She doesn't know what she's been expecting after leaving the hall of purgatory, but she's sure that it's not this.

The bridge between life and death is covered with a thick layer of mist. She stumbles upon the steps, falling forward on the concrete -- turning to her side to protect her face and letting her arm slams against the edge of the step.

"Ugh!" She winces in pain, blinking her eyes rapidly as tears sting her eyes. "Why is it so misty?"

The wind blows, howling as it plays with her long dark tresses like the fingers on the strings on the violin. A cold shiver runs down her spine. Sitting on the step, she checks the wound on her arm.

"Can a ghost bleed?" She stares at the scratch on her upper arm. "Am I not dead?"

A question that can only be answered by experts.

And the door to the purgatory is closed. After making so much trouble, she doesn't want to go back. What if they force her to reincarnate into a strange world?

Nakashima Wakana, a twenty-five-year-old woman, who used to be a detective of a supernatural investigation agency, died because she was tricked by a ghost. She also helped a time-traveller escape the purgatory recently. Now, she's surrounded by a thick white mist, sitting on the steps of the bridge that connects the mortal world and afterlife.

But the problem is that she ran away from the purgatory and now, she can't seem to move in this thick mist.

Rather, she's afraid of moving through this thick mist.

It must be because of the stories that the ghosts told her earlier

"I need to see him." She tells herself, "I need to talk to him. I need to tell him that he shouldn't blame himself…"

She keeps repeating the words as if she's trying to hypnotise herself.

But courage is… often mistaken for adrenaline.

"How could I have adrenaline?" Nakashima Wakana grabs her hair. "I don't even have a body."

Nevermind! She's going to ask Choi Minho after she crosses the bridge.

She presses her palms together and squeezes her eyes shut as she bows her head. "Dear God, I am sorry that I am going back to the mortal world but… it can't be helped. I need to see that moron… I mean, Choi Minho. He's smarter than me but he's stupid in some areas. If I reincarnate into another world, I think that he will be sad."

Or he will be foolishly waiting for her. How could she allow that? It makes her uneasy.

Nakashima Wakana inhales sharply and climbs the steps. As soon as she steps on the bridge, she feels a sharp pain as if pieces of glass have pierced through her soles. Wakana bites her lower lip as she raises her one foot to check the wound. She can barely see through the mist. So she touches her sole with her fingers.

It's smooth.

She only needs to cross the bridge. Then, she can check what is wrong with her feet when there's enough light.

Why would her soles hurt though? Isn't she a ghost?

Wakan takes another step. A cold sharp feeling pierces her soles again. It's like she's walking on a cold surface full of ice needles. Wakana clenches her teeth and takes the next step.

"Ow!" She yelps as she starts jumping, taking long strides forward to make the minimal contact between the bridge and her feet. "What the hell is going on?"

Are there needles on the bridge?

Though her feet aren't bleeding, it doesn't hurt anything less. She looks over her shoulder, thinking of returning to the purgatory.

A distressing cry pierces through the mist.

Wakana gasps, forgetting about her pain for a moment. What could it be?

'Please save me.' The woman's voice is pained. It's coming from the river. 'Anyone..'

Wakana runs toward the railings of the bridge, climbing on it while holding on to the cables. The piercing feelings in her soles are gone. She lets out a breath of relief.

"Goodness!" She lifts her foot and glances at it. "Something is wrong with the bridge."

But who is that woman? She looks at the surface of the river. There aren't any faces any more. The river is raging ahead with a red glimmer on the surface. "Was it a forsaken one?"

The forsaken ones try to lure the souls away from this bridge.

"Shit!" She clicks her tongue. "I almost fell for another ghost's trick."

As she turns her body slightly to climb off the railings, her heart leaps. A tall man, who is holding a black umbrella, is gazing toward the river. He's wearing a fedora hat, slightly tipped to his right. He is wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a black tie. This person looks more like a reaper than the reapers she met in purgatory.

But his face… Wakana squints her eyes. Though he's standing only half an arm-length away, she can't see it. His face is shrouded by the mist.

"Did you die recently?" Wakana asks the man.

He turns his head toward her. Wakana feels the person's gaze on her. But there's only silence. He says nothing to her. Nothing at all. Is he mute? Ghosts are always strange. As curiosity takes over her, Wakana leans closer to get a good look of his face and —

No eyes. No mouth. No nose. No brows.

Her mouth becomes dry.

Is it a faceless man?

But why does she feel like he's staring at her? "Can you see me?"

The man gives him a nod.

"I see." Wakana licks her lips. "Sorry for asking this… I know that it's a rude question but… you aren't a faceless man, are you?"

The man doesn't answer her. He turns his head toward the river again as if he's gazing at something that is happening at the distance.

Wakana copies his action, looking at the river, trying to find out what he's looking at. He doesn't even have eyes. How could he do that?