July 27th, 2128.
10:35 p.m.
L City.
The sound of running water in the bathroom gradually faded.
Steam slipped out through the half-closed door, spreading a light mist across the room. The mirror was fogged white; the ceiling light diffused into a soft halo, bathing the hotel room in a quiet, warm glow.
Ethan shut off the shower, wiped a broad streak across the mirror. Water smeared away, and his face slowly cleared through the mist.
Twenty-eight years old. Clean, sharp lines. But his eyes held a weight far older than his age.
Ever since his rebirth, he'd gotten used to switching between "now" and "memory" every day. That sense of being out of sync with his time sat deep in him, hidden from everyone—
only showing itself when he stared at his own reflection like this.
He towel-dried his hair roughly and draped the towel over his shoulders as he stepped out.
The carpet's soft give rose through his bare feet, pulling away a layer of fatigue. He tossed the towel over the back of a chair and was about to head straight for the bed—
He'd done enough for one day. By normal rules, he'd earned a "power-off" night.
Then his laptop chimed.
The holographic display brightened, and a familiar message bubble popped up in the lower right corner:
[Architecture Forum: You have 1 new private message]
His step froze.
So did his heartbeat—for just a moment.
—Architecture forum.
—Private message.
At this time of night, a DM from there that triggered a pop-up notification could only mean one thing.
Quinn.
He pulled out the chair and sat down, finger tapping the floating UI.
The desktop sprang up in the hologram. The little envelope icon in the top corner glowed with a red dot.
He opened it.
The familiar blue-and-white DM interface slid into view. A "1" badge sat above the inbox.
At the top of the list, he saw the simple ID:
[Q.N]
Last reply time:
2128-07-27 22:26
Current time: 22:35.
Nine minutes ago.
His last message to her—the long, serious DM about "micro-cities under extreme climate"—had been sent the night before last, July 25th.
Two days.
She hadn't answered instantly. She hadn't disappeared, either.
Just long enough to keep the world moving at a "realistic" tempo.
He clicked into the thread.
His previous DM—detailing his understanding of "extreme-climate micro-city frameworks"—took up most of the screen. Underneath the long stretch of blank space, three new lines appeared:
[Q.N]: Sorry, I haven't logged into the forum these last two days.
Work's been heavy. I barely have time to touch my phone during the day.
If you don't mind, here's my WhatsApp: xxxxxx
It started with an apology.
Her tone was formal. She clearly cared about "keeping someone waiting."
She didn't just say "been busy lately." She explained: "haven't logged in for two days," then offered a solution—handing over a more direct contact.
That wasn't how someone who enjoyed stringing people along behaved.
That was how someone who took every serious reply seriously behaved.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Didn't log into the forum"—that also told him something else:
Her life was sliced by reality into narrow slits of time.
He didn't answer on the forum.
Instead, he opened WhatsApp and added the account.
In the notes, he typed just two letters:
QN
Enter.
A new contact appeared in the list—blank profile picture, empty thread.
He hovered his fingers over the keyboard for half a beat, then typed:
Ethan: QN, hi. This is Ethan. The forum's too slow—let's talk here instead.
The message sent. A moment later, the top of the chat lit up:
typing…
She was online.
Ethan leaned back and nudged the chair a little, finding a comfortable position. The side light washed over the keyboard in a soft layer.
Two nights ago, after sketching out Peach Garden's blueprint in his Storage Space, he'd spent his last ten waking minutes scrolling that architecture forum.
Her post—"Preliminary Framework for Micro–Cities Under Extreme Climate Conditions"—had stuck out like a single steel beam in a trash heap of memes and spam.
Three-tier structure:
Surface defense.
Underground living.
Energy and circulation.
She'd defined each layer's function, capacity limits, population flow, and material movement clearly.
That wasn't some "cool idea" post.
That was written by someone who'd actually studied, modeled, and cared.
In his last life, he'd only ever heard the name of New Mountain Shelter's designer—Quinn.
By the time he saw her work, she was gone.
This time, he'd bumped into her at the drawing stage.
A new line popped up, pulling him back.
[Q.N]: H–hello. I'm Quinn.
Thank you for reaching out.
The short message was spaced generously—like each sentence needed its own breath.
Even the doubled "H–hello" felt like she'd hesitated mid-typing. Her politeness was textbook.
Definitely Quinn.
Ethan smiled.
Ethan: Nice to meet you, Quinn. Two days of silence—I almost thought I'd said something wrong.
On the surface, it was a light joke. Underneath, it gently opened a door:
I noticed you were late, but I'm not angry. I'm giving you a chance to explain—if you want to.
Sure enough, she jumped.
Messages came almost on top of each other:
[Q.N]: No no!!
I really wasn't ignoring you. My schedule's just been crazy. We're short–staffed and constantly covering holes.
*[Q.N]: I have to watch the dining room and private rooms during the day. Some nights I end up in the back helping the kitchen move stuff.
By the time I get home I basically pass out.
I only log into the forum once or twice a week usually. Didn't expect your DM to land exactly on one of those days…
She spelled everything out.
It was obvious she cared about being misunderstood. About possibly making someone uncomfortable.
Words like "schedule," "dining hall," "private rooms," "back kitchen" jumped out at him.
Pure frontline service work.
The person who'd wrote that city skeleton was living on the floor, not above it.
He deliberately nudged her into misreading his assumption, half teasing, half testing:
Ethan: Sounds like your job is way tougher than I imagined.
I thought architects stayed up late over drawings. Didn't realize you were pulling nights in the back kitchen.
A one-character reply came back:
[Q.N]: ?
Then, quickly:
[Q.N]: Why would you think I'm an architect?
Ethan prodded.
Ethan: Your model was so professional. Hard to write something like that if you're not in the field.
Most people couldn't.
The typing indicator flickered on and off—she was hesitating.
After about forty seconds, a longer block appeared:
[Q.N]: Mm… I am from architecture. Undergrad and grad school both.
I worked at a design institute in the capital for a bit, but it wasn't long.
A period. A short pause.
Then:
*[Q.N]: Ran into some… "bad situations."
Let's just say: leadership issues. I didn't know how to handle it. Didn't want to swallow it. So I just resigned.
*[Q.N]: My family doesn't have any connections. If I'd tried to make noise, I'm the only one who would've gotten burned.
My parents just said "let it go, those people have power," and told me to come back to L City.
Her language was precise and restraint-heavy—"bad situations," "leadership issues," "didn't know how to handle," "let it go."
Enough to make anyone angry.
Yet she sanded the edges off every phrase.
She didn't want to relive it. Didn't want to dump filth on someone else's screen. Just… summarized it into something bearable.
That restraint, somehow, made Ethan's chest tighten.
Someone like her had already paid heavily before the apocalypse.
After it, without anyone guarding her, reality would chew her to pieces.
He forced his breathing even.
Ethan: You're back in L City? I'm here too. So we're hometown neighbors.
Coming home's best anyway.
So you're not doing architecture work now? That's a shame.
His words carried full respect—but left all initiative with her.
He already knew she was in L City. That was why he'd moved so early to contact her. His plan was always to secure targets—Star Wardens and key allies—locally first.
He hadn't known she'd been at a capital–tier institute, though. The kind of place senior people were powerful enough to be dangerous. If she said her family had no backing, he could conclude she'd been admitted purely on merit.
A top student.
There was a long pause.
[Q.N]: That is quite a coincidence, hometown neighbor. You are different, you know.
Most people who commented on that post either said I "overthink things" or that it was "a waste of effort." You're the first who asked if I was still in architecture.
Another line:
*[Q.N]: I'm not at a design institute now. After I came back, my family found me a stable job.
At a five-star hotel in the city center.
*[Q.N]: I work in the F&B department as a supervisor. Sounds fancy, but really it's just senior waiter plus shift captain. I build schedules, watch service, coordinate banquets, and smile through complaints.
[Q.N]: On the plus side, at least I won't starve. For now.
He read the lines, eyes steady.
He didn't write: What a waste.
He didn't say: You deserve so much better.
He simply met her where she stood and moved one step forward.
Ethan: That's a big turn—from a design institute to a hotel.
[Q.N]: Reality. I really thought I'd keep designing forever.
Then I realized "not fitting in" is also a mistake.
She was painfully honest.
*[Q.N]: I'm bad at "unspoken rules." I don't want to learn them. So I stepped out.
He leaned back and tapped the desk lightly.
Bad at the game. Refuses to play.
In another light:
Someone who spent everything on getting it right, rather than getting along.
Ethan: Still working on models?
*[Q.N]: Of course. If I stopped, I'd feel like life hollowed me out.
A longer block followed:
[Q.N]: My time at the institute was short, but a few things stuck with me.
Like watching my designs get twisted completely just to squeeze more money out.
Or seeing safe structures vetoed because they "cost too much."
Or leaders flipping an entire project with one sentence.
*[Q.N]: So I started wondering—
If something truly extreme happens one day, will these buildings made "for aesthetics and savings" be the first to fail?
*[Q.N]: That's when I started piecing together the model. First by hand, then in software.
I guess it's a form of self–comfort.
[Q.N]: Don't laugh.
He didn't laugh.
Inside, something soft in him shifted.
Ethan: I wouldn't laugh.
I only think this: you're one of the few people in this generation genuinely taking "extreme cases" seriously.
[Q.N]: You make it sound so dramatic.
Ethan: Most people just type "so scary" under a news article and then go back to scrolling memes.
You're the one who asks, "If this really happens, what could I do?"
The thread went quiet.
Her avatar flickered—typing, stopping—
debating whether to say more.
Nearly a minute later:
[Q.N]: Honestly, I have a bad feeling.
There've been more and more extreme weather events these past years.
Once, in the capital, I was on a high-rise construction site. The wind was so strong my feet felt… wrong.
When I got back, I started cataloguing news, data, photos of extreme incidents.
*[Q.N]: I don't know if it's just seeing too much, but I started dreaming—
Water reaching too high…
The sky stuck on grey…
Cold so deep even ice wouldn't melt.
*[Q.N]: Then I'd lie there and think: if that happens, how do people live?
[Q.N]: Sometimes I wonder if I'm crazy.
Ethan read in silence, that eerie sense of overlap rising.
He'd seen wind freeze steel into icicles in the Great Freeze.
He'd seen asphalt crack under heat like scorched clay.
He'd lived through acid rains and endless nights and diseases that made normal life disintegrate.
And here, before any of that—
someone had already pulled all those shards together and turned them into a model.
Ethan: You're not crazy. You're just seeing one layer deeper than most.
When a building collapses, most people blame the contractor.
You're the one asking, "How do I build it so that at the moment of collapse, it buys us a few more seconds?"
[Q.N]: You're very good with words.
Another line:
[Q.N]: Weirdly enough, that… actually makes me feel better.
Ethan smiled.
Ethan: Then my typing wasn't wasted.
Keep building.
Even if it never gets used, at least you tried seriously to make the world a little safer.
[Q.N]: And you?
You said you're doing something not exactly… conventional.
Ethan: Simple version? I'm working on a "doomsday prep project."
[Q.N]: …Doomsday prep?
Like… stockpiling canned food and flashlights?
Ethan: A bit bigger than that.
He chose a framing that wouldn't sound insane to a normal person.
Ethan: I believe extreme events are only going to get more frequent.
So I'm doing three things:
Preparing supplies;
Finding people;
Securing locations.
[Q.N]: Finding people?
Ethan: Finding people who would still be useful in those conditions.
Like you.
There was a full ten-second silence.
[Q.N]: Don't say it like that. I'll think you're trying to rope me into a cult.
Ethan actually laughed.
He could see her, in his mind, typing that with a nervous look and shielding it with humor.
Ethan: Relax. No joining fee.
And if we ever do get to that point and you decide to work with me, I won't make you do it for free. For now, it's early. We've barely even talked about real life.
[Q.N]: lol
Her tone eased a bit.
[Q.N]: So you're in L City too, huh?
Didn't expect there to be someone else who actually believes this extreme-weather stuff could become reality.
Ethan: If I didn't, I wouldn't have written you that long essay.
[Q.N]: Fair point.
He typed:
Ethan: Where are you working exactly?
[Q.N]: Hotel.
Ethan: I mean… which hotel?
He asked as casually as possible, like asking "which company."
She paused.
*[Q.N]: The five-star in the very center of L City. You probably know the name. I won't advertise it. It's the one the government and big companies usually book out for conferences and banquets.
Heard from upstairs it might not last much longer. Lots of government billsaren't being paid.
She hadn't said the name.
She didn't need to.
Ethan: That makes sense. Tough job.
Big place with that clientele—that's a lot of high-maintenance guests.
[Q.N]: Plenty.
People who say "the soup isn't hot enough," "the lighting isn't pretty enough," "the music's too loud."
Plus the drunks who pick fights on purpose.
*[Q.N]: But some are nice. Some business travelers quietly say, "You guys work hard. Thank you."
On those days, I feel like… it wasn't completely pointless.
He read that and, in his mind, flipped through another list—the one that went beyond the Twelve Star Wardens.
Taurus, Mason—already in place.
Aries, Blaze—also in place.
Next came engineering, medicine, research…
Quinn ranked high.
Ethan: When do you sleep?
[Q.N]: Rotating shifts.
This week I've been on early and banquet—early breakfast, late-night weddings and business dinners. I get maybe six hours a day.
*[Q.N]: I'm used to it though. 😅
[Q.N]: What about you?
You don't sound like someone who sleeps much either.
Ethan: Lately? It's been busy.
I just sold my old company and changed lanes.
[Q.N]: You ran a company? And sold it??
The surprise came through.
[Q.N]: How old are you??
Ethan: Twenty-eight.
[Q.N]: …
I'm twenty-five. Hello, old man.
The joke dropped her age on the table.
[Q.N]: Twenty-five and already running around a hotel, feels like I'm turning into the "old staff" among the waiters.
Ethan: Twenty-five with a fully thought-out extreme-city model and a head full of drawings is already ahead of what most people chase for decades.
[Q.N]: That's… a bit much.
Ethan: I'm just putting facts into sentences.
She paused.
[Q.N]: You talk in a very strange way. Not like anyone I know.
Ethan: For example?
*[Q.N]: You actually read what I wrote. Then you pulled specific points from it to talk to me.
You said I'm "one of the people preparing for extreme conditions," and tell me to "keep building the model."
Other people either say I'm paranoid… or ask "why aren't you married yet."
Another line:
[Q.N]: That's why I said all that just now.
Ethan let the words sit for a second.
Trust could be weird like that.
After his last life, he no longer believed in trusting easily. This time, he'd be careful—
Bring in only those who truly deserved it.
Ethan: Then from now on, if you ever feel like talking, just talk to me.
I won't find you annoying.
[Q.N]: That's you digging a hole for yourself.
Ethan: A hole?
Why would I dig one, when I have warehouses? I don't need pits—I've got tons of storage space.
He threw it out there on purpose, nudging her toward his side of the line.
And she took it.
[Q.N]: You rent warehouses?! You're really storing supplies for extreme weather in real life?!
Ethan: Yup. In the real world and in my head.
[Q.N]: …
You really are crazy. Hahahahahahaha 😄
[Q.N]: But honestly?
It's kind of nice.
It's easier talking to "crazy" people than "normal" ones.
She checked the time.
[Q.N]: I'm on early shift tomorrow. Have to get up at five.
If I don't stop now I'll be a panda. 🐼
[Q.N]: Let's talk more when there's time.
Ethan glanced at the corner of the screen—almost 1 a.m.
Ethan: All right. Good night.
Quinn— I'm really glad I met you.
She hesitated a second.
[Q.N]: Good night.
Only two words.
But it felt like the softest step she'd taken toward anything outside of work in a long time.
The thread went quiet. The "typing…" indicator vanished.
She'd probably put the phone down and actually gone to sleep.
In the room, only the air conditioner whispered. Outside, city lights were slowly slipping from "bustling" toward "hushed."
Ethan stared at the screen for a moment, then closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair.
In his mind, a line of text appeared:
Capricorn · Quinn
Role: Engineering & Urban Construction Core
Traits: Extreme modeling, city skeletons, shelter master designer
Keywords: Stubborn, clear-eyed, non-mainstream, talent unrecognized
He checked the line off in his head.
Capricorn—about to take her place.
Of course, as far as Quinn was concerned, she had no idea any of this was happening.
He picked up his phone and opened another chat.
Zoe.
For finance, law, and structure, he needed Zoe.
For the bricks and beams of the world, he needed Quinn.
Someday, those two lines would meet in Peach Garden.
He typed:
Ethan: When you have time, do a basic background check on the five-star hotel in the city center—the one that handles most government conferences and business banquets. No rush. Don't contact them yet.
I may start using it for meals and meetings. I just want a high-level overview.
Her reply came in less than two minutes.
Zoe: Got it.
I'll put together a basic credit & operations brief. No outreach.
I'll send it to your email once it's done.
He replied with a simple:
Ethan: Okay.
Outside, one section of lights after another winked out. Deep into the night, L City rolled onto its side with a quiet, colossal shift.
Ethan washed his face, turned off the lights, and lay down.
As his eyes closed, images floated at the edges of his mind—
The forum post about an extreme-weather city.
The line in her DM that said, "I always feel like these models might be needed someday."
The new name at the top of the WhatsApp thread:
Quinn
This time, he thought,
you won't finish your drawings alone and then vanish.
You'll stand exactly where you're meant to be.
The room went fully dark.
Only a thin scratch of city light slipped through where the curtains didn't quite meet and crept up the corner of the wall.
L City sank one shade deeper into night.
Somewhere in a small apartment in some anonymous block, a woman who'd spent the entire day on her feet was asleep already.
Her phone sat next to her pillow, the screen still on, the last line of chat frozen on:
"I'm really glad I met you."
Her dreams held no wind.
No cracking towers.
Just a faint, unfamiliar line of light, tracing quietly along the edge of her life.