Lost Identity

Chapter 4: Wacko Calls

Chapter 4: Wacko Calls

Sun-Woo’s fingers paused on her back as he spoke, his voice quiet but firm.

"But I think…" he began, looking away from her eyes for a moment, "it’s safest for you to start in a new school."

Hana blinked. "A new school?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I already have one in mind."

She sat up a little, pulling the sheets over her shoulder as she looked at him in confusion. "Why? What’s wrong with the old one?"

Sun-Woo gave a dry smile, his eyes unreadable for a split second. "Let’s just say… your past self wasn’t exactly low-profile. And with your memory still fuzzy, I don’t want you walking into a mess you can’t see coming."

She tilted her head. "So… you’re saying I was kind of famous?"

"Kind of?" he scoffed. "You were trouble, Hana."

Her lips parted in shock.

He smirked, ruffling her hair. "Cute trouble. But still trouble."

She grumbled and pulled away, but deep down, her chest fluttered with mixed emotions. Was she really that different before?

"What school are you talking about?" she asked warily.

Sun-Woo tapped on his phone, then turned the screen to her.

"Haneul Elite Academy."

She stared.

No way.

That was the Royal Academy. The elite one. Rich kids, political kids, idols-in-training type of kids. It wasn’t just a school. It was a world of its own.

Her eyes widened. "Isn’t that… too much?"

"You were already enrolled before the accident. Everything. You just… don’t remember."

Her heart skipped.

She reached for the phone to read more about the school, but then stopped.

"…Does Kim Dan go there?"

Sun-Woo’s eyes flicked toward her face, and for the first time, he looked like he was carefully choosing his words.

"He’s… connected. You’ll see."

She narrowed her eyes. "That’s not an answer."

His phone rang, then he stared at the screen for some time.

He smiled thinly, pulled the blanket back over her shoulder, and stood. "Get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning."

And with that, he slipped out the door, leaving Hana alone with a spinning heart and more questions than answers.

---

Hana wasn’t sleepy anymore.

Not with the weight of the Royal Academy suddenly pressing on her chest… and the casual mention of him. Kim Dan.

She sat up slowly, hugging the blanket around her as her eyes adjusted to the soft darkness of the room. Only the moonlight slipping through the curtains gave the space its silvery glow. The hallway outside was even dimmer.

She wanted to follow Sun-Woo. Curiosity itched beneath her skin. But at the same time, the warmth of the bed clung to her like a safe cocoon, whispering, Don’t go.

Still…

She slid her feet down onto the cold floor, wincing as it bit into her skin.

Tiptoeing to the door, she cracked it open just enough to peer out. The house was quiet, but she could hear voices—a low, steady murmur. Sun-Woo was on call, speaking softly from the living room.

"… I’m not saying she has to be watched twenty-four-seven," he said. "But Uncle, you know better than anyone—she’s not the same girl anymore.”

Uncle?.

Her breath caught.

She leaned further against the doorframe, careful not to make a sound. The surrounding darkness was thick, but she didn’t move.

"She still flinches when someone raises their voice," Sun-Woo continued, quieter now. "I don’t know what she remembers or what she doesn’t, but if she finds out the wrong way."

A pause.

Then a chuckle, low and mocking. Not from Sun-Woo.

It came from the speaker. His voice.

Chairman Lee.

"She’ll remember when it matters," Chairman Lee said coolly, his voice smooth like smoke. "Besides, your dad has already sent her a welcome gift."

Sun-Woo tensed. "He what?"

But the call ended before he could respond.

Hana stepped back, her breath shaking.

Welcome gift?

Her heart pounded. She didn’t know what scared her more—that she remembered nothing… or that her life was being dictated by someone.

---

She dashed back into the room, her heart thudding louder than the creak of the door behind her. Throwing herself onto the bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin like a child trying to hide from monsters—except this time, the monster might’ve already known her name.

Sun-Woo entered moments later, a glass of water in his hand. His brows lifted as he saw her wide awake, curled in the exact spot he'd left her.

"I can’t sleep," she blurted, not even trying to sound casual.

He looked at her for a moment, something unreadable flickering across his expression—but he said nothing about the phone call. Instead, he just placed the glass on the nightstand and climbed into bed beside her with a quiet sigh.

"Come here," he said gently, tugging her closer.

She didn’t resist.

Her head found its usual spot on his chest, just beneath his collarbone, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat always calmed her. She could smell the faint woody scent of his cologne—warm, familiar, and safe. His hand moved slowly to her head, fingers weaving through her hair with the kind of care only he gave her.

She clung to his shirt like a lifeline.

"You’re thinking too much again?" he whispered. "I told you already… you’re safe."

His voice was so calm that it made her want to believe him. His other hand moved to rub her back in soft, hypnotic strokes. Everything about his presence was deliberate and grounding, like he knew exactly how to shut the world off for her.

She didn’t know when her breathing evened out.

Didn’t know when her grip loosened.

All she knew was that his touch stayed constant—lightly tracing the curve of her arm, her shoulder, her back—until her mind floated somewhere far away from Kim Dan, from the diary, from the voice on the phone.

Just his heartbeat. Just warmth. Just this.

Sleep claimed her before she could ask if she’d ever really known the truth about him… about any of them.

---

Hana stirred as the morning light poured through the curtains, spilling across the empty side of the bed.

Sun-Woo was gone.

Of course, he was always gone before she woke up. He moved like mist—quiet, responsible, impossible to catch. He probably had another meeting, or maybe he was preparing something for her again. He always was.

Her hand reached for the other pillow and clutched it for a moment before sitting up, yawning lazily. For the first time in days, a smile touched her lips.

"Please," she whispered to the empty room, "please don’t let Kim Dan be home…"

She stood, tiptoed across the cold floor, and peeked outside the door. The hallway was eerily silent. She walked to the living room, then checked the kitchen. Empty. Not even the scent of his perfume lingered.

She exhaled in relief. Her strange prayer had been answered. Kim Dan was gone.

Still in her pajamas, she wandered around the house like a ghost without a place. But something felt… different.

More eyes.

From the windows, she noticed them—uniformed guards stationed at every visible corner of the mansion's compound. Ten by the gate, four by the front door, and some pacing near the garage.

Her brows creased.

Since when were there this many guards?

The glass doors to the balcony were locked tight from the outside, too. She tried to twist the handle again, but it wouldn't budge. Even the curtains were clipped in a way that limited her view.

A sharp frustration flared inside her.

"What the hell is this? Prison?"

She grumbled as she stomped back into the living room, grabbed a throw pillow, and threw it across the sofa.

This life—it didn’t feel like hers. Not really. It was like she was an actress trapped in a role someone else wrote for her. One without freedom, without choice.

Sun-Woo might have been her light, but he wasn’t her key.

No, that key belonged to someone else—someone much colder.

Buzz.

Her phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.

She walked over, expecting a message from Sun-Woo or one of her classmates. But her breath caught when she saw the name flash across the screen.

Wacko.

She blinked. That was how she saved his number?

What kind of person had she been before the fall?

With a hesitant swipe, she unlocked the phone and opened the message.

"You’ve finally woken up. So you lost some of your memories again. Too bad."

That was it.

No "how are you?" No "hope you’re okay." Just that blunt, detached sentence—like a disappointed doctor checking on an experiment.

Hana stared at the message.

Her lips twisted into a grimace. Somehow, she could hear his voice in that text. Dry. Calm. Slightly amused. The tone of a man who could say "I told you so" without moving a muscle.

"Jerk," she muttered.

And yet, her fingers hovered over the reply button.

Something inside her was curious. Restless.

Who was he to her? Why would she call him Wacko? What kind of girl names her sponsor and still lives to tell the tale?

She tossed the phone on the counter, irritated with herself.

This is not a normal life, she thought. And I am not a normal girl.

But what she didn’t know—what no one told her—was that everything she thought she’d forgotten… was only the beginning.

---

In the living room:

She sank onto the edge of the couch, her fingers trembling slightly as she scrolled through her chat list. Her eyes caught a name she recognized — Ji Ha. One of her few friends. Curious, she tapped it open and began reading past conversations.

Ji Ha had been helping her plan an escape.

Why? Why would her past self want to run away?

Her brows furrowed, she read deeper — secret codes, meeting points, warnings. A silent rebellion hidden in texts.

Then, suddenly, her phone screen flickered and went completely blank.

She blinked, confused. The phone wasn’t dead. The battery was full. No signs of malfunction. It was like the device itself was silenced.

Before she could react, the door opened quietly. A guard stepped inside, expression unreadable. In his hands, he held a small package.

"New phone, Miss," he said flatly, placing it in her lap.

She stared at it — sleek, cute, almost beautiful. But in her chest, a storm brewed — anger, confusion, and an aching sadness all collided.

She ripped the wrapping off and powered it on. The screen lit up, but the interface was stripped down, almost mocking in its simplicity.

Only games, a camera, and a chat app.

Curious, she opened the chat app and saw a list of only ten contacts — a cruel cage disguised as a connection.

Wacko — her mysterious sponsor.

Kim Dan — Sun Woo’s cousin.

Sun Woo — her ‘brother,’ not by blood but by bond.

Junho, Seok, Haru, Yoohan, Nina — names she barely remembered, like distant stars.

And the last one, cold and official — Chairman Lee.

Her veins bulged with rage. Her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.

How dare they decide who she could talk to? Who could she be?

She was a prisoner in her own life.

And this was just the beginning.

Furious, she slammed her finger on the call button and shouted, "Wacko, how dare you!"

Silence answered her from the other side. She yelled again, her voice trembling with anger. Suddenly, two games vanished from her phone.

She let out a bitter laugh. "So, you have access to my phone? You think deleting a couple of games will scare me?"

A low chuckle echoed from the line — rich, smooth, and dripping with power.

"What’s so funny?" she demanded.

He just said, "Hope you’re preparing for your new school," brushing off all her questions.

She slammed the screen, trying to cut the call, but it wouldn’t end.

"Trying to hang up?" His voice was mocking, playful.

"That’s no way to talk to your sponsor, dear," he said casually.

His voice stayed cold yet teasing, sending an odd chill through her, like a man who knows exactly how to get under her skin without breaking a sweat.

He said, "I will send you some things you’ll need for school. Do you want a day or boarding?"

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Boarding, of course."

A calm smile touched his voice. "That’s my girl, always finding ways to escape. Don’t worry, since you want boarding, boarding it is."

She chuckled softly, then cut the call.

She stared at the now-dark screen of her phone, her reflection barely visible.

"Wacko, huh?" she muttered, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a mix of irritation and curiosity. "I wonder who he is."

She leaned back against the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

There was something about his voice—too smooth, too calm, too… controlled. It wasn’t just that he had access to her phone or that he acted like he owned her life. It was the way he talked. Like he knew her better than she knew herself. Like he wasn’t just her sponsor, but someone much more dangerous.

"Why would I even save his name as Wacko?" she whispered to herself. "Was I scared of him… or was I trying to mock him?"

She didn’t know. But she was going to find out.

No matter what it took.