Morning came again.Only this time, Ha-rin woke to the same sunrise as yesterday.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Jae-hyun:
"Are you awake? We've looped. Don't panic."
She groaned, half in disbelief, half in exhaustion."I'm starting to miss normal Mondays," she muttered.
When she reached Luma Group, the building lobby looked identical — but not quite.The receptionist greeted her like it was her first day.The art installation she'd unveiled last week wasn't there.
Time had undone itself.
In the boardroom, Jae-hyun was waiting, sleeves rolled up, tie undone, calm unraveling by degrees.He looked at her with that expression she was starting to recognize — the one that said I've already tried to fix it once today.
"Okay," she said, "catch me up."
"We're twelve hours behind," he said. "Everything from yesterday has been erased — except us."
She raised an eyebrow. "Lucky us."
"Depends on your definition of luck," he said dryly.
He projected a holographic map — timelines overlapping like tangled threads."The pocket watch is acting like an anchor," he explained. "It's pulling us backward in cycles, each one shorter than the last."
Ha-rin frowned. "So what happens when the cycles hit zero?"
He looked up at her. "Then everything collapses into the core. No loops. No city. Just… silence."
Her voice was soft. "And us?"
He hesitated. "If we're constants, maybe we survive the silence. But what kind of life is that?"
She smiled faintly. "A quiet one?"
He chuckled. "You'd still find a way to make it noisy."
Later, they sat in the rooftop café that had somehow reopened, pretending for an hour that the world wasn't unraveling.
She stirred her coffee absentmindedly. "If every loop changes something, maybe we can too."
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"Maybe we don't have to wait for Echo to decide the reset point. Maybe we make our own."
He leaned forward. "A manual override?"
She nodded. "Through the watch. It responds to our link. If it listens to us, we can stop the next loop before it starts."
"By doing what?"
"By remembering everything. All twelve cycles. All versions of us."
He stared at her. "That's impossible. Human memory can't—"
"Maybe not human," she interrupted. "But love remembers. Even when time doesn't."
He went silent.Then he smiled softly. "You're not talking about science anymore."
"I stopped caring about science when it started breaking my heart," she said quietly.
That night, the countdown began again.The city shimmered as the twelve-hour cycle reset—streets reversing, clouds unforming.
Ha-rin and Jae-hyun stood on the rooftop, holding the watch together.Its second hand spun wildly now, faster, desperate.
He looked at her. "This is it."
She nodded. "Then say it."
He whispered, "I love you."
The world flickered—buildings fading, air shimmering, light bending.
She smiled through tears. "Then remember it. No matter where we land next."
They pressed their foreheads together as the watch's light exploded, engulfing everything in white.
For a moment, they were nowhere.Then, faintly—
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound of time choosing its next beginning.