Chapter Text
"You’re not my janitor." He moved the door from wide open to a careful halfway. His deep voice echoed off the stairwell walls. "You are way too hot."
No. Minho was definitely not this guy’s janitor. Or anyone’s, for that matter.
The stranger sent him a cocky smile. "What do you need from me, baby?"
Minho took a deep breath before exhaling. He should have known this case was a waste of time. Like all his cases. Like every single fucking day. The premise had clouded his judgment with vivid imagination. He should have known. Anyway, here he was, staring down a maniac. "My name is Lee Minho," he said, his voice steady as he locked his gaze forward, pushing aside his thoughts. "I’m here on behalf of SKZ. I’m investigating the death of Han Jisung." Minho slipped a hand into his black leather jacket and pulled out his ID, holding it up.
Lee Minho, 2nd Grade Investigative Specialist — JYPE (Sorcery & Kinetic Zeal Division)
The stranger leaned on the cracked doorframe with one hand, the other pushing through his wild blue hair, mouth half open.
Minho wished he had used it to cover his yawn instead.
"Took you long enough." The stranger smirked.
Something was off. Minho knew it the second the door opened. The moment he spotted the mole, identical to one in the photo, attached to Han Jisung’s file. Minho’s stomach twisted. This guy was even wearing the same round glasses. "It’s you." The words slipped out before his brain caught up. Minho either locked eyes with a shape-shifter, unseen for decades, or he was looking at the very much not-dead Han Jisung.
"It is meee," Han Jisung confirmed, stretching the e without any reason. Well, any other reason besides mocking Minho. "Unfortunately, I don’t have time to reciprocate your advances. I’m very busy pretending not to be alive." He winked at him." But it was nice meeting you, Lee Minho, 2nd Grade of the I Couldn’t Care Less Division." With a silent bye on his lips, he shut the door in Minho’s face.
Minho could only blink, struggling to process what had just happened. It was him. Han Jisung. Very much alive and a smug little shit.
Today was not supposed to go this way. The day had started like any other: up at 5:30 AM sharp, after a night of poor sleep. Coffee. Another coffee on the way. A third from the office kitchen, always tasting like bitter disappointment, even though the day hadn’t really started yet. Greeting his fashionably late boss with a fake smile. Taking the blame for problems that weren’t his. Cleaning his boss’s coffee mug in the afternoon because, apparently, great minds shouldn’t waste their time on mundane things. Minho would argue that being an extraordinary procrastinator with a talent for delegation didn’t exactly qualify as the work of a great mind. But no one listened to him anyway. Nothing unusual there. His life was as unchallenging as ever.
This month’s task was another tedious case review. Investigate the death of Han Jisung, a young, promising talent who vanished ten years ago, only to turn up dead two weeks later. No real evidence. Just a pile of unanswered questions. In theory, the case sounded promising. But Minho wasn’t fooled. Over the years, he’d learned that investigatingwas a very elastic concept. His job advertisement from years ago stated the following:
Jurisdiction for Paranormal Enforcement [JYPE] NOW HIRING: INVESTIGATIVE SPECIALIST — Sorcery & Kinetic Zeal Division [SKZ]
Grade II | Degree in Magiphysics required | Permanent position
JYPE is currently seeking a skilled, resilient, and highly motivated Investigative Specialist to join the SKZ division, the nation’s leading task force for managing magical disturbances, kinetic anomalies, and high-risk sorcery incidents.
(Back then, Minho was still motivated. Today, that would have been the line at which he likely stopped reading.)
You will be working at the intersection of magic, science, and law, going places others won’t, taking on the unsolvable. From magic-related disappearances to ancient artifact recovery; your work will protect lives and safeguard the world against those who act outside the bounds of law and order.
Minho should have known better. He saw the worried look in his mother's eyes when he sent his application. But at twenty-two, saving the world had a tempting ring to his ears. That ring has become a noisy whistle over the years. Minho had joined the force to make the world a better place. Instead, his desk had become the department’s dumping ground for cases no one wanted to deal with. Last year, he spent days chasing a three-eyed rat through the city’s sewers (going to places others won’t). It took him two months to get the smell out of his hair. In January, a retired mage insisted that a ghost was stealing letters from his books (taking on the unsolvable). Minho got him glasses. Case closed.
He’s been through a lot since he started this job, which was probably the main reason that he had no expectations when he opened the dusty file that bore Han Jisung’s faded name across the front.
Name: Han Jisung
Age at death: 17
Last seen: September 14th, before lunchtime at the Magical Institute for Regulation & Order of Hexes (hereafter abbreviated as MIROH).
Missing Persons Report Filed: September 21st by his MIROH professor, Song Jio, after he didn’t attend school for several days.
Investigation Summary: The search uncovered a magic-free body. The body was later formally identified as Han Jisung by his brother.
Cause of Death: Presumed magical miscalculation. Han Jisung was widely known for reckless magical experimentation without a permit, leading to frequent hospitalizations in his youth. It is assumed that the magical depletion of the body was a result of his own actions.
Date of Death: September 29.
Additional Notes: MIROH requested a more detailed investigation and autopsy, but the grieving family, represented by the brother, declined. The case was dismissed shortly after, citing a lack of further evidence.
Minho had heard of him, maybe even seen him once or twice on the academy grounds. But since he had been two grades above him, their paths had never really crossed. Minho had already moved on to Topline University when Han Jisung went missing, deeply absorbed in his sorcery kinetics studies.
This month, almost exactly ten years later, the file was set to be closed and buried forever. If it weren’t for these small inconsistencies, he would’ve done exactly what was expected: write the final report, archive it, and move on. Because no one cared about a cold case. Maybe he was grasping at straws. Maybe it meant nothing. But maybe it did. Maybe, just maybe, this was his one chance to actually matter in the career he once called his dream job. To use his passion for physics for something good, with the limited possibilities this job position brought with it.
Why did a professor have to submit a report and plead for an investigation against the family’s wishes?
Why couldn’t Minho find anything about his brother?
Why had the body been completely devoid of magic?
And most importantly, why was there almost no information in this file at all?! It read like every second sentence was missing.
Minho’s job wasn’t what he’d hoped for when he signed up, but he still had his imagination to keep him going. So, naturally, he was wishing for something dramatic. A conspiracy. A cover-up. Maybe even a cult. Something more exciting than the adventurous tour along the corridor to put the file on a scanner to digitize it.
What he wasn’t expecting was a dilapidated apartment above a coffee shop that reeked of burnt milk. Even less expected was Han Jisung answering the door in an oversized hoodie, Hawaiian boxer shorts, and mismatched socks, tilting the ramen cup to his mouth, slurping the noodles like chopsticks were optional.
Minho shook his head and knocked again, narrowing his eyes as green paint peeled off under his knuckles. He cleared his throat when the door opened again. "My name is Lee Minho. I’m here on behalf of—"
"On behalf of the Division of Investifailure. You already said that," the possibly-Han-Jisung interrupted. There was still a noodle hanging at the smirking corner of his mouth. He struck the same pose as before, one hand on the door frame, yawning.
Minho grimaced. As if it weren't bad enough that this house was practically begging to be torn down. It was only standing, somehow, thanks to what had to be magic. The downstairs coffee shop’s stench crept up the stairwell, clinging to the walls like a warning to run. Minho knew by instinct that this coffee was even worse than the one he could drink for free in the office. But on top of everything, the dead, maybe not-so-dead Han Jisung stood in front of him, slurping noodles while talking, his clothes stained with ramen.
"You’re supposed to be dead," Minho stated very professionally. (Even the best university in the country didn’t prepare its investigators to deal with the not-death of not-dead people.) How was any of this for real? The moldy walls must have already begun affecting Minho’s brain.
"And I would love to stay dead," Jisung replied with a bouncing nod.
This time, Minho’s body caught up with his brain. He shoved a foot between the door and the frame before Han Jisung could shut it again.
Jisung’s gaze drifted from Minho’s freshly cleaned shoes back to his eyes. His gaze was questioning, but more in excitement than the appropriate amount of nervous respect Minho expected him to have.
Han Jisung's apartment was a private property. Meaning, Minho couldn’t just barge in and demand answers. He had a valid reason to do so, but then again, no warrant. Still, this was the most exciting case in years. His chance to matter. To change something. To finally use his position for something good, even if all he did was bring a missing son back to his father. "One hour," he demanded. "It’s me now, or tomorrow someone with less patience."
Jisung tilted his head, eyes wandering, lips pursed, but eventually opened the door. "Fine." He was already turning away. "But you have to wait until the ad break."
It was almost too easy, but Minho took the opportunity anyway.
The state of the apartment fit right in with the neighborhood. Rotten, neglected, and falling apart. The wallpaper might have been white centuries ago. Now it was stained in more shades of yellow than Minho thought would be physically possible. A crack in the window let the wind whistle through the apartment. Two closed doors led to other rooms, but Jisung had already flopped onto the couch. A couch that looked like it could transmit diseases. Minho took a deep breath to steady himself from within (and regretted it immediately when the smell of old chicken hit him like a brick).
Jisung slurped the rest of his noodles and tossed the empty cup onto an impressive mountain of takeout containers by the window. Beside it was a pink plush armchair. It didn’t match anything else in the apartment. A very fat cat sat there, watching him like it owned the place. Or the whole universe. It was a cat, after all.
Minho’s nose itched instantly. He loved cats. He hated being allergic to them.
Jisung crossed his legs and stared, mesmerized, at the TV hanging on the opposite side, big enough to fill half of the room. It looked more expensive than the entire apartment. "Sit." Jisung knocked on the couch next to him, sending a cloud of dust spiraling into the air.
Minho took a step aside and shook his head. He valued his health. "Today’s leg day," he said, stopping politely beside the couch. He sneezed into the crook of his arm. Maybe from the couch. Maybe from the cat. Maybe from everything at once.
Jisung just shrugged, eyes still on the TV, watching something that even Minho, with his limited pop culture knowledge, identified as a dating show. "In that case, hold my hand."
Minho just stood there, as if the sentence had physically assaulted him.
Jisung, still glued to the TV, wiggled his fingers impatiently.
"Why?" Minho asked, sneezing a second time, but Jisung just gestured with his hand.
"Hold my hand. Now," he said. His tone left no room for hesitation. "Your sniffling is disrupting my show."
Minho drew his brows together. Whatever bizarre connection existed between watching TV, holding hands, and allergies was beyond him. "Two hours of interrogation, and you can have my whole arm."
Jisung grinned. "SKZ’s methods have really changed over the last few years."
"It’s not like there’s a manual on how to act with people like you."
"Like me?" He raised his brows but didn’t bother to look at Minho.
Minho clicked his tongue. "You know what I mean." People who were supposed to be dead when they actually weren’t.
"I really don’t." Jisung tilted his head.
"Dead people."
"Do you mean ghosts? Ex-lovers who ghosted? The ghost of whom I used to be?"
Minho exhaled through his nose. "The type of people who will give me nightmares."
Jisung grinned. "I’m taking it as a compliment that you want to dream of me." Without taking his eyes off the TV, he leaned closer. Their fingers brushed. A pulse of warmth shot through Minho’s arm. He yanked his hand back on instinct.
"What did you do?" Minho groaned, staring at his fingers, but there was nothing to see. The surprisingly pleasant feeling was gone. No marks. No trace. The warmth had vanished as fast as it had come.
"You act like I’ve bitten you," Jisung huffed.
"I’m kindly asking you to never do that." Minho narrowed his eyes, his tone far less kind than his words might have suggested.
"I will remember that when we get more intimate," Jisung said, shifting on the couch with a cheeky smile.
As if. As if that would ever happen. Especially not on this couch. "What did you do?" Minho asked again, sharper this time, his fingers curling slightly.
"The cat wants to cuddle with you," Jisung answered, as if that somehow explained anything. He yawned, rubbed his temples, and sank deeper into the couch.
Minho glanced at the now-abandoned armchair. Instead, he felt the cat brushing against his leg. He stepped back, but the cat was relentless. Minho braced for the usual burning in his eyes, the itch creeping up his throat. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.
"I'm allergic," he explained and dodged again. At least, in theory. The sneezing that had just threatened him was gone.
"Not anymore," Jisung yawned again.
"What?" Minho stared at his hand. Just… how?
"You’re welcome, by the way," Jisung answered, unbothered. "You’ve got her to entertain you until the commercials start." His mouth dropped open in a silent O as a couple kissed on the screen. "I hate cheaters," he whispered, pointing at the TV.
"What the fuck did you do?" he quietly cursed, but Jisung was too occupied to answer. Or too bored. Minho raised an eyebrow, looking down at his feet. The cat was still there, nudging its head against his leg. He’d never heard of any magic that could cure allergies in an instant. Quite the opposite, in fact. The procedure could take hours. Days, depending on how the body reacted to it. If biomagical interventions were any less scary, he would have cured his allergy long ago. But to his disbelief, the tickle in his nose was gone. His eyes were dry, his skin symptom-free. Either he was hallucinating (very likely considering the circumstances of this apartment) or the cat was some eternal magical being, lazing around on a fuzzy, broken armchair watching questionable dating shows with its owner. (Most definitely not.)
The ginger cat pressed her full body weight against him and showed her furred belly when Minho knelt down to stroke her.
The cat instantly purred like the old coffee machine in Minho's office.
"Traitor," Jisung hissed, crossing his arms.
Minho continued to scratch her chin. Still, nothing. Maybe Jisung temporarily suppressed his symptoms. It would still be impressive with a single touch, but way more likely. Whatever it was, he would use the few allergy-free minutes to pet the cat to its full extent—and definitely not let himself get distracted from the reason he was here in the first place. Minho sighed. At least this hell of a day came with a few minutes of cat-cuddling therapy. He lifted his eyes from the cat, looking for Jisung.
Dead-not-dead Jisung was more invested in some trashy reality TV show than in his own life. Literally.
Minho could file this case exactly where he put all the others. On the shelf for absolute waste of resources, money, and talent. He needed another coffee. Two coffees. Something even stronger, to make him endure this conversation. (He’d already filled out the paperwork for field agents requesting alcohol permits. It was denied. Both times. Maybe he would go for a third after today.) At least the cat was fluffy. He had to find some solace in something when his job couldn’t offer any. "What’s her name?"
"I don’t know." Jisung crossed his arms tighter, narrowing his eyes at the question.
The cat bopped her head against Minho’s fingers. He wished he could take her home. It was a mystery how she looked so well cared for, despite living in this absolute mess, though she could stand to lose a bit of weight. Maybe he should bring her to an animal shelter to make sure she would get what she deserved. Especially if Jisung didn’t even care to give her a name. "What do you mean you don’t know?!"
"She refuses to tell me."
Maybe Minho should just lie in his report and mark Han Jisung as dead. No questions asked. His madness would do the world no favors. Unfortunately, Minho despised breaking work ethics. He actually valued them. Also, Jisung was probably deeply missed, which was the main argument for not letting him off easily. "Of course she can’t tell you," Minho retorted. "She’s just a cat." A cat that licked his fingers without a single allergic reaction. It was a nice thought, having his allergy cured for good, no risky procedures needed. Too nice to be true.
Jisung scoffed. "Don't say that too loudly. She doesn’t like being reduced to just a cat."
Minho sighed. It was useless. "What the hell did you do to my hand?"
Jisung’s eyes were still glued to the television. "I see no logical thinking is needed to work for SKZ." He rolled his eyes but continued before Minho could interrupt him. "I cured your allergy."
What a pathological liar. "And what did you really do to me?"
Jisung clasped his hands. "Do you think I just go around touching every stranger who wanders into my apartment?"
"I don’t know, Han. How many strangers usually visit you on a good day?"
"If it were a good day, I would be able to enjoy my show in silence."
Finally, the show cut to commercials. Jisung shifted on the couch, turning to face him, while someone on the TV made unholy promises about a love potion. "Life’s not free. I need to make money somehow."
"Honestly, your apartment already looks like someone should be paying you to live here."
"You’re welcome to leave if my apartment and I fail to meet your exorbitant standards."
Minho scoffed. "I wouldn’t exactly call the wish to live in an apartment that doesn’t attract insects exorbitant."
"Insects?!" Jisung’s shrieked, voice edged with disbelief, his mouth hanging open as if Minho had physically hurt him, though the glint in his eyes gave him away. "Minho. She is a cat."
Minho had never fantasized about quitting his job as hard as he did today.
"Even though commercial breaks are getting longer and longer these days, you should use your time wisely," Jisung smirked. "As soon as the show comes back on, I won't feel like answering any more questions."
Minho sighed. "Han, you…"
Jisung shook his head. "Just Jisung. No need for formalities in my rat-infested home." He nodded beside him.
Minho still refused to come too close to the couch. Even if strangling this guy would be worth it. "Alright, Just-Jisung." He raised his eyebrows at him, as if to back up his words. "You are alive and—"
"Do all of SKZ’s investigators have sharp-thinking skills like this?" Jisung had an impressive talent for interrupting him. "Or were you at the top of your class?"
Indeed, Minho had been top of his class. Which actually meant something, in a field where anyone could do a bit of magic. Everyone could bang a piano and call it music, but real skill was rare. Same with magic. But even his idiot boss could’ve figured out that Jisung was, in fact, not dead. "Why are you hiding?"
"Oh, please. If I were actually hiding, you wouldn’t have found me."
Minho had already noticed that Jisung was neither nervous nor surprised by his appearance. He didn’t even question how Minho found his apartment. It all just added to the ever-growing absurdity of this case. "The body?" he asked and did not allow himself to be irritated. "Who was it? What happened?"
Jisung shrugged. "He was already dead. Guess he didn’t hide either. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have found him, would I?"
With a groan, Minho sat down on the floor. This could take a while. Meanwhile, the cat crawled into his lap and dramatically collapsed across his legs. "Tell me, Jisung, why—no, how was there no magic left in the corpse?"
Jisung didn’t look at him, just yawned again.
"Even a dead human never loses its magic. Einstein proved that—"
"He proved that magic can’t just disappear," Jisung cut in, his voice surprisingly calm. "It can change form. Transfer. But it never vanishes." He paused, blinking at Minho. "But in this case, it did."
"Exactly." Minho made a sharp gesture in his direction. "So? How did you do it?"
Jisung didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the cat, still sprawled across Minho’s legs like nothing mattered, and he eventually shrugged. "Delivered as found," he said lazily, pulling his legs up and sprawling across the couch.
Delivered as found. What was that even supposed to mean? Minho wasn’t buying a single word. Something must have happened, but Jisung clearly had no intention of letting him in on it. He let out a sharp breath through his lips. Maybe he should try something else. "Tell me about your brother."
"What about him?" That cheeky spark was back in Jisung’s eyes.
"Someone must have helped you vanish. Was it him? Is that why he refused an autopsy?"
Jisung tilted his head, half-smirking. "You want to meet him?"
"Yes? I've been looking for him for weeks."
Jisung tossed his blue-tinted locks to the side and flung his glasses at Minho. "This is him," he said, jabbing a finger at his own chest. "Behold: Han Jisung’s brother."
Minho blinked. Once. Twice. He didn’t look away. He just stared. "You can’t be serious."
Unfortunately, Jisung’s smirk said otherwise. "Your lazy division didn’t even ask for an ID. It took days to fake one, and no one wanted to see it. Maybe I still have it somewhere. Do you want to see? I felt a bit underappreciated back then."
One deep breath wasn’t enough to endure this. No shape-shifting. Not even magic. Just the worst disguise in recorded history. Minho had no idea how he could even manage to pass with that. With a sigh, Minho held out the glasses to Jisung, but he just shook his head.
"Keep them. I cured my myopia years ago. I used to fall asleep watching TV, and they were annoying. I only wore them today because I lost a bet with the cat."
"What?!" Minho stared at him, lips parted. He talked like he had world-changing power, but had only just used it to improve his nap experience. "No one can just casually cure themselves of myopia," he hissed. "And you can’t gamble with a cat!"
"Lucky for me, I didn’t know that when I did it." Jisung fished a half-empty bag of chips out of the sofa seat and started to eat. He chewed loudly, scattering crumbs everywhere. At least the noodle that was stuck to his face was finally gone.
"Does an honest word ever come out of your mouth?" Minho threw the glasses on the couch. This was useless. He was already fed up with this madness. He needed answers. Admittedly, Jisung had a million of them. Unfortunately, none of them answered Minho’s actual questions.
"I haven't lied a single time since you stepped into my apartment." He almost looked offended. Almost.
"Liar."
"Is every SKZ investigator running around desperately accusing innocent citizens?"
"You aren’t innocent, Jisung."
"What exactly did I do?"
"You faked your own death!" His voice grew unintentionally sharp. If Jisung kept going like this, he’d end up actually dead by the end of the day, and Minho would be in prison for murder. This fucking guy was lucky the cat had planted all its weight over Minho's thighs, effectively pinning him down and making it physically impossible to get up and slap the smugness off Jisung’s face.
"According to my file, this crime was committed by my brother."
"Do you even have a brother?"
"I just have the cat."
With a deep breath, Minho stroked the cat’s fur, mentally counting down to calm himself. "Let’s pretend all of this is true, Jisung. Let’s pretend you just casually found a body with no magic left and mocked my entire division just by taking off your glasses—"
"—and rocking a hairstyle that fully sold the illusion," Jisung added with a nod.
"... and rocking a half-assed side part that made it painfully obvious this case doesn’t add up," Minho sighed. "It still leaves one question—why? Why go through all that effort just to rot in trash and binge TV?" Minho's gaze dropped to the pile of food wrappers.
"It’s not trash," Jisung disagreed, tossing the empty chip bag onto the growing garbage pile. "The storytelling is really engaging. You’re constantly on edge. Will they? Won’t they? Is there ever going to be a contestant who isn't cheating on national TV, no less?"
Minho’s gaze snapped back to Jisung, his eyes narrowing. "I wonder, did fixing your myopia also take away your ability to answer a straight question?"
"I feel delighted that you have finally started to trust in my genius."
Tomorrow Minho would wake up, cat hair still clinging to his clothes, and sneeze his way through an entire box of tissues. He would think of Jisung’s genius when he threw the box forcefully into the trash.
"I will report you," Minho said, still caressing the cat. "Tell them you’re alive."
Jisung didn’t even blink. "Sure, go ahead."
Minho narrowed his eyes. This, at the very least, should have gotten a serious reaction. "Don’t you care that this will change your whole… whatever this is? I’d call it a life, but that feels too generous."
"Not really," Jisung shrugged. "You probably won’t remember anyway." He stretched, popping his back as if this were the most boring conversation of his life. "Your memory is scheduled to reset as soon as you leave my apartment."
Minho stared at him with big, wide eyes. "You’re bluffing."
"Am I?" Jisung smirked.
Minho clenched his jaw. "…that’s not true. There is no way you are able to use that kind of magic."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I’d know if—"
"Would you?"
Minho shut his mouth. He hated this guy.
"See, that’s the fun part about memory magic," Jisung continued. "If it’s done right, you never even know it happened." So casual and calm. Like he wasn’t just threatening to erase Minho’s brain.
God, he really hated this guy. "You can’t just slap a memory reset spell on a building, Jisung. Just like you can’t cure myopia or allergies with a single touch. Even if you were able to, and you’re fucking not, you never finished university. You don’t even have a license to use magic." Why was he even discussing rules and regulations with him? Jisung didn’t care at all to adhering to the laws of magical use. He was a criminal. And a liar (which should also be a crime if you asked Minho). "Stop talking bullshit. It’s not possible. It. Is. Not. Possible."
"Huh." Jisung tapped his chin. "Maybe next time you interrogate me, you should hand me a list of what I am and am not able to do beforehand. Just so I know for the foreseeable future."
Minho would write this list with his middle finger. "Let's hope there doesn't have to be a next time."
"It will be the first time for you anyway," Jisung smirked.
"I’m leaving." Minho had to. Otherwise, he could no longer guarantee anything.
"Don’t forget your memories when you’re closing the door behind you." The commercial break was over. Jisung’s eyes were back on the TV.
It took both hands to shove the cat off his lap. "See you tomorrow. Preferably in a sealed ward."
"Can’t wait to have the same conversation again tomorrow, baby."
Jisung was lying. He had to be. Since magic was first measured, only a handful of magicians were known to be able to erase memories. And none of them had ever used a door. Minho would report the hell out of him, finally get promoted to Grade I and earn the right to arrest him himself. "Hope you’re ready to be alive again, Han Jisung." He got up, brushing visible cat hair from his pants.
"Can’t wait, Lee Minho, never-made-it-to-first-Grade Investigative Specialist."