5Ep.. The Vanished Artist

At the end of the call last night, Hari had said: just give me the address, I'll come tomorrow. While he was still looking for a way to say no, it had already become a plan. For the first time, Hari came to his room, two worn diaries clutched to her chest. Smaller than he'd imagined, with steadier eyes than he'd imagined. The moment the door opened, before any greeting, she raised her phone and photographed Siu's face.

…What are you doing?

A record. Night of June 14th, Author Siu, still all right. To write it down before you forget someone again. You can't record it yourself—you don't even know what you've lost.

There were two diaries. One was new, barely begun; the other had cover corners rubbed pale with use. When she stacked them on her knees, he saw where the first page of the older one had been torn out. The torn edge still stood along the spine like small teeth. Siu didn't ask. Hari didn't say.

He almost laughed in disbelief, but then Hari drew a sheet from between the diaries. A yellowed printout of a web series from ten years ago. The title and art style were strange. Yet one background alley—was chillingly identical to the alley Siu had drawn. Down to the angle of the rain.

This artist's pen name was 'Gwan'—the character for 'to watch.' One day, mid-serialization, they simply vanished. Only a missing-person report left behind. But the last episode… is strange.

She opened her laptop to the episode. The last one had no art. On a blank white screen, a single line of text: 'I no longer know who I am. But this alley, at least, I remember. May the next one—please—stop.'

A chill froze down Siu's spine. “The next one…” he murmured. Now it's your turn. The message rang again in his ears. The unknown number. The figure in the rain. The vanishing memories. An artist who drew this same alley and disappeared ten years ago. The pieces began to thread into a single line.

Author, that person standing outside your window… could it be—

They looked at the window at once. Rain had begun without their noticing.

Beneath the streetlight, the person raised their head slowly, for the first time. The rain-blurred face—old and worn, yet unmistakably, somewhere, resembled Siu. The eyes. The bridge of the nose. As if he were looking at himself decades from now.