It was morning again — but it was the kind of morning that felt too right.The air was clean, the sky was unreasonably blue, and Seoul gleamed like a painting drawn by a perfectionist.
Yoon Ha-rin woke up to birdsong outside her window, the scent of jasmine in the air, and the faint chime of a clock striking 12:12.Her first thought was him.Her second thought was that something was wrong.
Because perfection always was.
Downstairs, her apartment looked… improved.Every corner sparkled, the lights adjusted themselves, her sketchbook lay open on the coffee table — only this time, every page was blank.
All except the last one.There, in clean silver ink, were three words:
"Don't trust time."
Her heart lurched.
At Luma Group, the building was transformed.No flickering lights, no glitches — only smooth glass, perfect symmetry, employees moving with eerie precision.
Ha-rin stood in the lobby, feeling like an imposter in a world that didn't need her.
Then she saw him.
Kang Jae-hyun.
He walked out of the elevator — immaculate suit, calm confidence, a soft smile that hit her like gravity.
She ran to him, words spilling."Jae-hyun! You remember, right? The loops, the watch—"
He frowned slightly, polite and distant. "Miss Yoon, is everything all right?"
Her breath caught. "You… don't remember me?"
He smiled, gentle but unknowing. "Of course I do. You work in the Visual Simulation Division."
Her world tilted.Same face.Same voice.No memory.
For the next few days, Ha-rin lived like a ghost.
Every corner of the city felt like déjà vu, every conversation like an echo from a dream.Jae-hyun greeted her in meetings, offered polite nods, and once — only once — smiled in a way that made her wonder if something inside him did remember.
She started sketching again — the rooftops, the rain, the ticking clock.And each night, the pocket watch glowed faintly on her nightstand, whispering its backward rhythm.
Then, one evening, a knock on her door.
She opened it.Jae-hyun stood there, soaked from the rain that had started without warning.
"Director Kang?" she asked cautiously.
He gave a soft laugh. "You always call me that when you're nervous."
Her eyes widened. "You—"
He stepped forward, rain dripping onto the floor. "It came back. The memories. All at once. The rooftop, the loops, the watch—"
She exhaled shakily. "You scared me."
"Trust me," he said, voice trembling, "you scare me more."
They laughed — quietly, helplessly — until the tension broke.Then silence stretched between them, fragile and alive.
He reached out, fingers brushing the raindrops from her hair."Every version of you looks the same when it rains," he murmured.
Her cheeks flushed. "You've seen too many versions."
He smiled. "And I keep falling for every one."
She didn't move as he stepped closer — so close she could feel his breath.
"You remember everything now?" she whispered.
"Everything," he said. "Including this."
He cupped her cheek gently, thumb tracing the faint tremor there — not crossing the line, just hovering in that sacred space between want and restraint.
And then he whispered, "In every loop, I always forget something — but never you."
Outside, thunder rolled softly.Inside, time seemed to pause.
Ha-rin leaned against him, forehead resting on his shoulder."Then maybe we fight it together this time," she whispered.
He smiled into her hair. "That's the plan."
She looked up, eyes shimmering. "If time's listening, I hope it's jealous."
He laughed — low, genuine, the kind that makes your chest ache with warmth."Knowing time, it probably is."
They stood there a while longer — her fingers tracing the back of his hand, his heartbeat steady against hers — until the clock struck 12:12 again.
And somewhere deep in the city, the perfect world cracked.