Min-jun's first official minutes in Elyndora resembled every awkward networking event he'd ever suffered through—except the participants had extra limbs and a suspicious fascination with fermented root tea.
The beetle—who eventually introduced itself as Chief Liaison Bok-go—escorted Min-jun across a plaza paved with luminous tiles, passing bizarre groups: humanoids in geometric hats exchanging gossip about temporal anomalies, a trio of floating frogs whispering about "the newcomer's mortal stench," and, oddly, a Korean food cart with the sign "김밥 (Gimbap?)" written in shaky hangul.
Despite the surreal surroundings, Min-jun's phone still buzzed.
JUN-SEO: Grandpa is roasting the MCs. Send help.
MOTHER: Cake survived. Where are you??
Min-jun typed back: Long story. Might need a wormhole to return. Save me some japchae.
Chief Liaison Bok-go paused before a monolithic glass building. "You are expected to meet with the Orientation Officer. Please do not mention existential dread, multiversal fragility, or the 2003 incident."
Min-jun nodded, aware he'd likely ignore most of that advice.
Inside, he was ushered to a conference room decorated with velvet chairs positioned uncomfortably close to a pond full of sentient goldfish. The Orientation Officer appeared—a tall, vaguely owl-shaped entity named Jin-ha, who pronounced Min-jun's name with textbook precision and a touch of apathy.
"Do you experience any unusual phenomena lately?" Jin-ha asked, eyes swiveling in slow drags.
Min-jun considered lying (always his first instinct with bureaucrats), but the truth spilled out with a dark comic edge: "Well, I may have slipped between worlds, endured an attack from existential paperwork, and missed grandpa's rice wine toast. Oh, and I'm allergic to this lighting."
Jin-ha blinked twice. "Typical cross-dimensional symptoms. Anything else?"
Min-jun hesitated. "Do... random objects on Earth seem to flicker and glitch for anyone else?"
The officials exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Bok-go chirped, "You might be experiencing trans-realm residue. Or you simply need more sleep on weekends."
Min-jun nodded—internally noting that in every universe, exhaustion and bureaucracy trump logic.
As the meeting droned on, Min-jun's mind wandered. He wondered what secrets could've led his grandfather to once claim, after too much soju, that "the world is wider than Seoul and thinner than old shoes." Was it a metaphor? A warning? Or just a senior moment?
At last, the officials cleared Min-jun to explore the city. He exited the building right into the path of an Elyndoran public transit pod—which, naturally, announced a delay due to "quantum hiccups."
Sighing, Min-jun realized annoying waits were universal constants.
He set out, determined to find both the source of his family's oddities and a way to survive his own clumsy existence in twin worlds—armed only with low social skills, sharp sarcasm, and a phone that wouldn't stop vibrating.
End of chapter 3
Next time: Min-jun discovers the first cryptic hint about his grandfather's dimensional legacy hidden in an ominously cheerful library… and nearly instigates a riot at a karaoke bar run by amphibians