The world felt ordinary again.
For three months after Aureum-ri, Yoon Ha-rin and Kang Jae-hyun lived as if the universe had finally learned to leave them alone.No flickering lights. No backward ticks. Just the simple rhythm of coffee, deadlines, and quiet evenings together.
And for a while, that was enough.
But peace has a strange weight when you've already heard eternity whisper your name.
Ha-rin was unpacking new art supplies in her small home studio when her phone buzzed.A message.Unknown number:
"Do you still hear the ticking?"
Her hands went cold.
She typed back before she could think.
"Who is this?"
No reply.
Only silence.And in that silence, something impossible—a faint tick, muffled, from the drawer where she'd locked away the broken watch months ago.
That evening, Jae-hyun arrived late, smelling of rain and office paper.
"You're pale," he said, loosening his tie. "Long day?"
She forced a smile. "Got a strange message."
He froze mid-movement. "From whom?"
"Didn't say. Just—'Do you still hear the ticking?'"
He laughed softly, the sound more nervous than amused. "Maybe a prank."
"Maybe," she said, though the word felt wrong in her mouth.
When he reached for her hand, she noticed the faint silver chain around his wrist.
Her breath caught. "You still wear it?"
He looked down at the pocket-watch chain, hidden beneath his sleeve. "Couldn't throw it away."
"It's broken," she whispered.
"Maybe," he said. "But so am I when you're not near."
Her laughter eased the tension, but somewhere under that sweetness, the air hummed again—barely audible, like time inhaling before a storm.
Later that night, they walked through the quiet streets, talking about nothing—the best kind of nothing.She teased him about being allergic to weekends.He teased her about drawing him as a villain in every sketch.They laughed until the city lights blurred.
Then she saw it.
Across the street, a store window displayed antique clocks—dozens of them.All ticking in rhythm.All showing the same time: 12:12.
Ha-rin's fingers tightened around Jae-hyun's arm.
He followed her gaze.For a heartbeat, both just stood there, the soft tick filling the air like distant rain.
Then every clock stopped.All at once.
He exhaled shakily. "You saw that too?"
She nodded. "It's back."
"No," he said quietly. "It never left. We just stopped listening."
Back home, she opened her sketchbook.The last drawing was still the bridge from Aureum-ri.But as she watched, new lines began to appear on their own—the outline of a modern city skyline, shimmering faintly in graphite.At the center, two tiny silhouettes stood beneath a clock tower.
The title etched itself at the bottom in her own handwriting:The Echo of Tomorrow.
Her heart thudded.She whispered, "Jae-hyun… it's starting again."
Behind her, the pocket watch—still cracked, still silent—ticked once.