Patch was eating his Lángos when he suddenly froze.

Mid-bite.
Head tilted.
Eyes locked onto me like I’d changed species overnight.

“...What?” I muttered.

He walked over,
sniffed my wrist,
and his pupils narrowed into razor-thin lines.
His ears folded back—
not fear,
not aggression,
but recognition.

Like he smelled something
that shouldn’t be on a human.

When I reached out to pet him,
he dodged—
not fleeing,
just avoiding the contact.

That somehow made it worse.

I finished two bites of Rožok
and headed outside.

The sky was too beautiful.
Sharp blue.
Clean.
Fake in a way only Europe can look fake to someone raised in Taiwan.

I didn’t trust days that looked like this anymore.

UFO Park wasn’t far.
The moment I stepped near the treeline,
that familiar heaviness returned—
a pressure that didn’t push,
but leaned into me.

Stronger than yesterday.

A dog nearby suddenly barked like someone stepped on its soul.
It pulled its leash so hard
the old man holding it nearly stumbled.

The dog wasn’t barking at the old man.
Or at a squirrel.
Or at Patch.

It was barking at the right side of the bushes—
at something my eyes hadn’t adjusted to yet.

Patch hissed.
Low.
Warning.
His tail ballooned up like static caught fire.

I felt it before I saw it.

A ripple in the air—
thin, pale,
flickering like bad hologram light.

Then it sharpened.

Not an Abyssal.
Not a person.
Something in between.

A silhouette with no depth,
sliding half-alive across the grass.

It wasn’t finished.

Its form jittered,
glitching between frames,
as if someone forgot to assign it a body.

My skin crawled.

Patch moved in front of me,
fur stiff,
tiny body tense like a coiled spring.

Then the creature did something that froze my blood:

It tilted its head
at the same angle Emilia does
when she's examining something.

I stepped back.

It stepped back too.

Not mirroring.
Not copying.

Waiting.

Waiting for a signal.

Emilia appeared beside me silently.

Her eyes sharpened instantly.

“That one’s incomplete,” she said.
Her voice was colder than usual—
clinical, precise.
“That’s Stage-0 behavior.”

“Stage-0?” I whispered.

“Before they become Abyssals,” she said.
“When they’re still searching for a source to anchor to.”

My heart stopped.

“…You mean me.”

She didn’t deny it.

The incomplete silhouette twitched violently,
as if my breath tugged at its existence.

Then a second ripple formed beside it.
A pale echo.

Two of them.

Both facing me.

The pressure in my chest pulsed once—
hard.
A hook yanking from the inside.

Emilia raised her hand.
A faint glow flickered between her fingers—
the same medical-tool light I saw yesterday.

“Stay behind me.”

The air tightened.

Both incomplete entities convulsed,
their outlines tearing like paper soaked in water.
They collapsed inward,
lost their structure,
and smeared into the ground
as if erased by a rough brush.

Silence returned.
Too sudden.
Too clean.

I exhaled shakily.

“…So what does that mean?” I asked.

Emilia didn’t answer immediately.

She watched the empty patch of grass
like she expected another ripple.

Then she said—

“This isn’t about them.”
“It’s about you.”

A cold shiver cut down my spine.

“…Emilia.”
“…Am I becoming one of them? One of the Corrupted?”

She studied me.
Longer than before.
Not with fear.
Not with judgment.

With calculation.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“But they weren’t attacking you.”

She paused.

“They were looking for something.”
“And whatever they’re looking for… is inside you.”

My mouth went dry.

Patch pressed against my leg—
not for comfort,
but to keep me grounded.

Emilia lowered her hand.

“You should go home,” she said.
“And don’t step into the center of the park.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I still have business,” she replied.
“Someone I haven’t located yet.”

I wanted to ask who—
but she shot me a look that meant:

Not now.
You’re not ready.

She added:

“And if you start seeing more distortions…
don’t tell anyone.”

“…Why?”

“Because ordinary people will think you’re insane.”
“And the people who don’t think you’re insane…”
“…are the ones you should really fear.”

Then she left.

Patch leaped onto my shoulder,
tail smacking my cheek in judgment.

Translation:
I told you something was wrong.

The park went still.
Normal.
Fake-normal.

But the pull in my chest throbbed again—

fear,
dread,
and something else
I hated recognizing:

curiosity.

And I finally understood—

It wasn’t the unfinished creatures reaching toward me.

It was me
taking a step toward them.

Author’s Note

Keeping steady.
Still writing, still watching where this thread leads.