Kim Jisoo didn't respond to the System's smug little grin or Hana's watchful eyes. He simply looked away. His hands were steady as he closed the box he'd been filling—neatly folded clothes, survival tools, his custom flashlight. He packed not out of habit, but out of necessity.
The room was silent except for the sound of the zipper closing.
Hana leaned against the wall, her long black hair spilling over one shoulder, eyes narrowed in that half-skeptical, half-guarded way she always carried herself. "So," she finally said, breaking the silence. "What will you do now? Hide in here until it all starts again?"
Jisoo tightened the strap on his pack and slung it over one shoulder. His voice came quiet, almost detached. "No. I'll go meet Haru."
The girl blinked at him. Her lips parted as if she wanted to ask who—but something in the way Jisoo's jaw tightened silenced her. She swallowed her question instead, then stood up straighter.
The System, in his childlike form, tilted his golden head curiously. "You remember him even here," he said softly. His green eyes shimmered like glass marbles, studying Jisoo as if he were an experiment unfolding. "Good."
Jisoo didn't dignify him with a response.
The three of them moved outside.
The moment the heavy door shut behind them, the world greeted them with a deceptive calm.
The sky stretched high and blue, the sunlight warm. A breeze carried the faint scent of asphalt and street dust. A month—Jisoo knew. That's all they had. A month before the brightness dimmed, before the world cracked and collapsed into the nightmare he remembered.
His gaze swept over the street. Buildings stood unbroken, cars still parked neatly along the sides, their surfaces gleaming under the sun. A child laughed in the distance. Somewhere, someone's radio played faint music from an open window.
To Hana, it must have looked like a normal world. To Jisoo, it was only the fragile skin of a corpse.
Beside him, Hana's stomach growled. Loudly.
The sound echoed down the quiet street. Hana froze, her cheeks flushing crimson as she pressed a hand against her stomach. Her usual sharp demeanor cracked for a brief, humiliating second.
Jisoo turned his head toward her. The sight made something strange stir inside him. He hadn't laughed—not really—for years. But he remembered. The embarrassed, stubborn expression reminded him of his younger sister, back when they were children scraping by with too little food.
His chest tightened.
"You're hungry," he said flatly.
Hana glared, as if the obvious statement was some kind of insult. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I said I'm fine."
The System covered his mouth with one small hand and giggled softly. "She's really not fine," he chimed in, unhelpful.
Kim Jisoo was about to speak.
"Shut up," Hana snapped at him.
Jisoo sighed. He adjusted his pack and nodded toward the street. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Food."
They stopped at a street food cart tucked into a side road. The old man running it greeted them warmly, oblivious to the weight hanging over their shoulders. He handed Hana a steaming skewer of grilled chicken and vegetables, the smell of charcoal and spices rising into the air.
Hana took it immediately, muttering a quiet "thanks" before biting into it. Her face softened instantly as the flavor spread across her tongue. Hunger overtook her embarrassment.
Jisoo stood quietly beside her. He accepted his own skewer, inspected it with detached precision, and then sat at one of the small foldable tables.
Hana plopped down across from him, chewing with vigor. Between bites, she glanced at him curiously. "You really… don't act like other people. Do you even enjoy food?"
Jisoo looked down at his skewer. "…It's fuel."
She frowned. "That's depressing."
Silence stretched. Then, without much thought, Jisoo picked out one of the carrot slices from the skewer. He stared at it, grimaced faintly, and set it aside.
Hana caught it immediately. Her eyes widened, then a mischievous grin tugged at her lips. "Wait. Don't tell me… you don't eat carrots?"
Jisoo didn't answer. His silence was the answer.
Hana slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, but a snort slipped through anyway. "You're serious? The great, stoic Kim Jisoo, who stares down monsters like he's made of stone, can't handle a carrot?"
Jisoo gave her a flat look.
Hana burst into laughter, doubling over slightly as she tried to catch her breath. The sound was loud and unrestrained, echoing across the little street corner. People passing by glanced at them, but she didn't care.
Jisoo just sat there, unmoved, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Finally, Hana wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and grinned at him. "You're unbelievable. What's wrong with carrots, anyway?"
Jisoo hesitated. For once, his stoic mask faltered, just a fraction. "…They taste… wrong."
That only made her laugh harder.
The System, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the table where no one else could see him, tilted his head at Jisoo. "You know, you almost smiled just then."
Jisoo ignored him. But Hana noticed too.
For the briefest second, when his lips had twitched and his eyes had softened, she thought he looked… human. Not just the sharp, distant survivor he pretended to be.
"Fine," Hana said at last, her grin still lingering. "I'll remember this. The Savior of humanity, defeated by carrots. If you ever get cocky, I'm bringing a whole bag of them to shut you up."
Jisoo's gaze met hers, unamused, but something in his eyes lacked the usual chill.
For a moment, in that tiny street corner, with the smell of grilled food in the air and Hana's laughter ringing in his ears, the world felt almost… normal.
Almost.
Later, when they walked away from the food stall, Hana held her half-finished skewer and looked around at the sunny streets. Children played. Couples walked hand in hand. Shops bustled.
It was hard to reconcile with the words Jisoo had spoken to her earlier—the monsters, the dimming sun, the end.
She glanced at him, walking with his pack slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable.
"Hey," she said quietly.
He looked at her.
"Thanks. For the food. And… for not making fun of me."
Jisoo didn't answer.
But she thought she saw, for the second time, that faint twitch of his lips.
And somehow, it made her chest feel lighter.
But Jisoo's mind was already elsewhere.
Haru.
The name echoed in his thoughts like a promise, like a weight chained to his ribs. The boy's small voice. His tears. His bravery. The moment Jisoo had last held him as the world burned.
He clenched his fist.
Kim Jisoo stood in the dimly lit corridor of the apartment building, his pulse quickening. His boots made little sound on the cracked linoleum tiles as he climbed each flight of stairs. Hana followed behind him, silent but attentive, her eyes occasionally darting to his rigid shoulders and clenched fists.
The System walked at his side in his childlike form, golden hair shining faintly even under the dull ceiling lights. He didn't speak, but Jisoo could feel his curious gaze on him, as though waiting for something to break.
They stopped at the fifth floor. The hall smelled faintly of boiled cabbage and detergent.
His chest was tight with a mixture of dread and anticipation. He had walked this path before—in another life, another world. He remembered Haru's small hands clutching at his shirt, remembered the quiet courage in the boy's tearful eyes. He remembered the grandmother's trembling voice, and how it all ended.
He clenched his jaw. This time will be different.
A middle-aged woman stepped out from one of the apartments, eyeing Jisoo and Hana. "Who are you looking for?" she asked. Her tone wasn't hostile, only cautious.
"Haru," Jisoo answered without hesitation.
The woman blinked. "Haru? Which Haru?"
"Kim Haru. He should live here. With his grandmother."
The woman frowned and shook her head. "I don't know anyone like that. Maybe you've got the wrong building."
Jisoo's stomach twisted. Wrong building? No. He remembered too vividly. The numbers on the doors were identical, the peeling paint on the walls, even the faint stain near the stairwell—it was all the same.
Still, he thanked her with a stiff nod and kept walking. Hana glanced sideways at him but said nothing.
At last, they stood in front of the door. Apartment 503. Jisoo raised his hand, knocked firmly, and waited.
The sound of shuffling came from inside. Then the door creaked open.
Grandma Ji Won appeared, her small frame hunched but her eyes still sharp despite her age. She wore a simple housecoat and her hair was tied back loosely. For a moment, Jisoo's breath caught in his throat. The sight of her brought back everything—the way her smile had faltered when she realized she was no longer human, the way she'd begged him to take care of Haru.
His chest ached.
But he forced his voice steady. "Is Haru home?"
The old woman blinked at him. "Who?"
Jisoo froze. "…Haru. Your grandson. Kim Haru."
Her brows furrowed deeply, lines creasing her forehead. Her expression turned from confusion to something colder, edged with suspicion. "Young man, I don't know who you think I am, but I don't have any grandson. My son and his wife died years ago. They never had a child."
The words hit Jisoo like a blade twisting in his chest. He stared at her, unable to breathe for a moment.
"…What?" His voice cracked.
The woman's frown deepened. "You should leave. Don't come here again with nonsense like that." Her voice sharpened with anger, like a mother defending the dignity of her dead children. Without waiting for his reply, she slammed the door shut with a hollow thud that echoed down the hallway.
Silence.
Jisoo stood there, staring at the closed door, his fists trembling at his sides. His mind reeled. He had seen Haru. He had held him, protected him, bled for him. He had watched him die. How could she not know him?
Behind him, Hana shifted uncomfortably. Her sharp tongue, so quick in most situations, seemed to fail her now. She only watched his rigid back, sensing the storm building inside him.
Then—
"Interesting," a small voice said.
Hana jerked back in shock, her eyes snapping toward the figure that had suddenly appeared beside them. A boy with golden hair and green eyes stood in the hallway, faintly glowing against the dull surroundings.
Her breath caught. "Wh—What the hell—?!" She stumbled back, her hand instinctively reaching for the knife she kept hidden in her jacket.
Jisoo didn't move. He didn't even look at her.
The boy smiled faintly, tilting his head. "You can see me now, Hana."
Her heart pounded in her chest. "Who—what are you?"
"I'm the System," the boy replied calmly. "I exist to guide Kim Jisoo. Until now, only he could see me. But it seems your awareness is expanding faster than I expected. Precognition wasn't a fluke after all."
Hana's mouth went dry. "System? Like… what, some kind of ghost?"
"No," the boy said, shaking his head. "I am a creation of the past world. A fragment of code and will, given form. My task is to manage the cycle of this altered reality."
She stared at him, her disbelief warring with the fact that she could clearly see him. He wasn't an illusion. His presence radiated something unnatural, something that made her skin prickle.
Meanwhile, Jisoo finally turned his gaze from the door, his face pale but expressionless. His voice came out low and tight. "…What happened?"
The System's smile faded. He looked at the door, then back at Jisoo. "It seems Haru has been erased from existence."
Hana gasped. "Erased? That's even possible?!"
The System folded his arms behind his back, his tone clinical. "In this iteration, yes. Someone—or something—has interfered. Haru should exist, and yet, the flow of history has been rewritten. To the grandmother, to the neighbors, to the very fabric of this world, he never lived."
Jisoo's body trembled. His fingernails dug into his palms so hard he almost drew blood. His throat felt dry, his chest heavy with a pain he couldn't name.
Erased.
No.
He remembered Haru's small hand in his own. The locket with the picture of his parents. The boy's quiet bravery, his whispered plea to not be a burden.
You don't just erase that.
Hana stared at Jisoo, her earlier shock giving way to worry. His face was usually a mask of control, but now she could see the cracks. His eyes were dark, his shoulders tight with tension.
"Jisoo," she said carefully. "Are you… okay?"
He didn't answer.
The System's voice cut in, colder than usual. "This changes things. Haru's absence disrupts the balance. It was his presence that anchored Jisoo's humanity in the previous cycle. Without him…" He trailed off, studying Jisoo with sharp, calculating eyes.
"…Without him, what?" Hana demanded.
The System smiled faintly. "We will see."
Hana's hands clenched at her sides. She looked at Jisoo again, and for the first time, she saw not just his strength but the fragility beneath it. His silence wasn't apathy. It was grief, raw and jagged.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the building's fluorescent lights.
Finally, Jisoo turned on his heel, his voice hoarse but steady. "We're leaving."
"Where to?" Hana asked, almost timid.
"To find him," Jisoo said. His eyes, dark with fury and determination, locked on the empty air ahead. "If he's been erased, then I'll find whoever erased him. And I'll bring him back."
The System tilted his head, watching him with quiet interest. "Don't worry. There are many ways to do this."
But beneath his calm words, even the System's expression seemed unsettled. Because if Haru could be erased from existence, then it meant something—or someone—was tampering with the very foundation of their world.