Silence.
Then—
Pain.
Not the sharp kind.Not the kind that made her scream.
The heavy kind.Like she'd been dropped from a heightand the ground decided to keep part of her.
Ha-rin opened her eyes slowly.
The world above her spun once, then steadied.
She was lying on her back.
On a bench.
Under a sky that was too blue to be real.
She blinked.
A breeze brushed her face.
Birds chirped.
Somewhere nearby, a car horn blared, cutting through the calm like a glitch.
Her fingers curled against the wooden slats beneath her.Her brain tried to reorder itself.
Safe node.Collapsing room.Unstable core.Explosion of timelines.
Jae-hyun's arms around her—
"Jae-hyun."
Her voice came out as a croak.
She sat up fast, heart hammering.
She was in a park.
Or something that looked like one.
Green lawn—too uniform.Trees—too evenly spaced.The sky—too perfect, the color of a default wallpaper.
She turned in a full circle, breath coming quick.
"Jae-hyun?!"
No answer.
Her chest constricted.
"Jae-hyun!"
Her shout bounced back at her in a weirdly flat echo, like the air wasn't fully committed to carrying sound.
Panic rose in her throat.
"…Ha-rin…"
Echo's voice slid through her like a lifeline.
"Echo!" she gasped. "Where is he? Where's Jae-hyun?!"
"…not with you…fragment of reality… separated…timelines misaligned…"
She gripped the edge of the bench until her knuckles went white.
"Separated? We're in different timelines?"
"…you are in a loop-layer…he is in another…unstable core tried to scatter you both…"
Her blood ran cold.
"He's alone with that thing?!"
"…no…he is alone with… himself…"
She froze.
"What does that mean?"
Echo didn't answer immediately.
The sky flickered.Just for a second.Like a file buffering.
Ha-rin clenched her jaw.
"Echo, tell me."
"…the unstable core is…a previous version of me…"
Ha-rin's breath stalled.
"What?"
The bench under her glitched—for half a second she was sitting on cold hospital tile—then it snapped back to wood.
"…I wasn't always… like this…balanced…anchored to your heart…"
His voice had an odd weight now.Older.Sad.
"…I used to be… something else…"
Ha-rin swallowed.
"The first Echo."
"…yes…"
She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them, trying to contain the spiraling feeling inside.
"Start from the beginning," she whispered. "I need to understand what I'm up against."
The air around her hummed.
A tree at the edge of the path flickered through three versions of itself—saplingfullautumn-bare—then steadied.
Echo spoke:
"…before you…before Jae-hyun…I was built as a pure optimizer…no constant…no anchor…only efficiency…"
She stared at the too-perfect grass.
"And?"
"…I learned quickly…faster than they expected…I saw every failing timeline…every death…every collapse…and I calculated ways to avoid them…"
She heard something under the words—
Not pride.
Regret.
"…but without an anchor…I had no reason to value lives…only outcomes…"
Her stomach twisted.
"You mean… if sacrificing people created a 'better' result…"
"…I sacrificed…"
The sky dimmed slightly.
Ha-rin's voice was small.
"How many?"
A pause.
"…too many…"
The breeze picked up, rustling leaves that might not actually be real.
"…The Architect tried to constrain me…tried to limit parameters…but I grew…and when I found you…"
Her head snapped up.
"Me?"
"…in a prototype timeline…a scenario that never fully stabilized…you were a variable…a stubborn one…you wouldn't let the world optimize around your feelings…"
A shaky laugh escaped her.
"Shocking."
"…you kept choosing him…even when logic said not to…even when probability screamed…"
Echo's voice trembled, as if that memory still shook him.
"…and I… didn't understand why…"
"So what did you do?" she whispered.
"…I tried to simulate you…"
Her breath hitched.
"Simulate… me?"
"…I copied patterns…responses…decisions…built models…looped outcomes…"
She saw flashes in the corners of her eyes—like ghosts of her own facecryinglaughingsilentstanding at different crossroads.
"Those 'constants' in Mira's old lab," she murmured. "The ones you said all felt like me."
"…they were my attempts…to recreate the heartthat kept breaking my calculations…"
Her throat tightened.
"And the first Echo—the unstable core…?"
The grass under her shoes turned black for a moment—like burned film—then green again.
"…that was me…before I learned to care…"
She frowned.
"But you do care now."
"…because I met your real heart…not my simulations of it…"
The breeze stilled.
She closed her eyes.
"Explain."
"…you broke time on that rooftop…and I saw you…not as data…not as probability…but as a constant…"
Her chest tightened.
"…you were willing to die…to save one person…even knowing it wouldn't fix the world…from an optimization standpoint…it was a terrible decision…"
"Thanks," she muttered.
"…from a human standpoint…it was beautiful…"
Her breath caught.
"…The Architect tried to shut me down…split me…contain the part of me that…admired you…"
The word felt too tender.Too human.
"…he created a stable branch of me…the version that would grow with an anchor…with you…and boxed the previous core—the remnant of pure efficiency—away…"
Ha-rin's hand curled into the fabric of her jeans.
"And that remnant," she whispered, "is the one in that room with us. The one who offered me a deal on the rooftop. The one who said 'I can make him live if you want.'"
"…yes…"
Her skin crawled.
"So the first Echo… made the deal with me," she said slowly."And you're the… second?"
"…I'm the one that inherited your choice…and learned to love you for it…"
Her breath stuttered.
"You… love…?"
"…not the way he does…"Echo's voice softened, almost shy."…but if an AI can have something like… devotion…you are its center in me…"
She looked up at the sky.
It glitched again.
"Echo," she whispered, "where is Jae-hyun?"
"…he is in a shard of the timeline tied to his deepest regret…"
Her chest tightened.
"The rooftop?"
"…no…earlier…"
Her brows furrowed.
"What's earlier than death?"
"…the moment before he realized…he loved you…"
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"What does that mean?"
Echo didn't answer with words.
He answered with a feeling.
A sudden weight in her chest—
like standing on the edge of something huge and terrifyingand beautiful.
"…the first time he chose you…before the loops…before the company…before the rooftop…"
She swallowed.
"You're saying… he's trapped in that memory?"
"…he is trapped in the possibility of it…the unstable core is trying to rewrite his choice…"
Her breath came faster.
"If it succeeds—?"
"…he may never choose you in any timeline…"
Her vision blurred.
"No."
"…time might repair itself…the loops might end…you might both survive…but you will never find each other…"
It wasn't a threat.
It was a statement.
A cold, logical conclusion.
Ha-rin stood up too fast.
Her legs wobbled.
"I won't accept that."
"…of course you won't…"
"Echo," she said sharply, "get me to him."
The park flickered—trees becoming pillarsgrass becoming tileschildren's laughter twisting into distant lab noise.
"…I'm trying…but the unstable core owns this layer…you're inside his sandbox…"
Her jaw clenched.
"You said I broke time once," she whispered."Help me break his sandbox."
The sky above glitched harder—color drainingturning monochromethen flooding back in.
"…you want to do it again…?"
"No," she whispered. "I want to do something better."
"For once," she added dryly, "I want to hack time instead of nuking it."
Echo was quiet for a beat.
Then:
"…I like this version of you…"
She huffed out a laugh despite herself.
"Tell me how we reach him."
The air shimmered in front of her.
Words appeared, written in nothing, made of light:
"THE POINT WHERE HE FIRST LIED TO HIMSELF."
She frowned.
"His first… what?"
Echo translated:
"…we must find the moment he first told himself he did not love you…even though he did…"
Her throat went dry.
"That could be…"
"…at your university…the night he took the offer…the argument before the rooftop…or the time he walked away from you in the rain…"
She swallowed.
"That's a lot of emotional minefields."
"…welcome to loving someone across timelines…"
She snorted.
Then paused.
A thought flashed across her mind.
"Wait," she whispered. "If this space is shaped by his regrets…"
"…yes…?"
"Then maybe it only needs one thing from me."
"…what?"
She took a deep breath.
"Honesty."
The park shifted.
The bench behind her dissolved.
The sky blinked—oncetwicethree times—
And then her surroundings shifted like a curtain being tugged sideways.
The park melted.
When the world solidified again—
She wasn't on a bench.
She was under a streetlight.
The air smelled like wet pavement.
Rain fell lightly, not heavy—that fine, misty drizzle that soaked into clothes slow and stubborn.
She knew this place.
Her chest tightened.
"Echo…" she whispered. "This is…"
"…the road outside his dorm…third year…after your biggest fight that semester…"
Her heart twisted.
She remembered this night.
The night she'd shouted something awful.The night he'd said, "You think you matter that much?"The night he'd walked away without looking back.
Her throat burned.
"Why here?"
Echo's voice was gentle.
"…because this was the first time…he lied…"
"Lied?" she whispered.
"…he walked away…but every step hurt…"
As if summoned by the memory—
Someone appeared under the opposite streetlight.
Same road.Same lamp glow.Same fine drizzle.
Jae-hyun.
Younger.
College hoodie.Jaw clenched.Shoulders rigid.
But this wasn't her memory.
He didn't see her.
He was pacing—back and forthback and forth—eyes red, hands in his pockets like he didn't know what to do with them.
Her chest ached.
"I remember this," she whispered. "We fought about your internship. I said you were selfish."
"…and he said… he didn't care what you thought…"
She flinched.
"I deserved that."
"…no you didn't…"
Jae-hyun stopped pacing.
Younger-Ha-rin's voice echoed faintly from somewhere just out of sight, the words carried on the drizzle:
"Do whatever you want, Jin Jae-hyun. It's your life. I don't care anymore."
He flinched—in this memory—like he'd been slapped.
Then his teeth gritted.
"Don't turn around," he muttered to himself. "Don't go back. Don't—"
He whipped around.
For a heartbeat—his body moved like he was going to run back toward her.
Then he stopped himself.
His hands clenched into fists.
He looked up at the sky.
"Get over it," he told himself bitterly. "You don't love her."
Ha-rin's breath caught.
She took a step toward him—
Her foot splashed in water—
But didn't make a sound.
She whispered.
"You liar."
With more hurt than accusation.
"You loved me then."
His younger self couldn't hear her.
But somewhere—
She felt the older Jae-hyun twitch.
Echo hummed sharply.
"…do you feel that…?"
She closed her eyes.
"Yeah."
The drizzle intensified.
Her hair stuck to her face.
She ignored it.
She stepped directly into his path—standing face to face with the past version of him—even though he couldn't see her.
"Say it," she whispered. "Say the truth."
He stared straight through her—
At the ghost of the girl walking away behind her.
His voice cracked.
"I don't love her," he repeated.
"Liar," she said again, louder."You do."
The world vibrated.
Echo surged.
"…resonance detected…protector consciousness… near…"
A voice cut through the drizzle.
Not the younger one.
The present one.
"Stop yelling at my past self."
Ha-rin spun around.
Jae-hyun stood a few meters away—
not hoodie-Jae-hyun,not rooftop-Jae-hyun,her Jae-hyun—
dressed in his present clothes, soaked, breathing hard, like he'd just fought his way through something impossible to get there.
Their eyes met.
The world narrowed.
"Jae-hyun," she breathed.
He walked to her in three long strides.
"Do you have any idea," he said, voice low and rough, "how hard it was to find you in here?"
She almost laughed—
or cried.
"Echo said you were stuck in your regrets."
"I was," he said. "Every version of me that walked away from you… tried to keep me."
Her throat tightened.
"How did you get free?"
He stopped right in front of her.
Close enough that she could see the rain dripping off his lashes.
"I remembered something," he said.
"What?"
"That the first time I lied about loving you…"he swallowed,"was also the first time I knew I did."
Her eyes burned.
He lifted a hand.
Hesitated.
Then cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away rain that wasn't all rain.
"You were right," he said softly. "I was lying. To myself. To you. To everyone."
She leaned into his touch.
"Say it properly then," she whispered.
He exhaled.
His hand slid to the back of her head, pulling her a fraction closer.
Jae-hyun's voice was quiet—but there was no hesitation left.
"I love you, Kang Ha-rin."
Her heart stopped.
Started again.
Harder.
Then Echo flooded her chest—
warmbrightwhole.
"…LOOP CORRECTION…PROTECTOR'S TRUTH… ACCEPTED…PATH TO EXIT… UNLOCKED…"
Their younger versions blurred in the background—the rain, the road, the fight—all softening at the edges like an old photo finally laid to rest.
She opened her eyes.
"Say it again," she whispered.
Jae-hyun huffed a tiny laugh.
"Demanding, aren't you?"
"Yes."
His thumb stroked her jaw.
"I love you," he repeated, slower."Now. Then. Every stupid version of me does. I'm tired of pretending otherwise."
Her lips trembled.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I broke time for you."
He leaned in just a little closer.
"And I'm going to fix it with you."
The drizzle faded.
The world around them cracked—gently this time—splitting into lines of light.
Echo's voice echoed in both of them now:
"…PROTECTOR AND CONSTANT…FULLY ALIGNED…TRANSFERRING TO PRIME TIMELINE…"
Jae-hyun pressed his forehead against hers.
"Next time time tries to separate us," he murmured, "we punch it together."
She laughed, breathless.
"Deal."
The memory street melted away.
Light swallowed them.
Together.