I was born and spent part of my childhood in Busan, a city that seemed to move to the rhythm of the sea. The salty smell stuck to your clothes, even when no one went to the beach, and neighbors knew more about your life than you'd like.
The port, the markets, vendors shouting about fresh fish… it was an organized cacophony, a mess that somehow felt cozy.
I, of course, didn't mix much into that. Even in Busan, before "that place," I was more of a spectator than a participant. Still, Busan gave you a sense of belonging, maybe simply because I'd been born there.
Seoul was a completely different story. Since I'd been brought here, the city never embraced me the same way. Maybe because I never reached out first.
People here always seem rushed, always heading somewhere important — yet when you stop to look, it's empty and repetitive, like nobody really knows where they're going.
I visited some districts, sure, but always just passing through, hardly ever with any real desire. Going somewhere alone felt like an unnecessary exercise in loneliness, and I didn't have anyone I actually wanted to share those moments with.
It was easier to pretend there was nothing to see, nothing I was missing.
Things only changed a little in college. "Changed" not because I suddenly wanted company, but because there were circumstances I couldn't avoid.
Groups pull you along, even when you prefer to walk slowly.
So, between Kim Jiwon's persistent invites, Dong Minseok's steady kindness, and Yi Yerin's strict discipline, I ended up seeing places I would never have visited on my own.
Hidden cafés in alleys that smelled like burnt coffee and nostalgia, new libraries where the silence felt heavier than the books, cheap restaurants near campus where the food was simple but always came with conversations I didn't necessarily want to hear.
And now, apparently, the banks of the Han River.
Kim Jiwon led us with big steps, big gestures, and a voice that didn't know what "quiet" meant. He walked a little ahead, checking his phone from time to time, like he was checking the time but with a focus that suggested something more.
Maybe a secret reminder, maybe something he didn't want to share.
The sky was at that awkward point between day ending and night beginning.
There were dark clouds, and the breeze from the river carried the humid smell of rain about to fall, mixed with a distant metallic hint of rust.
On the sidewalks, street food vendors still stood with their lit carts, selling steaming tteokbokki, odeng dunked in hot broth, and roasted sweet potatoes.
Mapo-gu had that transitional feel I always found strange. Residential neighborhoods mixed with leisure areas, parks, and riverbanks turned into hangouts.
There were couples walking hand in hand, families strolling slowly, kids running ahead of their parents, young people on bikes speeding past us like they were racing in an invisible competition.
Everything felt too normal. Almost cinematic. Almost fake.
Dong Minseok walked beside Yi Yerin, listening patiently to her notes about exams, reports, and the importance of keeping a study schedule.
He smiled as she talked, as if every word were some valuable advice.
Kim Jiwon in front of us kept the conversation light, asking dumb questions like "who's been the worst professor so far" or "who would drop out first if they got rich overnight."
And I followed a few steps behind, watching the three of them play roles that seemed natural to them.
The Han River shone ahead, its surface broken up, reflecting the yellow light of the streetlamps and the signs from the tall buildings across the water. Dark water, calm on the surface, but hiding strong currents underneath.
When Kim Jiwon put his phone back in his pocket, took a deep breath, smiled over his shoulder and said, "We're almost there," I noticed something strange. It wasn't just the gesture itself, but the way the smile came together.
I lagged a few steps behind the others on purpose, deliberately slower, and glanced at the face of my watch on my wrist.
7:53 PM. The minute hand seemed to drag through each second, almost mocking my quiet anxiety.
On the walk over I watched every shadow, every step echoing on the pavement. No sign we were being followed. If it were an ambush, they'd have shown up by now, or at least been watching us from a safe distance.
But the area was too open: a wide sidewalk strip, spaced-out trees, bike lanes running parallel to the river. Any suspicious movement would stand out immediately.
So all that remained was my ever-present paranoia.
It was in that suspended moment that Kim Jiwon stopped and spoke. His voice cut through the city's natural hum and the light drizzle that had started to fall.
"You know… I didn't say this earlier because I didn't want it to get heavy. But I realized, these last few days, that… we don't really value things while we still have them," he paused, his eyes drifting to the river, then continued, "I lost my sister, and it was fast. I didn't get to tell her properly how important she was."
The silence after that was almost a physical ache.
Dong Minseok answered first, as expected.
"You don't need to blame yourself so much, Jiwon. I'm sure your sister knew. Everyone could see how close you were."
The words were kind, but not light. They were consolations wrapped in weight, like a stone wrapped in silk.
"You know…" Kim Jiwon smiled again, a wide smile but strained at the corners, "I really value this. Our friendship. Especially now."
Dong Minseok looked at him with that calm expression perfectly suited for hearing confessions.
"We value it too, Jiwon. You don't even have to say it."
Beside him, Yi Yerin adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Her face had that practiced firmness mixed with a hint of care she rarely let show.
"Just… don't use friendship as an excuse to skip studying, okay? I'll still hold you accountable on the exams."
Kim Jiwon laughed quietly, but without real joy.
"You're all too kind. But honestly, I just wanted to say that… no matter what happens, you should know I thought of you as the most important people to me."
That last line landed heavier than he probably intended. Maybe it was a confession slipping out without a filter. His smile stayed, but there were shadows at the corners of his eyes that even the streetlights' golden glow couldn't hide.
Dong Minseok, as always, tried to ease the tension.
"No one here is going to do anything stupid, right? We just need to look out for each other."
"Exactly," Yi Yerin agreed, but her voice came out softer, like she was measuring her words.
I stayed a few steps behind, watching everything. The tone in Kim Jiwon's voice, the way his eyes flicked to the ground right after he spoke, the breath a bit longer than usual.
Talk about "valuing friendships" is common, said at graduation speeches, in TV dramas, even at funerals. But in that setting, under the artificial lights reflecting off the river, those words had a different taste.
A taste of warning.
The rain came soon after. First timid, spaced-out drops that hit the concrete and vanished. In a matter of seconds, though, it came down hard, painting the ground with broken reflections and turning the Han River lights into blurred streaks that shimmered with every drop.
Kim Jiwon tried to smile, like he could turn that heavy moment into something light, but the gesture came out crooked and strained.
Yi Yerin used the pause to open her mouth, probably to say what I wanted to hear too: that it was time to go, that this aimless walk didn't have to go any further.
But he cut her off.
"Do you believe in another world?"
The words hung there, silencing even the rain around us. Dong Minseok frowned, confused, unable to read the seriousness behind the sentence.
Yi Yerin narrowed her eyes, the same skeptical look she used when a professor dodged logic in class.
I, on the other hand, wasn't that lost. Not that I believed, but I'd heard of things like this.
Those people spoke with conviction about a world parallel to ours, like a dimension layered on top of ours.
And the idea of parallel universes wasn't exactly new.
Hugh Everett III, decades ago, proposed the so-called The Many-Worlds Interpretation, where every choice, every event, every fork in reality creates a new branch.
An infinite tree of possibilities, with countless versions of ourselves living different lives.
In one reality, you cross the street and make it safely. In another, a car hits you. In another, you never left the house. Infinite possibilities, overlapping universes that never meet. At least, in theory.
To me, that was always just a mental exercise. A pastime for restless minds, something you read in popular science books or use as a metaphor in existential conversations.
But the idea of Kim Jiwon talking about "another world" as well as "that place" made me uneasy in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.
"My sister was there…" His voice cracked halfway through, and for a second I thought he wouldn't continue. But he took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the river ahead. "And they told me there's still a chance to save her."
Those words made me rethink everything about Kim Jiwon. What had been grief started to sound like myth, and myth into promise.
The supposed "car accident" that took his sister began to sound like a cover. If there really was another world, then what happened could be something much bigger, wrapped in mysticism.
A story too fantastic to accept without resistance… but impossible to dismiss entirely.
Predictably, Yi Yerin was the first to react.
"Kim Jiwon… this doesn't make sense," her voice trembled less than I expected. "There's no such thing as 'another world.' You're letting yourself be carried away by illusions because you can't deal with the loss. That's not healthy."
She spoke like someone clinging to rationality to avoid being swallowed by the unknown.
Dong Minseok, on the other hand, just watched in silence. His clenched jaw gave away the tension, but his eyes stayed on Kim Jiwon, as if he were waiting until the last second to decide whether to believe him.
Kim Jiwon ignored the objection; his eyes held that strange mix of pain and hope fighting for the same space.
"It's selfish of me, I know. And I know you don't deserve this… but if there's even the smallest chance to save my sister, I have to try! And I can't do it without you by my side!"
It was a confession. A plea. Or maybe a sentence for all of us.
Is it selfish to risk friends' lives to save a sister? The answer would depend on each person's character.
To some, it would be heroism. To others, madness. For me, the question felt distant. I didn't have a sister, and I didn't really have friends.
My view was too cold to come up with a proper answer.
With the rain picking up and silence weighing on the group, the hand on my watch finally hit 8:00 PM on the dot.
That's when Kim Jiwon reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden ticket. The paper flashed like metal under the diffuse streetlight, reflecting the rain in tiny, flickering sparks.
He held it for a few seconds, like he was expecting someone to stop him, like he was silently asking for one last intervention.
Then he tore it in half.
"Please…" his voice was low, thick with feeling, almost a plea, "come with me to the other world."
Behind him, the air distorted. First a subtle trembling, then a clear rupture. A golden rift opened in the empty space, like someone had used an invisible blade to slice reality itself.
The fissure pulsed, vibrating in waves that shimmered on the rain, multiplying the light into dozens of glittering fragments.
And I, standing a few steps away, felt the silent question no one had the courage to say out loud.
Can I say no already?
Being able to say no is an underrated skill, but essential in any social relationship. It's the simplest way to set boundaries, to protect your own existence.
But saying no now would be the same as admitting, in front of everyone, that Kim Jiwon's speech hadn't moved me at all. That his pain didn't touch me, that his hope didn't affect me.
There was no option but to acknowledge how I truly felt.
The idea of an "Another World" did spark a kind of curiosity in me, yes. Maybe it was the natural fascination with anything that challenges reality's rules, or maybe it was just the visual impact of a literal portal opening right before my eyes.
But curiosity doesn't equal willingness, much less sacrifice.
The most basic fact, impossible to ignore, was that I was not willing to risk my life to save Kim Jiwon's sister.
Besides… what was her name again?
If I hadn't memorized that, then it's safe to say my emotional connection to this story was zero.
Kim Jiwon still calls me with honorifics, even after months of sharing the same class. That detail alone was enough to show the distance between us.
There was a clear division in that group, invisible lines that set positions, and I'd always been at the bottom; out of sight, in the blind spot of the silent hierarchies they reinforced without noticing.
And someone in that position asking me to risk my life for him? That is, no doubt, selfishness. Dressed up as friendship, packaged in emotion, but selfishness all the same.
But the world rarely deals kindly with people who think too much.
"I can't speak for the others…" Dong Minseok broke the silence first, steady as always, "…but I'll help you, Jiwon."
Conviction didn't need explanation. It was just Dong Minseok being Dong Minseok — the kind of person who chooses to carry others' burdens even when he doesn't have to.
Yi Yerin tried to oppose, as expected. She raised problems, pointed out risks, insisted on logic, but Dong Minseok didn't back down for a second.
In the end, he asked Kim Jiwon a direct question.
"If we go… can we come back? Will we still be able to get home?"
And Kim Jiwon answered too quickly for it to seem like a lie, with enough emotion to convince.
"It's possible. From one world to the other. I wouldn't ask if it were one-way."
That was enough to break Yi Yerin's resistance. She took a breath, looked to Dong Minseok once more and, like so many other times, gave in.
"If you're going… then I'll go too."
Done. Three votes in favor.
Again, everyone agreed, only I remained. And, as always, they all turned their eyes to me, waiting for an answer that no longer mattered.
Unfortunately, this little experiment in belonging to a social circle ended right there.
"I refu—"
Before I could finish, the portal suddenly expanded as if it had heard my hesitation and decided to act on its own.
A dry snap cut the air, and the golden crack opened like a hungry mouth, spitting light in every direction.
And then we were swallowed. All of us.
There was no time to step back, no time to run, no time to scream. The rain vanished in the blink of an eye, replaced by an impossible silence, as if the very world had been ripped out from under our feet.
… so that was it.
Kim Jiwon never intended to ask our opinions. He only needed us to be together for that moment.
I'll admit I hadn't given that much thought. Just as he waited until exactly 8:00 PM to tear the ticket, there must be a reason for that.
The kind of hidden rule that turns a gesture into a ritual.
Maybe the portal could only open at a specific time; maybe the effect lasted only a set period. In any case, Kim Jiwon was prepared.
And that preparation was a detail that couldn't be ignored.
Well played, Kim Jiwon.
But every play has a price, and every debt expects repayment. If he gave himself the right to decide for all of us, then inevitably, I would have the right to give back.
Still — one thing at a time.
First, I need to understand what this "Another World" is. Not as a vague concept, but as a real place.
How does it work? What's on the other side of that golden rift? What's its connection to Kim Jiwon, to his sister, and, above all, to "that place"?
If this alternate world is actually connected to them… it will open the door to new meanings.
All I have to do is observe and survive.
Because in the end, none of it matters if you don't come back alive to tell the story.