Kim Min-jun woke not to the alarm, but to the hum of drones vibrating through the walls, striking his bones as if they were part of the very air. This sound had become the backdrop of his life—a ceaseless reminder of the war, of a system where a person was just a cog. The metallic walls of the room reflected a dim light, as empty as his own thoughts.
His fingers clenched the bracelet. The cold metal dug into his skin, and the engraving "M and S" burned hotter than any fire. Two letters, one name. Seo-hyeon. His Seo-hyeon. A world he had drowned in, a touch that left burns on his skin and in his heart. Now, every breath was a reminder of his failure to save him. Every step, a reminder that there was nowhere left to go.
He pulled on his military uniform. Once, the camouflage was a second skin, a sign of strength. Now, it felt foreign, like a mask hiding only exhaustion. His fingers traced the scar on his eyebrow—once a mark of honor, now a scar of guilt.
A memory flashed before his eyes. Three years ago, he saw Seo-hyeon for the first time. He was in the technical bay, wedged between sparking panels and the smell of burnt plastic. His long, dark hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and his gray-green eyes sparkled with a teasing smirk:
"Broke everything again, scout?"
A playful smirk, a lightness in his voice—and Min-jun, used to cold orders, froze. He looked at the slender fingers, at the gaze that reflected the flickering screens. In that second, the world ceased to be black and white.