Morning arrived like it had forgotten to rest.Rain clouds still lingered over Seoul, turning the glass towers into soft ghosts of themselves.Inside Luma Group, the mood was far from soft — urgent whispers, flashing notifications, and that particular kind of tension that only appeared when people knew something big was about to happen but didn't dare to say it aloud.
Yoon Ha-rin stepped out of the elevator clutching her sketchbook, now sealed in a folder. She hadn't dared to open it since last night.Each time she touched the cover, she swore she could feel a faint hum beneath her fingers — as though ink itself remembered the rain.
Kang Jae-hyun was already waiting in his office, sleeves rolled, coffee untouched, eyes darker than usual.He looked like he'd been awake all night.She didn't have to ask.
"You saw it too, right?" she said quietly, shutting the door behind her.
"The clock in your sketch moving?"He nodded slowly. "Yeah. I recorded it."
"You recorded it?"
He held up his phone. The screen showed a short clip — the sketchbook page trembling, the minute hand on the drawn clock turning on its own.
"Proof," he said softly. "If the world ever tries to tell us we're crazy."
She exhaled, relief and disbelief tangled in the same breath."So… what happens at midnight?"
He looked down at his phone again. "That's the thing. It did happen."
Her heartbeat stilled. "What do you mean?"
He turned the screen to her again. The recording time stamp read 12:12 a.m., but the footage itself… was blank.Twelve minutes of static.
When he hit play, a faint voice slipped through — distant, mechanical, and somehow familiar.
"Echo sequence: Seoul Loop reactivation. Board access required. Meeting code 731–A."
Ha-rin's skin prickled."The board? That's the executive access level."
Jae-hyun nodded grimly. "And that code? It's a meeting number. I checked the system this morning. There's no record of any meeting scheduled with that ID."
She blinked. "So… it doesn't exist?"
"Exactly," he said. "Which means we're attending it."
The "meeting" was set for noon.Room 731-A was on the top restricted floor — a space Ha-rin had never even been near.Jae-hyun's keycard granted entry. Her name wasn't on the list, but his message on the access form read simply:
"Creative Director, Visual Simulation Division."
She raised an eyebrow. "You forged my title?"
He smiled faintly. "Only promoted you a little."
They stepped inside.
The conference room was dimly lit, blinds drawn.A large circular table gleamed under a single overhead lamp.Seven executives sat around it — a mixture of faces from different branches, all serious, all too calm.
In the center of the table stood a sleek black console with a glowing silver logo: ECHO RESEARCH DIVISION.
Ha-rin swallowed hard. It was real.
An older man with steel-gray hair — Chairman Han, the board's head — looked up as they entered."Director Kang. Miss Yoon. You made it."
Ha-rin frowned. "You… know who I am?"
Han smiled, a polite, thin curve. "Everyone here knows who you are. We've been expecting you both."
Jae-hyun's tone sharpened. "Then maybe you can explain why my department's network is riddled with ghost files and time anomalies."
A few executives exchanged glances.Han clasped his hands. "You'll understand soon enough."
He tapped a button on the console.
The lights dimmed.A holographic display rose from the table — projections of city grids, data loops, glowing lines twisting into twelve intersecting circles.
Ha-rin's breath caught. "It's… the same pattern from the lab."
Han nodded. "Project Echo wasn't designed to stop time. It was designed to map it. To create predictive visualizations of events using human-linked data."
"Human-linked?" Jae-hyun asked.
Han looked directly at Ha-rin. "Certain individuals were chosen — born with unique neurological frequencies capable of syncing with Echo's quantum layer. Your childhood connection, your cognitive resonance — it wasn't coincidence. It was design."
Her mind reeled. "You're saying we were— what — chosen?"
"Not chosen," Han said. "Reactivated. The loop only begins when both of you reconnect. Every twelve-minute cycle is a system calibration — Echo learning from you."
Ha-rin's voice trembled. "Learning what?"
"How to survive the collapse that's coming," he said simply.
The air seemed to thin.
Jae-hyun stepped forward. "You're experimenting with the loop — again? You caused the anomalies."
Han didn't flinch. "Director Kang, every major breakthrough has collateral. We only repeated what your team began ten years ago."
"Ten years—" Jae-hyun stopped, then whispered, "The files from the lab. Those faces… that was us."
Han's gaze softened. "Your past selves initiated Project Echo. You tried to rewrite a twelve-minute collapse event that would erase this entire timeline. You failed then. But now…"He smiled. "Now the system's stable because your link is stronger."
Ha-rin shook her head, her pulse wild. "So we're just— components in your machine?"
"You're more than that," Han said. "You're the constants."
The room fell silent.For a moment, even the ticking clock on the wall seemed to hold its breath.
Then Jae-hyun said quietly, "If what you're saying is true, we need full data access."
Han chuckled softly. "Still the same — always the negotiator. Fine. But remember — you asked for the truth."
He tapped the console again.The hologram shifted, showing Seoul's skyline wrapped in twelve glowing circles of light — each labeled ECHO NODE.
The first circle pulsed in red: Aureum-ri.The second: Seoul.The third flickered faintly, unlabeled.
Ha-rin whispered, "There's a third?"
Han nodded. "And it's waking soon. If you want to stop it, you'll need to find it before we do."
As the lights brightened, Han stood. "You have twelve days. After that, the system reboots, and the next echo replaces this timeline. Good luck, Director Kang. Miss Yoon."
He walked out, the others following, leaving them alone in the humming quiet.
Ha-rin sank into a chair. "Twelve days," she murmured. "Always twelve."
Jae-hyun paced, hands clenched. "They're using us. Again."
She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with fear and determination. "Then let's stop letting them."
He turned to her. "You mean—"
"I mean," she said, standing, "we find the third echo before they do. We end the loop on our terms."
He stared at her, admiration softening his anger. "You're impossible."
"And you love that," she said.
He smiled, shaking his head. "I really do."
They left the room together, the tension still electric between them.
As the elevator doors closed, Ha-rin caught her reflection in the mirrored wall — but for a split second, it wasn't her reflection.It was a version of herself in a white lab coat, whispering:
"Don't trust the chairman."
The lights flickered.
When they steadied again, only her own face looked back — pale, wide-eyed, alive.