[2050, Do-yoon's Room]
The city still wore the pallid glow of winter, even after the blizzard had passed.
Pale sunlight seeped through the curtains, scattering across Ji-an's desk.
Her hands lingered on the keyboard, unmoving.
The chat window was gone, the connection with Jungho severed—yet in her heart, the conversation echoed on.
The door creaked open.
Ji-hyuk, Do-yoon's junior and Ji-an's classmate, cautiously poked his head inside.
"...Is it okay if I come in now?"
Ji-an looked up. He was holding a small thermos.
The familiar scent—ginger herbal tea—drifted softly into the room.
Do-yoon turned from his desk.
"Where were you? Perfect timing. We just wrapped up."
Ji-hyuk stepped in and sat down quietly.
His voice was low, but his eyes glimmered.
"My sister just got a call. That guy, Mr. Jeong-ho, right? What did you say?"
Ji-an wordlessly pointed to the last line still glowing on the screen:
『I want to believe. Or at least, I will try. If it means the next generation can breathe a little easier…』
Ji-hyuk read it aloud in a whisper.
"...'I will try to believe.'"
He fell silent for a moment, then murmured, almost to himself:
"If it were my father, he wouldn't have said even that much."
Ji-an turned toward him, her eyes searching.
Even Do-yoon lifted his gaze from the monitor.
Ji-hyuk twisted open the lid of the thermos, watching the faint steam curl upward.
"My father always claimed he was right. I never had the chance to say he was wrong.
But Jungho... he hesitated, and still he answered.
For some people, hesitation itself can become salvation."
Ji-an gently nodded and touched his shoulder.
"Maybe that's why we're here—why we're doing this.
To offer one word, one connection, to those who hesitate."
Ji-hyuk handed her the thermos.
"Here. You should drink too. The cold's no joke out there."
Ji-an smiled and took it.
Their fingers brushed—an unintentional touch, yet warm enough to linger.
Ji-hyuk looked momentarily startled, then gave a small, quiet smile.
Ji-an lowered her head, but her lips carried the same faint smile.
Then Do-yoon frowned at the screen.
"...Wait, what's this?"
He zoomed in on the log window.
Tiny tremors pulsed at the bottom of the system feed.
"Even though the link with Jungho's side was cut… there's still a faint signal alive."
Ji-hyuk leaned forward.
"Does that mean… we could reconnect?"
"There's a chance," Do-yoon admitted. "A very, very small one."
His fingers resumed tapping across the keys, his face taut with focus.
Ji-an watched him, then whispered:
"Whatever choice he makes… let's at least stay with him to the end."
Outside, the snow had stopped.
A few hidden autumn leaves skittered across the window frame, carried by the wind.
"There's no autumn anymore," Ji-hyuk murmured. "Winter just comes too fast."
Ji-an lifted her gaze at his words, staring at the pale sky.
"That's why… we can't wait any longer."
She placed her hands back on the keyboard.
But suddenly, the system flashed red.
『Error: Time-Link Protocol Conflict Detected. Connection forcibly terminated.』
The message blinked, then froze.
This time, the LUKA system shut down completely.
No backup logs. No traces left.
Ji-an's face tightened.
"Wait— It's gone. Can we restore it?"
Do-yoon slowly shook his head. His voice was heavy, almost defeated.
"No… nothing's left. The route itself has been blocked.
Someone might have interfered."
Sia, silent until now, spoke softly as she stared at the screen.
"Then… will Mr. Jungho remember the words we left behind?"
Ji-an kept her eyes on the dark monitor for a long time.
Then, in a hushed voice, she answered:
"I want to believe they reached him."
The room fell quiet.
But no one thought the connection had been meaningless.
Somewhere, perhaps even now, one man's choice might already be reshaping the future—and that fragile belief was enough to keep them going.
[2050, Choi Jae-hoon's Campaign Headquarters]
Just before lunch, Su-yeon pushed open the meeting room door in a hurry.
Sweat dotted her forehead from back-to-back briefings on campaign funding, and a few half-organized documents were still clutched in her hand.
As she dropped into her seat, footsteps approached cautiously.
It was Do-yoon. After glancing around to make sure no one else was listening, he lowered his voice.
"Advisor Su-yeon… last night, we made contact. With 1997."
Su-yeon froze, her papers slipping slightly from her grasp.
Her eyes flickered.
"1997…?" she murmured, frowning.
"That's right before the IMF crisis. Who did you connect with?"
"A man named Lee Jungho. He works at a small construction company. At first he doubted us… but in the end, he listened.
He accepted what we told him."
Su-yeon said nothing.
She only gave a slight nod, her gaze drifting away from the documents, her thoughts wandering to someplace far beyond the room.
Moments later, the afternoon funding meeting began.
The conference room was filled with the quiet hum of laptops and the rustle of spreadsheets.
Reviewing the latest list of corporate donors, Su-yeon's eyes caught on one particular detail.
"…Wait."
She muttered under her breath and scanned the screen again.
Just a week ago, JH Group had been one of Candidate Jung Jae-yoon's largest financial backers.
Now, the name was gone—replaced by a company she didn't recognize: Next Urban.
The meeting ended, but Su-yeon's mind was racing.
Back at her desk, she pulled up her advisor's terminal and began searching through Next Urban's corporate records—its subsidiaries, registration changes, and leadership transitions.
Then, almost without thinking, she typed the name she'd heard that morning: Lee Jungho.
A profile popped onto the screen.
It was a news interview.
"Green Future Holdings Wins 2050 Sustainable Management Award"
Beneath the headline was a familiar face, along with the caption:
"Chairman Lee Jungho – 'What matters more than profit is the air our children will breathe.'"
Her hand hovered over the monitor.
Yes—it was him. The very same man.
But her memory told a different story.
Until recently, this same man had been listed at the very top of Candidate Jung Jae-yoon's donor roster, the chairman of JH Group.
"Lee Jungho…? Don't tell me…"
Her fingers flew across the device as she pulled up the most recent donor list for Jung Jae-yoon's campaign.
Nothing.
No JH Group.
No Lee Jungho.
Su-yeon rose quietly from her chair, turning toward the window.
The city skyline shimmered in the winter light as she exhaled a deep, steady breath.
This wasn't coincidence.
"…The future really has changed."
[Early Winter on Campus, 2050]
Mid-October. An engineering building at a university in Seoul.
The late-afternoon campus was quiet, but within that silence lingered a strange unease.
The air still carried the scent of autumn, yet patches of snow remained, frozen hard like ice across the ground.
The heavy snowfall from a few days earlier had not fully melted.
Red and gold leaves lay crushed against the lingering snowdrifts, brittle underfoot.
Students passed by in a jumble of padded coats and short-sleeved T-shirts, and though the sky was clear, the air bit colder than ever.
Fourth floor of the engineering hall—an empty classroom.
The final lecture of the day had ended, leaving chairs unstacked and the room still scattered with the traces of use.
Do-yoon slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
Slanted sunlight filtered through the curtains, glinting against water stains on the floor. On a desk lay stray Post-its and a broken keyboard left askew.
He opened his laptop, calling up the familiar folder of LUKA system logs.
"…Lee Jungho. Ulsan, 1997. Son of a small construction company," he murmured, fingers beginning to type.
A dozen browser tabs opened at once—corporate registries, news archives, patent databases, records of social contributions. He searched everything in one sweep.
Then, suddenly, his eyes froze on the monitor.
"Green Future Holdings named one of the world's top five renewable energy companies, 2050."
"From Oil to Sunlight: Thirty Years of Leading the Transition to Sustainable Energy."
Do-yoon stared at the words, then exhaled slowly.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"…He really changed it. We did—together."
At that moment, a single snowflake drifted past the window.
Mid-October, falling over autumn leaves.
On that fractured border between seasons, he closed his eyes in silence.
[In Front of the School, 2050]
Before sunset, snow began to fall quietly over the city.
Snowflakes landed upon the late-autumn leaves, painting the streets in both crimson and white.
Jian, Shia, and Ji-hyuk walked side by side through the school gates.
Their footsteps pressed into the snow with a faint crunch, a hushed rhythm against the silence.
Snow and leaves swirled together across the street—a collision of seasons that made it feel, for a moment, as though this scene could not possibly be real.
Then, Jian's phone vibrated softly in her pocket.
"It's Do-yoon."
She smiled faintly as she answered.
"Hello?"
Do-yoon's voice came through, a mix of excitement and awe—small, but steady.
"Jian, Shia! Remember how we connected with Mr. Lee Jungho in 1997 last night?
That man… he's now the chairman of Green Future Holdings.
It's become a world-leading eco-friendly company."
Jian's eyes widened in surprise as she turned to Shia.
"We… we actually changed the future."
All three stopped walking at once.
Shia drew in a silent breath, while Jian pressed her lips together and slowly raised her gaze to the sky.
At that moment, the massive billboard on the building ahead lit up.
"Green Future Holdings – Thirty Years of Action, A Choice for Tomorrow."
On the screen stretched a city covered in solar panels, the sweeping blades of offshore wind turbines, and finally, the warm smile of Chairman Lee Jungho.
Ji-hyuk halted in front of the display, his eyes flickering.
Shia's voice broke the silence, wide with disbelief.
"That's him… the same Mr. Jungho we spoke with, isn't it?"
Jian covered her mouth and laughed softly, as though she could hardly believe it.
"How… how is this even possible? We really… did it."
Ji-hyuk gazed at the billboard without a word.
That gentle smile on Jungho's face carried the weight of a single moment of hesitation—a hesitation that had reached across time to alter the world.
At last, Ji-hyuk spoke quietly.
"…The world really has changed."
Jian and Shia turned toward him.
Ji-hyuk let out a faint laugh into the air.
"And to think it all began with just a few words we sent across… who would ever believe that?"
Shia answered in a hushed voice.
"That's exactly why it's frightening. Because every word, every action we take now… could be the beginning of something for someone else."
Snow continued to fall from the sky.
On the street, where autumn leaves and the season's first snow lay tangled together, the billboard's message scrolled on:
"A sustainable future begins with the choices we make today."
Ji-hyuk tilted his head back to the sky.
The cold air brushed against his nose as sunlight and snow mingled overhead.
He closed his eyes and drew in a long, quiet breath.
As the warmth of his breath scattered into the frosty air, he sank wordlessly into thoughts long held within him.
On his face was something that words could not capture—the look of someone who had finally begun to lift something heavy from deep inside.
Above them, the snow kept falling.