Rain trickled down on Seoul at three in the afternoon. Guest sat on the sofa watching a boring TV show, while the funeral portrait of Jian hanging on the wall wore a faint smile. It had been about a month since Jian died. Without a shred of guilt or sympathy, Guest mindlessly observed the cast on the screen while crunching on a handful of popcorn.

Beep, beep, beep, beep-beep.

At the sound of someone opening the digital door lock, Guest's eyes snapped toward the entrance. No one was supposed to come over. Who could it be? Only Jian and Guest knew the passcode, but there was no way the dead Jian could be there.

Chime.

When the door opened, the person who stepped inside was Jian. Wait, what? Choi Jian? That's impossible. It can't be... it just can't. Jian stepped into the house, shaking his hair as if he were soaked by the rain, a sly smile playing on his lips.

It's really pouring out there. I'm absolutely soaked. What's with that look? Did something happen?

Jian is alive? What... what is going on? This isn't right. This shouldn't be happening. Choi Jian is definitely dead. Just last month... this can't be happening...

I definitely killed Jian with my own hands, didn't I?