THE BOY WHO DOESN'T EXIST
THE LETTER
The rain had been falling over Seoul for almost three hours.
Mira stood beside the window of her small apartment, watching the streets below disappear beneath a sheet of silver rain.
It was 11:17 p.m.
She looked at the clock again.
11:17.
For some reason, the number had been appearing everywhere lately.
On receipts.
On bus tickets.
On her phone.
She had even noticed it carved into an old wooden bench outside her school.
She had tried to ignore it.
Tonight, however, someone had left an envelope outside her door.
Mira slowly opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
No footsteps.
No elevator moving.
Nothing.
Only the envelope.
It was completely black.
There was no name.
No address.
No stamp.
Just one small silver symbol in the center.
A circle crossed by a single line.
Mira picked it up.
The paper felt strangely cold.
She looked down the hallway one more time before closing the door.
Inside her apartment, she placed the envelope on her desk.
For several seconds, she simply stared at it.
Then she opened it.
There was only one sheet of paper inside.
Five words were written in black ink:
YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO FIND THIS.
Mira’s heart skipped.
She turned the paper over.
Nothing.
She checked the envelope again.
Nothing.
Then she noticed something.
A tiny number had been written underneath the flap.
17.
Mira frowned.
“Seventeen?”
She had no idea what it meant.
She placed the letter beside her laptop and went to get some water.
When she returned, the screen of her laptop was glowing.
She hadn’t turned it on.
Mira froze.
The screen showed a single sentence.
She hadn’t typed it.
She hadn’t searched for it.
Yet it was there.
DO YOU REMEMBER THE NIGHT YOU WERE SEVENTEEN?
Mira stared at the screen.
Her hands became cold.
She was sixteen.
She had never been seventeen.
And then—
Knock. Knock.
Someone was at the door.
Mira didn’t move.
Another knock.
Slow.
Quiet.
Three seconds later, a voice came from the other side.
“Don’t open the door.”
Mira’s breathing stopped.
The voice continued.
“I know what’s inside that envelope.”
She stepped backward.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
Then the stranger answered:
“My name is Arin.”
A pause.
“And if you want to stay alive—”
Mira’s eyes widened.
“—you need to burn that letter.”
The hallway became silent again.
Mira looked at the black envelope.
For the first time, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before.
There was writing beneath the silver symbol.
Very faint.
Almost invisible.
She held it closer to the light.
And finally, she could read it.
SEOUL — 11:17
Mira looked at the clock.
11:17 p.m.
Then she heard footsteps running away from her door.
She rushed to the window.
A figure in a black jacket was disappearing into the rain.
Mira couldn’t see his face.
But just before he disappeared around the corner, he stopped.
And looked directly up at her window.
For one second, their eyes met.
Then he was gone.
Mira returned to the desk.
The laptop screen had changed.
There was now a second message.
FIRST CLUE: FIND THE BOY WHO DOESN’T EXIST.
Mira stared at those words.
Then the lights in her apartment went out.
And somewhere in the darkness—
her phone rang.
11:18 p.m.
