[2050, High School]
Late October.
The calendar still said autumn, but Seoul was under back-to-back cold wave advisories.
Unseasonal Arctic fronts had swept in, and extra insulation panels had been fixed along the school's outer walls to prevent pipes from freezing.
Inside the classroom, the heaters were running, but the students still hunched their shoulders in thick clothes.
Above them, the automatic air purifiers and vents hummed slowly, while a digital board beside the chalkboard scrolled through slides titled "Summary of the 2050 Youth Climate Forum."
On the walls, posters read:
"Climate Rights are Human Rights."
"Earth's Temperature, Our Choice."
"Zero Plastic 2050."
But under those slogans, the students' expressions carried the same indifference that came with familiarity.
Ji-hyuk sat in the back by the window, a thermos in his hands.
Wisps of steam curled slowly upward.
At the front, the homeroom teacher began quietly,
"Today, let's talk about something that's been all over the news—climate change conspiracy theories.
We'll divide into pros and cons and share our views."
A silence stretched before a student leaning on his desk raised a hand.
"Honestly… hasn't weather always been unpredictable?
My mom said once when she was little, it even snowed in the middle of summer."
Another student laughed and added,
"Maybe this whole climate crisis thing was just made up by companies to sell electric cars and solar panels.
It's all about money, right?"
A ripple of chuckles spread through the classroom, and some students pulled up news searches on their smart glasses.
Then, Si-ah quietly raised her hand.
Her voice was soft, but clear.
"Sure, some corporations might exploit the issue.
But what we're facing is real."
Ji-an nodded and followed.
"Just yesterday, in the block next to our apartment, the heating went out.
An elderly woman was taken to the hospital with hypothermia.
And… now snow falls before autumn even arrives.
Winter comes without leaves ever turning.
Isn't that strange to you?"
The classroom fell silent. Somewhere, the heater rumbled again.
A few students stared blankly out the window; others fiddled with their tablets.
Finally, one student spoke hesitantly.
"But… if it's really true, what can kids like us change?
We're not politicians."
Ji-an looked straight at him.
"Maybe one person alone can't change much.
But if no one does anything, the only thing that changes… is our lives."
Si-ah quietly nodded beside her.
The teacher watched their faces without a word.
Ji-hyuk, who hadn't spoken once since the start, sat gazing out the window. His eyes flickered subtly with every word.
Leaning back in his chair, he drew a quiet breath.
Outside, the second day of heavy snow covered trees whose leaves had yet to fall.
Autumn leaves blanketed in white—it looked like two seasons colliding, or a world slipping out of its own timeline.
Ji-hyuk stilled his gaze, closed his eyes, and wrapped his hands around the warm thermos.
His short exhale rose with the steam.
He said nothing, but his expression was more serious than any words could be—like something deep inside him had begun to stir.
The bell rang.
Students gathered their things and pushed back chairs.
But Ji-an walked slowly out, stopping at the end of the hallway by a window.
Her eyes lingered on the scene outside.
The day's air, the day's landscape—and a quiet resolve.
She murmured to herself:
"This is… a fight for the time we'll live in.
If no one else can live our future for us, then someone has to move first."
The words dissolved silently into the air.
And Ji-hyuk still sat in his chair, wordless. But in his eyes—something had already changed.
[2050, A Corner of the School Library]
Ji-an sat quietly at her laptop.
Winter sunlight slipped through the curtains, glancing across the edge of her desk, while the ceiling lights bathed the space in a soft glow.
The library was silent, but within that silence, something faint—like the sound of a small resolution taking root—seemed to stir.
She opened a Google Doc and typed a new title:
"Climate Truth: The Future We Will Face."
At a nearby window seat, Si-ah had been leafing through a book.
She closed it and walked over, sitting down with another volume in hand.
"Still thinking about class earlier?" she asked.
Ji-an nodded, her eyes still fixed on the screen.
"Every time I try to speak, it feels like people just laugh it off, or brush past it.
It's like… hardly anyone really believes it."
Si-ah let out a long breath.
"It's not that they're wrong—it's just… everyone feels powerless.
When someone says, 'What can kids like us even change?' it just sounds like resignation."
Ji-an paused her typing, then turned to look at her friend.
"That's why… I don't just want us to talk. I want to know what people are actually thinking."
"You mean… like a survey?" Si-ah tilted her head.
Ji-an gave a small smile and nodded.
"Yeah. Not the usual 'Are you interested?' kind of question.
Something honest, something that asks, 'What kind of future do you want to live in?'
And if we can collect those answers, we can show them—to people beyond our school, maybe even to the education office."
Si-ah set her book down on the desk and grinned.
"I like it. Turning our talks into action."
Ji-an scrolled to a blank section of the document and typed another heading:
"2050 Youth Climate Awareness Survey – Internal School Data Project."
In that moment, the path forward felt clearer.
Then, footsteps approached quietly through the shelves.
Ji-hyuk appeared, arms full of reports and reference books.
He hesitated only a second before taking the seat across from them.
Startled, Ji-an and Si-ah glanced up. Ji-hyuk faltered, then opened one of the books and said softly,
"…Um, about that survey… can I help too?"
His voice was low, careful, but steady.
Si-ah smiled and nodded. Ji-an turned her laptop toward him, her lips curving into a slow grin.
"Of course. So you've been thinking about this too?"
Ji-hyuk didn't answer. Instead, his gaze lingered on the laptop screen.
At the top, the question read:
"What kind of future do you want to live in?"
He gave a quiet nod.
And in that instant, the atmosphere of the library shifted—just slightly.
The screen before them, the books scattered across the desk, and the sunlight spilling in, all seemed to glow a little brighter, as if silently cheering for a new alliance that had just begun.
[2050, A High School Hallway]
Electronic boards and holographic displays poured light into the corridor.
"There Is No Planet 2.0!"
"Youth Climate Rights Declaration"
"Zero Food Waste Project"
"2050 Microplastics-Free Campaign."
In front of them stood three students side by side—Ji-an, Si-ah, and Ji-hyuk, who was adjusting the survey tablets.
He checked the AR pad's live data link, confirmed the connection to the wall displays, and carried spare devices and chargers in one hand.
Smiling brightly, Si-ah explained to passing students:
"It only takes ten seconds! Just pick the one thing you think is most important for the kind of world you want to live in."
One student approached with interest.
"Oh, that's fun. I'll choose cutting down ocean waste."
Another tapped the pad, saying the "Climate Rights Declaration" sounded cool.
Ji-an added warmly,
"Your choices will be collected as real data and sent to the education office.
This isn't just a game or a campaign—it's something that matters."
For a moment, the atmosphere lightened.
Ji-hyuk checked the live participation rate on the screen and gave a quiet nod.
But it didn't last long. A group of students who had been sneering from the side stepped forward.
"You still believe this stuff? Haven't you seen the news?
Climate crisis is all fake."
"They say an ice age is coming anyway. Don't dump the burden on our generation."
Some nearby students hesitated and backed away.
Si-ah shot Ji-an a worried glance.
Before Si-ah could answer calmly, one of the sneering boys cut her off.
"Come on. Do you really think this changes anything?
You're not student president. You're not in parliament.
So you went to one climate forum—big deal.
Now you think you're somebody?"
The words blended mockery with the harsh edge of reality.
The air in the hallway sank into silence.
Some students looked away. Others smirked and walked off.
Ji-hyuk watched, hesitated, then quietly placed a hand on Ji-an and Si-ah's shoulders.
It was a small gesture, but enough to say: You're not alone.
Si-ah's eyes darted to Ji-an's. Ji-an stared back at the boy, fists clenched, breath catching in her throat after holding it in too long.
Just then, their homeroom teacher stepped in cautiously.
"Let's stop here, kids. Any further and it'll just turn into a fight."
On the wall, the holographic slogans slowly dimmed.
The once-bright campaign lights faded.
Ji-an stooped and picked up a torn sticky note.
On it, scrawled in crooked letters, were the words:
"In 2050, I just want to breathe."
Si-ah whispered,
"…We are doing the right thing, aren't we?"
Ji-an's reply came low.
"We are… but no one believes us. No one."
Ji-hyuk lowered his head, then picked up another fallen note.
After a short, hesitant breath, he carefully stuck it back on the wall—straightening its folded corners, smoothing tape over it—like a quiet act of beginning again.
Ji-an turned away without a word.
Clutching the note in her hand, she walked toward the end of the hall with her gaze fixed on the floor.
Startled, Ji-hyuk hurried after her.
"Ji-an! Where are you going?!"
But she didn't answer.
Si-ah caught Ji-hyuk's arm.
"I'll go after her. I know her better. Can you clean up here?"
She ran toward the end of the hallway.
Ji-hyuk hesitated, then looked after them in silence before kneeling to pick up the remaining notes.
He gathered scattered posters, wiped off fallen survey tablets, and carefully set things back in order.
His fingers trembled slightly.
As he worked, Ji-an's expression and the way she had walked away kept replaying in his mind.
Every time he bent to pick up another scrap of paper, the thought pressed in—
'Where is she now?
Will she get caught up in something dangerous?
Will she be okay with just Si-ah beside her?
Why do I care this much?'
He almost knew the answer, but not quite.
At last, he smoothed a new poster onto a blank spot on the wall.
He pressed each corner flat, added extra tape, and placed his palm against it firmly.
The words read:
"Small actions change the future. What will you choose today?"
Meanwhile, Ji-an burst out through the school gates, crossing the edge of the field to the main entrance.
A crumpled sticky note was clenched in her fist. Her eyes burned with tangled emotions she couldn't put into words.
The jeers from the hallway still rang in her ears:
"What good is a campaign?"
"So you went to one climate forum—big deal."
Panting hard, she reached the street.
Traffic was thickening as dismissal time neared, and through the stream of cars a taxi crept past.
Ji-an ran up, raising her hand high.
"Driver! Please, here!"
The taxi braked hard. She shoved herself inside before the door had fully opened.
"To GreenFuture Holdings headquarters—please! It used to be JH Group, I think?
I don't know the exact address, but… please, take me there!"
The driver blinked in surprise, then tapped the GPS and nodded.
"Gangnam New City Tower, right? Alright, let's go."
Moments later, Si-ah burst through the school gate, rushing after the cab.
"Ji-an! Where are you going? Wait!!"
She yanked the back door open and climbed in.
"What are you thinking?!"
But Ji-an didn't turn. She kept her eyes fixed on the city beyond the window.
The skyline blurred past. In her fist, the sticky note was damp with sweat.
In the racing car, Ji-an's gaze held no hesitation now.
Only one thought circled in her mind:
He has to know. He has to understand what we did, how much it mattered to us.
And soon, the taxi veered into the heart of Gangnam, where towers of glass and steel rose into the sky.