The clock struck 3:14 AM.

Cho Sa-Rang kicked her blanket aside for the twentieth time, her room a suffocating cage of shadows. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Every time she closed them, that mechanical voice echoed in her skull.

【 Mission Unlocked: Identify the Ultimate Hate to survive. 】

Ridiculous. Absurd. A joke.

Why her? What did she ever do to deserve this? She was just a normal person, living a quiet life, yet the universe had arbitrarily decided to put a gun to her head. The injustice of it burned in her chest, hot and bitter, before dissolving into a hollow, freezing dread.

She rolled onto her side, curling her knees to her chest. The sheets felt like ice. Her mind spun in useless, frantic circles, entirely consumed by the raw, primal fear of her own mortality.

Wait.

Sa-Rang sat up abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. A realization struck her like a physical blow, leaving her lightheaded.

Find who truly hates her.

That was the requirement. Not just a mild dislike or a petty grudge, but deep, genuine malice. How was she supposed to find that? Since birth, she had interacted with thousands of people—schoolmates, coworkers, random encounters, and thousands more in the toxic underbelly of the internet. Anyone could hide a smile while harboring venom beneath it.

The human heart is an abyss. Navigating it would be impossible.

BZZZ.

The sudden vibration cut through the silence like a gunshot.

Sa-Rang flinched, her heart hammering against her ribs. On her bedside table, the bright red flip phone—the strange, archaic device that had appeared out of nowhere to deliver her curse—was glowing. Its neon light cast a bloody hue across her bedroom walls.

She didn't want to move. Her body felt heavy, paralyzed by pure instinct. Yet, like a lamb drawn to a slaughterhouse, she slowly slid her legs out of bed. The floorboards felt freezing against her bare feet.

Step. Step.

Her hands shook violently as she reached out. Her fingers hovered over the plastic casing before finally picking it up. The plastic felt unnaturally cold. She flipped it open. The screen flared to life, illuminating her pale, terrified face.

A single new notification sat on the display.

Sa-Rang’s eyes scanned the glowing text. The words blurred for a moment before sharpening into a brutal, devastating truth.

One year.

The phone slipped from her numb fingers, clattering onto the mattress.

One year to sift through a lifetime of faces. One year to unmask a hidden enemy out of thousands, confront them, and successfully cultivate a mutual, burning hatred. If she failed, she wouldn’t just die; her very existence would be wiped clean from the wheel of reincarnation.

"One year..." she whispered, her voice cracking in the empty room. "That's not enough time. It's too short."

A profound chill washed over her, settling deep into her bones. Her breath formed faint plumes of mist in the sudden, inexplicable drop in the room's temperature. The sheer weight of the countdown pressed down on her chest, making it hard to draw air.

She was utterly, completely terrified. She was a mortal standing on the edge of a cosmic cliff, with no map, no weapons, and a clock ticking down to her execution.

Sa-Rang sank to her knees beside the bed, burying her face in her hands. She couldn't think. She couldn't plan. She could only listen to the loud, frantic thumping of her own heart, wondering which beat would be her last.