The first thing Min-Jae noticed when they stepped out of the shrine—
Was hunger.
The second thing—
Was that his phone now had 47 missed calls.
He stared at the screen.
"…Okay. That feels illegal."
Seo-Ha peered over his shoulder like it was a suspicious artifact.
"What is that device doing?"
"Judging me," he muttered. "And probably ending my social life."
He turned the screen toward her.
"It records missed calls."
Her brows knitted together. "Missed… time connections?"
He blinked.
"…You know what? Yes. Sure. Let's call them that."
They emerged from the subway into normal evening Seoul. Traffic lights blinked obediently. No cracks in the sky. No floating petals.
Just life.
Min-Jae exhaled deeply. "Good. Normal."
Then his stomach growled loudly.
Seo-Ha's eyes widened.
"Are you injured?"
"That," he said gravely, "is starvation."
She looked alarmed.
Min-Jae pulled out his phone and tapped rapidly.
"What are you doing?"
"Summoning food."
Her head snapped up. "Summoning?"
"Delivery app."
"You can command nourishment to arrive?"
"Yes."
"…Without ritual?"
He paused.
"Well. I do input my address."
She stared at him in pure disbelief.
Min-Jae smirked. "Welcome to modern civilization."
Twenty minutes later, they sat in Min-Jae's small apartment.
Seo-Ha sat stiffly on the edge of the couch like it might judge her.
The doorbell rang.
She jumped to her feet instantly.
Min-Jae blinked. "It's chicken, not an invasion."
He opened the door and handed cash to the delivery driver.
Seo-Ha watched in silent astonishment.
"You trust strangers with your location?"
He handed her a box.
"We trust strangers with everything."
She opened the lid slowly.
The smell of fried chicken filled the room.
Her eyes widened.
"…It smells dangerous."
He laughed. "That's the best kind."
She hesitated.
Then took one bite.
Her expression froze.
Min-Jae leaned forward eagerly. "Well?"
Her eyes glistened faintly.
"…This may be worth protecting."
He burst into laughter.
"See? Now that's the reaction I expected when I showed you automatic doors."
She took another bite, slightly less cautious.
Min-Jae watched her for a moment.
Then something in his chest tightened.
Not physically.
Memory.
He frowned slightly.
"Did we… already do this?"
Seo-Ha paused mid-chew.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"No. Nothing."
But something felt… off.
A tiny gap in his thoughts.
Like a missing word on the tip of his tongue.
He stood suddenly.
"I need water."
He walked into the kitchen.
He opened the cabinet.
Then stopped.
Why was he here?
He blinked.
"…Right. Water."
He grabbed a glass.
In the living room, Seo-Ha slowly lowered the chicken.
Her bracelet was glowing faintly.
The Golden Heart was pulsing again.
And this time—
It was not gentle.
Across the city—
Baek Do-Yun stood on the rooftop of a high-rise building.
The wind caught his coat dramatically, but he ignored it.
His gaze fixed on the Han River.
Golden light flickered faintly across the water.
A new fracture was forming.
"Not history," he murmured.
"Something more personal."
He extended his hand.
The river shimmered.
And somewhere inside the flow of time—
A memory loosened.
Back in Min-Jae's apartment—
Seo-Ha stood abruptly.
"Min-Jae."
He returned from the kitchen.
"What?"
She stared at him.
"What did you just forget?"
He blinked. "Forget?"
"You walked into the kitchen and stopped."
He shrugged lightly. "Everyone does that."
"No," she said softly.
The bracelet glowed brighter.
"The Golden Heart is unstable."
He tried to laugh it off.
"Okay. But we just fixed the prince."
"Every correction shifts something else."
He frowned.
"…That sounds unfair."
"It is."
The room lights flickered.
Min-Jae's chest tightened.
A strange sensation spread behind his eyes.
A memory surfaced—
Him as a child.
Holding someone's hand.
Laughing.
A woman's voice calling his name.
Then—
The image blurred.
Like ink dissolving in water.
He gasped.
Seo-Ha grabbed his shoulders.
"What do you remember?"
"My—" He froze.
"…My…"
His mind felt empty where something should be.
Seo-Ha's face went pale.
"What was her name?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I… don't know."
The Golden Heart demanded balance.
And Do-Yun had just taken his first piece.
Min-Jae staggered backward.
"That's not funny."
His voice cracked slightly.
Seo-Ha's eyes filled with horror.
"He targeted you."
"What did he take?"
She swallowed.
"A memory that anchored you."
He pressed his fingers to his temples.
"Of who?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Your grandmother."
The word hit something inside him—
But didn't attach.
He stared at her helplessly.
"I know I had one."
"Yes."
"I just… can't see her face."
Silence thickened.
Seo-Ha closed her eyes briefly.
"It has begun."
Min-Jae looked at her.
"What has?"
"The exchange."
The lights flickered again.
The Golden Heart pulsed violently.
Far beneath the city—
A new crack spread across its trunk.
Larger than before.
Do-Yun smiled from the rooftop.
"Now," he murmured.
"Let us see how much love you can afford to lose."
Back in the apartment—
Min-Jae stood very still.
Then slowly—
He sat back down on the couch.
He picked up a piece of chicken.
Took a bite.
Swallowed.
Seo-Ha stared at him.
"You're not reacting."
He looked at her.
And for the first time—
His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"If I panic," he said quietly,
"doesn't it get worse?"
The Golden Heart pulsed in rhythm with his steady heartbeat.
Seo-Ha understood then.
He wasn't calm because he wasn't hurting.
He was calm because he refused to let it break further.
And that—
That frightened her more than anything.