…never occurred before.
Ha-Joon's mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He couldn't move, breathe, think straight even.
His eyes were fixed on Jihun's face as if his eyes alone could burrow through this bizarre, twisted shroud of reality.
His hands shook once more, not with terror, but bewilderment.
What is this? A dream? A delusion? Some sick joke by his dying brain in its last twitches of awareness?
Or worse.
Was it real?
Was this… the past?
Had he been sent back?
But no, something about it didn't feel right, too clean, too whole.
Time didn't seem like it was going backwards.
It felt like it had splintered.
The textures of the classroom seemed too vivid to be a recollection, the soft creak of the fan in the ceiling, the warmth of sunlight on his arm, the dull pain in his chest as if the Han River still had hold of his bones.
Too much tactility.
Too now.
"Yo, bro, for real,"
Jihun slid forward, concern etched in his brow.
"You alright?"
That voice, that voice.
It was a knife wrapped in velvet, tearing open wounds Ha-Joon was convinced he had drowned.
He glanced away, down at his hands once more.
Those weren't his hands.
They belonged to a stranger.
A younger model, yes.
But not his anymore.
The mirror was still pulled out on his dresser.
He glanced again.
Same boy.
Same strange, young face.
But the eyes… were his.
Ha-Joon swallowed hard.
His voice came back like shards of glass in his throat.
"I-I don't know."
Jihun's short, careless laugh.
"I don't think so, kid. Welcome to Monday, man."
Monday?
Ha-Joon blinked.
Blindly reaching for his bag, he produced a notebook.
The date stamped in the upper corner of the class schedule sneered at him:
March 17th, 2019.
Six years ago.
His heart skipped a beat.
That was the year everything went to hell.
The year everything crumbled.
And now, impossibly, miraculously, here he was again.
But why?
Why now?
Why like this?
Had he been given a second chance?
Or was this some cruel punishment?
Jihun leaned back, tapping his pencil idly against his desk.
"Guess you're not gonna tell me about the ghost you saw, huh?"
Ha-Joon stared up at him again, at that same smile that had once been twisted into betrayal.
He balled his fists.
Whatever this was, a second chance, a delusion, a trick, he would find out.
But first…
He would discover whether this Jihun still had a knife hidden behind that smile.
Because Ha-Joon was not the same boy who leaped into the Han River anymore.
And if this world were going to mess with him…
He was going to mess back.
*****
.like all that ever really had any importance whatsoever had been erased, wiped clean like a chalkboard on the first day of school.
Ha-Joon's breath trembled in his chest.
He needed to scream.
He needed to lunge forward and grab Jihun by the collar, shake him, demand, how? why? what are you doing here?, but all he could do was stand there, stuck in a body too light, too young, too strange.
"Ha-Joon, you good?"
That voice again, pulling him back from the depths of thought.
It came from another person this time, a girl in front of him, swinging ponytail and furrowed brows as she turned back in her chair, face an expression of relaxed worry.
Her voice was normal.
Her being there was normal.
All of it was too normal.
That was the scariest part of everything.
Ha-Joon glanced around.
The classroom hummed quietly with background chatter and the distinct shriek of chairs.
A normal morning before homeroom.
But the world leaned at the wrong angle within him.
Because this was no longer the world he was a part of.
Because he'd left behind this world.
Or had it left him?
He attempted to collect himself.
Think.
Analyze.
Feel.
But each heartbeat felt like a bomb waiting to explode, each breath like ice crawling down his throat.
His mind scratched back toward the river.
He'd leaped.
He smiled at the way the world had closed in as he'd stood on the ledge.
The neon city lights dancing in the rippling water like silent witnesses.
The rage in his chest, the heartache, the surrender. And the cold, god, the cold.
But this?
This was warm.
This was life.
Too long life.
A second chance? A delusion? A punishment?
His mind howled for reason, but none in sight.
To which came the bell.
Shrill.
Familiar.
Time did not wait for fractured minds.
The students rose, bowed in unison toward the teacher entering the room.
Ha-Joon did not move at all.
His body moved through habit, but his soul, his soul, was suspended between breaths, between questions that he could not ask.
"Aright, everybody, sit down. Books out."
Chalk on the blackboard.
Sounds of pages turning.
Ha-Joon slowly lowered himself back into his seat, the world operating like a reel of film turned just a couple of frames awry.
He gazed at Jihun once more.
Jihun was writing something on his desk, grinning like an idiot.
As if he hadn't been the one to destroy Ha-Joon's world.
And Ha-Joon saw something then, with a cold and crystalline clarity that sliced through all rational thought:
He wasn't here to repeat the past.
He was here to face it.
But the question lingered on, insidious and unspoken.
Was he here to forgive… or to annihilate?
The decision hadn't come yet.
But he knew, deep down, under the shaking breath and the strange hands, that it would.
And soon.
Ha-Joon hardly listened to the lecture.
His gaze followed Jihun, monitoring every little gesture, every spin of his pen, every lean of his head, every laugh shared with the boy beside him.
It was unreal.
Like seeing a specter play out memories Ha-Joon had cemented over.
But this Jihun. he wasn't the same.
He appeared younger, rawer, and unpolished.
Less cruel.
Was this before all that occurred? Before betrayal, manipulation, before that night that destroyed him?
The timelines didn't align. Or perhaps they did, and Ha-Joon was the one out of sync.
He didn't even know what year it was.
What iteration of life he had entered into.
He ripped his attention away, slapping a palm against his temple.
The ache was dull but persistent.
Not physical, more like… reality was abrading his mind like sandpaper.
"Hey,"
Appeared a gentle voice once more.
It was the girl from earlier, her name lingered on the rim of memory, hazy and infuriating.
"You're really white. Do you have a sickness or something?"
Ha-Joon blinked at her.
Should he pretend? Answer yes, leave the classroom, attempt to breathe?
But something in her eyes,!genuine concern, held him fast.
"I'm fine,"
He muttered, though it felt like a lie even to him.
She looked unconvinced, but didn't push it.
And the class continued.
Time crawled until the bell finally rang again.
As students gathered their things, laughter and chatter spilling out into the hallway, Ha-Joon remained seated.
He didn't want to move.
Didn't want to be seen by Jihun.
But then,
"Yo, Ha-Joon!"
The voice hit him like a bullet.
He flinched before he could hold himself back.
No.
No no no.
He turned, slowly.
Jihun stood a few desks away, smiling. Bright.
Carefree.
Just like the first time they ever met.
"You coming or what? You're gonna miss lunch, dude."
Ha-Joon glared at him.
His heartbeat was slow, cold drum in his chest.
"How did you remember me? Who is the real person behind that carefree face?"
He spoke slowly subconsciously.
Jihun who had heard, tilted his head.
"What are you saying? Of course I do. We've been friends since first year."
Friends.
The word rang out like a gunshot.
He smiled.
Forced it, anyway.
A cracked, splintering thing.
"Yeah,"
He whispered.
"Friends."
Jihun clapped him on the back like nothing was amiss.
Like nothing had ever been amiss.
And as they left the classroom side by side, Ha-Joon saw the truth:
This world had rebooted.
But his memories hadn't.
And in a world where the person who destroyed him was smiling beside him once more,
What was he to do now?
Ha-Joon trailed behind Jihun through the packed corridor like a puppet whose strings were knotted.
The commotion, the bodies, the heat of youth, all of it seemed alien.
As if he was walking in someone else's dream.
Jihun was talking, something about the cafeteria food still being trash and how Mr. Park caught Minseo sleeping again.
But the words barely registered.
All Ha-Joon could think about was why.
Why was he here?
Why did he remember everything?
The betrayal.
The lies.
The blood on his hands.
"You okay, man?"
Jihun asked suddenly, stopping mid-step.
"You've been spacing out all morning."
Ha-Joon's eyes snapped to his.
He scanned Jihun's face, looking for the mask, the lie, the cold calculation he'd seen too often.
But it wasn't there.
There was only worry.
Real, annoying, genuine worry.
"I didn't sleep well,"
Ha-Joon grumbled.
"Headache."
"Damn. You should have said something. Want to go to the nurse's office?"
He shook his head hastily.
"No. I'm fine."
Liar.
But Jihun shrugged.
"Suit yourself."
They walked into the cafeteria.
It looked exactly the same.
Even the ghastly fluorescent lights and the curling poster on healthy eating.
Ha-Joon's chest constricted.
This place. It was here.
This was where it began.
Jihun took him to a table by the window. Same place as always.
A handful of other students said hello, names Ha-Joon knew, faces he hadn't seen in what felt like centuries.
It was like a play with actors performing it for his own sake, every character reading from lines they hadn't known they'd uttered in the past.
"I'll get you something,"
Jihun said, already walking away.
Ha-Joon didn't stop him.
He gazed at the window.
At the cloudy sky outside.
At the distorted reflection of himself.
And then it came to him.
He still had time.
He still had memories.
And Jihun. he hadn't fallen yet.
Not yet.
Perhaps this world was offering him a second chance.
Or perhaps it was punishment.
Either, Ha-Joon tightened his fists under the table,
He wasn't going to squander it.
Not again.
.
.
.
.
Jihun came back with two trays, setting one down in front of Ha-Joon.
"Here. Your favorite. Still looks like dog food though."
Ha-Joon looked at the tray. Kimchi fried rice with a fried egg on top, the same thing he used to have every Thursday.
It was too perfect.
He took his spoon but did not eat.
He sat back and observed Jihun dig in, chuckle at something on the other side of the room, and begin conversing with a girl from the art club.
As if everything was fine.
As if nothing had occurred.
But Ha-Joon did not forget.
He recalled when Jihun's hands were splattered with blood.
He recalled the warehouse.
He recalled the look that Jihun had given him, with no regret.
And yet here he was… just a stupid, smiling high school boy again.
"Hey,"
Jihun turned back to him.
"You're really off today. Did something go wrong?"
Ha-Joon opened his mouth.
He could say it.
I know what you did.
But all he did was ask:
"Do you… ever get this feeling that it's not real?"
Jihun blinked.
"Like a dream?"
"Yeah."
Jihun smiled.
"Honestly? Sometimes. Like when I ace a test I didn't study for. Or when it feels like I've done the exact same thing before."
Déjà vu.
A slight shiver in the timeline.
Ha-Joon nodded slowly.
"Right."
Jihun leaned back.
"You sure you're not writing lyrics again? That sounded poetic as hell."
Ha-Joon almost smiled at that.
Almost.
Then the bell rang.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
"Come on, we'll be late to math."
Ha-Joon got up, but something pulled the back of his mind.
A memory.
No… a warning.
March 17th.
Today was March 17th.
That meant,
"The gas explosion,"
Ha-Joon whispered.
"What?"
Jihun turned around.
Ha-Joon's heart was racing.
"We can't go to class."
"Why not?"
"Just trust me."
"Dude, what are you…"
Ha-Joon caught his wrist.
"Jihun. Please."
He had no idea if this was a dream or a curse or a punishment from above.
But he knew what happened next.
The very first thing that he would do would be to first alter Jihoon's destiny.
And if he were to change something… if this was really a second chance…
It had to begin now.
With Jihun.
Before everything went up in flames once more.
Jihun glared at Ha-Joon, bewildered and somewhat unsettled.
"You're freaking me out, man. What do you mean we can't attend class? You allergic to math or something?"
"No,"
Ha-Joon said sternly, pulling him down the hallway.
"There's going to be a gas explosion. In the main building. Fourth period. Science lab."
"How do you know that?"
"I just do."
Jihun yanked his arm back, freezing in position.
"What the hell are you talking about? You sound insane."
"I'm not crazy,"
Ha-Joon said, his voice low.
"I saw it happen."
Jihun squinted.
"What are you saying…? Like you had a dream or something?"
"Not a dream."
Ha-Joon's voice shook.
"I died."
There was silence in the hallway.
The bell had already sounded.
Students had made their way to their classrooms.
Only the quiet murmurs of teachers starting class could be heard.
Jihun stared at him like he didn't even know him anymore.
"…You okay, Ha-Joon?"
Ha-Joon's mouth clenched.
"Skip the next class. Please. If I'm mistaken, I'll owe you lunch for a month. If I'm not."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
Jihun regarded him for one second longer, actually looked at him.
As if he could see something different now. Perhaps it was in Ha-Joon's eyes.
The desperation that lurked beneath his calm exterior.
The anxiety he was trying to mask under urgency.
".Okay,"
Jihun said finally.
"Let's assume I believe you. What do we do?"
Ha-Joon breathed out.
"We leave the main building. Quickly. And we trigger the fire alarm."
Jihun furrowed his brow.
"You know you'll get suspended for that, don't you?"
"I'd rather be suspended than dead."
"Fair point."
They turned and began moving quickly towards the emergency stairs.
Ha-Joon's heart pounded.
He remembered how it was last time.
The explosion began in the chemistry lab.
Faulty valve.
Everyone in the west wing had either burned or died from asphyxiation from the smoke.
This time, he wouldn't just survive.
He'd save them all.
If only he could get the timing right…
BOOM
The building trembled.
Both boys halted.
"No…"
Ha-Joon muttered.
"It's too soon."
Alarms wailed to life.
And then there came the screams.
From upstairs.
From the lab.
From the past.
It had started all over again.
But this time,
Ha-Joon was ready.
Or at least, that's what he thought.
*****