The man in the gray coat stepped forward with the calm precision of someone who had walked this path before.
His black eyes locked onto hers like he wasn't surprised she'd time-shifted her way here.
"Shin Hae-won," he said, voice low and silk-smooth. "You weren't supposed to follow this thread."
Every instinct screamed at her to run—but her feet felt rooted to the sterile white tiles of the hospital corridor.
"How do you know my name?" she asked, backing away slowly.
"I know far more than that," he said with a half-smile. "You're not the first person who tried to rewrite a love story. But you might be the most reckless."
She darted a glance toward Do-yoon's last position. The spot was empty now—he was gone, just like that moment years ago. The pain of his abrupt exit echoed again in her chest, but this time, it came with something new: doubt.
"Did you… make him leave?" she whispered.
The man raised an eyebrow. "I didn't make him do anything. I only gave him a choice."
"What choice?" she demanded, stepping closer.
"A life where you were safe. Where your future wasn't destroyed."
Her fists clenched. "You're lying."
"Am I?" His voice dropped a note. "And what will you do if I'm not? Tear through time like a child ripping wrapping paper off an old wound?"
"I just want the truth."
"You can't handle it," he said sharply. "The past isn't a scrapbook. It's a trap."
She felt her throat tighten.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Min-jae appeared, breathless, eyes blazing as he pushed past a nurse. "Get away from her."
The man in the coat exhaled in amusement. "Still playing babysitter, Professor?"
"Still lurking where you don't belong, Lee Gwan-woo?" Min-jae snapped.
Lee Gwan-woo.
So he did exist outside the timeline. And Min-jae knew him.
Hae-won's eyes darted between the two men. "Wait… You two know each other?"
"We were researchers once," Min-jae replied. "Until he decided to use time travel for manipulation instead of observation."
"I preserved the timeline," Gwan-woo said. "Unlike you, who thinks emotions are a map."
"You stole people's futures and called it preservation!"
"Do-yoon chose to disappear," Gwan-woo said coolly, turning back to Hae-won. "He saw what his future would cost you—how loving him would destroy your father's recovery, derail your career, and shatter your stability. I showed him the data. And he left, not because he didn't love you—but because he did."
Hae-won felt like she'd been punched in the gut.
Min-jae grabbed her arm. "Don't listen to him. He manipulates timelines like strings on a puppet show."
"But what if he's telling the truth?" she whispered, looking at the empty hallway where Do-yoon had vanished. "What if Do-yoon left… for me?"
Min-jae's expression darkened. "Then let's find out yourself. Not through his lies."
A strange vibration pulsed through the walls. Another ripple.
Min-jae wrapped his hand around hers. "Hold on. We're not done yet."
The hospital corridor shimmered—fading like fog at dawn.
---
They landed in the dark.
A narrow alley. Neon signs flickering above closed shops. Hae-won gasped as her knees hit cold pavement.
"Where—what—?" she coughed.
Min-jae steadied her. "Somewhere off the grid. He tried to bounce us mid-transition."
"He can do that?"
"He did," Min-jae muttered. "He's trying to scatter your path. Force you to lose track of the main thread."
Hae-won's hands trembled. "So what now?"
Min-jae brushed her cheek gently. "We follow the real memories. Not what someone else shows you."
Her breath hitched slightly at his touch. It lingered a second too long.
"I still love Do-yoon," she said suddenly, afraid of what she was feeling. "Even if he left."
"I know," Min-jae said softly. "And I'm not trying to replace him."
"But...?"
He took a small step back. "But if your heart ever wants to rewrite that part, I'll wait on the first page."
Her chest tightened with emotions she couldn't name. Guilt, longing… curiosity.
She shook her head and focused. "Then let's find the truth. Not what I remember. What actually happened."
Min-jae nodded. "We'll return to the fixed point."
"The wedding day?"
"No," he said quietly. "The night before."
---
They landed at her apartment.
A younger Hae-won was asleep on the couch, her wedding dress still zipped inside the white garment bag hanging beside the bookshelf. Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Min-jae pointed to it. "That's the moment he made the call."
"Do-yoon called me before the wedding?" she whispered.
"You never picked up. You were asleep. But the message he left... you never heard it."
She frowned. "I checked my voicemail back then. There was nothing."
"Because someone deleted it before you woke up."
She stared at him. "Who?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he guided her toward the phone. She watched the younger version of herself roll over, phone still buzzing.
The voicemail light blinked once.
Twice.
Then a figure entered the apartment.
Lee Gwan-woo.
She gasped.
He moved like he'd been there before—quiet, precise. Walked up to the table. Picked up the phone.
Typed something in.
Deleted the voicemail.
And walked back out.
She staggered back. "He… He erased it. He erased it!"
Min-jae nodded grimly. "He wanted you to think Do-yoon abandoned you. That way you'd never look deeper."
Tears pricked her eyes. "All these years… I hated him. For nothing."
"Now you know," Min-jae said. "But the question is—what will you do with it?"
---
As they stood by the window, neon lights flickering outside, a strange warmth passed through her.
Clarity.
Pain.
Closure.
And something new... possibility.
Min-jae took her hand again.
And this time, she didn't let go.
But before she could speak, a sharp wind blew through the apartment. The lights flickered. The walls began to shimmer.
The timeline was cracking again.
A voice echoed through the room—not from any speaker, not from any phone, but from everywhere.
"You weren't supposed to remember."
Hae-won gasped.
Gwan-woo's voice.
Reality shuddered around them.
Then everything collapsed into white.