As Seojun unlocked the café door, the air around him shimmered. A faint flicker of light—like static on an old screen—appeared in his peripheral vision.
A holographic message materialized in front of him, glowing with an eerie translucence.
[System Alert: A key presence has withdrawn from your world.] ['Haneul' is no longer reachable.]
Seojun's breath hitched.
The system never spoke in absolutes. It was always vague, always leaving him to figure things out on his own. But this… this felt final.
No longer reachable.
His fingers curled into a fist as the text pulsed, waiting. As if expecting him to react.
Then—
[Warning: Event Progression Unstable. Immediate Intervention Recommended.]
A second alert. Urgent. Seojun had seen enough of these system messages to know what that meant. This wasn't a passive update—it was a call to action.
His jaw tightened.
The system didn't just throw out warnings like this.
He exhaled sharply, shoving his phone into his pocket and walked through the dimly lit streets, hands shoved into his pockets, his mind raced.
How do I even begin searching?
It wasn't like she had close friends he could ask. He barely knew anything about her—where she lived, what she did outside of school, if she even had hobbies.
Hell, he only knew her name because of attendance.
His pace slowed.
"…This is annoying."
If it were anyone else, he wouldn't care this much. People skipped school all the time. People disappeared from his life all the time.
But this was Haneul.
The girl who had been watching him from the background for who knows how long.
The girl who called him out on his excuses without hesitation.
The girl who let him sleep on her lap and—
He stopped walking.
His face twitched.
"...I'm seriously losing it."
Rubbing his temples, he let out a sharp breath. Fine. He'd start simple.
I should check the school first.
He did.
She wasn't there.
His fingers curled into fists.
Then, without thinking, he turned on his heel.
Time to check the rooftop.
Seojun moved quickly, his steps echoing through the empty halls as he climbed the stairs to the rooftop. His heartbeat picked up—not from exertion, but from the unease that had settled deep in his chest.
As he reached the top, he pushed open the door with a quiet creak. The cool evening air brushed against his skin, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the day.
His gaze swept across the rooftop.
Empty.
The spot where she used to sit was undisturbed, as if she had never been there to begin with.
Seojun let out a slow breath.
"Figures," he muttered.
Still, he walked over and crouched down, pressing his palm against the cool concrete. It was stupid, but a part of him had hoped she'd magically appear, maybe looking down at him like he was an idiot for searching in the first place.
But no one was here.
['Haneul' remains withdrawn.]
[The world remains unchanged.]
Seojun stiffened.
"What the hell…?"
He stared at the screen, waiting for it to disappear, for an explanation, for something.
But nothing came.
Just that vague, unsettling sentence.
His grip on the phone tightened.
Days passed, and still, no sign of Haneul.
Seojun rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply. This was getting him nowhere. The cryptic message, the empty rooftop—it all felt surreal, but standing around wouldn't change anything. He needed to clear his head.
That's how he ended up taking Bomi out for a walk.
The streets were quieter than usual, neon signs casting soft glows over the damp pavement. Bomi walked beside him, humming a little tune, her small fingers clutching the hem of his shirt as they passed by food stalls and small shops.
"Oppa, can we get fish cakes?" she asked, tugging his sleeve.
Seojun sighed, glancing down at her. "Yeah, yeah. Just stay close."
He bought her one, watching as she happily munched on it, her cheeks puffed up. Usually, that kind of sight relaxed him. But tonight, his mind kept drifting.
Haneul. The notification.
He still didn't understand it. If she had simply stopped coming to school, why phrase it like that? Withdrawn from your world—as if she had been erased.
Clicking his tongue, he ran a hand through his hair. "Annoying."
A tug on his sleeve. "Oppa, I want to see the lights over there!"
Seojun followed her pointing finger. A street lined with colorful paper lanterns stretched ahead, leading toward a small plaza where families were gathered. He let out a short breath. "Fine, but—"
The tug was gone.
His hand was empty.
Seojun's heart stopped.
He turned sharply. "Bomi?"
Nothing.
His stomach twisted. No. No way. She had just been right there. He spun in place, scanning the area, his pulse hammering against his ribs.
"Bomi!" His voice came out sharper than he intended, but he didn't care. People turned to look, their faces blending into a blur of unfamiliarity.
Shit. Shit.
He pushed through the crowd, eyes darting frantically. The fish cake stall. The lantern street. The bookstore nearby. Where—
Then he heard it.
"Excuse me, could an announcement be made? A little girl is missing."
Seojun's head snapped toward the voice.
Standing at the customer service desk near the plaza entrance, speaking in a calm, measured tone—was Haneul.
And beside her, looking teary-eyed but unharmed, was Bomi.
Seojun let out a breath so deep it almost hurt. He didn't think, didn't hesitate—he moved.
"Bomi!"
At the sound of his voice, Bomi turned, her lips wobbling. "Oppa!"
She ran to him, and he dropped to his knees, catching her in a tight embrace. His fingers curled around her small shoulders, gripping just enough to feel that she was really there. "Don't ever wander off like that again," he muttered, his voice rough.
Bomi sniffled. "I—I just wanted to see the lights…"
Seojun sighed, resting his forehead against hers for a brief second before pulling away. He lifted his gaze—
And met Haneul's eyes.
She watched him with her usual unreadable expression, hands still tucked into her pockets. But something was different about seeing her now.
"…You," he exhaled, standing up. "Where the hell have you been?"
Haneul tilted her head slightly. "I wasn't aware you were looking for me."
Seojun scowled, but before he could say anything, Bomi tugged his sleeve.
"Oppa…" she mumbled, voice small.
He looked down. "What?"
Bomi hesitated, then looked at Haneul.
"…She was at the bridge," she whispered.
The words hit Seojun like a punch.
His gaze snapped back to Haneul. She didn't react. Didn't flinch.
Just stared at him with that same unreadable expression.
"The bridge?" His voice came out tighter than intended.
Bomi nodded, eyes round. "She was standing really still. Like she was waiting for something." She sniffled. "I got lost and ran up to her, but she didn't hear me at first…"
Seojun's fingers curled.
Haneul's hands were still stuffed into her pockets, sleeves slightly pulled back, revealing faint, barely-there redness along her wrist.
He wasn't stupid. He knew what the bridge meant.
She wasn't supposed to be reachable.
Yet, here she was.
"…Haneul." His voice was quieter now.
For a split second, her mask slipped—something hollow and exhausted flashed in her eyes. Then it was gone as she blinked, as if remembering she was here. Then, with a small, almost amused tilt of her head—
"It's fine," she said simply.
But Seojun wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
Seojun exhaled, tension easing just a bit. "…Thanks."
Haneul simply hummed in response, her gaze already drifting past him as if preparing to leave.
But Seojun wasn't letting her fade away again.
"I know I shouldn't meddle, but why did you suddenly disappear?" he said, his voice lower this time.
Haneul finally met his eyes again. For a long moment, she didn't speak.
Then, she turned slightly, glancing toward the streetlights.
"I saw someone I didn't want to see."
Seojun narrowed his eyes. "And?"
"And I didn't want to be seen by that someone."
A vague answer. But it told him enough.
He studied her face. She looked the same—calm, detached, unreadable. But now that he was looking closer, he noticed it.
The slight tension in her shoulders.
The way her fingers curled slightly in her pockets.
The kind of stiffness that came from being on guard.
His lips pressed into a thin line. "…Fine." He glanced away. "At least tell someone next time. You can't just disappear."
Haneul tilted her head. "Why?"
Seojun scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Because it's annoying."
A pause. Then, for the first time, something flickered in her expression—amusement, maybe?
"…I see."
He narrowed his eyes. "What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing."
The vague answer annoyed him. But at least she was here.
And for now, that was enough.
Then, just as he was about to turn away—
"Can I stay with you?"
---
Seojun stared at her, dumbfounded.
"...What?"
Haneul met his gaze without hesitation. "Can I stay with you?"
No explanation. No lead-up. Just that.
Seojun blinked, his brain struggling to process her words. Bomi sniffled against his shirt, still shaken, but even she peeked up at Haneul in surprise.
"Stay with me?" He repeated, incredulous. "Just like that?"
Haneul nodded. "Yes."
Seojun scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You—do you even hear yourself? Why would you—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply.
Of course, she wasn't going to explain.
She just expected him to accept it.
His grip on Bomi tightened slightly. This girl. She was always like this—never saying enough, never revealing anything more than she had to. If he pushed, she'd probably just blink at him and say something vague again.
Annoying.
His jaw clenched. He should say no. He didn't have room for more problems. He had Bomi to take care of, school, the café—his life was already a balancing act.
But then he really looked at her.
The tension in her shoulders. The way she kept her hands in her pockets, like she was grounding herself. The slight shift in her stance, as if she was ready to leave the moment he refused.
She wasn't just asking on a whim.
Something was wrong.
And for some reason, she had come to him.
Seojun sighed deeply. "Tch. Fine. But you better not be a hassle."
Haneul nodded once. "I won't."
Seojun side-eyed her. "You better mean that."
Bomi, still hugging his side, blinked up at them. "Unnie is staying with us?"
Seojun pinched the bridge of his nose. "Apparently."
Bomi's eyes brightened slightly, the fear from earlier easing. "Then we should get more fish cakes!"
Haneul tilted her head. "Is that a requirement for staying?"
Bomi giggled. "No, but Oppa always buys fish cakes when we have guests."
Seojun sighed. "I do not."
"You do," Bomi insisted.
Haneul looked at him. "Should I buy some for myself then?"
Seojun groaned. "Forget the fish cakes! Let's just go."
Haneul hummed in amusement but didn't argue.
As they walked, Seojun exhaled again, glancing at the girl beside him.
Just what had she gotten him into this time?