[2050, Hotel Suite Room]
A luxury hotel suite in Gangnam, Seoul.
Muted sunlight slipped in through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows across the walls.Under that quiet glow, Assemblyman Jung Jae-yoon sat at the center of a round table.
Across from him was Lee Sung-hoon, CEO of the rising urban development company Next Urban.
Behind Lee, a massive framed rendering of a smart city hung like a piece of art, while outside the window, glass towers reflected the afternoon light.Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Lee spoke first.
"Assemblyman, as you've probably seen in the media lately, discussions on the climate crisis have become far too emotional.
But our approach is scientific. Earth's climate has always shifted in natural cycles. What we see today could simply be part of that cycle."
Jung nodded slowly, turning his water glass in his hand.
"You're right. Stirring up fear only clouds the public's judgment.
Using environmental issues as an excuse to suppress industry is nothing more than an act of self-sabotage."
Seated beside them, his strategy advisor pointed to the touchscreen embedded in the table.Several academic articles and statistical graphs glowed on the screen.
"In fact, some scientists argue that major drivers of climate change may not be human activity at all, but long-term natural phenomena such as sunspot activity or shifts in Earth's axial tilt."
Lee gave a faint smile before continuing.
"Of course, Next Urban recognizes the value of sustainable development.
But unrealistic carbon-neutral targets or excessive environmental taxes only serve to restrain industrial growth."
Jung's lips curved into a smile, his eyes glinting with certainty.
"I agree with your perspective, Mr. Lee.
What this society needs is balance—not emotion, but reason.
It's time we recalibrate our message.
We'll position ourselves as the camp of 'practical solutions.'"
As his words fell, the air in the room shifted—subtly, but unmistakably.
Outside, the city skyline looked calm and beautiful, yet beneath its surface, another battle line was quietly being drawn.
[2050, Downtown Restaurant]
Lunchtime.
A mid-sized restaurant in central Seoul bustled with office workers in suits and nearby residents.
On one wall, a TV played a news program in the background.
"Some scientists now argue that global warming could simply be part of Earth's natural climate cycle.
Factors such as solar activity and changes in Earth's axial tilt may have a greater influence on recent extreme weather events."
A customer, setting down his chopsticks, nodded in agreement.
"I knew it. I always thought the whole thing was being exaggerated."
At the next table, another patron chimed in.
"Exactly.
The economy's already struggling—if we just keep tightening environmental regulations, it's the businesses that will suffer."
The restaurant owner, carrying a tray of water glasses, glanced at the TV and muttered quietly.
"Maybe Jung Jae-yoon has a point.
He's blunt, but at least what he says makes sense."
The TV switched to a new clip.
"Meanwhile, candidate Jung Jae-yoon stated in a recent interview that 'climate change is part of a natural cycle, and excessive regulations could threaten the economy.'"
From near the kitchen, another diner set down his spoon.
"You know, he's not entirely wrong.
These days, people talk about the environment too much."
No one in particular was leading the mood, yet somehow the whole atmosphere of the restaurant tilted in that direction—quietly, but unmistakably.
And before their words had even finished echoing, they were already spreading further, carried outward by the algorithms of their smartphones.
[2050, Choi Jae-hoon's Campaign Headquarters]
In the heart of Seoul, on the sixth floor of a quiet building,Choi Jae-hoon's campaign headquarters carried a modest yet resolute atmosphere.
Posters lined the walls, emblazoned with "Future Generations Impact Assessment Act" and "Youth Climate Forum."
On the table lay tablets, laptops, and dozens of open news articles spread across the screens.
Suyeon scrolled through her tablet and spoke in an even tone.
"Headlines claiming that the climate crisis is just a natural phenomenon are everywhere.
Look—'Ice Age Cycle Theory,' 'Solar Activity Hypothesis.'
They're being packaged as scientific fact and spreading fast."
Tae-jun, one of the strategy team members, pointed at a monitor.
"This video is the problem.
It's titled 'Global Warming Is a Conspiracy by the West.'
It's already passed 300,000 views on social media."
Choi Jae-hoon studied the video thumbnail in silence.
Beneath its provocative title appeared a middle-aged man, worrying about his children's education.
"The comments are flooded with things like 'What do kids know?' and *'Stop using children for politics.'"
There was a trace of fatigue in his voice.
Another strategist, Yena, added her analysis.
"The Youth Climate Forum is taking a direct hit too.
People are calling it 'climate brainwashing' and accusing us of 'dragging kids into politics.'"
Suyeon let out a short sigh.
"Just a few days ago, public reaction to the forum was warm.
But at this rate, we'll be trapped in the 'emotional manipulation' frame."
Choi Jae-hoon closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
His voice was steady, carrying conviction.
"We're not here to 'believe in climate.' We believe in people.
Children's words are not propaganda—they're testimony.
But… emotions alone won't be enough anymore."
Suyeon nodded and leaned forward.
"Then we need to reinforce our policy message with facts—and show the public real cases of change connected to these young people.
Like Chairman Lee Jung-ho, for example."
At that, Choi finally raised his head.
"Then at this week's debate, we'll persuade not with stories, but with results."
The room fell quiet. But the silence was not defeatist—
it was the silence of something rooting itself, slowly but firmly, like resolve.
As the strategy team began gathering their things, Suyeon closed her tablet and looked at Choi.
"Assemblyman, if I may—there's something I need to tell you."
Choi nodded, remaining seated.
A hush settled back over the room, charged with quiet tension.
After a brief hesitation, Suyeon spoke, her voice low but resolute.
"A few days ago… our kids connected with the year 1997."
Choi blinked and lifted his head.
"1997…? That's right before the IMF crisis, isn't it?"
Suyeon nodded slowly.
"A young man from a small construction company in Ulsan.
His name was Lee Jung-ho.
We had a brief conversation with him… and we believe he accepted it in earnest."
Choi laced his fingers together, saying nothing at first.
Then, quietly:
"I did find it strange.
Up until just weeks ago, JH Group was one of Assemblyman Jung's core sponsors—
then suddenly, they disappeared."
Suyeon nodded again.
"That company now goes by the name Green Future Holdings.
And they're no longer on Jung's sponsor list.
Instead, a new developer called NextUrban has taken their place."
A sharp glint crossed Choi's eyes.
"…So this Lee Jung-ho is now Chairman of Green Future Holdings.
You knew that, didn't you?"
"I did. And his transformation… it's proof.
Proof that the 'small ripples' we always talk about really happened."
For a long moment, the two of them sat in silence, staring at the news feeds and endlessly refreshing comment sections on their screens.
But it was not the silence of resignation.
It was the silence of gathering strength, the calm before a counterattack.
[2050 – Climate Disaster and a Fractured Public]
In the outskirts of Seoul, the dawn air was unnaturally cold.
An Arctic blast had swept down over the low-lying neighborhoods, and that morning the temperature had plunged below –10°C.
The streets cracked with frozen puddles. Old boilers sputtered out before sunrise.
An elderly man sat huddled by his window under a threadbare quilt, while a young mother wrapped her child in a single blanket and made her way toward the nearest relief station.
Emergency vehicles rushed through the narrow alleys.
A truck loaded with supplies crawled out of a cramped street, its headlights flashing across the walls, while news cameras captured the scene under the glow of red sirens.
[Seoul ○○ District – First Arctic Cold Wave of 2050]
At the same time, in a downtown broadcast studio, a polished anchor's voice echoed through the airwaves.
"This morning, Seoul's temperature dropped to –9.3°C, more than twelve degrees below the November average.
Experts say an Arctic air mass is accelerating the pace of extreme weather events."
The caption at the bottom of the screen read:
'Why is the Arctic air arriving in autumn? Experts link it strongly to climate change.'
But elsewhere, a very different voice was spreading.
Not under studio lights, but from a lone man sitting at a desk, staring straight into his webcam.
"You see this cold? This isn't caused by humans! It's Earth's tilt, the solar cycle.
Ice ages come and go on their own, and now the government's using this to push their so-called climate crisis—and raise more taxes!"
His voice grew sharper, and beneath him the livestream chat scrolled at dizzying speed:
"Knew it. They'll blame the government again."
"And idiots are still buying EVs, lol."
"Climate always changes, wake up!"
"Stop the communist brainwashing already!"
That storm of typing and shouting didn't stay online.
By early afternoon, an open plaza in central Seoul had filled with citizens carrying banners of opposing slogans.
One man clutched the microphone and shouted:
"Whatever you think of the government, the suffering is right in front of us!
This isn't a conspiracy—it's reality!"
Before he even finished, another voice fired back from across the square:
"Enough with the climate populism! This is all just a show to squeeze more taxes out of us!"
Voices clashed.
The plaza roared with two sharply divided cries.
One side shouted, "We must act—for the children!"
The other side retorted, "What good is the environment if people can't survive today?"
And in the middle of the chaos, someone stood still.
A teenage boy, no older than seventeen, wearing a worn-out jacket.
He held a single placard. Just one line:
"This isn't politics. It's survival."
The words were quiet, but that was why they cut so sharply through the noise.
The boy's gaze never shifted toward the crowds. He simply stood, unmoving, at the plaza's center.
The camera closed in on his eyes.
There was no fear, no frenzy, no hate—only sincerity.
As the shot pulled back, he became smaller, a lone figure against the swelling chaos.
And the uproar carried on, stretching forward into a future that was anything but certain.