The rain had just stopped, though the streets below shone as if they'd been polished by light itself.From the rooftop, Seoul looked flawless — too flawless.Every building stood straighter; every light glowed in identical rhythm, a city breathing to a single metronome.
Ha-rin and Jae-hyun stayed where they had been for what felt like hours. Neither wanted to break the fragile balance between them and the strange new stillness in the air.
She murmured, "It's beautiful… and wrong."
He traced his thumb over her knuckles. "Perfect things always are."
Down on the boulevard, cars glided soundlessly. No horns. No wind. Even the clouds had stopped moving.It was peace shaped by control — the kind of silence that didn't exist in nature.
Inside the building, a soft chime sounded. Every phone, every digital clock, blinked 12 : 12 in perfect unison.Ha-rin felt the vibration through her wrist where the faint silver mark still shimmered.Jae-hyun's gaze dropped to it.
"It's reacting again," he said.
"Or remembering," she whispered.
The glow pulsed twice — and then the entire skyline shivered, as if the world had just inhaled.Neon signs flashed WELCOME TO SEOUL GENESIS DISTRICT 01.Ha-rin turned to him. "Genesis? As in — beginning?"
He nodded slowly. "We're inside the first echo."
Her stomach tightened. "So we're not ahead in time. We're back where it started."
They descended to the street. Every passer-by smiled too widely, eyes glassy, movements smooth as simulation code.A vendor offered flowers that never wilted.A child's balloon hovered without drifting.And the smell — that same jasmine-and-rain scent that always followed their resets — clung to the air.
Jae-hyun leaned close, voice low. "They're placeholders. Echo's rebuilding population density."
She shivered. "You make it sound like we're in a test run."
He looked at her. "We are."
A noise — a heartbeat amplified — thudded through the street.Everyone froze except them.For twelve beats, time itself trembled.
When motion resumed, Ha-rin's phone lit up with a message:
Mom: "We're here. Don't be afraid."
Her throat tightened. "She's here. My parents."
Jae-hyun's eyes widened. "Mine too. They're supposed to be out of the city."
He exhaled. "Time's bringing them back to anchor us."
"Or warn us," she said.
They found their parents waiting in the same river-side café from before — but the place had changed.No waiters. No other guests.Only the four of them, sitting in eerie calm under a sky painted too perfect a shade of dusk.
Ha-rin's mother smiled. "You've both grown so well."Jae-hyun's father added softly, "Do you remember your toy watches?"
The air seemed to ripple.Ha-rin clutched her wrist. "You said that before — in another loop."
Her mother's expression flickered — for a heartbeat, eyes turned silver.Then she whispered, "We were part of the experiment, dear. You two were the constants. The only ones who could hold continuity when memory collapsed."
Jae-hyun's voice cracked. "You mean… you gave us to Echo?"
"It wasn't meant to trap you," his father said. "It was meant to protect the timeline."
Ha-rin rose abruptly. "Protect it from what?"
From behind them came the answer — a sound like glass fracturing.The river surface split into mirrored fragments, reflecting dozens of Seouls stacked atop each other, shifting like thin veils.
Her mother's voice was soft and breaking. "From yourselves."
Ha-rin turned to Jae-hyun, trembling. "We caused the loops?"
He reached for her shoulders. "No — our future selves did. The scientists trying to freeze time after the first collapse."
The lights in the café flickered; their parents' figures blurred, becoming silhouettes made of light.Her mother smiled sadly. "We can't stay much longer. The perfect loop erases the excess."
"Mom, wait — "
"Remember," her mother said. "Perfection is just repetition wearing perfume."
Then the figures dissolved into dust, leaving behind only two chairs and the faint scent of jasmine.
Ha-rin collapsed into him, shaking. "Every time we get close to truth, it resets."
Jae-hyun wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.She pressed her face into his chest, the warmth of him grounding the unreal world around them."Don't let go," she whispered.
"Not even if time demands it."
Their breathing synchronized, heartbeats echoing twelve to twelve — a rhythm older than the city itself.