[2050, Ji-an's Room]
The two sat side by side in front of the laptop screen.
The still-open AI interface cast a faint glow, spreading an awkward tension through the quiet room.
Si-a spoke first.
"It's still hard to believe… but if what you said—just one word—really changed something…"
She curled her hand into a fist, then slowly released it.
"…then we could change other things too. But…"
Her voice lowered, careful.
"That's exactly what makes it scary. Changing something also means… we could lose something."
Ji-an drew in a small, sharp breath.
"Yeah. But…"
Her fingertips traced along the edge of the desk.
"I just… said it lightly. I never thought it would actually turn out like this."
"It's alright. We'll figure it out together."
A brief silence settled over the room once more.
And then—
The computer screen flickered, accompanied by a short, sharp warning tone.
Both of them leaned in toward the screen at the same time.
[System Alert: A new past session request has arrived.]
[Requester: Choi Jae-hoon / 2025.07.09 / Considering Solar Panel Installation]
Ji-an's hand froze on the mouse.
Her heart gave one sharp, heavy thump.
"…Should we connect right now?"
she murmured, her voice cautious.
Si-a, still peering at the screen, tilted her head.
"…We're not prepared at all," she said, lowering her voice.
"What if we rush in and… end up steering that person's life the wrong way?"
A short silence followed.
Ji-an lowered her hands to her knees and drew in a deep breath.
A tangle of thoughts knotted and unknotted in her mind.
'Is this really okay?'
'This time… it might not be something that ends like a joke.'
The air inside the pod felt unusually heavy.
Si-a spoke carefully.
"…You know,"
She said, turning to meet Ji-an's eyes,
"Doing nothing is still a choice. And turning away from it… might be even scarier."
Ji-an slowly looked back at her.
After a brief silence, she gave a small, deliberate nod.
"Yeah. I started this lightly… but I don't think I can end it lightly anymore."
She lifted her hand again, gently wrapping it around the mouse.
The "Accept" button kept blinking quietly in the center of the screen.
A short breath in.
And then—
With resolve gathered at her fingertips, Ji-an clicked. Slowly. Carefully.
The screen shifted in a smooth fade… and another story had already begun.
[2050 – Parliamentary Aide's Office]
The air conditioner was running, but the aging system could no longer keep the heat at bay.
The air near the window clung faintly to the skin, and the copier against the wall whined as if weary from the summer, sputtering its complaint.
"Again…?"
Putting down the stack of papers on her desk for a moment, the aide let out a sigh and walked over to the copier.
No matter how many times she pressed the buttons, it refused to cooperate. She carefully lifted and closed the lid, murmuring to herself,
"Please tell me this will be working by the end of the day."
The man crouched in front of the machine looked up.
Beads of sweat rolled slowly down his forehead, and the back of his repairman's jumpsuit was damp with heat.
"I'll do my best to get it running soon. Sounds like it's been giving you trouble a lot lately. With this heat, even the machines are suffering."
The aide gave a polite nod, her smile tinged with fatigue.
"Yes… these days, no one here even has a moment to breathe."
She gave a short, weary chuckle and returned to the desk, where another pile of paperwork awaited her.
The tips of her hair fluttered faintly in the air from the AC, though a sheen of sweat still clung invisibly to her brow.
Past those lightly swaying strands, the repairman cast her a quiet glance before turning back to his work.
On the chest of his work uniform, a small embroidered name tag read:
AS Service – Choi Jae-hoon
The office soon settled back into its rhythm—just the clacking of keyboards and the occasional ping of a messenger notification.
Overhead, the deep whir of the ceiling AC fought, just barely, to push back the day's heavy heat.
[2025, a House in Gyeonggi Province]
On the outskirts of Gyeonggi-do, an old single-family home sat still in the damp summer air.
Moisture seeped into the spaces between its faded wallpaper.
In one corner of the living room, a small, wobbly electric fan whirred unsteadily in place.
The ceiling was low, and the walls were plastered with faded electricity bills, taped layer upon layer.
On the desk lay a single proposal for a solar panel installation, placed directly over an overdue electricity bill, just shy of the cutoff date.
Sitting before them was Choi Jae-hoon—
hair disheveled, the backs of his hands roughened, his tired eyes speaking wordlessly of the weight he carried.
"Dad… can't we use the air conditioner today either?"
From the corner of the living room, a child's cautious voice broke the silence.
Jae-hoon closed his eyes, unable to turn toward the boy, the guilt pressing down heavier than the heat.
From the kitchen, his wife gently led the child away.
The silence that followed only thickened, settling like dust over the cramped space.
He slumped back into his chair, letting its worn frame take his weight.
The fading light of dusk slid coolly in through the window, brushing against his face.
"Once it's installed… we could use it for life…"
He muttered the words as if trying to convince himself, the syllables hanging in the heavy air.
"Money's the real problem… Or maybe… it's just that making the choice scares me more."
From the TV came a bright, confident voice, almost jarringly cheerful against the heavy air.
"2025 National Solar Transition Support Program — Apply now! Let's build a sustainable future together!"
Jae-hoon turned his head toward the screen.
A dry, bitter laugh escaped before he could stop it.
"They say it's interest-free, but the paperwork's a mile high…
The process is a mess… What kind of green future comes with a price tag like that?"
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the remote onto the couch, cutting the screen to black.
Only the small, unsteady fan kept spinning, its tired whir filling the silence again.
He slouched deeper into the sofa, well out of reach of the weak airflow, idly waving the remote through the air like it might swat away the heat or the thoughts closing in on him.
The TV flipped back and forth between static-laced news and variety shows,
until it finally landed on a familiar commercial.
"EcoLink — Beta Launch 1-Year Anniversary Campaign!"
"Chat with AI — from environmental concerns to everyday stress, get honest answers!"
In the flashy video, a middle-aged man lounged on his sofa, casually messaging on his smartphone.
"Would installing solar panels be a good idea?"
"Start now. The future is not too late."
Jae-hoon stared blankly at the screen before letting out a faint chuckle.
"People come up with the strangest trends…"
The ad was flashy, but what Jae-hoon saw beneath the surface was something else entirely.
Solar panels, worries about the future,
and… that lonely feeling of just wanting someone to talk to.
He set the remote down with a soft thud,
then rummaged around to pull out his laptop and switch it on.
"Well… I guess I can at least ask."
With fingers unaccustomed to the keyboard,
he typed "EcoLink Beta" into the search bar.
The official homepage popped up instantly, its Sign Up button gleaming.
He hesitated—then finally clicked Sign Up.
The first line to appear on the screen was short and simple:
"Changing the environment begins with asking the first question."
Jae-hoon began typing, his expression neither a smile nor a sigh.
『The air conditioner's broken, and the electric bill has doubled.
Would installing solar panels make things better? Or would it just be another failure?』
Just as he was about to pull his hands away from the keyboard,
he felt the urge to add more.
『Be honest with me.
Can something like this really change the future? 』
Tap, tap.
After finishing the second line, he leaned back in his chair.
A hollow chuckle escaped his lips.
"Unbelievable… what am I even doing."
He was about to close the laptop—
when the screen flickered, and a status window appeared.
'Waiting for connection…'
'Unauthorized pathway detected – awaiting response.'
Jae-hoon stared blankly at the screen.
He didn't know it then—
that this single click would set into motion not only his own life,
but also a world far away in the future.
[2050, Jian's Room]
The room was silent, as if holding its breath.
On the computer screen, a blinking message seemed to gaze back at them.
"Pending message – Would you like to reply?"
Jian's fingertips trembled as she stared at the words,
her voice dropping to a low murmur.
"...They're really asking us. That person… is asking us."
Sia kept her lips pressed together, eyes fixed on the screen, before speaking carefully.
"This isn't just advice. It's a family's decision.
Our first real intervention that could actually change the future."
Jian slowly—very slowly—placed her hands on the keyboard.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
"This time,"
she murmured, steadying her breath,
"let's not brush it off. One person's choice could really change the future."
Her voice trembled, but it was resolute.
Sia answered with a small, silent nod.
On the screen, Choi Jae-hoon's question still lingered:
『Be honest. Can something like this really change the future? 』
Jian drew in a short breath, then pressed down firmly on the keys.
"Uh… well, I guess we have to say 'yes, it can,' right?"
After a brief hesitation, she began typing quickly:
『Your choice will change the future. For real. Don't worry—just install. GOGO. 』
From beside her, Sia, who had been watching intently, jabbed Jian's side with her elbow.
"No… you can't write 'GOGO.' At least pretend to sound like an AI!"
Jian gave an embarrassed smile and slid the keyboard over.
Sia quickly took over, fingers flying across the keys.
『Your decision could have a meaningful impact on the region's future energy self-sufficiency and carbon reduction rate.
From both a technical and economic standpoint, it will also be advantageous in the long run. 』
Jian blinked at the sentence.
"…It's accurate, but don't you think it sounds way too much like a AI?"
Sia narrowed her eyes and replied firmly,
"We're engaging in an unofficial temporal intervention right now. The least we can do is maintain credibility."
Jian read over the cold, precise words Sia had layered onto the screen.
Beneath the surface, it wasn't just information—it was persuasion, quietly spreading through the lines.
'Yeah… sincerity alone isn't going to cut it.'
Reluctantly, Jian nodded.
Whether it came from the heart or from calculation, both would be necessary now.
A few seconds later, the screen flickered and a new message appeared.
『Seriously… what is this, some kind of government channel?
Alright, then. Tell me—maintenance costs, failure rate, and duration of government subsidies for solar panels?』
Jian's eyes widened as she turned to Sia.
"What the—this is like talking to a professional consultant!
We can't just give a half-baked answer to that!"
Sia calmly pulled the laptop toward herself.
"Relax. This was my research topic for a project in school before."
She drew in a short breath and began typing rapidly.
『As of the current data, the average lifespan of a solar panel is around 30 years.
Annual maintenance is recommended, with a typical failure rate of under 1% within the first five years.
Government subsidies are planned to be gradually maintained until 2030, after which they will transition to a region-based self-support system.』
The quiet rhythm of keystrokes spread softly through the room.
Shia smirked faintly and added one last sentence.
『Additionally, the local energy self-sufficiency policy remains stable as of the year 2050.』
At that moment, Jian's eyes flickered ever so slightly.
"Wait—shouldn't we leave out the 'as of 2050' part?"
Shia kept her gaze fixed on the screen and murmured in a low voice,
"It's fine if we phrase it carefully.
Even if they notice, they'll just think we ran a 'future-mode simulation.'"
A brief silence fell between them.
Without hesitation, she pressed Enter.
With a faint whoosh, their reply was sent.
Moments later, a short message from Jae-hoon appeared on the screen.
『…Seriously, how do you know all this?
I'm not sure I can believe it, but… strangely, it's comforting.』
Jian let out a small breath and glanced sideways at Shia.
"…We're really doing the right thing, aren't we?"
Shia shrugged.
"No idea. But at the very least, I think we said what he needed to hear right now."
The room was filled with a light tension—
and an unexplainable sense of anticipation.