He could hear now, and he could see.
A dazzling halo of light unfolded and bloomed before his eyes. Cautiously, Ronan raised his right hand, opened his palm, and gently felt the warmth of the light as it landed there. It was warm—almost scorching, even burning—but it traced the lines of his palm so clearly, like the veins of a leaf. His fingertips instinctively curled inward a little, as if trying to close his hand, only to flatten it out again. He just sat there, quietly gazing at the glow resting in his palm.
"…Ronan!"
A shout reached his ears again, growing closer this time, much clearer than before. He still wasn't quite used to it.
It wasn't his mother's voice—it was a man's.
What was going on?
Was this some hyper-realistic dream, like something out of Inception? He whipped his head around, only to feel a wave of dizziness crash over him. His groggy, heavy head suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. His body swayed, off-balance, and he couldn't stay upright anymore. With a thud, he collapsed to the ground, and the world plunged back into darkness.
Was it over? Was the dream just… done?
The familiar darkness swept in again, but before it could swallow everything, a splash of cold water hit him square in the face.
Smack!
The crisp sound of a "water slap" rang out as Ronan was drenched, the chill soaking through him. His hair and cheeks were plastered wet, and the water trickled down his neck, seeping into his chest and back. Reflexively, he squeezed his eyes shut, barely managing to keep the water out, but the shock cleared his muddled mind. The disorientation and illusion of the dream faded under the jolt of weightlessness and the cold, and he snapped awake.
Blinking open his bleary eyes, he was met with a youthful, vibrant face magnified ten times in his vision—so close it nearly touched his nose. Startled, Ronan's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, and his head jerked back, smacking the ground. His whole body froze. What the hell was happening?
But then it hit him—his reaction—and he couldn't help but cringe internally.
Was this what it was like for the heroine in a K-drama facing a wall-slam moment? No resistance, just stiffening up, holding her breath, every cell in her body screaming, "Don't talk, just kiss me"? Was he seriously channeling his inner drama queen right now? In his defense, though, he really wasn't used to this—not the sounds, not the sights, not the way the whole space felt so off.
The water slap, the sudden closeness—it was all too much.
Ronan hadn't been this sharp in ages. For three years, the world had moved at a sluggish, ten-times-slower pace, and now it was speeding up out of nowhere. The half-dream, half-awake haze kept messing with his head, and it wasn't until the cold water hit that he felt the reality of breathing and touch closing in.
The reflexes triggered by sound and sight felt so foreign to him… yet so familiar at the same time. He just needed a moment to adjust. His brain seemed to be lagging behind, slowing down with every step.
And then there was—
"This is a dream. It's all a dream. Everything right now is just a dream."
That's what Ronan told himself.
But the dream was getting more real by the second, blurring the line between truth and illusion: the dripping water, the light spilling across his arm, the crowd around him, the bustling noise—even the stinging pain in his palm and backside from hitting the ground was starting to feel vivid.
And, of course, there was that face, magnified ten times in front of him.
Ronan genuinely thought he needed a totem—like in Inception. Any totem would do, even if it wasn't the main guy's spinning top. Otherwise, he had no clue how to tell dream from reality. The joy and happiness bubbling deep inside were tugging him downward, pulling him under.
"Ronan? Ronan! Wake up! Come on, snap out of it! Oh God, his pupils look like they're dilating—he's losing focus. Did his brain fry or something?"
"I can't believe this!"
"Cliff! Maxim! Jesus Christ, can you two shut up for once? Stop arguing—Ronan's out cold right now. Call 911 already! This isn't the time to point fingers; we've got bigger things to focus on. Can you two just get it together?"
"I knew it. I knew it! We shouldn't have gone on stage tonight. This could've been avoided. Ronan's got a fever—he should be resting! He needs rest! But you guys didn't care about that, did you? Do you even know what you're doing? If something happens to Ronan…"
Bzzz bzzz.
Bzzz bzzz.
Ronan felt a little lost. It was like three flies were buzzing around his ears, circling endlessly, droning on and on, impossible to shoo away.
A bit farther off, two of the "flies" were arguing heatedly, red-faced and stubborn, stomping back and forth like angry bulls. Up close, another one was muttering to itself nonstop, rambling incoherently in a panic, too flustered to come up with anything useful.
Worse still, a whole swarm of flies seemed to be chattering around him, and the room's temperature was climbing.
So… bzzz bzzz.
His head was pounding.
Now Ronan finally got what the Monkey King meant in Journey to the West when he griped about Tang Monk's nagging. This was that exact vibe.
But that irritation and pain were actually clearing his mind, bit by bit. It was a weird sensation—like a drowning person breaking free from tangled weeds and shaking off the muck at the lake's bottom, kicking desperately toward the faint shimmer of light above. His lungs burned like they were stabbed with needles, his strength fading in the deep blue water, but the growing white glow sparked one last burst of energy. Even with his vision blurring, he refused to give up. Closer, closer—he was almost there—
Splash!
He broke through the surface, gulping down fresh air as it flooded his lungs. The world sharpened again, the boundary between dream and reality shattering. In a daze, gravity yanked his heart downward, crashing him back to earth with a weightless thud.
That sense of falling felt so real it hit him like a tidal wave!
If this followed Inception rules, waking up after a fall meant he was back in reality, right?
A split second later, that face loomed in his vision again, magnified ten times, so close he could even see the fine fuzz on its skin.
Round eyes, round nose, round chin—a rosy-lipped, pearly-toothed face still carrying a hint of baby fat. Messy golden curls sprang out wildly, though sweat plastered the strands at the temples and forehead. Those bright eyes were so clear, like you could see straight through them, laying bare every ounce of worry, fear, and frustration inside.
"Ronan! Wake up, Ronan!"
The baby-faced figure seemed to catch the focus returning to Ronan's gaze. Its furrowed brows eased slightly as it grabbed Ronan's shoulders and shook him hard—hard enough to nearly rattle him apart. His insides churned, and he could almost hear the food sloshing in his stomach.
Thwack!
Instinctively, Ronan thrust his forehead forward, connecting with a sharp crack—like a watermelon splitting open.
(End of Chapter)