Do-yoon didn’t open the second door.
At least, not right away.
He stood in front of it with his hand still raised while the crying behind the old wood grew fainter.
Then came laughter.
Then silence.
Everything happened in an order that was too neat.
Like someone was playing a recording.
Jae-hyun stood three steps behind him.
“I’m gonna give you some advice.”
“Don’t.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“I know.”
“Don’t open it.”
Do-yoon glanced back at him.
“Why?”
“Because based on everything I’ve experienced tonight, a door being knocked on from the inside by something we don’t know is usually not offering us a discount.”
Do-yoon stared at him for a few seconds.
“That makes sense.”
“Good.”
“But I still want to open it.”
“I hate you.”
“Get in line.”
Do-yoon turned back to the door.
His hand touched the knob.
Cold.
Not cold like metal.
Cold like something that hadn’t been touched by a human in far too long.
He took a breath.
Then—
“Do-yoon.”
Jung-woo’s voice came from behind him.
Do-yoon stopped.
“Don’t.”
Just one word.
No commanding tone.
No anger.
Just fear.
Do-yoon turned around.
His father stood at the end of the hall.
His face was pale.
The small bell was still clutched in his hand.
“Are you scared, Dad?”
Jung-woo was silent.
“For the first time,” Do-yoon said softly, “you look like someone who’s really scared.”
“I am.”
The answer came without a hint of defensiveness.
Do-yoon fell silent.
Jung-woo looked at the door.
“I’m afraid of losing you the way I lost your mother.”
Do-yoon lowered his hand.
For a moment, everything felt too quiet.
Then—
Knock.
The second door was tapped again.
Do-yoon closed his eyes.
He wanted to trust his father.
The problem was, trust was expensive.
And for the past fifteen years, Jung-woo had paid for it with lies.
“You know who’s behind this door.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“It’s not something you can face right now.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know the rules yet.”
Do-yoon gave a quiet laugh.
“I’m a shaman.”
“I know.”
“I’ve faced plenty of things.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then why?”
Jung-woo looked at him.
“Because the thing behind that door isn’t a ghost.”
Do-yoon fell silent.
Jae-hyun immediately lifted his head.
“Then what is it?”
Jung-woo didn’t answer.
A woman’s voice came from behind the door.
“Park Jung-woo.”
Jung-woo froze.
The voice had changed.
It wasn’t crying anymore.
It wasn’t laughing anymore.
Now it sounded like an adult woman speaking to someone she knew very well.
“It’s been a long time.”
Do-yoon looked at his father.
“You know her.”
Jung-woo didn’t answer.
The voice behind the door spoke again.
“Fifteen years.”
Jung-woo gripped his bell.
“Shut up.”
“Fifteen years you’ve been hiding.”
“I said shut up.”
“You think he’ll never remember?”
Do-yoon felt something tighten in his chest.
“Who is she?”
The voice gave a quiet laugh.
“Your son’s smart.”
Jung-woo closed his eyes.
“Do-yoon, go.”
“No.”
“Now.”
“No.”
“Do-yoon.”
“I want to know.”
The second door shuddered.
Once.
Then twice.
Jae-hyun backed away.
“Looks like she wants us to open it, too.”
Do-yoon glanced at him.
“Very helpful insight.”
“I’m just making an observation.”
“Your observations are annoying.”
“I’m panicking.”
“It shows.”
Then a voice came from behind the door.
“Open it.”
Do-yoon looked at the knob.
“If I open it…”
The voice answered.
“…you’ll see the night your mother died.”
Do-yoon froze.
Jung-woo moved at once.
He pulled Do-yoon away from the door.
“No.”
“Dad!”
“No!”
For the first time, Jung-woo’s voice cracked.
Not with anger.
With fear.
“You don’t have to see it.”
Do-yoon stared at his father.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll learn something you can never forget.”
“Isn’t that already happening?”
Jung-woo fell silent.
Do-yoon pulled his hand away.
“I’ve spent fifteen years not knowing what happened.”
He looked at the door.
“If there’s an answer in there, I want to know.”
“The answer isn’t for you.”
“Who decides that?”
Jung-woo didn’t answer.
“She?”
Do-yoon pointed at the door.
“Or you?”
Silence.
Then—
Jung-woo slowly lowered his hand.
He looked at his son.
“If you open that door,” he said, “I can’t guarantee you’ll see the past.”
Do-yoon frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Jung-woo looked down the hall.
“Some doors don’t lead backward.”
“Then where do they lead?”
“Sometimes…”
He swallowed.
“…they open onto something that’s still waiting.”
Do-yoon was silent.
The words felt like something he’d heard before.
He couldn’t remember when.
Or from whom.
Then he realized.
Guardian.
No.
That voice.
From that night in the apartment.
From behind the door.
I never said I was protecting you.
Do-yoon stared at the door.
Then he heard a whisper.
So quiet,
it was almost like it came from inside his own head.
Don’t open it.
Do-yoon froze.
For the first time, two sides were telling him to do opposite things.
His father said not to.
Something behind the door said to open it.
And something else—
something he’d never seen clearly—
was also telling him not to.
Jae-hyun watched him.
“Did you hear something?”
Do-yoon nodded.
“What?”
Do-yoon didn’t answer.
He stared at the doorknob.
Then slowly withdrew his hand.
“I’m not opening it.”
Jae-hyun nearly collapsed with relief.
“Thank you.”
Jung-woo looked at Do-yoon.
“Good.”
Do-yoon nodded.
“But I have another way.”
He turned toward the stairs.
Jung-woo immediately asked,
“Where are you going?”
“The third door.”
Jae-hyun closed his eyes.
“Oh, God.”
Do-yoon headed up the stairs.
Jung-woo followed.
“Do-yoon, stop.”
“No.”
“The third door is more dangerous.”
“Then maybe the answer’s there.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Jung-woo stopped on the top step.
Because the third door stood right in front of them.
It was different from the first two.
The first door was old.
The second was weathered.
The third looked new.
Its wood was black.
Its handle was silver.
There wasn’t any dust.
Not a single scratch.
As if it had been installed yesterday.
Do-yoon moved closer.
Something was strange.
He didn’t feel a chill.
He didn’t feel any pressure.
He didn’t hear a sound.
Quite the opposite.
The door felt…
normal.
Too normal.
Jae-hyun whispered,
“Why do I feel like this is worse?”
Do-yoon nodded.
“Because it probably is.”
He raised his hand.
Before touching the knob, he noticed something written in small letters at the bottom of the door.
Handwriting.
Very neat.
For Do-yoon.
His heart beat faster.
He opened the door.
There was no room.
No hallway.
No ghost.
Behind the door was only a staircase descending below.
Deep.
Dark.
Do-yoon stared at it.
Then a woman’s voice came from below.
It wasn’t his mother.
It wasn’t a stranger’s voice.
It was a voice he knew very well.
His own.
“Do-yoon.”
He froze.
The voice laughed.
Then said,
“Long time no see.”
Jung-woo stood behind him.
His expression changed.
“Don’t go down.”
Do-yoon turned around.
“Have you been down there before?”
Jung-woo didn’t answer.
“You have, right?”
Jung-woo remained silent.
Do-yoon looked back at the stairs.
Then he slowly smiled.
Not because he was happy.
Because he’d finally found something even his father was afraid to talk about.
“Now I get it.”
“What?”
Do-yoon looked down.
“Why you never told me this house only had two floors.”
From the darkness below the stairs—
came footsteps climbing up.
One.
Two.
Three.
Someone was coming toward them.
And his own voice sounded again.
This time, right out of the darkness.
“Welcome home.”