Morning came with the smell of street bread and exhaust.
Seo Jae-Min stood on the sidewalk beneath a tangle of power lines, watching Seoul stretch awake. The city's rhythm fascinated him: buses groaning to life, the metallic chorus of shutters rising over storefronts, the click-clack of heels against wet pavement. Everything moved with purpose. Everyone seemed to know where they belonged—except him.
"So," L.I.A. said, her voice a crisp murmur in his inner ear, "Operation 'Blend In' begins. Objective one: acquire shelter. Objective two: avoid arrest. Preferably in that order."
He looked up at the sky, where pale clouds drifted past the skyscrapers. "Shelter first, then."
"Bold. I was expecting you to prioritize breakfast."
"I already had coffee."
"That wasn't breakfast; that was caffeine-based self-deception."
He smiled faintly and began walking.
***
He wandered through narrow side streets lined with gimbap shops and laundries. A neon sign blinked Rooms for Rent — Monthly Deposit Only. The glass door beneath it rattled in the wind.
Inside, the hallway smelled of instant noodles and bleach. A small woman in her fifties sat behind a cluttered counter, flipping through a ledger. She looked up as the door opened.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to rent a room," Jae-Min said politely.
"Deposit?"
He hesitated. "I… don't have one."
Her expression flattened. "No deposit, no room."
"Excellent negotiation skills," L.I.A. muttered. "Would you like me to hack the banking system next?"
"I'd prefer not to commit crimes before breakfast," he whispered under his breath.
The woman squinted. "What?"
"Nothing." He bowed lightly. "Thank you for your time."
He left the building and exhaled into the cold morning air.
"This is going well," Lia said cheerfully.
"Optimism helps."
"So does money."
***
He tried again at a convenience store, browsing the shelves with mild curiosity. Rows of triangle gimbap, instant ramyeon, and bottled teas gleamed beneath fluorescent lights.
The clerk, a sleepy university student, barely looked up.
Jae-Min reached for a gimbap but stopped. His reflection in the glass door looked too clean, too poised—someone out of place.
"You could offer to work," L.I.A. suggested.
He considered it.
"Excuse me," he said to the clerk. "Do you need help?"
The clerk blinked. "Help?"
"I'm good at organizing things."
"Uh… this is a convenience store, not a volunteer center."
"I told you," Lia sighed. "No one wants unsolicited competence at 8 a.m."
He placed the gimbap back carefully and left without buying anything.
***
By noon, sunlight filled the streets. Jae-Min wandered toward a market district alive with color and noise—vendors shouting prices, the smell of tteokbokki simmering, fishmongers spraying down their stalls.
He stopped by a food cart where an older man flipped hotteok on a griddle. The sweet scent of caramelized sugar drifted in the air.
"You look lost, kid," the vendor said with a grin. "First time here?"
"Something like that."
"Hungry?"
Jae-Min nodded.
"Here." The man handed him a hotteok wrapped in paper. "First one's free. You look like you need it."
He accepted it with quiet gratitude. The first bite was molten sugar and soft dough, and something inside him relaxed for the first time all day.
"Sensory satisfaction detected," L.I.A. noted. "Biochemical stress levels decreasing. Congratulations, you've discovered comfort food."
"It's… good."
"That's because it contains more sugar than most small planets."
The vendor laughed at his expression. "You must be new to Seoul."
"I suppose so."
"Where you from?"
He hesitated. "…Far away."
The man chuckled. "Aren't we all?"
***
When the lunchtime crowd thickened, Jae-Min helped the vendor move boxes of ingredients without being asked. His movements were effortless, precise. He stacked crates faster than the man could blink.
"Whoa there," the vendor said. "You some kind of athlete?"
"Just… good at lifting."
"Good? You just carried twenty kilos like it was nothing."
"Congratulations," Lia whispered. "You've just invented a new superpower: suspicious helpfulness."
The man clapped him on the shoulder. "If you're looking for work, come by tomorrow. I could use an extra pair of hands."
Jae-Min inclined his head. "Thank you."
***
That afternoon, he sat by the river again, eating another hotteok the vendor had insisted he take.
He watched people jog past, dogs barking, children laughing. Simple rhythms of life.
"Statistical analysis complete," Lia said suddenly. "You are approximately 98 percent more capable than the average civilian yet 100 percent useless at existing among them."
"That's encouraging."
"You've mastered combat, survival, and advanced physics. But you can't open a bank account."
He considered that. "Perhaps survival here requires different skills."
"Like taxes."
"Terrifying."
She snorted.
***
He spent the next few hours learning: how to use a metro card, how to operate a washing machine in the coin laundry, how to connect to public Wi-Fi. Every small discovery felt absurdly complicated, yet strangely satisfying.
At one point, he tried to pay for bus fare with a bottle cap. The driver stared at him for a long second before sighing.
"Just… sit down, man."
"Success," Lia said flatly. "You've achieved free public transport through pity."
He smiled faintly. "Progress."
***
As dusk settled, neon lights flickered on. Jae-Min stopped by an electronics store, drawn to a display of smart devices.
Inside, a sleek white drone hovered inside a glass case—almost identical to the ones he dimly remembered.
A flash of memory struck him: metallic skies, voices shouting through static, a city in ruins. His chest tightened.
"Hey," Lia said softly. "You're drifting."
He blinked, the vision fading. "I saw… something."
"Fragments. Neural echoes. Don't chase them too hard; you'll overload your synapses again."
"I need to remember."
"You will. Just not all at once. Humans break that way."
He nodded slightly, gaze still fixed on the drone. The future had followed him here, even if he didn't understand why.
***
By night, the city glowed—a river of light and sound. Jae-Min walked through it quietly, a stranger wrapped in borrowed clothes, half-listening to Lia hum static in the background.
He found a bench beneath a flickering streetlight. The air was cold but gentle. Across the street, a small goshiwon advertised cheap rooms, no questions.
He considered it.
"Finally," Lia said. "A place suited to our moral ambiguity."
Inside, the clerk barely looked up when Jae-Min asked for a room. The price was low; he paid using the small tips the vendor had slipped him earlier.
The room was barely bigger than a closet—a bed, a desk, and a single window overlooking the alley. He sat on the bed, exhaling.
"Mission accomplished," Lia said. "You've officially joined the ranks of underpaid dreamers."
"It's… quiet."
"Quiet is good. Quiet means no explosions."
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. The hum of the city filtered through the thin walls.
"Lia," he murmured, "what do you think I was before all this?"
"Statistically? A soldier. Maybe a scientist. Definitely someone who thought sleep was optional."
"Do you think I was happy?"
There was a pause.
"You were… determined. Happiness wasn't part of the equation."
He closed his eyes. "Maybe I'll try adding it this time."
"That's dangerously optimistic."
He smiled faintly. "You'll get used to it."
"Doubtful."
Outside, rain began again, soft against the window.
***
In another part of the city, the government analyst from the previous night scrolled through new footage—security cameras from the market.
The same man appeared again, moving with impossible precision, lifting boxes effortlessly.
The analyst frowned, typing a report.
Subject continues to display anomalous coordination and physical ability. Possible bio-enhancement. Recommend further observation.
A classified message pinged on his screen:
Do not approach until confirmation.
The analyst hesitated, then deleted the footage.
Back in the goshiwon, Jae-Min slept soundly for the first time since awakening.
In the dark, the faint blue light of his neural implant pulsed once beneath the skin of his temple—like a heartbeat remembering its rhythm.
"Goodnight, idiot," Lia whispered, voice softening just a little.