on the other side?
As he finally touched that gleam, his world shattered instantaneously.
Alternate World · Tuesday, December 22, 2026
"Thud—!"
A violent sensation of falling jolted Yu Yong-An awake, leaving him gasping on a cold, hard floor.
His breathing was rapid, chest heaving violently, vision still hazy as though he'd just been pulled from deep underwater. He struggled for air, feeling suffocated.
Where am I?
He lifted his head with difficulty, glancing around.
It was an enclosed room, dimly lit with no windows, only a firmly shut iron door in the corner. Sparse, cold furnishings filled the room—metal chairs and a table, an unmarked wardrobe, and a digital clock mounted on the wall.
The clock flashed ominously with red digits:
December 22, 2026, 02:47
His pupils shrank sharply, the oppressive tightness in his chest intensifying.
Wrong. This date was wrong.
His last memory was of Friday, May 17, 2024.
Yet now, the clock proclaimed he had arrived in 2026.
Trembling, he pressed a hand to his forehead, struggling to recall what had transpired moments before. But his mind was empty—no memories of any "crossing" event existed. He had simply gone to sleep and awakened here.
This wasn't a dream.
His heart raced frantically, cold sweat trickling down his temples. He scrambled to his feet, rushing toward the iron door, gripping the handle, only to find it securely locked.
He began frantically searching the room, desperate to find a mechanism to unlock the door, but soon realized—
Everything here was meticulously cold and precise. Every drawer, cabinet, even storage compartments beneath the bed required passwords.
He froze.
Was this imprisonment? A cruel experiment? Or was he trapped in some sealed space caught in a temporal anomaly?
Minutes passed relentlessly. He exhausted every idea but remained trapped, unable to open the door, unable to access food or water.