[2050, Teacher's Office]
A quiet tension lingered in the hallway.
Jian, Shia, and Ji-hyeok stood side by side in front of the office door.
They exchanged glances, but none of them reached for the handle first.
After a brief silence, the door opened.
Inside, the teacher's office was calmer than expected.
Stacks of neatly arranged papers lay on the desks, and sunlight pushed its way through the heavy heat outside.
At the far end sat a woman in a suit—Parliamentary aide Kim Su-yeon.
"Kids," their homeroom teacher said.
"This is Kim Su-yeon, an aide to a member of the National Assembly.
She's requested a meeting with you about youth climate activities."
Jian swallowed hard and lifted her gaze.
And in that moment, she met eyes that felt both strange and familiar.
Within that unfamiliar atmosphere, Su-yeon spoke gently, her smile careful.
"First… would it be alright if we moved somewhere quieter to talk?"
With the teacher's guidance, the students and Su-yeon shifted to a counseling room.
The tension hadn't fully left, but once the door closed, a hush settled in.
"…I'm nervous too," Su-yeon admitted. "This isn't something I can explain with words alone."
She pulled out her tablet and tapped it on.
An old video began to play.
『2023 ○○ High School Environmental Contest – "Tumbler Challenge" Campaign』
On the stage, a younger Su-yeon spoke passionately,
presenting her project.
Her voice overlapped with subtitles:
『This campaign continues on into 2050.』
Jian stared at the screen, her voice barely above a whisper.
"…That's what I told you about…"
Su-yeon studied their reactions before lowering the tablet and raising her head.
"Jeong Jian," she said, her eyes steady and warm.
"Twenty-seven years ago, I spoke online with a high school student. That student changed my life. And only recently…
I learned that student was you."
Jian's gaze wavered.
Then, slowly, she smiled and nodded.
"…It was real. We really did change things."
She turned to Shia and Ji-hyeok.
"And now, I'm not alone. These two… they've walked beside me."
Shia bowed her head slightly before lifting it again.
Ji-hyeok stayed quiet at first, but then met Su-yeon's eyes.
In them was caution—but also a clear, unshaken willingness to listen.
Su-yeon nodded slowly, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
"Yes. I think… now it's our turn to change things together."
In the quiet counseling room, past and future seemed to overlap with the present.
Outside, the air was still heavy with September heat, the air conditioner barely holding it back.
The tension of their meeting had thinned, leaving behind a fragile but growing trust.
Su-yeon gently closed the tablet in her hands.
Jian still sat with traces of awe on her face, Shia's softened expression traced patterns along the table's edge, and Ji-hyeok silently kept his eyes on Su-yeon.
Finally, Su-yeon spoke again.
"I cleared my office schedule for this afternoon.
If you're willing… could we move there, so I can hear in detail what you've been through so far?"
Jian nodded.
Shia rose first, and Ji-hyeok followed without a word.
His gaze was still cautious—but now it carried the weight of a decision not to step back.
[2025, Parliamentary Aide's Office]
Five people sat facing one another across the conference table.
Tablets, laptops, and notebooks were carefully laid out between them.
Su-yeon spoke first.
"Thank you so much for coming. Honestly… I never thought we'd end up meeting like this."
She let out a small laugh before continuing.
"At first, to be honest… I suspected you might be part of the forces trying to interfere with the bill I've been working on.
I'm sorry."
Jian nodded gently.
"It's okay. We've also been… a little lost about who to trust."
Do-yoon opened his laptop and pulled up the compiled records.
Ji-hyeok glanced at the screen—LUKA's system logs, the moments of connection, the conversations, and the altered timelines of 2050.
Each page was someone's life story, a city's past, a glimpse of its future.
Do-yoon said carefully,
"The problem is… it all collapsed after our link with Han Se-a.
The system itself is almost destroyed."
Su-yeon furrowed her brow.
"That was the last connection?"
Shia nodded.
"The backups are gone. Physical restoration looks unlikely.
LUKA might already be… in a permanent sleep."
Su-yeon set her pen down on the table.
"…I thought that was our last hope."
For a moment, silence weighed heavily on the room.
Then Jian spoke, her voice quiet but steady.
"But maybe… it didn't have to be the system."
Everyone turned toward her.
"What we changed, in the end… were people.
We never even met them face-to-face. We just spoke sincerely,
persuaded gently, believed in them—and that's how the change happened."
Ji-hyeok let out a quiet breath and added,
"…Then this time, let's meet them for real. No more screens, no more logs. Face to face."
Shia smiled faintly and nodded.
"Right. Let's do it our way—with what we have left.
Let's gather the data and present it so citizens can hear us.
Our way."
Do-yoon reopened his laptop.
"Then let's start with what's already here.
Beginning with the draft you were preparing, aide Kim—the 'Climate Response Citizens' Proposal… version 1.0.'"
Su-yeon looked at each of their faces in turn, and a quiet smile spread across her own.
"For the first time… it feels like we're truly on the same side."
At that moment, the title appeared on the laptop screen:
『2050 Climate Response Citizens' Proposal v1.0』
As the words glowed before them, Jian spoke softly, her voice small but resolute.
"We didn't need the system to be connected. The moment we truly trusted each other—that's when real change began."
Outside, sunlight cast sharp rectangular shadows across the wall,and within that space, what they built together—youth and adults alike—was beginning to take shape: their very own "Future Strategy Room."
[2050, Ji-an's Living Room]
The living room was filled with a gentle warmth from dinner being prepared.
The window was half-open, letting in the slow residue of late summer heat.
It was mid-September, yet the sun still lingered long before setting,
and the air carried traces of the day's warmth.
On the table, neat side dishes and freshly cooked rice released soft curls of steam.
From the TV, a quiet environmental documentary played in the background.
Ji-an lifted her spoon—then suddenly froze, her gaze caught by the screen.
"When I was young, I was so tired of vegan meals."
"But then someone told me, 'If it's boring, why don't you make it tastier yourself?' That one sentence changed my life."
At the center of the screen, a young chef spoke with a bright,
open expression.
A caption appeared below:
"Head Chef, Vegan Food Lab / Leading the campaign: Delicious Change for the Climate"
Ji-an's hand holding the spoon stopped mid-air.
For a moment, the entire house seemed to fall into silence.
A memory flickered back—like a flashback.
The dim study room.
A single line left on an AI screen that night:
"I'm so sick of eating vegan meals every day."
"Maybe you could make them tastier yourself?"
At the time, it had been nothing more than a passing comment.
Now, it returned with an entirely different weight.
"…It reached them."
Ji-an whispered so quietly it was almost to herself.
Across the table, Yoon-seul ladled soup and spoke casually.
"These days, that chef's recipes are really popular.
Customers at the café bring them up all the time."
Ji-an looked up at her mother.
Yoon-seul set her chopsticks down and smiled softly.
"Strangely, hearing that story… it made me tear up a little.
Just the thought that someone could step into another person's life,
and change its direction—it's incredible."
Ji-an slowly nodded.
Outside, the late summer sunlight was fading, tinting the evening with a gentle glow.
"Mom."
"Hmm?"
"…Do you think Dad would've liked stories like that, too?"
Yoon-seul paused for a moment, her spoon suspended.
She looked into Ji-an's face and smiled.
"Of course. He loved stories like that more than anyone else—
about small choices that end up saving someone else's life."
Ji-an nodded again, lifting her spoon.
Tonight, that single spoonful felt unusually deep, warm,
and steady in her heart.
Outside, the last strands of golden light fought to illuminate the streets,
before quietly sinking into the night.
And so, a single passing sentence had crossed time, reshaping another person's life.
At this quiet dinner table, Ji-an felt it clearly—
that words could become truth,
and truth, in turn, could truly reach someone.
[2050, Member of Parliament's Office]
The lingering summer heat of Seoul had seeped into the office.
Though the calendar claimed autumn had begun, the midday temperature still hovered above thirty-two degrees.
Inside the closed meeting room, the air felt heavy, almost suffocating.
Suyeon stood with a carefully prepared folder in her hands.
After steadying her breath, she placed the documents onto the desk of the Member of Parliament she served.
"Sir,"
Her hand, damp with a thin sheen of sweat, rested on the folder.
"This bill is truly important.
I've reviewed it thoroughly with the students, and it reflects the voices of real citizens.
If we are to think of the future, I believe it's absolutely necessary."
The lawmaker loosened his shirt sleeves and flipped through the pages.
"It's a good proposal.
Especially the fact that students were involved—that's impressive."
He fanned the papers lightly, then gave her a nod.
"I'll submit it to the Assembly. As for the result… we'll see."
For a fleeting moment, a spark crossed Suyeon's eyes.
On her sweat-dampened hand, something like hope had finally settled.
One day.
Two.
Three.
Time passed like that.
Every day, Suyeon waited for a call from the office, reviewing the draft and its supplemental materials again and again.
Then, one evening, several days later, the city's air had changed completely.
The sweltering skies had turned overcast, and a chill was beginning to seep into the buildings.
At dusk, Suyeon walked slowly down the Assembly corridor,
checking her tablet over and over.
That was when her phone rang.
As she stepped out of the office into the hallway, she felt the vibration in her pocket.
The caller ID showed a familiar number—from the Assembly office. Her heart pounded.
Maybe it was good news. Holding on to that fragile hope, she answered.
But the voice that followed was urgent and cold.
"Suyeon, we've got a serious problem."
The hurried voice of a fellow aide echoed through the receiver.
"The Assemblyman is in trouble.
Somehow, the draft bill leaked to the opposition.
There's strong backlash within the party."
Suyeon froze in place. The briefcase in her hand trembled.
"What do you mean? How could they know—"
Her question broke off into the silence that followed.
"The news is already out.
They're framing it as a bill that threatens corporate growth.
It looks like the opposition leaked internal details.
The Assemblyman is under heavy pressure from the party…
Honestly, the submission is no longer possible. I'm so sorry."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Suyeon stood still in the middle of the corridor.
Her grip failed, and the folder slipped from her hand, falling to the floor.
As the envelope spread open, its title was revealed:
『Mandatory Future Generations Impact Assessment Act – Draft』
A chill swept across the page.
The season had shifted, cold enough to freeze sincerity itself.
Suyeon sank down with a small breath, her voice barely audible.
"This can't be the end… it's too important…"
Her eyes lingered blankly on the fallen envelope.
The corridor darkened around her, and the air seemed to grow heavy, as if frozen in a single moment.