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Prologue

It was 3 in the morning, a typical day in the life of Kim Jeong Hoon of working late at night. But it was still special as that day he wrote the ending of his hit book, Mr Perfect. He had mixed feeling about it as he was happy and sad at the same time. 

His tired shoulders were hurting, maybe because of constant sitting on his computer. He mailed the final draft to his editor and walked towards his bedroom for some sleep.

Suddenly, it started raining pretty heavily outside, and everything went dark after a few minutes. Kim felt weird. There was no news of rain in the weather forecast. All at once, he heard a gunshot coming from his yard. And the rain started to smell similar to the metallic smell of running blood over the skin. 

He got anxious. He went to his bedroom, took out his pistol, loaded the bullets and ran outside to witness what caused the gunshot. He was scared, but he was trying to put on a brave face. It was pitch dark outside.  

While running, he tripped over something big. It was too dark for him to see what was that. Suddenly the light came, and he found himself sitting on two dead bodies covered with blood. He reflexed.

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“I never saw these people before. Who are they?” he replied with a trembling voice.

He was too scared to think straight. All at once, he heard another gunshot coming from the house. He looked at his pocket watch and found it moving counterclockwise and stopped at sharp 12.

He started whispering God’s name, “Jesus”, continuously. And, his head started aching. He ran inside the house holding his gun, ready to shoot whenever he needs to. 

“The house was smelling like gunpowder. I don’t remember anyone entering my house,” he whispered anxiously.

The telephone on his study table started ringing. The sound of the phone made him reflex, and he turned his gun on it. He started climbing the stairs to his table and took the phone. He didn’t make a single sound and was waiting for the caller to go first.

After another 2 minutes, he kept the phone on the table and walked back, as no one was there. While walking down the staircase, his record player started to play the first movement of the 5th symphony, written by Beethoven. He doesn’t remember himself listening to classical music before. 

He was walking to his record player and was shot in the back. His chest was dripping with blood. It was excruciatingly uncomfortable. He realised it was the end and turned back to see the culprits face, but there was no one.

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