← # I've Possessed the Villain's Father
I possessed the villain's father.
The moment I opened my eyes, I realized something was wrong.
The soft silk sheets beneath me, the ornate ceiling decorated with gold leaf, the faint scent of expensive perfume—none of this matched my tiny studio apartment.
I sat up slowly, my heart pounding. My hands looked different. Older. More weathered, yet somehow more refined. I looked around the luxurious bedroom in confusion.
A mirror hung on the wall across from the bed. I stumbled toward it, my legs unsteady.
The face staring back at me was not my own.
It was the face of a man in his fifties, with sharp features and cold gray eyes. Silver streaked through his dark hair. He wore an expression of perpetual displeasure, as if the world itself had disappointed him.
I knew this face.
Archduke Cassius Blackwell. The villain's father from the novel "The Radiant Sword."
My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the edge of the bed.
This couldn't be happening. I had been reading that web novel just hours ago. I remembered the exact moment—I'd been lying in bed, scrolling through the latest chapter, when everything went black.
And now I was here. In the body of a man who, according to the story, would become the final antagonist's greatest obstacle.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Your Grace, it's time for breakfast," a maid's voice called from outside.
I didn't respond. I couldn't. My mind was still reeling.
The door opened anyway, and a young woman in a maid's uniform entered, carrying a silver tray. She didn't seem surprised by my silence. She simply set the tray on the table beside the bed and bowed respectfully.
"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"
I stared at her, unable to form words.
"Your Grace?" She tilted her head slightly, concern flickering across her face. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"I..." My voice came out hoarse. "What day is it?"
The maid's concern deepened. "It's Monday, Your Grace. The 15th of Autumn. Are you certain you're well? Shall I call the physician?"
Monday. The 15th of Autumn. Those were the exact dates from the beginning of the novel's second arc.
The arc where everything started to fall apart.
"No," I said quickly. "No physician. I'm fine. Just... tired."
The maid didn't look convinced, but she bowed again. "Very well, Your Grace. I'll leave you to your breakfast."
After she left, I sat in silence, staring at the untouched food.
I had possessed the villain's father. And if my memory of the novel was correct, I had less than a year before everything descended into chaos.
The question was: what was I going to do about it?# Subway Exit 7
Siou looked strange in his school uniform when they met at subway exit 7. He still looked like a child, but seeing that small body dressed in school clothes made it feel like time had somehow gone wrong.
"Dad!"
Siou raised his hand. It was an ordinary hand. For now.
Junho Park took his son's hand. The fingers were thin. Warm. He couldn't see anything black. Not yet.
"How was school?"
"Um... it was okay."
Siou fidgeted with his backpack strap. Junho watched that hand. He counted the fingers one by one. Five. All normal. But why did he keep seeing that future hand? The one that trailed black smoke.
"Anything happen?"
"Huh? Oh, um..."
Siou looked to the side. Junho looked at his son's profile. At his pupils. They were black. All children's pupils were black. He kept forgetting that.
"I drew a picture in art class."
"Yeah? What did you draw?"
"A mountain. Oh, and..."
Siou opened his backpack. He pulled out a sketchbook. It contained several drawings. The first one was a mountain. The sun hung above it. An ordinary drawing. A childlike drawing.
When Junho saw the next drawing, his fingers went numb.
There were many black lines. The brush pressure was strong. It looked like ink had been squeezed out. It was hard to make out the shape of the drawing. As if something moving had been drawn, the lines flowed across the page.
"This is... what?"
His voice had turned sharp. Junho realized it but couldn't stop himself.
Siou lowered his head.
"The teacher told us to draw whatever we felt like. So..."
"What do you think this is?"
"Um... I don't know. My hand kept..."
Siou looked at his own hand. That small hand was trembling.
Junho took a breath. Long. Deep. They were walking on the street, and there were people around. Someone might be watching him. He needed to be composed.
"Ah, then you drew it well."
It was a lie. His voice must have trembled. But Junho handed the sketchbook back to Siou's hand.
"Is there anything else?"
"The teacher said I drew it well."
Siou's voice was small. And... Junho heard it. Two vocal ranges in that voice. Two different tones mixed together at once. As if two people were speaking simultaneously.
No. He must have heard wrong.
"Yeah. The teacher's right. You drew it well."
Junho placed his hand on Siou's shoulder. He tried to make it warm. To reassure his son. But his own hand was trembling.
They got in the car. It was a typical rush hour road. Cars were backed up. The traffic light was red.
"What did you eat for lunch today?"
"School lunch. Pork cutlet."
"Was it good?"
"Um... it was just okay."
Siou was looking out the window. His finger was touching the glass. Following that finger, Junho could see the back of his hand. A pale hand. And on top of it...
Junho rubbed his eyes. He must be tired. His eyes must be strange from jet lag. He thought he saw something on Siou's hand, but looking again now, there was nothing.
"Dad."
"Yeah?"
"Mom—Eunmi said she's going to give me something on Sunday. Do you know what it is?"
Junho's foot slipped off the pedal. The traffic light turned green, but the car didn't move. A horn honked from behind.
"What did she say?"
"Oh, she just mentioned it. She won't tell me what it is."
Siou laughed, imitating his mom. In that laughter too, two vocal ranges were mixed together. Junho heard it, and tried again not to hear it.
"Okay. You'll find out on Sunday."
Junho started driving. Only a few seconds remained before the light turned red again. But he kept going.
Siou pulled something else from his backpack. A math worksheet.
"Dad, can you solve this problem for me?"
Junho looked at the traffic light. It was changing from red to yellow.
"Later. I'm driving right now."
"Oh, okay. Sorry."
Siou put the worksheet back. That's when Junho saw it. When his son's finger stopped on the worksheet, the letters where that finger touched seemed to blur and run down like watercolor. Black letters. Like paint.
"Siou."
"Yes?"
"Your fingernails are... okay?"
Siou looked at his own fingernails. They were ordinary nails. Pink. Childlike nails.
"Yeah. They're fine."
"Okay. Then it's fine."
Junho gripped the steering wheel tightly. The traffic light was red. The car was quiet. Only Siou's breathing could be heard.
And beneath that breathing, another breath that only Junho could hear was mixed in.
"Dad, are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
It was a lie. Junho waited for the light to turn green. He had to make it until Sunday. He needed to know what Eunmi was going to "give." And he had to stop Siou.
The car moved slowly. Over Seoul's gray roads.
# 10 PM Sharp
Park Junho turned off the light in Siu's bedroom.
"Alright. Time to sleep now."
"Okay."
Siu pulled the blanket over himself. His small body curled up on the bed. Park Junho left the door open and came out to the living room. He lay down on the sofa and picked up his phone. The screen displayed tomorrow's weather and schedule. Two days remained until Sunday.
He heard the sound of Siu sleeping. Regular breathing. A child's breathing.
Park Junho closed his eyes.
Exactly thirteen minutes later.
"Dad."
Siu's voice reached the living room. Park Junho opened his eyes. He stared at the empty space on the ceiling. He didn't get up.
"Yeah. What is it."
"I'm thirsty."
Park Junho got up. He went to the kitchen and poured water. The cup was cold. He went into Siu's bedroom.
The child had his head resting on the pillow. His eyes were half-open.
"Here."
He handed over the water. Siu gulped it down. His small throat moved. Watching that throat, Park Junho thought. How dark would Siu's throat be when he turned eighteen.
"Want more?"
"No."
Siu lay back down. Park Junho took the cup and left.
"Alright. Now go back to sleep for real."
"Okay."
He closed the bedroom door again. He returned to the living room. He lay down on the sofa.
This time eighteen minutes passed.
"Dad."
Park Junho sighed. He answered without getting up.
"What."
"What should we do tomorrow?"
"Sleep."
"Oh, right."
Silence.
Park Junho closed his eyes. His breathing was already deepening. He was so tired. This week had been so long. Everything changed from the day he met Siu at the subway station.
Ten minutes later.
"Dad! Dad!"
Park Junho jolted awake. Siu stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Only his silhouette was visible. A child in the darkness.
"What, all of a sudden?"
"I had a dream."
Park Junho sat up on the sofa. He rubbed his face. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
"What kind of dream?"
"Something... black."
Park Junho's hand stopped.
"Something black?"
"Yeah. It keeps getting bigger. From my hand."
Siu looked at his own hand. Even in the darkness, it was visible. A child's hand. Pink fingernails. An ordinary hand.
"It's just a dream. Only a dream."
Park Junho got up. He approached Siu and took the child's hand. It was warm. The warmth of something alive.
"Come on. Let's go back to bed."
"Okay."
He led Siu to the bedroom. He tucked the blanket around him. He held the child's hand.
"Dad's here. Sleep. Go back to sleep."
"Okay."
Siu's eyes closed. Park Junho sat on the edge of the bed. He continued holding the child's hand. He continued to feel something black growing from that hand.
Siu's breathing deepened again.
Only then did Park Junho get up. He returned to the living room. He lay down on the sofa. He looked at the ceiling. The ceiling in the darkness.
Sunday. He just had to make it until Sunday.
That was when it happened.
"Dad."
"..."
Park Junho didn't answer. His eyes closed.
"Dad."
Again.
"Dad!"
The child's voice grew higher. Park Junho slowly got up. He took one deep breath. Exhaustion pressed down on his entire body. His eyelids were heavy as lead.
He went into the bedroom.
"What."
"I'm thirsty again."
Park Junho went to the kitchen. He poured water. This time it was lukewarm. He handed it to Siu. The child drank.
"More?"
"No."
He looked at the child lying in bed. His eyes were open. Open even in the darkness.
"Sleep."
"Okay."
He left the bedroom.
He lay down on the sofa again.
He checked the time. 10:47 PM.
Park Junho closed his eyes. How long until they opened again. Probably less than five minutes.
Regular breathing came from Siu's bedroom.
Beneath it, another breathing was mixed in.
Park Junho didn't cover his ears. He knew that was also Siu's breathing. It was just overlapping for now, not yet separated.
"Dad."
Exactly four minutes and twenty-three seconds.
Park Junho didn't open his eyes. He didn't get up from the sofa. He sighed on the sofa. A tired sigh.
"What."
His voice came out. A rough voice.
"It's nighttime. You need to sleep."
"Okay. I got it."
Silence.
Park Junho waited for time to pass with his eyes closed. Until Siu woke again. Until he spoke again.
Sunday. When Sunday comes, everything will end.
Lee Eun-mi will give what she promised to give.
Siu will stop.
That black thing will stop too.
Letters won't smudge on the child's hand.
The double breathing will become one.
Park Junho wanted to believe that.
"Dad."
Exactly six minutes and fifty-two seconds.
Park Junho got up from the sofa. Slowly. As if walking through water. He went to the bedroom.
He held Siu again.
The child was warm.
"Sleep. Dad will be here with you."
He lay down on the floor of the bedroom. Next to Siu's bed. Holding the child's hand.
"Okay."
Siu murmured.
Park Junho looked at the ceiling. The ceiling of the child's bedroom. Glow-in-the-dark star stickers were stuck there. Green stars. Stars that shone at night.
Looking at those stars, Park Junho closed his eyes.
This time, may I not wake.
Hoping with such desperation.