Early spring. The season when the world awakens from its winter slumber. Signs of new beginnings emerged everywhere in response to the changing times. The crisp air carried a hint of moisture, and the freshly sprouted grass scattered a sweet fragrance.
As the days gradually grew longer, a veil of gray clouds wavered over the high midday sun. Though the faint clouds seemed destined to drift away with the wind, for now, they cast a threatening shadow over the bright daylight.
Day after day, the tension built in anticipation of the predicted creature wave. Even in these moments of relative peace, it felt less like tranquility and more like the calm before the storm.
The military high command had finally issued an official order to prepare for the unprecedented crisis of the incoming creature wave.
With a battle ahead that rivaled—or even surpassed—the previous large-scale conflicts, the special operations forces conducted joint training exercises, readying themselves for war against the monsters.
A foreboding unease grew stronger with each passing day, the oppressive heat thickening.
Reports began trickling in that reconnaissance units had detected creatures moving southward. Soon, attention shifted away from the uproar surrounding mutations and S-Class Guiding. Instead, all focus turned to the life-and-death battle looming ahead. The impending danger heightened the soldiers’ tension, and the weight of duty and responsibility pressed heavier upon them.
The fear that today might be their last began gnawing away at the Awakened.
They had trained endlessly for years, yet they knew there was no certainty in battle. No matter how prepared one was, even the most elite special forces units could be wiped out in an instant. Conversely, some would claw their way back from seemingly impossible situations.
And yet, they fought. Because they had to. Because they wanted to win.
They believed in their cause, in the years of training they had endured. They armed themselves and stood their ground. They were soldiers, and their purpose was to fight for humanity and their convictions—to survive.
In the end, there was only one truth. Their weapons would never be aimed at each other, only at the creatures.
Amidst all this, Kwon Jae-jin’s Awakened registration code was issued.
He was provided with an identification tag according to his rank and affiliation, along with standard-issue supplies: five sets of combat uniforms, one dress uniform, two pairs of combat boots, two pairs of gloves, one face mask, one combat cap, two personal rifles, two HMD goggles, one personal communicator, an army insignia, a sergeant badge, and even a healing factor.
Kwon Jae-jin gazed down at the dog tag dangling from its chain, feeling a strange sense of unfamiliarity. Unable to bring himself to wear it around his neck, he shoved it into his pocket. Seo Eui-woo, who had been watching him from the side, did the same with his own reissued tag, stuffing it into his pocket without a second thought.
After returning home, as Jae-jin organized his combat uniforms in the dressing room, Eui-woo spoke up casually.
“Check your gear. If anything’s defective, we’ll have to go back and exchange it.”
“Ah, right.”
Jae-jin immediately grabbed the goggles, pressed them onto his face, and powered them on. A blue holographic screen flickered to life, displaying a message from Eui-woo.
[Jae-jin, can you see this?]
When he turned to the side, he saw Eui-woo grinning, his sharp features partially obscured by his own goggles.
A sudden memory surfaced—back when they used to exchange messages nonstop. The corners of Jae-jin’s lips twitched. He almost let out a helpless laugh but managed to suppress it just in time.
[How is it? Can you see everything clearly?]
[Wow, I’m actually contacting you through your personal line right now. Whoa.]
[This is your line. I’m sending messages directly to you.]
Kwon Jae-jin’s eyes skimmed over the goggle settings clumsily. He opened the settings window, which had small pictograms, and switched it to voice mode.
“It’s clear.”
As soon as he spoke, the same words were instantly input onto the goggle screen.
[It’s clear.]
When he sent the message, Seo Eui-woo’s smile deepened upon confirming it was delivered properly. A dimple formed beside his perfectly sculpted face.
[Yeah. I see it clearly too. Looks like there’s no issue.]
The voice function seemed to be working fine…
Jae-jin opened the settings window again, slowly navigating to switch it back to automatic mode. He then focused his gaze on the message window, rolling his eyes to test it.
The system claimed it allowed hands-free messaging using only eye-tracking. Supposedly, this feature was crucial for combat situations.
[Eui-woo.]
Jae-jin concentrated on moving his eyes to type out the message. The unfamiliar layout of the virtual keyboard caught him off guard, but after a few errors, he finally managed to spell out “Eui-woo.”
Eui-woo, who had been watching Jae-jin awkwardly fiddle with the goggles like a baby playing with a new toy, suddenly let out a surprised exclamation when the message appeared.
He replied at lightning speed—so fast that Jae-jin couldn’t even comprehend how he typed that quickly.
[What? You already figured it out? Is my baby a genius?]
At that, Jae-jin couldn’t hold back the tug at the corners of his lips. He tried to suppress the grin creeping up, but it was impossible. He quickly typed a reply—this time, much faster than before.
[.]
Eui-woo burst into laughter at the single dot. The sound of his low chuckles made it even harder for Jae-jin to hide his amusement. Eventually, he gave up, allowing a small smile to linger as he continued the exchange.
[Jae-jin, you’re seriously too cute.]
[.]
[Oh, and did you know? Personal line messages get saved.]
[.]
[You can even encrypt and lock them. You know what that means, right? Your messages are all mine now.]
For a while, they went back and forth with trivial banter. At one point, Jae-jin tried to send another dot but accidentally typed a comma instead, which sent Eui-woo into a fit of laughter.
[Calm down.]
Jae-jin barely managed to type those three words, while Eui-woo had already sent multiple messages in the meantime.
Seo Eui-woo subtly lowered his posture. His large, muscular body folded down completely as he leaned sideways on the bed, looking up at Kwon Jae-jin’s face from a low angle. He was trying to catch a glimpse of those dark pupils shifting behind the narrow gap beneath the goggles.
Through the space between the bridge of Jae-jin’s nose and the goggle screen, his focused gaze peeked out tantalizingly. Cold, intelligent eyes.
Jae-jin probably didn’t realize it, but the goggles had a built-in function for taking photos and recording videos. Seo Eui-woo saved a picture of Jae-jin’s concentrated expression and encrypted it using the date they had started dating as the password. Then, he attached the image to a message and sent it.
[Photo]
Jae-jin stared at the screen filled with his own face and muttered, “What the hell?” Seo Eui-woo burst into laughter. He quickly snapped a series of photos of Jae-jin’s flustered reaction and sent them all in rapid succession.
[Photo]
[Photo]
[Photo]
[Photo]
When Jae-jin told him to stop, Eui-woo recorded a video of him saying just that and sent it instead.
Unable to endure it any longer, Jae-jin dug through the settings meticulously. Eventually, he found the camera mode and retaliated by taking pictures of Seo Eui-woo. The stored images showed Eui-woo laughing brightly, his goggles still on, though slightly blurred from movement.
[By the way, Jae-jin, did you already know how to use the goggles?]
[Did future-me teach you this too? If so, why didn’t you just say so?]
Eui-woo’s lighthearted question caused Jae-jin’s lips to stiffen slightly.
It was the kind of expression one made when an old wound, left untreated and covered up, was suddenly poked at without warning.
“Ah…”
The goggles.
The way to use the goggles…
He learned it in a dream.
Crack. Like thin glass shattering, the peaceful moment crumbled.
A whisper echoed faintly in the corner of Jae-jin’s mind.
The Seo Eui-woo from the first timeline was still waiting.
Still watching, even now…
“…….”
A chill settled in his head, as if a cold wind had blown through. Why was there never a moment where he could simply exist without being weighed down?
Without a word, Jae-jin powered off the goggles and removed them from his head.
“What? Why’d you take them off already? I was enjoying that.”
Eui-woo ran his fingers through Jae-jin’s hair, tousled from removing the goggles. He playfully swept his bangs back, exposing his forehead. Jae-jin let him do as he pleased, offering no resistance, though his gaze slowly drifted away, looking elsewhere.
“…Well.”
“Hm? What is it?”
Seo Eui-woo murmured lazily, leaning in close to Kwon Jae-jin’s exposed forehead. Without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he pressed his lips against it. His smiling face was right there, unbearably close.
The ticklish sensation made Jae-jin’s toes twitch slightly. But this wasn’t the time for that.
He had to tell Seo Eui-woo about the 24-year-old version of him.
He had to tell him about the dreams where he appeared.
After a brief silence, Jae-jin slowly lifted his head.
“I have something to say.”
The thought of 24-year-old Seo Eui-woo, the inexplicable mystery surrounding him, stirred chaos in Jae-jin’s mind.
“A dream… Actually, I’ve been having some strange dreams for a while now.”
“Ah, yeah. You do get nightmares sometimes.”
“Right… but this is…”
Jae-jin carefully chose his words.
“It’s a dream where creatures swarm in hordes. A battle against them… And then…”
“And then? What is it?”
Seo Eui-woo, sensing the inner conflict hidden in Jae-jin’s hesitation, urged him gently. His gray eyes remained surprisingly calm.
Jae-jin let out a sigh of resignation. Covering his eyes with one hand, he muttered softly.
“You appear in it.”
“…….”
“The 24-year-old Seo Eui-woo, from before the regression.”
“…What did you just say?”
