Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#120Reader Mode

T/N: Happy Halloween! Thanks for the coffee Eth! ◥( *`꒳´* )◤

#120

Seojun’s feet moved forward on their own, like a ghost had taken control of them, pulling him along without a care for what he wanted. The door creaked open, its rusty hinges groaning into the silence. Faint sunlight seeped in through jagged holes in the ceiling, making hazy beams that lit up the dust floating in the air, swirling around like tiny galaxies in slow motion. A twig snapped under Seojun’s sneaker, loud and sharp, the sound instantly swallowed up by the heavy quiet.

The room looked abandoned, with the few pieces of furniture left standing like ghosts of what they used to be—a sagging bed, a desk with no drawers, and a single chair slouched against the wall, its backrest snapped in half. Even the furniture seemed to have given up on life. The air hummed faintly, not with noise but with absence—the kind of emptiness that hangs around after people leave, when only memories are left to haunt the walls.

But the creepy calm shattered the second Seojun took a breath, and regret hit him hard. Dust covered everything in sight, as thick as an old, forgotten layer of skin. The floor was a mess of pebbles, dirt, and debris he didn’t want to look too closely at. Even through the burlap sack over his face, the stench was overwhelming—sour and rotten, like something had been soaking in stagnant water for way too long. Seojun clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to look. Some truths, he knew, were better left undiscovered. Bugs, or something worse, were waiting in shadows that didn’t need to be disturbed.

Seojun sped up his steps, less out of curiosity and more to get the hell out of here. Opening the door had been a dumb move, but something flickering in the corner of his eye had pulled him in, subtle but impossible to ignore. Something moved—barely noticeable but definitely there, swaying weakly like it was alive and waiting.

That’s when he saw it: a piece of paper sticking out from under the flat pillow on the bed. It fluttered gently, like it had something important to say, caught in the middle of a whisper to the still air. Every little tremor seemed to call him over, tugging at his attention like a half-forgotten memory begging to be remembered. It promised something—maybe a revelation, maybe a regret—but Seojun couldn’t tell which. And that not knowing was enough to make his heart beat a little faster.

A thin mattress with faded fabric was slumped over the bed’s crooked frame. The pillow next to it sagged pathetically, stuffing spilling out of frayed seams. Weirdly, the blanket had been wadded up into a messy pile and shoved into the corner, like someone had thrown it aside in a fit of frustration. One of the bed’s legs had snapped, leaving the whole thing tilted at a sad angle. But somehow, the pillow was still stuck to the mattress, held there by sheer stubbornness or a thick layer of dust acting like glue.

Seojun felt a flicker of curiosity in his chest—faint but persistent, like an ember that wouldn’t die. It wasn’t enough to make him do anything, not yet. But the thought of the paper under the pillow kept nagging at him, digging into his brain like a splinter he couldn’t ignore. Reason told him to leave it alone, but instinct whispered otherwise—quiet but insistent, pulling at him to keep going.

Before he even realized what he was doing, his body moved on its own. Seojun lurched forward, hand diving under the pillow with the clumsy urgency of someone trying to catch something before it slipped away. The rough fabric of the sack scraped against the paper’s delicate edges, and he felt the jagged tears along its sides, like someone had carelessly ripped it from a notebook. Somehow, though, it had survived—untouched by rain, wind, or time. The shattered windows and crumbling roof seemed to have conspired to leave this one thing intact, as if the pillow had shielded it, and fortune had tucked it beneath the only patch of ceiling still standing.

It all felt a little too perfect. Coincidence didn’t seem like enough to explain it, like trying to make sense of a dream that felt too real. A heavy, ominous feeling settled deep in his bones, as though the universe had been waiting for this, carefully guiding his hand to this very moment.

A quiet, uneasy voice in his head whispered that none of this was an accident. Seojun tightened his grip on the paper, and a cold shiver crawled across his skin. He shook his head sharply, trying to shake off the bad thoughts.

“Yeah, right. Like the universe revolves around me or something… Get a grip, Seojun. I’m too old for that teenage angst bullshit.”

But no matter how hard he tried, the question followed him like a shadow: Was this just a random coincidence, or was something bigger going on? Some weird twist of fate connecting the kidnapping, his captivity, and this torn-up piece of paper? He hated how his mind kept coming back to it, like a broken compass spinning around and pointing everywhere and nowhere at once. It was driving him crazy, the nagging feeling that every little detail was there for a reason.

He knew, more or less, why he’d been taken. S had ranted enough in the journal, filling page after page with wild promises of all the “fun” he’d have once he escaped the Invisible Man’s mansion. And, unfortunately for Seojun, he looked a little too much like S.

Or maybe it was just bad luck. With Seojun, it always was. Wrong place, wrong time, just another unlucky moment in a life stitched together from a series of unfortunate events.

His gaze drifted to the jagged handwriting written across the paper in his hand:

「I’m getting surgery to get rid of my extra toe. I want to live like everyone else with five normal toes. When will these so-called researchers figure out how insane it is to think you need to be born with an invisible body to achieve true invisibility?」

The words were unmistakably S’s, the erratic loops and jagged lines buzzing with frustration. Some sentences had been crossed out and rewritten, over and over, as if S could never settle on anything—second-guessing himself with every stroke of the pen, weighed down by cynicism too heavy to carry, but too familiar to abandon.

Seojun found himself staring at the note far longer than he intended, the pillow still dangling loosely in his hand. Something flickered inside him—strange and unfamiliar. There was a raw honesty in S’s words, a glimpse of the person buried beneath layers of scorn and sarcasm. It was unsettling, like seeing a crack in a mask you didn’t realize someone was wearing.

Wait… toe surgery?

The absurdity hit him like a badly aimed punch—off-target, but hard enough to make him flinch. For a second, his entire body locked up, muscles tensing as if bracing for the moment when the world would start making sense again. It didn’t. His hand pressed against the tilted bedframe, while the other clung to the pillow’s corner as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Words failed him, leaving only the strange sensation of disbelief lodged in his chest.

Without another thought, he shoved the note back under the pillow, smoothing it down as if sealing away some inconvenient thought he didn’t have time to deal with. There were bigger things to worry about, like getting out of the Invisible Man’s mansion alive. The last thing he needed was to get sidetracked by this.

He moved carefully, slipping out of the room and sidestepping the murky puddle creeping along the wall. When his hand found the door handle, he gave it a gentle tug, hoping to close it quietly.

Instead—CRACK.

The door wrenched free from its rusted hinges with a groan and slammed to the floor with a deafening thud. The impact rattled the walls and sent a plume of thick dust spiraling into the air.

“……”

This house was determined to make his life miserable until the bitter end. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. Without even trying to hide his frustration, he turned on his heel and began his slow, defeated trudge downstairs.

— Oz? Why aren’t you coming? I’ve been waiting! Don’t tell me the stairs are blocked again?

The moment Seojun stepped into the dim, cluttered storage room, the Wizard’s unmistakable voice rang out—a familiar, obnoxious blend of cheerfulness and shameless whining. The sound hit Seojun square in the brain, triggering an instant headache. It was that specific kind of insufferable energy that left Seojun both confused and frustrated beyond reason.

Do you even have a conscience? No, of course not… you damn bastard.

Seojun had known for a long time that trying to have a conversation with the Wizard was like jumping headfirst into a pool of exhaustion. He waved his left hand in a half-assed, vague motion, like he was shooing away a fly or maybe just the last of his patience. He wasn’t even sure what the gesture was supposed to mean, but it would do for now. His gaze wandered over to the shelves lining the walls, automatically going to the spot where a wooden board was missing, and he quietly reminded himself to watch his step.

As he looked around the room, a metal box crammed into the corner of the bottom shelf caught his eye. He crouched down and yanked it out, instantly regretting it. The thing was way heavier than it looked, and the weight made his arms feel like they were about to fall off. His legs started shaking under the sudden strain, and for a split second, Seojun was honestly afraid his spine was going to give out right then and there.

— Did you find something? A new discovery?

What do you think?!

Seojun bit back the string of curses that were about to come flying out of his mouth, clenching his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might shatter. Being polite was the last thing on his mind—every word that came out of the Wizard’s mouth was like nails on a chalkboard, slow and deliberate, and it was driving Seojun up the wall.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose and put all his weight into the metal box, inching it forward bit by bit. It was taking forever, and of course there wasn’t a cart or anything around to make it easier. That would have been too convenient, right?

So now it was just Seojun and his sad excuse for muscles, and every time he pulled on the box, it was a reminder of how weak he really was. The damn thing barely budged, and every miserable inch felt like a personal insult from the universe.

After what seemed like forever, Seojun finally managed to drag the metal box across the floor to the back door of the courtroom. He shoved it into the doorframe so it would keep the door propped open, then collapsed against the frame, panting and out of breath. A worried frown crossed his face as he looked at it.

It’d be a real pain in the ass if this thing got crushed by the pressure.

There wasn’t much he could do now but hope that if the door slammed shut by some freak accident, it wouldn’t do so hard enough to flatten the box. Back inside the courtroom, the prisoner Seojun toyed with a reckless, half-baked plan: if all else failed, he could jump from the second floor. It was reckless, yes, but it was starting to seem like his only real option.

Seojun hugged his sketchbook and gavel close to his chest before letting himself fall to the floor with a soft thud. He felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease up a bit, but not much.

The storage room was pretty close to the courtroom, but Seojun’s clothes were sticking to him like he’d just run a marathon or gotten caught in a downpour. He was sweating like crazy, and the damp fabric clinging to his skin was beyond uncomfortable. He could feel the exhaustion settling in even deeper.

This isn’t because I’m out of shape. It’s just… tension, yeah. I’m sweating because I’m tense.

It sounded like a weak excuse, even to him, but it was the best he could come up with. Every move he made, every breath he took, just made his clothes stick to him more and his chest feel tighter.

— Oz, are you starting to become afraid of the outside world? You know you can’t stay locked up in that room forever. Human beings need sunlight to survive and thrive, after all. The world is still waiting for you with open arms. I’m sure your family and friends are missing you dearly. And if you have a lover… well, they’re probably waiting too, counting the days until your return.

“…..”

Seojun’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was no lover waiting for him. There never had been. Meaningful relationships just weren’t something he was good at. Any connections he’d had in the past were superficial at best, fading away like old Polaroids shoved in some forgotten attic.

Without even bothering to sit up, Seojun lazily reached for his sketchbook while still lying on the floor. His arm felt heavy, but he scribbled out a response with loose, sloppy handwriting:

[This building only has two floors. There is no third floor.]

— What?

The Wizard’s surprise was almost amusing, like the obviousness of the statement had somehow never occurred to him. A long pause followed, the silence stretching taut between them. Then the Wizard’s voice returned, this time carrying a note of something new.

— Then… where am I?

It was one of those questions that blurred the line between philosophical musings and genuine confusion. Seojun had no patience for either. And since he didn’t exactly excel in subjects that required deep thinking—philosophy, math, or physics, really anything beyond bare survival—his response was as short and blunt as it needed to be:

[Why are you asking me?]

Seojun stared at the words he’d just written, and the realization started to sink in—not with the force of a sudden epiphany, but more like a slow, unwelcome chill seeping in under a door. He and the Wizard were in different places. They’d already known that, even talked about it before. But this time, it felt different, heavier somehow, like the distance between them had grown wider and colder without Seojun even realizing it.

His gaze drifted up, soft and unfocused, staring at nothing in particular. Each blink was slower than the last, like exhaustion had become a part of him, woven into the very core of his being. Sleep was calling to him, but it didn’t feel like it would bring any real rest—just another layer of heaviness on top of the weight he already carried every day.

Seojun didn’t look over at the Wizard. Instead, he reached for a colored pencil and let it glide across the paper in slow, steady strokes. The soft scratching sound of the pencil on the thick page was the only thing filling the silence.

[Take another look at that photo you found.]

— The photo? Oh, you mean Caput and Corpus. What about it?

[We assumed, based on that photo, that we were isolated on the third and first floors of the same mansion. And there’s that line in S’s journal: ‘Thanks to him, we’re stuck living with the head separated from the body.’ But the truth is simpler than that.]

Seojun exhaled quietly, rubbing his sore wrist before flipping to a clean page.

[The head and body Caput and Corpus weren’t meant to represent different floors of the same building. They symbolize entirely separate locations. The proof is simple: this place only has two floors. There is no third floor. You and I must be in completely different buildings.]

For a split second, Seojun couldn’t help but wonder: What if the Wizard is in the basement? But he pushed the thought away just as fast. There was no way to get down there—no keypad, no hidden hatch, nothing. And besides, it didn’t make sense. The whole point of separating the “head” from the “body” was about distance, not one beneath the other.

A faint crackle of static came through the connection, followed by a noise that was half scoff, half chuckle.

— That’s certainly a possibility. But Oz, you said you knew the password, didn’t you? That’s the only thing that matters now.

He let out a soft, dramatic sigh.

— I have to say, though… I’m a little disappointed. I expected better from you. I thought you’d come open the door for me yourself.

His voice had that familiar tone of gentle disappointment, the kind that got past your defenses before you even realized you were letting your guard down. It wasn’t an order—it was worse. A calculated nudge disguised as a friendly suggestion to give up the password.

Seojun swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat bobbing up and down. His hands were shaking, not because he was scared, but because of the tension wound up so tightly inside him that it hurt. This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the one that really mattered.

As Seojun thought about the situation, he realized that the real negotiation hadn’t started when the kidnapper collapsed—it began the second the Wizard became his counterpart. From this point on, he wasn’t just a prisoner trying to scheme his way out; he was caught up in a delicate, high-stakes negotiation with the Wizard himself.

Even if I tell him what I saw in the past, he’ll just write it off as the ravings of a madman.

Seojun knew this dance all too well. People had treated him like he was crazy before—brushing off the things he saw, refusing to believe the truths that only he could understand. This was no different. As much as he wanted to spill everything, he knew better from experience. Trust was a fragile, flimsy thing, easy to break, especially when it came to someone like the Wizard. Seojun had to be careful. It didn’t matter how sharp his mind was if the thread between them snapped over a careless word.

— Ooooz?

The Wizard called out, his voice playful and teasing, poking at Seojun like a kid tugging on that delicate thread.

Seojun clenched his jaw, holding back the frustrated sigh that wanted to escape. Instead of answering, he grabbed his sketchbook and let the pencil glide smoothly across the page with purposeful strokes.

[Didn’t I mention that the bloodstains in the storage room were odd?]

It felt a little like cheating—like skimming the answer key and pretending the solution had come from him alone. But that was the trick: presenting the truth with complete confidence, as if it had been his own idea from the start.

He began jotting down the scattered clues:

– Blood packs.

– T’s prosthetic right hand.

– T learning to write from S.

– Her telekinesis too weak to lift a human body.

– The real author of the love-filled confession in the journal.

– The undeniable bond between D and T.

– And that tender touch, the hand that brushed D’s cheek in the storage room…

The clues were scattered across the page like broken glass, but with each stroke of the pencil, they started to come together. Seojun kept going, making himself move the pencil with confidence.

[So, I think T and D were a couple. If that’s true, we can figure out D’s birthday too. L mentioned in the journal that T was proud of being born a day before her lover.]

The password might not have been D’s birthday, but Seojun’s gut was telling him he was on the right track. The pieces fit together too perfectly, almost like the answer had been there all along, right in front of him. With a weird sense of certainty guiding his hand, Seojun wrote without hesitation:

[T’s birthday is January 9th, 0109. That means D’s birthday is January 10th, 0110.]

— So, the password is 0110? I’ll give it a try.

The Wizard’s voice crackled through the speaker, followed by a series of mechanical beeps. Each beep sounded like a ticking clock, winding up the tension tighter and tighter. Seojun held his breath, the silence heavy with anticipation.

And then—click.

The tension shattered like glass, replaced by the Wizard’s bright, joyful laughter bursting through the speaker—light and sudden, like a flower blooming in the middle of winter.

— The door really opened!

At that exact moment, Seojun heard it: the unmistakable click-click of locks disengaging, echoing from the front door of the courtroom like a long-awaited promise finally kept.