Chapter 236: Chapter 236: The City That Breathes
Morning came, but Seoul did not feel alive in the way it once had. The city moved, yes—the subway lines thundered, buses hissed to a halt, and office workers flooded the streets in their endless tide. Neon signs dimmed as daylight took over, vendors unpacked their carts, and the smoke of breakfast stalls curled into the crisp air. To anyone glancing from the outside, Seoul was itself.
But for those who had touched the scar, the disguise was paper-thin.
Min-joon stood at the sink of his apartment, staring into the water as it ran. He should have been rinsing his face, but his eyes stayed fixed on the reflection. The water rippled, but not in time with his movements. When he lifted his hand to splash his face, the reflection didn’t follow. It blinked at him instead, eyes dark and heavy with something that wasn’t human.
He slammed the faucet off, heart pounding, and the image broke.
Behind him, Lin stirred on the futon. His breathing had steadied overnight, but his skin was still pale, his body weak. Min-joon rushed to his side instantly, crouching down. "Lin," he whispered, brushing damp hair back from the boy’s forehead. "Stay asleep a little longer. You need the rest."
But Lin’s lips moved. A whisper, so faint Min-joon had to lean close to hear. "...It’s not gone... It’s moving..."
Min-joon clenched his jaw. He wanted to deny it, to shield Lin from the truth, but the weight in the air told him the boy wasn’t delirious. Seoul was breathing wrong.
Keller had been awake since before dawn. He hadn’t closed his eyes once, pacing like a caged animal. When the sun finally broke, he shoved the curtains aside, watching the streets below. What he saw wasn’t chaos. It was worse.
The patterns.
People moved in cycles. The same businessman adjusted his tie at the crosswalk three times in the span of minutes. The same delivery bike circled the block, engine whining, looping endlessly. Even the pigeons on the power line shifted in unison, three heads turning left, then right, like soldiers responding to a silent command.
Keller felt his stomach twist. This wasn’t randomness—it was drill. It was the order of an occupying force, invisible but present.
"City’s compromised," he muttered, turning toward Min-joon and Hwan. His tone was clipped, soldier-sharp. "This isn’t background noise. This is staging."
Min-joon glared at him. "Don’t—"
"I’m not speculating," Keller snapped. He jabbed a finger toward the window. "That’s pattern recognition. Someone’s teaching this city to move like troops."
Hwan’s expression tightened. He didn’t argue. Instead, he closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the current in the air. When he opened them, they were grim. "He’s right. The scar isn’t expanding blindly. It’s mapping. Occupying. Lin opened the tether, and now the scar is using Seoul as its field."
"Field for what?" Min-joon demanded.
Hwan looked at Lin, then back at the others. His voice was almost reverent, almost terrified. "For war."
By late morning, the city’s fractures grew more visible.
In a small café across the street, the same woman stirred her coffee for ten minutes without drinking. The spoon clinked against porcelain in a rhythm that grew so precise it felt mechanical. On the subway platform, commuters stood perfectly still between trains, eyes glazed, as though waiting for a signal no one else could hear.
Lin tried to sit up, his frail body trembling. Min-joon was instantly at his side, easing him upright. Lin’s gaze moved toward the window, unfocused yet piercing. "It’s... it’s breathing," he whispered.
"What is?" Min-joon asked, voice low and urgent.
"The city. It’s not just... repeating. It’s breathing. Like lungs. Like... me."
Keller stiffened. "Don’t say that, kid."
But Lin’s eyes snapped to him, sharp despite his weakness. "It’s true. I can feel it. When I breathe, it breathes. When my heart slows, the city does too. I’m not just carrying it—it’s carrying me."
The words hung in the room like a blade.
Min-joon pulled Lin against his chest, his grip desperate. "No. Don’t say that. You’re not its vessel. You’re not."
Lin didn’t argue. He just closed his eyes, exhausted, and whispered: "...then why does it know my name?"
Around noon, they ventured outside. Staying inside only made the pressure worse, like the apartment was shrinking with each hour. Min-joon kept Lin close, one arm around his frail body, while Keller scanned every shadow, his hand brushing the grip of his gun with each step. Hwan walked slightly ahead, eyes flicking over surfaces no one else would think to notice—windows, puddles, mirrors.
The city was alive, yes, but its pulse was wrong. People walked, cars honked, vendors shouted. Yet beneath the surface, a rhythm threaded through it all. Crosswalk signals blinked in perfect sync across separate streets. Stray dogs froze in unison when Lin passed. The shadows of pedestrians lagged behind by a beat, catching up like they were tethered with delay.
A fruit seller smiled too wide when Lin walked past. His words were nonsense syllables, repeated in a loop until Min-joon dragged Lin away. Keller’s jaw was tight, his voice low. "We shouldn’t be out here. Eyes everywhere."
"They’re not eyes," Hwan murmured, his own voice equally tense. "They’re lungs. The scar is breathing us in."
It happened at the intersection of Jongno.
They stopped at the curb, waiting for the light. Dozens of people gathered around them—office workers, students, old women hauling carts. Ordinary Seoul. But then the air shifted. The crowd stilled.
Everyone turned their heads at once. Not toward the light, not toward the cars. Toward Lin.
Their faces were blank, mouths slightly open, eyes reflecting too much light. The silence was absolute, oppressive. Even the traffic noise seemed muted, like the city itself was holding its breath.
Lin gripped Min-joon’s arm, his body trembling. "They... see me."
Then, as one, the crowd spoke. A single voice, many throats. The sound was low, resonant, like the marrow’s choir had leaked into every human lung.
"Anchor."
The word rolled through the street, vibrating in their bones.
Min-joon shoved Lin behind him, his own body shaking with rage and fear. "Stay away from him!" he shouted, voice breaking.
Keller had his gun out now, the barrel sweeping the crowd. "This isn’t civilians anymore. This is occupation."
Hwan’s breath hitched, eyes wide with horror. "No... it’s worse. This is recognition. The scar is making itself known to everyone."
The crowd didn’t move closer. They didn’t need to. Their voices rose again, unified, inhuman.
"Anchor. Breathe. Anchor. Breathe."
Lin fell to his knees, clutching his head. His breathing quickened, and the traffic lights above flickered in time with his gasps. Red-green-red-green, faster and faster, until the bulbs shattered in showers of sparks.
Keller swore, pulling Lin up by the arm, shoving him back toward Min-joon. "We’re leaving. Now!"
But as they turned, Lin’s voice came out strangled, desperate. "I can’t leave. It’s inside them. Inside all of them."
The crowd’s chant grew louder. Pedestrians down the street stopped, turned, and joined. Windows opened, faces staring, mouths moving in sync. The entire intersection became a chorus, hundreds of voices pounding the same rhythm:
"Anchor. Breathe. Anchor. Breathe."
The air thickened. The asphalt trembled underfoot. The skyscrapers seemed to lean inward, as though the whole city was collapsing toward Lin.
Min-joon held him tight, whispering fiercely into his ear. "Stay with me, Lin. You’re not theirs. You’re mine. Breathe with me. Not with them—me."
But Lin’s breath faltered, syncing with the chant despite himself. His eyes rolled back, his body shuddering. The city pulsed in time.
Hwan shouted over the roar, his voice raw. "He’s not just connected—he’s central! If he collapses, Seoul collapses with him!"
And for the first time, Min-joon believed it.