Paradigm

Epilogue

Hello ! Here it is, finally, the last chapter of this story. Thank you for reading this until the end, it means a lot to me to have readers, even when they're discrete. I loved sharing this with you ! Please, enjoy this last chapter !
Also, if you liked this, please don't hesitate to check out my other story about NCT ! It is also accessible if you don't know much about the group. <3
Also, I recently found an old original text I wrote two years ago in my files and I found it pretty good so I might soon post another fic on this platform. Please, don't hesitate to suggest your favorite ships because I don't have a fixed idea about this yet. (It's a very dark/toxic love story, quite a different style from this. But keep in mind I'm not much into sappy happy endings, as you can see. xD)

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Paris, France. July 1998.

It was shaping up to be an exceptional summer. Temperatures were barely above average for the season, in contrast to the extreme heat that was sweeping the rest of Europe in waves. Not a cloud could be seen in the azure blue of a sky purer than ever. As the meteorologists seemed confident that these conditions would persist throughout the week, Yeosang had planned a camping weekend with his new girlfriend. Seonghwa had already met her several times and he liked her very much, although he did not like the idea that one day, Yeosang would want to move out of their colocation to live with her. A new page in his life would be turned again then.

As for him, he was still very much single but he was not fighting it anymore. If meeting San had taught him one useful thing, it was definitely that he better be alone than in bad company. Instead of sleeping around to forget his sorrow like he used to, he rather made good use of his free time to start writing again, with unprecedented fervor.

Four months ago, as promised, Yeosang had been waiting for him in Charles de Gaulle airport. Seonghwa had fallen into his arms, not even caring about the horrendous body odor he gave off. The bartender had fussed about the many scratches on his face. Mixed with the tears flowing down his cheeks, these superficial wounds were hurting bad.

"I killed someone", he had blurted out between two sobs.

Yeosang had frozen on the spot, completely flabbergasted. He had known his friend for long enough to tell when he was lying and this was definitely not a lie. He threw a panicked glance around him to check if no one around them in the hall had heard this confession.

"You killed Paul Jung ?"

"No. It was self-defense, I swear I..."

Yeosang had squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. He had no clue about the whole story so he had tried his best to keep calm.

"I believe you. What... what happened to the body ?"

"I don't know... I think San... uhm Paul took care of it, I don't know, I'm so sorry..."

Regardless of his state of confusion and the seriousness of the situation, the bartender had hugged him tightly. Thinking back about this moment made him want to cry in gratitude for having such a loyal friend by his side.

That day, the editor was supposed to begin working on a new manuscript handed to him by his boss. His office window was open. He could hear the bells of bicycles in the street, and snatches of conversation... This was how he preferred to work.

The French man grabbed his engraved envelope-opener – a present from Yeosang for his thirty-second birthday – and opened the recycled paper wrapping that covered the new manuscript. It was one plump bundle of sheets, as he often said about those huge files he received every day. The work was entitled "Mirage".

It was... intriguing. It sounded good. Short and effective.

Suddenly, the author's name jumped out at him like a fist in the face. A name he had heard all too often for his liking.

Choi San.

Good heavens.

Publishing his new novel under his birth name so that it would be directed at him in particular and not his colleague was a cunning move.

What a shameless little shit ! What a bastard, he couldn't get enough of it !

What a... what a... Oh...

"To Mr. Park, whom I wronged in the most unforgivable manner."

... wow.

"To lies,

To resentment,

To wandering."

The Frenchman never really knew if San had read his mind, stealing those words he had never uttered, and he did not even try to find out.

But one thing was certain : "Mirage" was not just a story, it was their story. Apologies for the inexcusable. Unspoken words expressed in the most sublime of ways.

That year, the publishing house recorded its biggest sales ever. Fans were snapping up "Mirage" and "Paradigm" in bookshops all over the country, so much so that the staff struggled to supply them all.

Seonghwa kept the very first print run of these two monuments to modern literature with him forever, sometimes taking pride in the fact that he was the only person outside San who understood the kind of force that moves geniuses.

***

Berlin, Germany, July 1998.

One hundred and fifty-seven passengers stepped off the Boeing that had just landed at Berlin Schönefeld Airport.

Among them was a man whom a Belarusian smuggler had named Min Sanghyeok on forged papers of his own making.

No one knew him yet.

He was wearing a simple black hat and always concealed a pair of polaroids in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Most people in an airport are heading for a chimerical destination. They spend their time wandering aimlessly through the endless aisles, looking for a place although no one can really belong in this busy place. They let themselves be distracted. All of this for one reason : they are not really going anywhere.

Therefore, they did not notice the one man in the crowd who knew exactly where to go. This man was walking straight ahead, at a fast but calculated pace.

He was not taking part in the general effervescence.

Min Sanghyeok's enigmatic name appeared somewhere on a list of privileged students at a prestigious Berliner university. And also on the first page of a manuscript written in German, the very one he was firmly holding under his arm.

Yes, he knew where he was going.

And there was a charming air of déjà vu about it.