I recently finished watching Mr Sunshine and I'm a complete wreck right now.
Gu Dong Mae. That's all. I loved the entire cast so much but this boo really got to me. I've always been drawn to the soft dumb murderous grey characters lol. But his unrequited love really hurt, ouch. So here we are, naturally.

At this point I only know of Korean culture through kdramas, and have never been to or lived in Seoul. I deeply apologise for any mistakes I write in this story, please let me know if anything sounds wrong or is incorrect. I've never written a fanfic for another language before, and only have the English subtitles to understand what goes on. But I will try to capture their dialogue and interaction the best I can (hopefully).

(Apologies also: I barely know anything about surgery related medicine and jargon)

She is all he sees in his closing moments.

Go Ae Shin, walking across the dojo, poised and with purpose. Towards him, at him.

He has memorised her steps, her gait, the way her lips downturned at the sight of him. Everything about her had been imprinted in his mind. The vibrant scarlet of her silk hanbok, the deep red Daenggi entwined in her hair, her parent's gifted treasure. The same treasure his sword cut away from her identity. He smiles, thinking back to how he deserved the consequences of that despicable act.

If only, had his circumstances been different. If only, had he been born into a different life. Would that fulfil the desire he so greatly wished for?

Perhaps then, he would not have to imagine living his life in a world that only showed him the flash of a blade with bloodied tears in the wake.

Perhaps then, he would repay her his debt every day.

Pain.

It was the first and least surprising sensation to feel.

He was so positively aquatinted with pain, it was engrained from in him from the tip of his fingers to the artery running through his neck. Being used to the physical pain, he doesn't pay it any attention, not now, in any case.

Blearily, Gu Dong Mae tries to open his eyes. But they felt heavy and leaden, and for the moment he wants to just lay there on—whatever it is—his back is warm and soft, even if it—and everything else—is in excruciating pain.

Was he in his senses? He can't tell. Then that means he wasn't, obviously. He wants to laugh at his own futile attempt at humour in a situation so dire. What a way to leave the world. Even in the afterlife he wakes up suffering.

But he was utterly lost. There was something that felt so—humane—about him in this afterlife. He hadn't excepted to be his own self to such detail. Was he not to join his line of ancestors, butcher knife in hand and all? It was possible that they were waiting on him.

But this—it was strange. He felt strange. And now, as he focuses, his senses becoming more alert by the minute, his ears picking up unfamiliar beeping sounds, that feeling is rectified.

He forces his eyes open. It had hurt and it had taken time and he almost gave up, but he made it happen.

Confusion meets his sight.

The room's walls are bare white, clean. A bright light is emanating from above. Brighter than the lights in Glory Hotel. Around him are odd contraptions, explaining the noise. A single window is on the left wall, but he cannot see anything outside from his position.

And as for himself, he assumes he's lying on a bed. He looks down. Needles are stuck in both his hands and arms, with red cords twisting up from them. A bag of—blood? Is attached to those cords. Either blood was being pulled out of or into him. This afterlife was getting weirder by the moment, but at least there wasn't a sword going through his chest anymore, he muses.

In the midst of his contemplations, Gu Dong Mae drifts in and out of consciousness. Each time, he thinks of how the air had never felt so fresh, so pleasant.

"Please, sir, you need to take these pills—"

They all sounded and looked so bloody strange. Where in the hell was he right now? He had debated a short while ago that he was in fact not in the afterlife, even if he has no idea what that was supposed to be like. This was very much a hospital jail.

"—Where are my possessions?" His voice was hoarse and slurred from not speaking in perhaps weeks. Even in such a moment of helplessness, at least they hadn't cut his hair. But the plain blue gown he was being forced to wear right now was both hideous and embarrassing. He will gladly take the plunge of a knife into him right now.

"These pills will help with the pain management and prevent infections—"

He was just about to pull out the needles and strike his arms out at the offending person. Instead, he channels his fury at the situation through his words.

"How do I trust you're not going to kill me with them? You're lucky I'm in this state right now, but if anything happens to me, I'll make sure you're not let go of, either."

Eyes wide, hands quivering, the nurse turns away to face the doctor entering the room.

Well, it was reassuring to know that his methods of intimidation were still effective.

The doctor greets him, and scribbles something on his notepad.

Dong Mae doesn't respond, affixing him with a razor-sharp gaze instead. His fingers grasp the needle in his arm.

The doctor shakes his head. "Please don't try to remove the IV lines, it will hurt."

As though the fool knew what "hurt" was.

"I must kindly repeat again, what is your name and where do you live?"

Dong Mae scoffs, turning away. What a joke of a doctor. They were good, really good at pretending to not know him. Unless they truly did not know him, and the thought unsettled him more than it should. From the murky alleys in the city to the field of outcrops in the countryside, everyone knew about Gu Dong Mae.

"You were found in the driveway of an apartment complex wearing a Japanese Kimono and carrying a superbly realistic Katana." The doctor taps his pen against the notepad. "So are you Japanese? Or were you just dressed up to be, for perhaps a party?" There are scribbles on the paper, and a bell-like sound from his pocket.

Really.

All these ridiculous questions and accusations.

The doctor pulls out the source of the noise from his pocket. It was a black, handheld device. "You have suffered a lot of blood loss from your wounds, most of them inflicted on your arms and torso. It's a miracle you're still alive." The doctor looks up, adjusting the frame of his eyeglasses. "A complete miracle."

If only he knew the number of times this miracle has kept him from crossing over to the other life.

Curiosity overtaking, Dong Mae asks before he can stop himself.

"What's that?"

"Pardon?"

"In your hands. What sort of gadgets are the Americans coming up with these days, or is it the Japanese this time?"

The doctor's eyebrows knit together, and then he lets out a short laugh. "You're good at your part. Superb historical accuracy." His face contorts back into one of seriousness. "Unless, your brain has been affected more than we assumed."

"Please leave me alone, Naeuri."

The doctor gives another quizzical look and leaves. Dong Mae is left on his own in silence, and soon afterward his meal arrives. Even the vaguely familiar food looked and tasted weird, the shiny cutlery more so.

Several weeks pass before he was finally, at long last, able to move around on his own. Eternally, he was grateful for this improvement, even if his chest was still bandaged and needed to be changed everyday, and that he had to walk while holding an IV pole. At least it ended the humiliation of being physically dependent on others.

Too many times to count, he had been interrogated about his origins. And every time, he refused to give too much away.

Mostly, he slept.

How was it that these people, who looked Joseon and even spoke Joseon, did not otherwise appear to be from the nation he knew? Their accents made no sense, neither did some of the terminology they used. Even the equipment they used was inexplicably odd, shiny, and seemed expensive.

He knows Manchuria, he knows Japan, perhaps this was another neighbouring country. When he finds out out who threw him out here in the middle of no where, he will make sure to end their life first.

No matter where he was at the moment, no one had come running for him.

He must be hidden well.

Maybe he was in America, held in a secret Joseon society, which would explain the strange accents and the technological gadgets in the room, including the ones used on him. If Eugene was here he would have much explaining to do. Damn these pesky Americans.

He didn't know they could measure temperatures with a tiny hand-held machine. Or check for his blood pressure with just with a band around his arm and a clip on his finger.

When he does eventually attempt to explain himself, his efforts had been futile as he expected, because whenever he tries to speak of his turf, of Musin society, of being killed by said society members, they think he's lying. Their dismissals were bizarre. They accused him of faking his identity, and that his mind wasn't right yet.

He was astonished at their response but knew there was nothing to gain by forcing them into submission. He was physically useless and weak at the moment, anyway.

There came a day when one of the nurses held up a contraption in her hand, and pointed it to a black screen in the corner. He had looked at it every now and then, but didn't care to probe much into what it was.

Now, however, the object was depicting real humans at such a tiny scale, talking and moving and doing everything else with every sound of the world. It was as though photographs had come to life. It was the only way he could describe the "television" as he came to find out it was called.

For now, he was not going to ponder over the contents of the "television". His own pathetic situation had already messed with him too much. He was just tired, so bloody tired to even think about what he was seeing in front of him. The Americans must truly be skilled to create such images before him. It seemed they could create entire districts and cities and nations to their will, just for show.

And anyway, first he's going to kill Eugene for never talking about a "television," the sneaky bastard.

Quietly, in the moments of succumbing to sleep, he hopes they are all okay.

It was too painful to think of them individually, of Yang Hwa, Eugene, Hui Seong, Yuzo and his death, even Hotaru.

And his black bird.

The pain was worse than anything he felt from the slash of a knife or the shot from a bullet.

Yulje Medical Centre

201 12 일

He stares.

The neatly written Hangul made no sense. The nurse or doctor or who ever the hell it was this time must have made a mistake. Except, this was not the first time he had come across a date written for "2019". Surely, if everyone around him was creating a joke out of his circumstances, they wouldn't take it this far along. Then there was the question of the hospital name. He did not recognise it, there were no memories bought up with the name.

He does not recognise anything because it never existed in his time.

No one knows him because he was never a natural being of this world.

He was in an unknown, deserted location.

In an unknown era.

Feeling dizzy, Dong Mae sits back on his bed. His mind swam with a million thoughts of impossibilities and the reality in front of him. There was no way this was happening, it wasn't meant to happen at all, because he knows, wholeheartedly, that he died on that day when the sword plunged right through his heart. He was gone, but here he was now. Alive and almost well. Resurrected into a new life, a new world.

What had fate done to him?

Standing at the window, Dong Mae faces the world outside.

Everything still felt like an unusual dream, of being trapped in limbo.

He hadn't yet come to terms that this was Joseon, his Joseon, and the city of Hanseong.

To say that he had never imagined that this is what would become of the nation in the future, was an understatement.

The first time he was able to look out the window it was nightfall. But never had he seen so many lights in one place. Densely packed and glittering, it was as though millions of paper lanterns had been left afloat.

The buildings, standing tall and scraping the heavens above, and horse-less mechanical vehicles powering down the roads at every minute of the day and night.

They had bought change. They, the fighters for freedom, the custodians of the nation, had been successful at last. He had left their world, but their quest for justice never came to an end. Their efforts were never futile in any course of history.

His black bird had never stopped flying.

For Dong Mae, it was another dull evening of watching television and trying to comprehend his new reality. His life had become a series of routines.

He had made it plainly obvious that he did not wish to discuss his predicament with any nurse or doctor, and so they did not interact with him much except when changing bandages, inserting IV needles or providing meals.

A few times, police officers had been called over to question him. Nothing made sense to either them or himself. He had no where to go, no one he knew. In this present era, he only owned his name and nothing else. They had returned his tattered Kimono, but not the Katana. The authorities would have to be involved for the decision of its ownership.

Even if he was in a future so different from his own, much was still the same.

He took a sip of his coffee. The bitter beverage was both different and same. A lot sweeter now, topped with creamy milk. He preferred this version.

Outside, he can hear footsteps approaching towards his room. He hopes they go past him. He was in no mood to interact with anyone right now. He hopes especially it's not another police officer to ask about his pitiful life or the whereabouts of the assailants. At this point they would all be dead now anyway, and technically he was also dead. Body and soul, he was not supposed to be here.

The footsteps were coming closer to his room, and he picks up the clink of a handgun and the voice of a woman. An interesting time indeed where women also line the ranks of police officers.

He turns his attention back to the television, mindlessly flicking through the channels. Although he had not yet understood any of it worked, or if the people and sites he saw on there were real, the act of being able to change its content with just a click of a button amused him more at the moment.

Sighing, he hopes no one stops at his room, and moves on without a care. But they were really close now and their steps had come to a halt and dear ancestors why him—

"Inspector Go, the patient is in this room."

Dong Mai turns at the sound from the door.

Fate was tampering with his soul again.

What card of fortune had been drawn?

No, he was dreaming, for sure it must be all a dream.

Go Ae Shin

Lady Go Ae Shin

The IV needle in his hand was pinching him and for the first time he feels its pain.

It cannot possibly be…his mind was playing tricks on him and his eyes are deceiving him.

But it's her, he knows it's her.

Because the blood is roaring through his ears, and his heart is barely able to withstand the onslaught and he knows, he knows, and nothing else matters and there is no logic or rationale, this was the truth, right in front of him.

It was impossible but completely, unabashedly true.

His voice cracks.

"Agassi."

Then he's gone under, again.

There are hardly any MaeShin fics on here! That has to be fixed lol. Dear readers, let me know what you thought of this first chapter, all comments are much appreciated :)

Glossary
Hanbok: A traditional Korean dress.

Daenggi: A traditional Korean ribbon to tie braided hair.

Naeuri: Korean honorific used by commoners to address people of higher class.

Agassi: Korean honorific to address a young lady.