His Beautiful Obsession

The Man in the Black Car The first time Jeon Juhan saw the man in the black car, he thought he was waiting for someone else. It was raining heavily that night. Seoul's streets glittered beneath the neon signs, the wet pavement reflecting shades of red, blue, and gold. Juhan pulled his coat tighter around himself and hurried down the nearly empty sidewalk, one hand clutching the strap of his worn backpack. He had been in the city for exactly three days. Three days since he had left everything behind. Three days since he had promised himself that nobody would ever control his life again. He stopped beneath the awning of a closed convenience store and checked his phone. 11:47 p.m. "Perfect," he muttered. His apartment was still twenty minutes away on foot, and his phone battery had dropped to nine percent. Juhan sighed. He should have taken a taxi. But he had spent almost all the money he had saved on the security deposit for his tiny apartment. Every won mattered now. He pushed his damp hair away from his forehead and stepped out from beneath the awning. Then he noticed the car. A black Mercedes was parked across the street. Its engine was running. The windows were tinted so darkly that he couldn't see the person inside. Juhan stared at it for a moment before looking away. Probably someone's driver. He started walking again. The car moved. Slowly. Juhan stopped. The Mercedes stopped too. A strange feeling crawled up his spine. He looked over his shoulder. The car remained there. "Okay..." He forced a laugh. "You're being paranoid." He continued walking. The Mercedes followed. This time, Juhan's heartbeat changed. He turned into a narrow side street, hoping to lose whoever was behind him. Ten seconds later, headlights appeared at the entrance. Juhan froze. His fingers tightened around his phone. The car rolled forward and stopped only a few meters away. The rear door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Black coat. Black trousers. Black umbrella. And an expression so calm that it somehow frightened Juhan more than anger would have. The stranger closed the car door behind him. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Then the man looked directly at Juhan. Not at his clothes. Not at his face casually. At him. As though he already knew exactly who he was. "Jeon Juhan." Juhan's blood ran cold. "How do you know my name?" The stranger didn't answer immediately. He walked closer. One step. Then another. Juhan instinctively stepped backward. The man's gaze dropped briefly to Juhan's trembling hand before returning to his eyes. "You shouldn't be walking alone this late." Juhan frowned. "That's none of your business." A faint smile touched the man's lips. "No." His voice was deep and strangely controlled. "Not yet." Juhan stared at him. "What does that mean?" The man opened the umbrella slightly wider, shielding Juhan from the rain. "My name is Kim Taejin." "I didn't ask." "I know." That answer made Juhan uncomfortable. Taejin looked toward the street. "Your apartment is another fifteen minutes away." Juhan's eyes widened. "How do you know where I live?" For the first time, something changed in Taejin's expression. Not guilt. Not embarrassment. Something closer to amusement. "I know many things about you." Juhan stepped away from him. "Stay away from me." Taejin didn't move. He simply watched. There was something unsettling about his silence. Most strangers would have apologized. Most would have realized they were making someone uncomfortable and walked away. Taejin did neither. He simply stood there beneath the black umbrella as though Juhan's fear was something he had expected. Juhan turned and began walking quickly. He didn't look back. He refused to. But when he reached the end of the street, curiosity won. He glanced over his shoulder. Taejin was still standing there. Watching him. The black Mercedes waited behind him. Juhan hurried home. By the time he reached his apartment building, his shoes were soaked. He climbed the narrow staircase instead of taking the old elevator and unlocked his apartment with shaking fingers. Click. The door opened. He entered and immediately locked it. Then he locked it again. His breathing was uneven. The apartment was tiny, but after the chaos he had left behind, he had thought it would feel peaceful. Tonight, it didn't. Every shadow seemed darker. Every sound seemed louder. Juhan threw his backpack onto the sofa and walked toward the window. He pulled the curtain aside by a few centimeters. The street below was empty. No Mercedes. No Taejin. Nothing. "Good." Juhan released a breath. Maybe he had imagined how strange the encounter had been. Maybe Taejin was simply some rich businessman who happened to know his name. Maybe— His phone vibrated. Juhan jumped. Unknown number. He stared at the screen. A message appeared. You should close the curtains. Juhan's entire body went rigid. Slowly, he looked toward the window. Another message arrived. You never know who's watching. His fingers went cold. He immediately switched off the lights and stepped away from the window. Then another message appeared. Good night, Juhan. Juhan stared at those three words. He had never given Taejin his number. His phone vibrated again. This time, there was a photograph. Juhan opened it. His breath stopped. It was a picture of him. Standing beneath the convenience-store awning. Taken only minutes ago. But that wasn't what terrified him. The photograph had been taken from inside the building directly opposite his apartment. From a window. From the exact angle where someone could see straight into his bedroom. Juhan dropped the phone. For several seconds, he couldn't move. His mind desperately searched for another explanation. Maybe someone had followed him. Maybe someone had taken the picture randomly. Maybe Taejin wasn't responsible. But there was one problem. The photograph had been taken from a height. And the building across from his apartment had only one occupied window facing his room. Juhan swallowed hard. He backed away from the window. Then he heard something. A soft sound. Outside. A car door closing. Juhan slowly approached the window. He didn't touch the curtain. He simply stood behind it. His heart pounded as he listened. Footsteps. One. Two. Three. Then silence. Juhan held his breath. Nothing. His phone vibrated once more on the floor. He didn't want to look. But eventually, he did. One final message. Sleep well. Then another line appeared beneath it. Tomorrow, I'll come inside. Juhan's stomach twisted. "No." He immediately picked up his phone and called the number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Then someone answered. Juhan said nothing. Neither did the person on the other end. Only silence. Then a low voice finally spoke. "You're still awake." Juhan's heart nearly stopped. "How did you get my number?" A quiet chuckle came through the phone. "You ask the wrong questions." "Who are you?" "You already know." "I don't know you." "Not yet." The same words. The same calm tone. Juhan clenched his jaw. "Stop following me." Silence. Then Taejin said softly, "I wasn't following you." Juhan frowned. "Then what were you doing?" "I was making sure you reached home safely." "I don't need you to protect me." "I know." "Then leave me alone." Another pause. "Can you really ask me to do that?" Juhan's eyes narrowed. "Yes." Taejin breathed slowly on the other end. Then he said something that made the blood drain from Juhan's face. "You've forgotten me." Juhan froze. "What?" "You don't remember." "I've never met you before tonight." "That's what you believe." The call ended. Juhan stared at the screen. He immediately called back. The number was unreachable. He tried again. Nothing. He stood in the middle of his apartment, unable to decide what frightened him more—the possibility that Taejin was lying or the possibility that he wasn't. Then something slipped beneath his front door. A white envelope. Juhan stopped breathing. He hadn't heard anyone enter the hallway. He hadn't heard footsteps. Slowly, he approached the door. He stared at the envelope. His name was written across the front. JEON JUHAN. The handwriting was perfectly neat. Juhan crouched and picked it up. His hands were shaking. Inside was a single photograph. Not from tonight. Not from this week. Not even from this year. It was old. Juhan stared at it. The photograph showed a much younger version of himself. He was standing beside another boy. Both of them were smiling. Juhan didn't recognize the place. He didn't recognize the boy. But there was something strangely familiar about the boy's eyes. On the back of the photograph, four words had been written. You promised you wouldn't forget. Juhan's hands began trembling harder. Then his phone vibrated. A new message appeared. Now you remember him, don't you? Juhan looked at the photograph again. His memory searched desperately through years he had tried to bury. And then— A name surfaced. One he hadn't spoken in years. One he had been certain was gone forever. His lips parted. "Tae..." A shadow passed beneath the door. Someone was standing outside. Juhan stopped breathing. The door handle moved. Once. Twice. Then a calm voice came from the other side. "Open the door, Juhan." His heart slammed against his ribs. It was Taejin. And somehow, the most terrifying part wasn't that he had found Juhan's apartment. It was the realization that Taejin hadn't come here for the first time. He had been here before. Long before tonight.