"Run."
Min-Jae didn't know why he listened.
Maybe it was the crack in the sky.
Maybe it was the way the petals spun like a storm forming only for them.
Maybe it was because Yoon Seo-Ha looked like someone who had already seen the ending—and didn't like it.
He grabbed her hand.
"Fine. But if this is a scam, I'm billing you."
She stared at their joined hands like it was an unfamiliar weapon.
"Move," she snapped.
They ran.
The frozen crowd blurred past them. Scooters suspended midair. A paper cup hanging upside down with coffee suspended like a brown comet.
As they sprinted down the street, the golden fracture above widened. Light poured through it like liquid sunrise.
Min-Jae risked a glance back.
The crack pulsed.
Something moved behind it.
Something enormous.
"Seo-Ha!" he yelled. "That thing in the sky—please tell me it's decorative!"
"It's looking for you!" she shouted back.
"Oh, fantastic!"
They skidded down the stairs of the subway entrance two at a time.
And then—
The moment their feet hit the bottom step—
Time snapped back.
The crack vanished.
The petals dropped.
The scooter crashed.
People screamed as if waking from a shared dream.
Min-Jae stumbled, nearly colliding with a vending machine.
"Okay," he breathed. "Good. Normal chaos. I prefer normal chaos."
Seo-Ha scanned the station, tense.
Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Commuters rushed past them, oblivious. Trains roared somewhere deep underground.
She stepped toward the ticket gate.
It slid open automatically.
Seo-Ha jumped back, startled.
Min-Jae blinked. "You've never seen automatic doors?"
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the gate. "It sensed your presence."
"No," he deadpanned. "It sensed my transportation card."
She stared at the plastic card in his hand as if it were a relic of ancient power.
Min-Jae sighed. "Please don't tell me you're from the kind of future that forgot technology."
Her lips pressed thin. "Technology doesn't matter when time collapses."
He paused.
"…Right. Of course. Casual."
They moved through the gate. Seo-Ha kept glancing at security cameras.
"Are those watchers?"
"Cameras," Min-Jae corrected. "They record things."
She stiffened. "Record… time?"
"Yes. That's… how videos work."
Her expression darkened, like she had just discovered humanity's most reckless invention.
Min-Jae couldn't help it—he laughed.
It burst out of him, sharp and almost hysterical.
"You know what? I don't know what kind of fantasy apocalypse you walked out of, but you're kind of terrible at blending in."
Seo-Ha stopped walking.
He almost walked into her.
She turned slowly.
"I am not here to blend in."
Something in her tone silenced him.
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"You felt it, didn't you?"
He hesitated.
The truth sat heavy in his chest.
"…Yeah."
"The moment the petals stopped."
He nodded.
"And when you touched one," she continued, studying him carefully, "you saw something."
Min-Jae swallowed.
He hadn't told her that.
"You're the only one who could move," she said.
His joking energy faded.
The subway lights flickered again.
For just a second, the reflection in the tiled wall behind her shimmered.
Min-Jae blinked.
In the reflection—
The station wasn't modern.
It was old stone.
Lanterns instead of lights.
People in hanbok standing where commuters should be.
Then it snapped back.
He staggered.
"Okay," he muttered. "Either I'm hallucinating or your presence is really bad for my mental health."
Seo-Ha's face went pale.
"It's starting already."
"What is?"
She grabbed his wrist.
The black thread bracelet on her arm glowed faintly.
"Follow me."
She didn't head toward the platform.
She moved toward a narrow hallway marked STAFF ONLY.
Min-Jae resisted slightly. "You realize that sign means we're not allowed in there."
"In my time," she said dryly, "signs are warnings, not laws."
She pushed the door open.
Instead of an office—
They found stairs.
Old stone stairs.
Not subway infrastructure.
Not modern.
Covered in faint golden symbols that pulsed when Min-Jae stepped forward.
He froze.
Seo-Ha watched him.
"They're reacting," she whispered.
"Great," he replied weakly. "I'm allergic to glowing ancient things."
The stairs descended into darkness.
A faint golden glow shimmered below.
Min-Jae glanced back toward the station.
The door behind them… was gone.
In its place was solid tiled wall.
He stared at it.
"…Okay. That's new."
Seo-Ha didn't look surprised.
"You've crossed into a sealed space."
"Like a VIP lounge?"
"…Like a shrine."
He sighed.
"Of course it's a shrine."
They descended.
The air grew warmer.
The smell changed—less metal and electricity, more incense and something sweet, like old blossoms preserved in honey.
At the bottom—
The space opened into a vast underground chamber.
Min-Jae's breath caught.
A massive tree stood at the center.
Not entirely alive.
Not entirely dead.
Its trunk was gold-veined stone, cracked with glowing lines that pulsed faintly. Its branches reached upward into darkness, leaves suspended like frozen fireflies.
Golden petals hovered around it—similar to the ones from the street.
Except these were thicker.
Heavier.
More real.
Seo-Ha stepped forward slowly.
Her voice softened.
"The Golden Heart."
Min-Jae stared.
"This is under the subway."
"Yes."
"Like… directly under the train?"
"Yes."
He blinked.
"…That feels like poor city planning."
For the first time—
Seo-Ha almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the tree shuddered.
A crack spread along its trunk.
A deep, resonant hum filled the chamber.
Min-Jae felt it in his ribs.
Like the tree was breathing—and struggling.
Seo-Ha's expression shifted from awe to alarm.
"It's worse than I thought."
Min-Jae stepped closer.
The moment he did—
The golden veins flared bright.
The hovering petals spiraled toward him.
One touched his forehead.
And suddenly—
He wasn't in the shrine anymore.
He stood in a palace courtyard.
Cherry blossoms everywhere.
A woman in hanbok turned toward him.
Her face—
It was Seo-Ha.
But older.
Sad.
She whispered:
"You promised."
The vision shattered.
Min-Jae stumbled back into the shrine, gasping.
Seo-Ha grabbed his shoulders.
"What did you see?"
He stared at her.
"…You."
Her grip tightened.
The chamber trembled.
And from the darkness beyond the tree—
A slow clap echoed.
Min-Jae and Seo-Ha turned together.
A man stepped into the golden light.
Tall.
Well-dressed.
Calm smile.
Eyes that looked tired of centuries.
"Ah," he said smoothly.
"So this is where you've been hiding."
Seo-Ha's face went cold.
"Baek Do-Yun."
The man tilted his head politely.
"At your service."
His gaze shifted to Min-Jae.
And his smile deepened.
"You really shouldn't exist," he said.
Min-Jae exhaled.
"Okay, this is becoming a theme."
The Golden Heart cracked again.
And this time—
It sounded like something breaking.