The Best of Tomorrow-Chapter 4Vol 2. .2

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Seon-jae’s steps led him straight to the hospital. His father had fallen off a ladder while tending to a yuzu tree and fractured his spine. It had already been two weeks since he was admitted, and the doctor said he’d need at least two more weeks in bed.

When Seon-jae opened the door to the hospital room, his father, lying on the bed by the window, greeted him with a flat, “You came.”

Seon-jae’s mother, who had been watching over him, had left the hospital to handle the yuzu farm that his father had stubbornly started on his own out in the countryside. Someone had to take over the farm, or sell it off, or at least do something with the land—she had made her intent to tidy things up very clear.

It fell on Seon-jae to fill her place. With his father unable to move from the hospital bed, someone had to be there constantly.

“My yuzu...”

His father stared out the window, murmuring sadly. Seon-jae looked at him and let out a short laugh.

“Stop longing for them. The doctor said it’s too much for you.”

He straightened the folds of his father’s hospital gown and sat down on the cot beside the bed.

His father looked intently at his face.

“Something bothering you? You don’t look well.”

“Nothing.”

“That so.”

His attempt to express concern ended just as quickly as it began. His father turned his eyes away and rested both hands over his stomach. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a while, then slowly closed his eyes as sleep began to weigh on him.

As Seon-jae sat on the cot and watched his father doze off, he pulled a book from his bag and opened it to the page marked with a bookmark. Then he began to read aloud in a low voice. His father, eyes still closed, furrowed his brow. His emotionless voice scattered softly through the room.

“Put that book away. Son, what kind of genre is that, anyway?”

His father looked at him with concern, as if genuinely worried about his son’s reading preferences. Seon-jae quietly met his gaze, then closed the book and held up the cover.

“You don’t know this guy? He’s on two medical TV programs.”

“How would I know? I’m sure he’s doing fine.”

As if not wanting his sleep disturbed, his father turned away and shut his eyes again. Seon-jae stared at his face for a moment longer before setting the book down and standing. He walked to the door to turn off the lights. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

It was a two-person room. In the bed next to his father’s lay Kwon Eun-chan, Kwon Seong-jun’s younger brother. He had been in a coma from a traffic accident and had now been lying there for almost a month.

Seeing someone he knew lying unmoving was unsettling for Seon-jae as well. From time to time, he would wipe Eun-chan’s hands and feet and talk to him about this and that. He often thought the sleep was going on far too long.

With his hand on the light switch, Seon-jae looked over at Kwon Eun-chan.

“Sleep well, Eun-chan.”

He flicked the switch. The light in the room dimmed, replaced by the faint glow from the hallway leaking in through the door.

Shuffling back, Seon-jae sat down again on the cot. Pale moonlight poured over his head.

His father’s earlier words—I’m sure he’s doing fine—lingered in his ears.

Living well without being worried about. Was that why Im Sol had given him that book? Even the faint light brushing past his shoulder and spilling over his knees reminded him of her.

Sunlight brought thoughts of Im Sol to life, and darkness gave those thoughts depth. The more his longing grew, the more the shadow of melancholy swelled.

Looking down at the shadow cast under the streetlight, Seon-jae thought, Inside this dark silhouette, there’s only Im Sol.

He buried his face into the bed his father lay on and let out a heavy breath. His eyes turned toward the wall, sinking dark with sorrow.

“All I can think about is you.”

His eyes, staring into the void, slowly closed.

His breaths, once audible, gradually quieted as sleep crept in.

In the darkened hospital room, Seon-jae raised his head and noticed Kwon Eun-chan sitting upright on the bed across from him.

“Uh...”

His eyes widened and his back straightened.

The fragmented moonlight shone faintly, like starlight scattered across the room, making Seon-jae squint. Just as he began to think something was off about the view, Kwon Eun-chan’s voice pierced clearly through the air.

“Hyung?”

Eun-chan stood before him now, waving his hand like he wanted him to look.

“Eun-chan? You’re awake?”

Eun-chan smiled and nodded. Then he grabbed Seon-jae’s hand.

“I’ve got something to show you. Come with me.”

Shouldn’t we call the doctor first?—he thought, but then he realized it wasn’t reality.

The scenery would turn sharp and then hazy again, like it was rippling underwater, then flickering with light.

“Let’s go,” Eun-chan urged, tugging at his hand.

Seon-jae nodded and followed him.

They left the hospital room and descended the stairs, and a large door appeared before them.

When they pushed it open, a twilight park came into view.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Eun-chan strolled across the park garden.

The path, strewn with dry leaves and flower petals, looked like all four seasons blended together.

Off to the side, the reeds swayed heavily in the breeze.

“Where are we going?”

Seon-jae’s voice flew off into the wind.

“You’ll know when we get there.”

Eun-chan’s reply floated back faintly.

He didn’t look back as he walked ahead. His brisk pace made him grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

The wind smelled like winter. The reeds smelled of autumn.

The petals covering the ground smelled of spring.

The chirping insects ringing in the sky reminded him of summer.

The road seemed endless.

The wind picked up.

The reeds swayed so violently, they looked like they were going to topple.

A sense of déjà vu washed over him.

He was sure he had walked this path once before.

“Hello?”

He turned his head at a voice.

“This dream’s weirdly vivid.”

Beyond the reeds that reached his chest, he spotted someone sitting on a bench.

Short bangs, long hair tied back, a navy school uniform, pink socks pulled up over her stockings.

Seon-jae’s steps stopped.

In the unfamiliar scenery stood a familiar figure.

“Mom, this dream won’t end. I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting here.”

Im Sol let out a sigh and stuffed her phone into her pocket.

He had wished he could see her even just in a dream.

But she had never once appeared in his dreams.

And yet now, her voice was so vividly etched into this space.

He quietly watched her in the darkness.

Looking at the world she was in... somehow, it didn’t feel so bad.

“Turn down the TV, will you!”

Not something one would normally shout in a park.

Why was the Im Sol in his dream saying something like that?

He looked around, wondering if someone else was with her—but she was alone.

A bit loud for a monologue, he thought.

Then she suddenly burst into tears.

And just as suddenly, she stopped.

Watching her talk and cry all by herself felt strangely surreal.

Then she clasped her hands together and began to pray.

“Please, let me wake up from this dream already!”

That silly behavior he hadn’t seen in a long time made him laugh.

But then, as if she heard it, Im Sol suddenly turned around.

Right at that moment, Eun-chan tugged on his hand.

“There’s no time.”

When he looked back again, the bench was empty.

Eun-chan’s hand in his felt strangely cold.

He turned toward the bench where Im Sol had been sitting, pushing through the reeds.

But the reed field stretched endlessly.

The distance never seemed to shrink.

The reeds that had once only reached his chest now towered above him.

His entire vision was filled with swaying stalks.

“You can’t go,”

Eun-chan’s voice came from behind.

He turned to where it came from and saw the reeds bending wildly in the wind.

Through the violently swaying reeds, he caught a blurry glimpse of Eun-chan’s figure.

“This is your dream, hyung.”

Though his figure was vague, the voice was as clear as if he were whispering beside him.

Raindrops began to fall.

Seon-jae looked up and felt the rain hit his forehead—tap, tap.

A black umbrella unfolded above him, blotting out the sky.

When he looked down, Eun-chan was holding the umbrella, smiling softly.

When did he get an umbrella?

He wanted to ask, but didn’t.

That’s how dreams worked.

Things appeared from nowhere, and disappeared just the same.

The rain ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) drumming against the umbrella grew louder.

The sun was hidden behind heavy clouds, and the world dimmed into gloom.

“Hyung.”

Eun-chan’s voice cut through the damp air, low and resonant.

With an expressionless face, he opened his mouth without shifting his gaze.

“Most people want to change their entire lives when they fall into a twisted timeline.

They try to erase who they are now, completely.”

His flat voice swallowed the sound of the rain.

“They don’t even fear the future they might bring about. They charge ahead without hesitation.”

“...”

“That girl is the only one who ran through the warped time for someone else.

She didn’t covet your heart, didn’t try to possess it.

She only used her time to mend a broken path.

It feels like she tried to change just one single truth,

but you’re smashing her with all your might.

I came because it was frustrating to watch.”

The sudden shift in Eun-chan’s tone made Seon-jae’s eyes tremble.

His voice... for a moment, it sounded different.

“...Eun-chan?”

“Stop going to Im Sol.”

When that familiar name left Eun-chan’s lips, Seon-jae’s mouth fell open.

His mind blanked.

Then it spun.

Then it fell apart in a daze.

The diagonal rain streaked across the sky like thorns branching out from stems.

The light kept fracturing.

And the fractured light seeped into every corner of the scenery.

“We pass through countless worlds with the same face,

but the one you know, that face...

will be waiting in the world you’ll reach someday.”

The broken light was sucked into the walls.

Pitch-black darkness poured in.

Seon-jae, who had been slumped over the bed, slowly lifted his eyelids.

With each blink, the quiet hospital room became clearer and clearer.

He sat up straight and looked across at the other bed.

Kwon Eun-chan was lying there, perfectly still.

“...Was it a dream?”

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and brushed his hair back.

The voice had been too vivid to be just a dream.

In the world you’ll reach someday...

That final sentence had ended like it hadn’t found its period.

It drifted in, unstable.

He felt strange.

His heart was unsteady.

And the more it swayed, the more muddled his head became.

His gaze dropped to the floor, where his book had fallen.

He reached out and picked it up.

When he opened the cover, a short note from Im Sol remained inside.

His heart began to race.

Then his eyes welled up with heat.

His throat choked with sobs.

It felt like he had been left behind in a strange world.

What used to shine next to him was gone.

Now, he was flailing alone in the dark, sinking slowly into somewhere deep.

Only uncertainty remained in the darkness whose depth couldn’t be measured. In that darkness where nothing could be grasped, the only thing one could rely on was a vague understanding—and realizing that was despairing. She couldn’t trust the street she had seen in the dream. She couldn’t trust it, but she had to. Because that was all she had left.

□ □ □

“Mom...”

At the timidly uttered voice, Im Sol’s mother, who had been plating cucumber kimchi, raised her eyes. The girl had seemed out of it the past few days. Wondering if her daughter was sick, she reached out and touched her daughter’s forehead without finishing her sentence.

“You don’t have a fever.”

“......”

Sol’s unsure gaze dropped to the floor. Why does she look so defeated? No matter how you looked at it, something seemed off. Im Sol’s mother put down her chopsticks and pulled out the chair to sit.

“Did something happen?”

Just a few months ago, she had sobbed day and night saying she wanted to quit school, but recently, she’d seemed like she’d had some kind of awakening and had been going without a single complaint. Even though her grades had dropped, she’d seemed so energetic that her mother had secretly been relieved. But now it felt like the same dark, anxious mood was returning, and concern crept in.

“What’s wrong? Tell Mom.”

“Well...”

“Yeah?”

“I... think I became one of those.”

“One of those? One of what?”

“A... another soul...”

Her mother’s anxious gaze shifted to Im Sol’s face.

“Coming in.”

□ □ □

The road was frozen solid from the cold snap. The wind felt like blades against the skin. Im Sol was being practically dragged down the road, her hand gripped tightly by her mother. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold.

“Mom, I said I don’t want to go!”

“The lady next door said this place is the most accurate!”

“Ugh, I really don’t want to. It’s scary.”

“I’m even scarier! You brat! How can you not remember anything for two months?!”

“It’s not that I don’t remember... it’s just kind of hazy...”

“A stranger said he knows you. And his stuff was in your possession. Do you think that’s normal? Huh?”

Right in the middle of the street, her mother shouted furiously. Passersby glanced at them as they walked by. Im Sol’s head drooped like bent rice stalks. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Stop talking and just follow me.”

Her mother resumed walking, pulling Sol by the wrist. Her body moved without resistance. Sol followed behind her mother in silence.

Their steps stopped in front of a house. At the very end of a long alley stood a fortune-telling house. It was a dead end, and the gate had a red flag above it. On the gate was written, ‘Famous Fortune House – General Spirit Jusin’.

The eerie atmosphere turned Sol’s face pale. As she began to step backward hesitantly, her mother gripped her wrist and held it tight. Then, as if making up her mind, she pushed open the wooden gate.

Creeeak. The door opened with a sound. With strained legs, she stepped over the threshold. Past a small courtyard, there was a house with a tiled roof. At the top of stone steps was a wooden floor, and hanging inside was a red curtain blocking off the interior space. On the right side of the yard, there were several onggi jars large enough to hold two people.

“Come in.”

As if sensing their presence, a voice rang out from behind the red curtain. The sudden sound startled Sol, her shoulders flinching.

Sol and her mother knelt side by side. She hadn’t intended to kneel, but when she saw the man sitting in front of a mural, her knees buckled on their own. A young man with thick eyebrows and sharp eyes. Because sunlight filtered through the red curtain, the entire room glowed crimson. That red aura felt unsettling.

They had said the General Spirit was Jusin, but the mural showed a woman wrapped in long white cloth walking a tightrope. The man, who had been watching Sol staring vacantly at the mural, smiled slightly and spoke.

“General spirits are well-versed in disguise magic.”

“Huh?”

“They can hide themselves or change into something else at will.”

“Ah...”

“It might be that a god of fate borrowed the general spirit’s form, or perhaps it’s the general spirit who took on the form of the god of fate.”

“......”

Sol gripped the hem of her clothes tightly and turned her head toward her mother. Even her mother, hearing this bizarre talk, turned and locked eyes with her daughter. Sol gave a small shake of her head. Mom, this place is weird. Her mother also gave a small shake of her head. We’ve already stepped inside.

Seeing the two exchange glances, the man chuckled lowly.

“Were you scared by what I said?”

At that voice, both of their gazes turned toward the man. He wiped the smile from his face and looked at Sol.

“What’s truly frightening is when you trample the sandcastle you built—without even realizing you were the one who built it.”

He hadn’t asked why they had come, whether they needed talismans—he just kept saying what he wanted. Sol’s mother grew more and more suspicious. She hadn’t said a single word yet, and was considering just leaving, when her phone rang. The loud ringtone made her flinch, and the man smiled faintly and said, Looks like that’s for you. Go ahead and answer it.

When Sol’s mother checked the caller, she recalled the neighbor Mija’s words, That place is legit. The call was from a real estate agency. It looked like the house they’d listed months ago was finally going to sell. Oh my god, she murmured, heading out into the yard with the phone pressed to her ear. She was so shocked that she didn’t even remember to tell Sol to wait.

Now Sol was left alone.

Her mother’s voice was faintly audible as she spoke on the phone outside. The man, still sitting upright with perfect posture, stared at Sol’s face. His piercing gaze made Sol glance nervously around the room, unable to meet his eyes.

“There’s a scent of a different time on your shoulder.”

Sol looked down at her shoulder in alarm. There was nothing there. What did he mean, a scent?

“I don’t know how many years ahead, but it’s a scent that doesn’t yet exist in this world.”

The man, who had been sitting so properly, leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her shoulder intensely.

“But there’s also my scent on your shoulder.”

Her lips went dry. She swallowed hard.

“There’s no trace of another person’s soul having entered.”

His gaze lifted from her shoulder and pierced straight into her eyes.

“Did a friend from the future pass through you...?”

Sol’s face grew increasingly pale from tension. The man smiled gently.

“There’s no way overlapping time could be clean. There must be traces left. Wouldn’t it be nice to watch over them with a generous heart?”

“...Watch over them?”

He nodded.

“At the very least, I should let you enjoy the fun of discovering my traces.”

He leaned back and stroked his chin.

“After all, it was a kind of journey, wasn’t it?”

□ ◆ □

Snow from the heavy snowfall the day before blanketed the roads in white. Early in the morning, Seon-jae and Im Sol sat side by side on a playground bench. Thanks to the gazebo roof overhead, this place was like an isolated island, untouched by snow.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

At Seon-jae’s words, Sol, sitting a good distance away, kept her gaze fixed on her toes.

“Your name... was Ryu Seon-jae, right?”

The way she awkwardly spoke his name made Seon-jae unable to meet her eyes. He lowered his head.

“I don’t know either. I really don’t remember anything.”

“......”

Sol fidgeted with the hem of her clothes and looked at her feet. Then she pulled something from her pocket and held it out. In her small hand was Seon-jae’s iPod. Seon-jae stared at it in silence.

“This... is yours?”

He nodded, unsure how to respond to Sol’s formal speech.

“...I’ll return it.”

Unable to make sense of anything, Seon-jae’s face twisted slightly. No matter how carefully he chose his words, there was no answer. He rubbed his forehead, brushed his hair back, and stared blankly ahead. He couldn’t meet Sol’s eyes—there was no warmth in them.

“You gave me this MP3, and... that’s why I gave it back to you.”

“I did?”

The warmth between them had changed. Again, Seon-jae nodded instead of saying yeah. He felt like crying. Do you really not remember me? When you came to school in your gym uniform? When we walked together listening to music? None of that stayed with you? He wanted so badly to ask, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I’m really confused too.”

“......”

“I really don’t remember.”

Her face looked just as sorrowful as his. That alone made him fall silent.

“I wasn’t going to come today...”

She handed something to him. A piece of paper fluttered in the wind.

“I... apparently wrote you a letter.”

He looked at her small hand—the one that had always comforted him—and accepted the paper. His name was written on it in familiar handwriting.

[To Seon-jae.

If I suddenly appeared one day, please believe it was because I fell here from another world. I wanted to cross every world to reach the one you couldn’t get to. Even though it was my decision alone, without your consent.

Every word I said about how precious you are, about wanting to share all my happiness with you, was sincere. But now, that heart is leaving this world. There is no more of me here who feels that way about you. It’s a cruel goodbye, but maybe you could think of it like a wave that rushed in and then receded.

I’ll never forget the winter we shared. I’m sorry for stepping into your time. I hope only good dreams reach you. Always stay well, Seon-jae.]

Drip. A tear fell. Another drop landed on the already blurred name. It felt strange. The scenery shattered into fragments—in one was him, in another was Sol sitting beside him, and in another, the letter. In one fragment, the Sol who had written this letter seemed faintly visible.

Im Sol glanced at Seon-jae, who had his head bowed. She widened her eyes slightly when she saw him crying, but turned away without showing it.

“I’m sorry.”

She hadn’t made him cry, yet it felt like she had. She didn’t remember writing the letter, but it was in her handwriting, and it had been on her desk.

But she couldn’t form a bond with someone she didn’t remember. She couldn’t call or ask how he was doing. They were strangers—and would remain strangers. That’s what Sol believed.

□ ◆ □

Even after Sol left, Seon-jae stayed for a long time in the space they’d shared. He sat blankly on the bench, his unfocused gaze drifting until he looked up at the sky. It was pitch black, like ink had been spilled across it, with scattered stars embedded here and there. Not a single cloud marred the clear, clean darkness. A chill wind slipped beneath his collar. His chest ached. He felt hollow. He couldn’t even sigh—like even his sighs had run away.

Sol’s face wouldn’t leave his mind. It was the same face, confused by everything, just like him.

As time passed, his feelings only grew deeper—but there was no way to express them. It was a foreign, overwhelming emotion Seon-jae could hardly endure. Another world... a future to reach... Sol, where did you go? Did you really go somewhere?

He bit his lip and held back the tears. A knot tightened in his chest, then the tears welled up. The emotions surged up from deep within. There was nothing he could do now—except believe that the world she was in existed. Except wait until he could reach it. That conclusion made it all the more painful.

Tears, on the verge of spilling, filled his eyes. Images flashed by—Sol collapsed in front of the school gate, Sol running beside him, Sol waving her phone light at the festival. Her tearful, bright smile was gone.

With his head bowed, Seon-jae covered his eyes with his hands. His lips tightened. Tears, hidden beneath his palms, slid down his cheeks. Drip, drip. They pierced the air and hit the ground. Afraid that a sob might slip through, he pressed his lips even harder.

He didn’t know. And Sol did. The last thing Seon-jae wouldn’t know. The tear that blurred his name—Seon-jae—seemed to overlap with the one Sol had shed.