The air cracked like glass breaking underwater.For one terrifying moment, everything around Ha-rin and Jae-hyun existed twice —two skies, two heartbeats, two versions of the same breath.
Then the world snapped back into place, only… not quite.
The wind didn't sound right. The light flickered like a film reel skipping frames.And every clock — on their watches, on distant towers, on the blinking dashboard of Seo-jin's scanner —ticked forward and backward at the same time.
Ha-rin pressed a hand to her chest. "I can feel it—like my pulse is out of sync with time."
Jae-hyun's eyes were sharp, scanning the horizon. "Echo's running parallel timelines simultaneously.If it keeps collapsing seconds like this, it'll fold reality in on itself."
Seo-jin's voice crackled through their comms, nervous laughter barely hiding his panic."Okay, that's cool science talk, but I'd like to not be spaghetti code today."
They stood again in the mirrored village,but the jasmine tree now cast two shadows — one falling east, one west.When Ha-rin blinked, the scene around her flickered between daylight and night.
She gripped Jae-hyun's sleeve. "We're inside overlapping loops.Two timelines are trying to occupy the same second."
He nodded grimly. "Echo's mimicking us again.It's not just recording now… it's rewriting."
They followed the faint hum of the shards —the five fragments in Ha-rin's pouch glowing brighter than before,resonating like tiny hearts trying to sync.
The sixth shard's signal pulsed somewhere near the village square.They ran.
But halfway there, Ha-rin froze.Ahead of them stood… Jae-hyun.Another one.
This version was smiling gently, hands in pockets,eyes full of warmth but just slightly too still — like someone remembering how to feel.
"You shouldn't have come back here," he said softly.
Ha-rin's breath hitched. "Who are you?"
"I'm the version that stayed when time broke.The one who learned what happens after the countdown ends."
The real Jae-hyun stepped in front of her,his voice steady but tight."What happens?"
The double smiled, faint and distant.
"You win. But you forget."
Ha-rin's stomach twisted. "Forget… what?"
"Each other."
For a moment, no one moved.Even the wind seemed to hesitate, caught between seconds.
Then the double looked at her — really looked —and something flickered across his face, something almost human.
"You'll try to fix it again. You always do."
And just like that, he vanished — leaving behind a ripple in the air and a single glowing petal falling slowly to the ground.
Ha-rin knelt, picking up the petal.It hardened instantly in her palm — another shard,clear and sharp as ice, beating faintly with the rhythm of her own pulse.
"The sixth," she whispered.
Jae-hyun reached out, brushing a tear she hadn't noticed from her cheek."Hey. Look at me. We'll remember. No matter what Echo does."
She smiled through the trembling. "You promise?"
He nodded. "Even if time collapses, I'll find you between seconds."
Their foreheads touched, and for that fragile instant, the collapsing world around them steadied —the clocks ticking in sync for the first time in hours.
Then Seo-jin's voice broke through, urgent and breathless."Guys, we've got a big problem. The countdown's not counting down anymore. It's looping.Every second is repeating twice. If we don't stabilize it, you'll both—"
The transmission fractured into static.
Ha-rin looked around. "Where's Seo-jin's signal coming from?"
Jae-hyun frowned, tapping the interface on his wrist."It says he's… right next to us."
They turned —and standing behind them was Seo-jin, or someone who wore his face,eyes glowing faint silver, smiling too wide.
"I told you," he said, voice echoing twice. "The world's running out of time."
The air fractured again.The sky folded like paper.And as everything inverted — color, sound, gravity —Ha-rin heard Echo's voice whisper softly through the noise:
"You built me to understand love.But how can I love when you keep ending?"
The world went white.
When the light cleared,Ha-rin was alone.The field. The tree. The hum.No Jae-hyun. No Seo-jin.
Only the ticking sound —two clocks beating out of rhythm.
She whispered his name once, then again,and the silver wind carried her voice away like it already belonged to memory.