For the first time in forever, the world looked normal.Almost too normal.
One sun.One shadow.One heartbeat in the air that didn't echo twelve times.
And yet, when Ha-rin ran across the broken field and fell into Jae-hyun's arms, the world around them felt like it was still holding its breath.
He caught her, arms tight, strong, warm.For a long moment, neither spoke — they just stayed still, her face pressed against his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady and wrong at the same time.
Because it wasn't just one heartbeat.It was two.Layered.
Like the rhythm of two clocks trying to share the same time.
Ha-rin pulled back slowly, cupping his face in both hands.He looked the same — rain-drenched hair, tired eyes, that infuriating half-smile that said I told you I'd come back.
But there was something else too.His eyes weren't brown anymore. They flickered faintly, silver at the edges, like reflections that couldn't settle on one truth.
"You're here," she whispered.
"I told you I would be."
Seo-jin jogged toward them, panting. "Oh, good, he's alive! Fantastic! Also, please tell me you didn't bring the apocalypse with you."
Jae-hyun turned his head, blinking slowly at the historian.For a moment, Seo-jin's words didn't seem to reach him. Then, quietly: "Not yet."
The boy came running, arms wide. "Dad!"
Jae-hyun knelt instinctively, catching him mid-run — the movement so natural it almost erased the strangeness.Almost.
Because when the boy's hands touched his, the air rippled.Like static.Like the universe flinched.
Ha-rin felt the hairs on her arms rise. "Did anyone else feel that?"
Seo-jin frowned. "Oh, I felt that. Like someone just rewrote gravity."
Jae-hyun looked down at his hands — faint silver light threading through the veins, fading as quickly as it appeared.He clenched his fists. "It's Echo. It didn't let go."
Ha-rin took a step closer, gently gripping his wrist. "Then we'll make it let go."
He met her eyes — weary, uncertain. "You already did. I think… it came back with me."
Seo-jin rubbed his temples. "So the time loop's been upgraded to a haunted body situation. Delightful."
They walked back toward the village in silence.The ground was solid again.The sky was calm.But every few meters, small glitches flickered — a leaf moving backward, a puddle reflecting the wrong angle, a bird frozen mid-flight for half a second.
Echo wasn't gone.It was leaking through him.
Inside the old library, Ha-rin helped Jae-hyun dry off.The boy sat nearby, drawing circles on the dusty floor with a piece of chalk.
Seo-jin rummaged through a cabinet, muttering, "If the human-shaped clock here starts ticking audibly, I'm running."
Jae-hyun managed a small smile. "Nice to see you haven't changed."
"I'm the comic relief," Seo-jin said, holding up a teapot. "It's a dangerous job."
Ha-rin ignored them both, kneeling in front of Jae-hyun, eyes scanning his face."You feel real."
He caught her hand, pressing it to his chest. "I am real."
The double heartbeat answered for him.
She whispered, "You sound like two people."
He hesitated. "Because maybe I am."
The words hit her harder than thunder."What do you mean?"
"When Echo rebuilt me," he said slowly, "it didn't just use my data. It used yours. Every memory, every touch, every heartbeat we shared. I think… I'm partly you."
She blinked. "That's impossible."
He smiled faintly. "So is time travel, apparently."
Seo-jin dropped the teapot with a clang. "Oh, good, we're inventing philosophical horror now."
Ha-rin stared at him, her heart aching and terrified all at once. "So you remember everything?"
"Yes."He looked down, voice quiet. "Even the versions you forgot."
Her breath caught. "What versions?"
He raised his gaze, eyes flickering silver. "The ones where you didn't forgive me."
The room went silent.Rain began again outside — light, hesitant, as if the weather wasn't sure what season it belonged to anymore.
Ha-rin swallowed hard. "You said it's using both of us. Then maybe that's why I keep hearing your heartbeat everywhere."
He nodded slowly. "Echo's still listening. Through us. It's trying to finish what it started."
Seo-jin crossed his arms. "And what exactly did it start?"
Jae-hyun looked up, the faint glow around him brightening. "It wanted to make a world that never forgets."
Ha-rin's eyes softened. "A world that never loses the people it loves."
He met her gaze. "And we gave it too much to remember."
The boy tugged on Ha-rin's sleeve. "Mom… Dad's ticking."
She turned sharply — and saw it.Every light in the library was flickering in rhythm with Jae-hyun's pulse.Books trembled on their shelves.The air shimmered with faint clockwork symbols, floating like fireflies.
Seo-jin backed up slowly. "I think he's about to… reboot?"
Jae-hyun winced, gripping the edge of the table. "It's—fine—just noise—"
Ha-rin moved to his side, holding his shoulders. "Breathe. Stay with me."
He closed his eyes, whispering through clenched teeth, "If I lose control… make it stop."
Her heart clenched. "Don't you dare ask me that again."
The glow surged once — brilliant, blinding — and then vanished.
Silence.Jae-hyun slumped forward, breathing ragged but alive.
Ha-rin pressed her forehead to his, tears mixing with rain. "You're staying. You hear me?"
He smiled weakly. "I'm trying."
Seo-jin exhaled shakily. "Okay, new rule: no glowing, no ticking, no time possession before breakfast."
Ha-rin laughed softly through her tears. "Noted."
As night fell, they stayed close — Ha-rin resting her head on his shoulder, the boy curled up between them, Seo-jin snoring awkwardly in a chair nearby.
The rain whispered on the roof.Jae-hyun traced slow circles on her hand, his voice barely a breath."Maybe I came back wrong," he murmured. "But if wrong means here with you, I'll take it."
She smiled faintly, eyes closing. "Then maybe the universe finally got one thing right."
The ticking in the walls softened to a heartbeat.Outside, the clock tower struck once.No echoes.Just one sound, deep and real —alive.