KORI KOYAMA'S POV
I watched as he finally ended the call, his fingers gripping the phone a little too tightly before he lowered it. His dark-circled eyes, heavy with exhaustion, slowly turned toward me. He didn't speak. He just stood there, staring at me like I was some kind of impossibility—like his brain was refusing to piece together what he was seeing.
Then, barely a whisper, the words slipped from his lips. "Why now?"
His voice was fragile, yet laced with frustration, like he was teetering between disbelief and anger. Then, louder this time, his tone almost accusing, "Why, when I've finally accepted that my brain's just fucking with me?"
I frowned, my irritation sparking. "What?"
"You're not real." His voice wavered, a strange mix of fear and uncertainty. "There's no way you're real."
His words hung in the air like an unspoken challenge, yet his posture betrayed him. He lowered his head, his eyes wide with something between panic and realization. His breathing grew uneven, hands curling into tight fists at his sides as he fixated on the floor—like it held the answers he was too afraid to acknowledge.
Pathetic.
I had been observing him for days now, watching him wrestle with whatever mess was inside his head, and yet… this was something different. Was it really so hard for him to tell what was real? Or was this some kind of act? If so, it was an act he had perfected.
Either way, if he thought standing there trembling was going to make me feel sorry for him, he was dead wrong.
"Can you calm yourself?" I said, my voice flat, arms folding across my chest. "I have important things to discuss with you."
No response.
His head stayed down, shoulders trembling slightly as he muttered under his breath. "Calm down. Calm down." Over and over, like a scratched record skipping on the same track. His voice grew softer with each repetition, his breathing quick and shallow. Then—something changed.
A slow grin stretched across his face, wide and unsettling. It didn't reach his eyes.
I took a step forward, irritation bubbling into something sharper. "Hey," I snapped, my patience thinning. "Will you calm yourself already?" I sighed, my voice taking on a cold detachment. "What is even wrong with you? Is it really that hard for you to figure out what's real and what's not?"
He ignored me.
Minutes passed. I watched him, unease creeping up my spine. The way he was acting—it wasn't normal. His entire presence felt wrong, and for a brief moment, I considered knocking some sense into him, proving to him that this was real by planting a solid punch across his dead-eyed face.
But finally, after what felt like an eternity, he took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled motion. His hands relaxed. Then, he lifted his head.
The fear, the panic—it was gone.
His face was eerily calm, too calm. It was like the last few minutes hadn't even happened.
"Are you real?" His voice was steady now, composed, though there was still the faintest hint of skepticism lurking beneath.
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "What? Do I not look real to you?"
He chuckled, the sound light yet off-putting. "Then why…" He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly. "How did you disappear last time?"
The memory hit me instantly.
The first time I met him—when I had been forcibly yanked back from the other side.
I had no idea how he managed to do it, but I remembered the sensation vividly. One second, I was standing there, and the next—something had grabbed me. Something invisible. An overwhelming force dragged me down, pulling me deeper and deeper into an abyss I couldn't fight against.
And then, darkness.
I didn't even have time to struggle before unconsciousness swallowed me whole. It felt like drowning.
When I woke up, I wasn't where I was supposed to be. I was restrained, disoriented, in some unfamiliar room. I had no idea how long I had been unconscious, but I remembered the feeling of helplessness, the burning frustration of being caught in a situation I didn't understand.
That memory alone was enough to sour my mood.
My fingers twitched, irritation lacing my voice. "What, did you want me to stay there? Tied up in your bed, waiting for you to come back and live out your weird, fucked-up fantasies?" I scoffed, folding my arms tightly. "If you had been there when I woke up, I would've skinned you alive and demanded answers. Consider yourself lucky."
His brow twitched, but his expression remained composed—too composed.
"So, you were there?" he asked.
Something about the way he was acting felt unnatural. I've seen people unravel before, and I know it takes time to recover. Nobody just flips a switch from terrified to normal like that.
What is wrong with this guy?
He rubbed his fingers against his temple, as if sorting through his own confusion. "Then how'd you suddenly disappear?"
I studied him, tilting my head slightly. "Before I answer that, how about you humor me and answer a few of my questions first?"
He exhaled slowly, his eyes unreadable. "I don't mind. I'll answer anything. Fuck, I'll even be your servant. But…" He paused, drawing in another deep breath. "I still can't shake the feeling that this might just be a hallucination. What if you're not real? What if you disappear again the moment I start talking?"
I frowned, annoyed by his continued skepticism. "Are you stupid?"
He hesitated. I could see the battle playing out behind his eyes, like he wanted to believe me but something inside him wouldn't let him.
Then, just as I was about to berate him further, his voice dropped—something raw slipping into his tone. "But if this is real… and you're actually standing here, asking questions… then that must mean this is important, right? Something you need to know."
I paused. He wasn't wrong.
He looked away for a brief moment, his fingers twitching slightly. "But here's the problem," he continued. "I have this nagging feeling. If I tell you everything, you'll vanish, and I'll be left here with nothing—just more questions and this mess in my head. You don't understand what it's like, watching something appear out of thin air, only to disappear just as fast. It screws with you. Lately, I feel like I'm losing it."
His gaze lifted back to mine, and for the first time, I saw something deeper there. Desperation.
"My mind believes you're real. I believe whatever's happening is real. But at the same time, everything else screams that it isn't." He exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm sorry, but I need proof. Prove to me that you're real, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
His words rang with sincerity, but like him, I wasn't the trusting type.
Was this an act? Some elaborate game?
I narrowed my eyes, watching him carefully.