labyrinth of the soul

--- Rumi had always been a good girl. She helped grandmas cross the street, spent weekends at shelters for homeless animals (though she never dared to adopt one—life as an idol was complicated, and there would be no one to care for a pet), always supported her friends, and listened to her older sister. In Rumi's dossier, one could easily note "good, responsible worker," and she took pride in that. What would Rumi be if it weren't for her family's extensive connections? Would she have broken into the entertainment world and gained all those fans? Strange thoughts. She pondered this after her encounter with Jinu. The young boy band had managed to surpass their long-popular group, stealing their fans and even them. How many more groups could there be like that? What should they do? Compete, support, or just ignore them? Yes, Rumi and her friends were back on top, but how long would that last…? With a tired sigh, Rumi pressed her hand to her forehead. "Why is it so hard?" she murmured, turning onto her side and glancing toward the balcony. Once upon a time, she had chatted there with Jinu's enormous blue cat. So funny, fluffy, and calming—like a big blue toy. Rumi missed him terribly. And she also missed the little, serious, mischievous bird that always startled her a bit but was just as charming as its owner. Wait. No. No. No. Rumi didn’t miss Jinu. Definitely not. She abruptly sat up, still looking toward the balcony, frowning. She shook her head and quickly jumped off the couch. She needed to go for a walk, to clear her head. Outside, weaving through the narrow streets and alleys, Rumi unknowingly found herself at the very hill where a sweet old lady had handed them bracelets. They were a bit silly. How much he had promised, and yet he was the first to give up. He got scared. She almost didn’t pity him. Almost. He got what he deserved. Yes, exactly. Even thinking like this, Rumi felt a wave of melancholy wash over her. Something strange and sad enveloped her every time she allowed herself a moment to breathe and be alone. Her phone beeped. It was a group chat: the girls were saying rehearsal was in half an hour and something about a bath afterward. Staring at the message for a few seconds longer, Rumi exhaled, managed a weak smile, and tucked her phone into her bag. *** “AND NOW, YOUR FAVORITE IDOLS ARE HEADING TO THE PARK OF HAUNTING ATTRACTIONS!” the reporter—or whoever he was—almost screamed in Rumi's earpiece. She hadn’t willingly agreed to this whole show adventure. She was pretty much forced into it. Grumbling curses under her breath, she surveyed the park. Of all the guillotines, deadly roller coasters, poisoned candy, and other spine-chilling scares, the mirror maze seemed the safest. Well, it looked almost safe compared to everything else. Rumi resolutely approached it. She cracked the door open and quietly stepped into the dark room. The mirrors glowed, and in some corners, she noticed the red lights of cameras. Remembering the silly show, she smiled at one of them and waved sweetly. Her earpiece vibrated with positive feedback from the hosts. Rolling her eyes mentally, she continued moving forward. The light from the mirrors was the only illumination in the room, aside from the winking cameras. After wandering in the maze for about half a minute, Rumi realized: first, she absolutely hated mirror mazes, and second, she was lost. Unable to get genuinely angry—so as not to scare the fans—she silently stood somewhere in the middle of the path. She began examining her dark reflection. She stared long at her pretty, polished face, her neat clothes, her clean (!) white sneakers. Her reflection looked at her with the same boredom she expected. Not wanting to move forward, Rumi started fixing her hair while she had the chance. She braided a section of her hair, listening to the faint echoes of comments in her earpiece. Against the overall silence of the maze, they felt slightly out of place. Something within Rumi sensed that something was off. She almost physically felt discomfort. Was it the darkness or the multitude of flickering mirrors, or maybe the strange silhouette behind her? Wait. Silhouette??? Rumi turned her gaze behind her. In the reflection, there was indeed someone. But who? It couldn’t be an idol; she would have heard. Rumi sniffed the air. It smelled... like a demon? But how? That was impossible. Was there something wrong with the honmun? But everything seemed fine; at least she didn’t see or feel any damage. Then who was it? And then it hit her: the camera was no longer flashing that annoying light, and her earpiece had gone silent. She was cut off from the show. Curious, was she the only one? Seizing the chance to be unseen, she slowly pulled the hilt of her sword from her belt. The dark glass corridors were illuminated by the pink light of her blade. “I know you’re here. Come out, stop hiding,” she said firmly, turning around, where her own reflection greeted her. This couldn’t be a demon, could it? But why did it feel like one? Strange, very strange. Almost impossible. As she advanced down the corridor, she carefully felt her way through. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”—feeling a certain irritation at being unable to move freely due to the glass, she grew increasingly nervous. Then, turning around, she suddenly bumped into a familiar face and froze. “Jinu...?” she croaked, almost in a whisper. “Yes, Rumi?”—the reflection smiled oddly and tilted its head slightly—“I’m listening.” Rumi stood there, mouth agape. It seemed a bee could fly in and make a hive there. “I... I thought you were dead?”—she stumbled over her words, finding it hard to speak. Still not believing what was happening, she unconsciously tightened her grip on the sword. “Well, I am dead. Look,” he said, pulling down the upper part of his black kimono to reveal a black, charred shoulder. It looked horrific, the burned skin horrifying and nauseating. The silence signaled that the rest of his body was likely the same. Only his face was intact? “You know, it’s tough when you’re burned alive and then sent back to hell, to that monster you so desperately fled from. They hate you even more there, refusing to take you back. I didn’t rush. In the end, I ended up here, in some Mirrorland, between hell and earth. I’m not material, but I can only watch you through the mirror. It’s funny you noticed me just now. I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” “Wait, you don’t know how you got here? And how can I rescue you?”—“You can’t. Only break the mirror I’m trapped in. And as you can see, there are... quite a few,” he sighed. He smiled, tilted his head, and asked, “You’ll break them all for me, won’t you?” And Rumi realized she couldn’t refuse. She hadn’t been able to let him go for too long, so maybe this was her chance to be free. Gripping the hilt tighter, she swung her sword—“Alright. Hold on.” And she raced through the maze, shattering everything she saw. She stumbled upon the exit purely by accident—tripping and crashing into one of the mirrors, which swung open, and she tumbled out. The sun was slowly setting, and it was suspiciously quiet. Looking around cautiously and seeing no one, Rumi re-entered the maze. There wasn’t a single intact mirror left. Did she succeed? Or not? Deciding to figure it out later, she aimed for the exit to consult her friends. Having learned from experience, she understood that it was best to tell everything all at once. Slowly making her way to the exit, Rumi noticed the park was eerily empty. Why wasn’t there a single reporter or idol in her path? Not even ordinary people. Strange. There were no screams, no shouts, no sounds from attractions. Her earpiece was silent. What had happened? She quietly inhaled through her mouth. It would probably be foolish to panic in such a situation. Surely, everyone had just scattered due to some unexpected issue, or maybe screen time had simply run out. But her friends wouldn’t have left her. Probably. Rumi shook her head. They definitely wouldn’t have left. So something must have happened. Could the visions in the mirrors be to blame? Frowning, she glanced back at the room with the shattered mirrors. The prospect of going there didn’t appeal to her at all, but Rumi felt there was nowhere else to seek the answer. Cracking open the door that had slammed shut from the wind, she peered inside. The room had turned into a large, cluttered dark space, as Rumi’s efforts had left the glass walls shattered across the floor. Piles of small and large shards crunched under her feet with every step, making her pray that nothing would stick into her foot. Rumi thanked herself for her high-soled shoes and carefully moved forward. She scanned the room for intact mirrors but found nothing. And then something caught her eye. Near the entrance she had used the first time, there lay a large shard. Very large. In fact, it was almost a surviving piece of the wall. It just needed a small fragment in the top right corner. Following some strange feeling, the huntress looked around as if searching for something. She found it. A small shard, perfectly fitting. She carefully picked it up and involuntarily looked at herself through it. In the reflection behind her stood Jinu. Freezing, she slowly turned her head, afraid to spook the apparition. She held on to the belief that she was imagining things until she felt a cold hand on her back. Goosebumps ran down her skin. “Jinu?”—“And you’re still so kind, huh?”—the demon replied with a question to her question—“Thanks, but my plan didn’t quite go as expected.” “What plan?”—Rumi tensed even more. She remembered him. How calm she felt near him, his sad face, beautiful eyes, peaceful soul. If demons even have one. The person standing behind her now—was he really Jinu? The voice was the same, the words were the same. What was wrong? She didn’t understand. ---