The Golden Heart did not crack quietly.
It echoed.
Like a drumbeat beneath the city.
Min-Jae stood staring at the spreading fracture in the trunk. The golden veins shimmered weakly, pulsing slower than before.
Seo-Ha stepped closer to the tree and placed her palm against the stone.
The surface responded instantly—light wrapping around her wrist like a living ribbon.
She closed her eyes.
Min-Jae shifted awkwardly.
"Is it… talking to you?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"It's unstable."
"That's not comforting."
She withdrew her hand slowly.
"There is a fracture forming above ground. A memory rupture."
Min-Jae blinked. "A what?"
"When a powerful choice is disrupted," she explained carefully, "time replays it incorrectly."
He stared. "You could've just said 'something bad.'"
She almost smiled.
Then the shrine trembled.
The golden veins brightened violently.
The air twisted around them.
Min-Jae stumbled.
"Okay. That's new."
The chamber walls rippled like water disturbed by a stone.
And then—
The shrine disappeared.
Min-Jae landed hard on stone.
Not subway stone.
Polished courtyard stone.
He looked up.
Cherry blossom trees surrounded him again—but older. Taller. Thicker.
Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze.
Except this time, the breeze moved.
The petals fell normally.
People stood nearby.
Not commuters.
Not modern Seoul.
Women in hanbok. Guards in armor. Nobles whispering behind silk sleeves.
Min-Jae stared down at his hoodie and jeans.
"…Oh, no."
Seo-Ha stood beside him, steady.
"We've shifted."
"Shifted where?" he demanded.
She looked around, recognizing something.
"Joseon."
Min-Jae closed his eyes briefly.
"Of course. We go from subway to historical drama. Great."
A group of palace guards noticed them.
One pointed.
Min-Jae gave a small wave.
"Hello! We're… very lost tourists?"
Seo-Ha grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward a side corridor before the guards could react.
They slipped behind a wooden screen.
Min-Jae pressed his back against the wall, breathing fast.
"I did not sign up for period acting."
"This is a rupture," Seo-Ha said, scanning the courtyard carefully. "A moment that is about to go wrong."
"Define wrong."
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she pointed.
Across the courtyard, a young crown prince stood alone beneath a blossoming tree. He looked nervous. Younger than Min-Jae expected.
A woman in hanbok approached him slowly.
Her face was hidden by a thin veil.
Seo-Ha's voice lowered.
"This is the night he was supposed to choose mercy."
Min-Jae blinked. "Excuse me?"
"In history, the prince spares a political rival tonight. That decision prevents a civil war."
"And if he doesn't?"
She looked at him.
"Thousands die."
Min-Jae exhaled.
"No pressure."
The air around the prince flickered faintly.
A golden distortion shimmered behind him.
Min-Jae felt it in his chest again—that strange pull.
Like a thread connected from him to that moment.
Seo-Ha noticed his expression.
"You feel the crack."
"Yeah."
"Because your existence shifted this choice."
He stared at her.
"I didn't even know I was alive five minutes ago."
The distortion behind the prince darkened.
The woman with the veil stopped walking.
Time around her slowed slightly.
Not frozen.
Wrong.
Min-Jae winced.
"That doesn't look healthy."
Seo-Ha stepped forward.
"We have to stabilize the moment."
"How?"
She looked at him.
"Calm your heartbeat."
He blinked.
"You're joking."
"If your emotions spike, the rupture worsens."
He stared at the prince.
At the looming tension.
At the unseen ripple spreading outward.
"Okay," he muttered. "No big deal. Just controlling history with my pulse."
Seo-Ha moved toward the edge of the courtyard, whispering something under her breath.
The black-thread bracelet on her wrist glowed softly.
Min-Jae took a deep breath.
In.
Out.
He focused on something small.
The way petals landed softly on stone.
The way lantern light flickered.
The prince's nervous hands.
His heartbeat slowed.
The golden distortion shimmered.
Softened.
Seo-Ha stepped closer to the prince—unseen by everyone except Min-Jae.
She whispered near his ear.
"Choose mercy."
The prince's expression shifted.
He inhaled deeply.
Then he lowered his hand.
The guards behind him stepped back.
The woman in the veil removed it.
Her eyes filled with tears.
The distortion dissolved completely.
Min-Jae felt something inside his chest release.
Like a knot untied.
The courtyard shimmered.
Petals rose into the air—
And the world folded inward again.
They landed back in the shrine.
The Golden Heart glowed brighter.
The largest crack had sealed slightly.
Min-Jae lay flat on his back.
"…I would like to file a complaint."
Seo-Ha stood over him, breathing hard.
"You stabilized it."
"I stabilized it?" he wheezed. "You whispered. I hyperventilated."
She almost laughed.
"You chose calm."
He stared at the ceiling.
"That might be the first time anyone has praised me for that."
The tree pulsed warmly.
Min-Jae sat up slowly.
Then he noticed something.
"Wait."
He looked at her carefully.
"Earlier… when Do-Yun said you knew the price."
Her eyes dimmed slightly.
"You said someone loses a memory."
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"Did you?"
Silence.
The tree hummed softly.
Seo-Ha's hand tightened around her bracelet.
"…Yes."
"What?"
She looked at him.
"I do not remember my mother's face."
The words were quiet.
Simple.
But they hit harder than the cracks in the tree.
Min-Jae stared.
"You changed time."
"I saved a city."
"And lost her?"
She nodded once.
The shrine felt heavier.
Min-Jae looked at the Golden Heart.
At the glowing veins.
At the sealed crack.
"…So every time we fix something…"
She finished it for him.
"Time demands something."
He rubbed his face.
"Of course it does."
The air shifted again.
Not violently.
Softly.
A single golden petal drifted down.
It hovered in front of Min-Jae.
He hesitated.
Then reached out.
This time—
The memory inside the petal wasn't war.
Or promises.
It was simple.
Seo-Ha laughing.
Freely.
Without discipline.
Without restraint.
Min-Jae blinked.
He looked at her.
"You laugh differently in the future."
She froze.
"…What?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"It's lighter."
She stared at him like he had just touched something sacred.
Because she didn't remember ever laughing that way.
The Golden Heart pulsed again.
Warmer.
Stronger.
Far above them—
In a place they couldn't see—
Baek Do-Yun watched the sealed crack reform slowly.
And his smile faded.
"Ah," he murmured.
"So that is the pattern."
His gaze darkened.
"Then I will break something larger."
Back in the shrine—
Min-Jae stood slowly.
"So."
He looked at Seo-Ha.
"How many centuries do we have to fix?"
She met his eyes.
"As many as it takes."
He sighed.
"Great."
Then he offered her his hand.
"But next time, we're changing clothes first. I'm not outrunning guards in a hoodie again."
And this time—
Seo-Ha laughed.
Softly.
Like a memory returning.