The Best of Tomorrow-Chapter 3Vol 2. .2

□ ■ □

Shim Won-jun looked at me pitifully as I spent the entire day sighing as if the ground would cave in. As we stood side by side at the elevator after work, he kept glancing over at me, and the moment the doors opened on the first floor, he tugged me along, saying we should go have a drink. So much for my vow to quit drinking—I found myself once again sitting in front of a shot of soju. At this point, I’d lost count of how many times. It felt like a waste of time to even make such vows.

“I’m sorry about last time. Drink as much as you want today, Sol. Even if you walk out of here on all fours, I’ll take full responsibility and get you home safely.”

We clinked our glasses and downed them in one go. I squinted my eyes and let out a rough “Khh.”

“Something bothering you?”

“Sorry?”

“You’ve looked worried all day.”

I blinked slowly, licking the liquor off my lips. “No, nothing’s wrong,” I said with a sheepish smile. Shim Won-jun nodded and broke off a piece of tofu with his chopsticks.

“If anything’s weighing on you and you want to talk, tell me. My mouth’s heavier than my whole body.”

He laughed, tapping his lips. I smiled and said, “Okay,” but I knew I probably never would.

We passed the bottle back and forth quickly, draining our glasses. By the time we opened the third bottle, he glared at the tofu, saying it was staring at him, and I, playing along, said I’d scold it and started stabbing the tofu with my spoon and stuffing it into my mouth. Shim Won-jun nodded enthusiastically, giving me a thumbs up.

The conversation drifted from the tofu glaring at him, to his hawk-eyed boss at work, then to his ex-girlfriend who still weighed on him. He said her name was Mi-jin, and they broke up two years ago. But even now, every year on his birthday, she would get drunk and call him. He said ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) he always rejected her without hesitation, but that rejection made it even harder on him.

“If she’s not going to get back together with me, why shake me up like that? Isn’t that just mean?”

His words felt like arrows aimed directly at me. I nodded to show sympathy, then cautiously asked,

“You really resent her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. If she’s not coming back, she shouldn’t be calling me drunk and crying. It gets your hopes up for no reason.”

“...Right. But what if she had a reason? Something she couldn’t say?”

“If she doesn’t say it, how would I know? You can’t expect people to understand what you don’t tell them. That’s selfish.”

Shim Won-jun’s expression was firm as he set his spoon down with a clatter.

“...You’re right. I’d hate her. A lot. So much I’d never want to see her again.”

He filled his empty glass with soju. His gaze dropped to the clear liquid rippling in the glass. As always, Seon-jae’s face floated up in my mind. He was always this transparent. Was I the one who was murky?

The past I had traveled to—because I already knew the future, it felt like a fabricated world. I never imagined the connection I made with Seon-jae there would carry on like this. That I, just me, could linger in his heart for so long. I kept silent so I wouldn’t hurt him, but maybe that silence only left him disappointed.

“Come on, this is getting sad. Let’s drink,” said Shim Won-jun, offering his glass. I gave a bitter smile and raised mine. Yeah, let’s drink first. Let’s leave today’s thoughts for tomorrow.

□ ■ □

Despite saying he’d take responsibility even if I crawled home, Shim Won-jun had my arm slung over his shoulder and kept groaning as he yelled “Taxi, taxi,” in a half-hearted voice, as if hoping any car would just stop. A taxi pulled over on the shoulder after hearing his cries, and he shoved me into it without a second thought. It felt like there was a specific order—feet, then hips, then torso, then head—but he shoved my head in right after my feet, so I ended up in a ridiculous pose.

“Sol! Message me when you get home!”

He said this as he closed the backseat door.

“Okay, I will!”

I shouted just in case the door muffled my voice. My words came out all mangled. I saw him hand two ten-thousand won bills to the driver through the passenger-side window. Slumped in the backseat, I raised a hand weakly.

“No, it’s fine! I have money!”

“Please take care of her, driver. Sol, get home safe. Don’t forget to message me.”

“No, you really don’t have to pay for the taxi!”

As he stepped back, the driver rolled up the window and lifted his foot off the brake. The taxi slowly pulled away from the shoulder and merged into traffic. I turned to watch Shim Won-jun fade into the distance. “Seriously, you didn’t have to pay for that,” I mumbled and pouted as I adjusted my posture.

My body, flushed with alcohol, felt hot. My arms and shoulders kept drooping as if all the strength was leaking downward. Even sitting was hard—I leaned my head against the window, panting. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I fumbled to pull it out. It was a message from Shim Won-jun with the taxi’s license plate number. I wanted to reply with a simple “Thanks,” but my thumb kept hitting the wrong keys. Frustrated, I sighed and shoved the phone back into my pocket without replying.

“Excuse me, driver, would it be okay if I opened the window for some air?”

I made eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror. His eyes looked a bit sharp—was it not okay? Was he annoyed at driving a drunk passenger? I shut my mouth. The driver said nothing, but lowered the window.

“Oh, thank you.”

I gave a quick bow and looked outside. The wind slapped my face, biting and cold. Yeah, I need that—like a slap to the face to snap me out of it. I pressed my face to the door and watched the street.

My eyes stung and tears welled up, but before they could run down my cheeks, the wind blew them away.

“Ugh, my eyes...”

I shut them tightly, letting the wind hit me. The pounding in my head from the alcohol felt like it was fading a little.

The taxi slowed and stopped at a red light. I gripped the window frame with both hands, my head resting on the front seat, eyelids weighed down by sleep. I kept mumbling, “Don’t fall asleep...” when my phone buzzed again.

Still half-asleep, I groped around and pulled it out. My vision was blurry. After blinking a few times, the new message came into focus.

[You’ll lose your head like that.]

I thought it was from Shim Won-jun, but it was from an unknown number. Not saved. A chill ran down my spine. “Lose your head”? What did that mean? I rubbed my neck, feeling unsettled, and looked up.

A car was stopped in the lane next to us. Its windows were tinted too dark to see inside.

“Lose your head, lose your head...” The words echoed in my mind. Were they talking about me sticking my head out the window? The thought made my stomach twist. As I stared at the window, another message came in. The taxi started moving again.

[Your eyes are glazed. Get it together.]

I nearly threw my phone out the window. The message was blunt and terrifying. I folded in on myself and quickly rolled the window up. Only after it closed did I dare peek outside again. The taxi was speeding down the road.

Heart racing, I checked the message again. Maybe I’d misread it. But no—it was definitely directed at me.

[Who is this?]

I waited. Somehow, I felt like the sender had been in the car beside us. If not... how else could they have seen my face?

[Seon-jae.]

The shock sobered me instantly. I straightened up. I kept reading his name over and over until it finally clicked—Seon-jae knew my number.

[How did you get my number?]

[You didn’t change it.]

I remembered the secondhand marketplace. The person who tracked me down by phone number because I hadn’t changed it after buying the pocket watch. Now Seon-jae was doing the same. Apparently, I’d made quite a scene in the past.

[But you changed yours.]

It wasn’t the number I had memorized. Of course he changed it. He wasn’t just a regular high schooler anymore. Just like his number and his life had changed, I thought his memory of me would’ve flipped, too.

[Save it.]

Seon-jae hadn’t changed at all.

□ ■ □

I got off work well past the usual time. I slipped on my coat, grabbed my bag, and finally checked my phone after a busy day.

[Im Sol-ssi, you didn’t forget our plan today, right? I’m on my way now, but traffic’s bad.]

The name was unfamiliar, but it was saved in my contacts. And not just “Hyeon-cheol”—it was “Mr. Hyeon-cheol”? Frowning, I scrolled up through the conversation. The first message was a greeting.

[Hello. I’m Go Hyeon-cheol, a senior at Hyeon-joo’s school.]

Below that was a whole chain of exchanged messages. Starting with, “Hi, I’m Im Sol, Hyeon-joo’s friend,” it had gone on to “Where’s your hometown?”, “Have you eaten?”, “What time works for you?”, and ended with “Where should we meet?”

So this was the messed-up part. The timeline had warped strangely around January 1st, when my time travel began. I had returned to the present, but it wasn’t quite the same present I had originally lived in. I had no memory of anything between the end of the time travel and the moment I opened my eyes again.

I was still waiting on job interview results, but there were no albums or posters of Potato Pancakes left. When Hyeon-joo had asked if I wanted to be set up before Seon-jae died, I’d said no because I was too busy fangirling—but in this version, apparently I’d said yes.

“God, what do I even do now.”

Standing in front of the elevator, I stared at Go Hyeon-cheol’s message. He’d already left, so I couldn’t bail. Sighing, I scrolled to find the message with the meeting place.

“This is insane.”

I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor, typing a reply as I went.

[Sorry, just got off work. I’m on my way now.]

I arrived at the meeting place. According to the map, it was where I’d once been caught by Seon-jae eating ramen—it had been a convenience store, now turned into a small pub. No wonder the address had felt familiar. It was near his agency.

When I opened the door, someone looked up. A man in a crisp white shirt and dark gray suit was sitting alone by the window.

“Im Sol-ssi?”

He stood up and asked cautiously. I nodded, and he smiled brightly and held out his hand.

“Hello, I’m Go Hyeon-cheol.”

I awkwardly shook his hand. Aside from his name, I didn’t know anything about him.

And just like that, my blind date with Go Hyeon-cheol began.

□ ■ □

I didn’t know how the meetup spot had turned into a bar, but there I was, drinking beer with grilled salmon and fried oysters. Go Hyeon-cheol looked as neat as his clothes suggested. The problem was, he talked a lot. And every word he said was about himself—which quickly drained any interest I might’ve had.

I hadn’t come here out of any real desire to hit it off. I’d simply thought, Well, it can’t hurt to make a decent impression on someone new. But his nonstop self-praise completely killed that line of thinking.

By the time I was chewing through a piece of fried oyster, I had already learned that Go Hyeon-cheol had graduated top of his class, had never missed a scholarship, lived in Canada for two years, just got a new car, and was going skiing next week.

“Ah, I see.”

I finished the rest of my beer in one gulp while listening to him. As soon as I set the empty glass down, I realized—his story was only going to get longer. And there was no way I could endure the rest of it sober. I raised my hand.

A staff member caught sight of me and approached with a smile. I glanced across the table.

“Hyeon-cheol-ssi, would you like another drink?”

He smiled and glanced at the watch on his wrist. Then he lowered his arm and said,

“Sol-ssi, want to go out for soju?”

□ ■ □

We moved to a place not far from the bar. I hadn’t planned on a second round, but when Go Hyeon-cheol said, “Didn’t you say Hyeon-joo lives in Seoul? Let me ask if she can come,” and pulled out his phone, I was too caught off guard to say no.

Even after finishing a whole bottle of soju, there was no reply from Hyeon-joo. Go Hyeon-cheol ordered another, and halfway through that second bottle, she finally responded that she couldn’t make it.

The grilled sea bream we ordered melted in my mouth. I hadn’t meant to drink this much, but the food made the soju go down dangerously easy. Three bottles sat empty on the table.

While beer turned Go Hyeon-cheol into a relentless braggart, soju turned me into one.

The restaurant had a wall of autographed CDs on display, and one of them was Potato Pancakes’ album. The sight of it sent a pain stabbing through my chest.

I started thinking about Seon-jae—bumping into him by the emergency stairs, how he warned me it was a no-smoking area, how he told me to save his number. My mouth opened before I knew it. “This is about my friend,” I began to say.

“I mean, why’d that guy ignore her for six years?”

“Hmm? I already told you there was a reason, didn’t I? Weren’t you listening?”

“Oh. Did you?”

We were both obviously drunk. Even our speech was slurred. Go Hyeon-cheol plucked a single green pea from the side dish, muttered “Hmm,” and tried to rest his chin on his hand—missing on the first attempt and awkwardly lifting it again. I saw it all, even through my blurry vision.

“About your friend,” he said, spinning his soju glass between his fingers.

“She’s a total bitch.”

“......”

“She’s a bitch.”

Wow, harsh.

I lifted my glass. Go Hyeon-cheol hurriedly raised his, but I didn’t bother clinking them. I simply pressed the rim to my lips and downed the drink.

That bitch... is me.

“Why do you think that?”

Go Hyeon-cheol grimaced as he downed his own shot and reached for a bite of food.

“She confessed first, then didn’t date him and ghosted him. Classic triple combo.”

Now that he said it... he wasn’t wrong. I nodded quickly in agreement—then immediately fell into despair at the realization that the story was mine.

“If I were that guy, just the sight of her would piss me off.”

“But he said he hated her for pretending not to know him.”

My face flushed with drunken heat. My heart pounded, and my breath came quicker. I pressed both palms against my cheeks and propped up my chin.

Seeing me, Go Hyeon-cheol mimicked the pose—both hands cupping his chin—and stared straight at me. Without meaning to, we both ended up doing flower poses, facing each other.

“That’s pretty weird.”

“Right? It is weird.”

“He must’ve really liked your friend. That guy.”

Our eyes met—his slightly glazed over. I wondered if I looked the same. I fought to keep my drooping eyelids open.

“Hey, where’s Ryu Seon-jae going?”

“Just stepping out.”

...Wait. Did I just hear that name?

I turned my head while still resting my chin. I saw the door slowly closing behind someone. I’d definitely heard Ryu Seon-jae. I turned my gaze to where the name had come from. A few guys were sitting in a shadowy corner, drinking. The lighting was too dim to see faces. Was I hallucinating?

To snap out of it, I slapped my cheeks loudly.

I poured the last shot, and the soju bottle emptied cleanly. I clinked glasses with Go Hyeon-cheol in good spirits, and we got up to leave.

We were both drunk, bickering over who would pay—“I’ll pay!” “No, let me!”—but the owner took Go Hyeon-cheol’s card, ending it quickly.

Outside, the air was cold. Go Hyeon-cheol waved the receipt, saying he’d call for a driver and use the restroom, then disappeared through the door at the back of the shop.

I shivered, arms crossed, waiting for him. What time was it? How was I getting home? I reached into my pocket to get my phone.

“Where is it...”

My eyelids felt heavy from the alcohol. I blinked slowly, fumbling through my pockets. “Maybe it’s in my bag,” I muttered, swinging my bag around.

Why was it so messy today? I kept pulling out useless stuff.

“Ah.”

I couldn’t stay standing. I sat down on the ground, hunched over with my head resting on my knees. Earlier, I had just been tipsy, but now I felt completely smashed.

I breathed heavily. Something buzzed on my body. I opened my eyes and felt around. It was near my stomach. I lifted my coat and slipped a hand into the pocket of the vest underneath. My phone.

“Oh? I put it in here?”

I shook my head at my own stupidity and checked the caller ID.

Blinking slowly, I brought the screen close.

“...Seon-jae?”

I stared at the screen. The vibration tickled my palm. I was still hesitating when the call ended.

“Still the same—calling but not picking up when I call back.”

As I stared blankly at the missed call screen, I heard Seon-jae’s voice. Was I hearing things? I turned my head toward the sound.

Seon-jae stood there, a plastic convenience store bag looped over his wrist. Was I hallucinating? I rubbed my eyes hard. Too hard—my vision blurred.

“You look drunk.”

He crouched next to me and pulled out a carton of milk from the bag. Chocolate, of course.

How did I end up bumping into him on the street like this?

“Are you heading to the company?”

“No. Here.”

He nodded toward the place I’d just come out of. So I had heard someone call out Ryu Seon-jae earlier.

Then, the conversation I’d had with Go Hyeon-cheol there came rushing back to me in vivid detail.

“Wait... So you saw me?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you... hear what I was saying?”

“It was too noisy. Didn’t catch a thing.”

“Oh.”

“Sounds like you said something I wasn’t supposed to hear.”

“What? No! Definitely not!”

I widened my eyes and waved my hands. The chocolate milk in my hand sloshed around.

“You reek of alcohol.”

I clamped my mouth shut and scooted slightly away. Seon-jae took a sip of milk, turned his head, and looked at me.

“Didn’t know you were dating.”

Huh? What? Dating? With who? Go Hyeon-cheol? I just met that guy today.

He didn’t look like he was joking. His face was too serious. Was he really thinking that? I covered my mouth to block the smell of alcohol and looked at him.

“How long has it been?”

I shook my head. I was shaking it to mean I’m not dating anyone, but Seon-jae opened his mouth at that exact moment, so it looked like I was answering Not long.

What timing.

Seon-jae looked away with a bitter expression.

The wind blew. It ruffled his hair sideways, and his scent drifted toward me. When we were in high school, he’d smelled like lilacs. Now, there was a faint woody cologne.

“We’re nothing.”

He looked off into the distance again. The wind didn’t die down—it kept sweeping by. My flushed cheeks turned cold.

“Sol-ssi?”

Go Hyeon-cheol had come out and was calling me from a short distance away, tilting his head and pulling his coat tighter. No wonder—he expected to see just one person, but there were two.

“Yes,” I answered shortly and turned to Seon-jae.

“I’ll get going.”

I stood up, and Seon-jae stood too. I turned to leave, but he called out, “Wait,” and caught my arm. I turned back to look at him.

His eyes lingered on my face before flicking to where Go Hyeon-cheol stood.

“I’ll... call again.”

“Hm?”

He hesitated, trying to say something.

“Pick up this time.”

His face was blank, but his eyes held a quiet tension. He bit down on his lower lip, chewing it as he waited for my response. I nodded.

Seon-jae stayed where he was, rubbing his brow. I stood there for a moment, wondering if he’d go back in. But when he didn’t move, I finally stepped away.

“I’m going,” I said.

He gave a small nod. One side of his face was slightly hidden by the hand rubbing his eyebrow.

As I walked away, I caught one last glimpse of Seon-jae’s eyes watching past me—toward Go Hyeon-cheol. I turned my back and kept walking.