The café is ten minutes from the subway station.

Ten minutes if you walk normally.

Seven if you’re slightly late.

I’m not late. Not exactly. But I still walk a little faster than usual.

Group projects always sound simple in theory. Divide the work. Share the responsibility. Present something vaguely intelligent in front of the class.

In reality it usually means one person doing everything while everyone else pretends to contribute.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I sigh.

Ju-Won again, probably.

He discovered the group chat yesterday and immediately started using it like a diary.

Do we need sources?

Should we make slides?

What kind of font looks academic?

Or maybe he’s asking about Ha-Yoon again.

I pull my phone out while waiting at the crosswalk.

Unknown number.

Right.

Again.

The message is short.

You looked ridiculous yesterday

That sweater was awful

I stare at the screen for a second.

Then I scroll up.

There are more.

You should stop pretending you have friends

Your hair looks stupid today

Pink does not suit you

Blocking them doesn’t help. A new one will show up the next day anyway.

Someone clearly has a lot of free time.

I lock the phone and slip it back into my pocket.

Delete. Ignore. Repeat.

The crosswalk light turns green

I keep walking.

✩ ♬ ₊˚.𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The café is small but warm, the kind of place that smells permanently like coffee beans and baked sugar.

Myung is already there.

He’s sitting at a corner table with his laptop open and three highlighters lined up beside it like weapons.

He looks up when I approach, and apart from a quiet hello he ignores me.

I sit down across from him and take my notebook out.

“So,” he says, pushing his glasses up slightly. “The presentation.”

Straight to business.

“We need a clear theme,” he continues. I nod.

“That makes sense.”

We start jotting down ideas. Literature, music, film—different examples of cultural identity in modern media.

Myung talks fast when he’s thinking.

He’s halfway through explaining something about narrative perspective when the café door swings open.

The bell above it jingles.

Ju-Won walks in like he owns the place.

“Sorry!” he calls, spotting us immediately. “Traffic.”

He’s not even out of breath.

I’m pretty sure he walked here.

Myung glances at the clock but doesn’t say anything.

Ju-Won drops into the empty chair beside me.

“Alright,” he says, leaning forward. “What’d I miss?”

“Everything,” Myung replies flatly.

Ju-Won grins.

“Perfect.”

✩ ♬ ₊˚.𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Eventually Myung closes his laptop.

“I have to go,” he says, standing. “But this is a good start.”

We exchange a few last details about sources and deadlines before he leaves.

The café door jingles again as he disappears outside.

For a moment it’s just me and Ju-Won.

He taps his fingers against the table.

Then he looks at me.

“Hey, Nari?”

“Yeah?”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“You and Ha-Yoon are pretty close, right?”

There it is. The thoughts that have kept him distracted all day finally make it to light.

“Yes.”

“What kind of stuff does she like?” he asks quickly. “Music, movies, that kind of thing.”

His voice is casual. Light.

Like he’s asking for a friend.

His thoughts are louder.

She laughed at my joke in class yesterday. That has to mean something.

I close my notebook.

This is convenient.

The System wants Ha-Yoon to go on a date.

Ju-Won wants help getting close to her.

Sometimes manipulation is surprisingly easy.

“If you want,” I say slowly, “I could introduce you properly.”

Ju-Won blinks.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

His grin appears instantly.

“That would actually be amazing.”

Of course it would.

We leave the café a few minutes later.

He heads toward the subway while I walk in the opposite direction.

The sun is already setting.

The sky is soft orange, fading slowly into evening blue. For a moment the street is quiet.

No mission notifications.

No messages.

No expectations.

Just the sound of distant traffic and music humming through my headphones. I let myself breathe.

It only lasts a few seconds.

I reach the intersection and step off the curb. I manage two steps before headlights explode across my vision.

A horn screams.

Everything happens at once.

The metal is hard. It hurts.

The impact is strong. It’s fast

Weightlessness I float for a moment, before the world turns dark.

And I’m standing on the crossing.

The same sidewalk.

The same crosswalk.

The car is still approaching.

Time stops.

My body hasn’t moved yet one step more and the car will hit me. A what if thought appears across my mind. What if I took one more step forward, where my life meets the metal car. I move one step backwards, tripping over the curb onto the sidewalk. 

My heart slams against my ribs.

Time resumes.

The car speeds past the intersection a second later.

Wind rushes against my hair as it goes by.

For a long moment I just sit there.

Then the thought settles quietly in the back of my mind.

Right.

I can’t die during this mission.

The System wouldn’t allow it.

I stare at the road. My heart is loud it deafens me.

dum, dum, dum

It races faster than the car. Its speed overwhelms me, and unlike the time and this everlasting moment, it doesn't stop.

Ara would never let me die, not permanently anyway.

Death will have to wait another year for me.

That should be comforting.

Somehow, it isn’t.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Slowly, I pull it out.

Unknown number.

Again.

The message appears on the screen.

Be careful crossing the street

A second message follows.

You almost got hit!

My fingers hover above the phone.

Another message.

Next time you might not be so lucky.

For the first time all week, the texts don’t feel annoying.

They feel… deliberate.

Watching.

I delete the messages.

Then I block the number.

The screen goes quiet again.

But as I slide the phone back into my pocket, a strange thought lingers at the edge of my mind.

Tomorrow a new number will probably appear.

And another message will arrive.

Waiting.