[2050 –The Day We Met Again]
Just a few days ago, the sky over Seoul felt like midwinter.
Temperatures had dropped unusually low, sinking below 5°C, and every night the fierce wind rattled the window frames, keeping people awake.
But on the day of the meeting, the weather had swung to another extreme.
From the morning, the sunlight was warm like spring, and people in light jackets wiped sweat from their foreheads.
In the alleys, traces of yesterday's cold rain still lingered,
and in office rooms with their windows open,
the mild air seeped in, feeling strangely out of place.
The autumn of 2050—no longer something that could be defined by a single season.
Inside a conference room in the city,
Jian, Shia, Ji-hyeok, and Doyoon quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Sunlight spread softly through the glass windows, casting the room in a gentle warmth.
But on their faces, tension and a faint sense of anticipation were still entwined.
Several figures were already seated inside, talking among themselves—until the door opened and every head turned at once.
Kim Suyeon rose halfway from his chair, greeting them with a bright smile.
"You're all here. Please, come in. We were just in the middle of a discussion."
Jian drew in a steadying breath, gave a small nod, and carefully entered the room.
It was still unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar again—
a space where long-broken connections had quietly begun to weave back together.
By the sunlit window on one side of the room, Suyeon slowly rose to her feet.
She turned toward the students, her gaze warm as it lingered on each of them in turn.
"Let me introduce them properly."
She looked at Jian first, catching her eyes with a faint smile.
"This is Jung Jian."
Suyeon paused, the corners of her lips lifting slightly.
"Truth is… the reason I first came up with the idea for the 'Shared Tumbler Subscription Campaign' was because of one very short conversation with her."
Her voice carried softly as she glanced around the room.
"It's a campaign people know well now, but in the beginning it was just a simple thought.
Instead of owning a tumbler alone, why not subscribe to them like borrowing books from a library—returning, sharing, and reusing?
A system that could connect both the environment and people… That idea came from her."
Jian's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected words.
A moment later, she lowered her head with a quiet smile.
"And here is Yoo Shia,"
Suyeon continued, nodding warmly at her.
"She's been there from the very beginning, never losing courage, and always standing by Jian's side."
Shia returned a careful smile and bowed her head politely.
"And this is Jung Jihyuk," Suyeon said as her gaze shifted again.
"He doesn't say much, but he thinks deeply, and he's always the first to act quietly rather than speak.
Most of all, he's been the one who steadfastly stayed beside Jian and Shia."
Jihyuk, caught off guard by the introduction, seemed a little uneasy at first.
But then he slowly lifted his head and offered a greeting.
"…Hello. I'm Jung Jihyuk."
It was only a few words, but his voice carried firmness—and sincerity.
"And lastly… this is Seo Doyoon."
Suyeon gestured toward him. Doyoon bowed his head slightly in greeting, without words.
"Doyoon has been helping with the restoration of the LUKA system.
With his technical skill, he's been an invaluable supporter,
holding the team together."
The meeting room grew quiet for a moment.
The silence wasn't awkward. It felt more like a quiet welcome, as if they were just beginning to acknowledge each other's presence.
Outside, a breeze as warm and sudden as spring sunlight swept by, gently wrapping around the room.
The first to rise was Choi Jae-hoon. Dressed in a neat suit with a gentle expression, he brought his hands together and offered a slight bow.
"Nice to meet you. My name is Choi Jae-hoon."
He spoke slowly, his voice steady.
"Long ago, I received a brief word of encouragement from children of the future.
Just a single sentence… but perhaps that was the first spark that shaped who I am today."
His gaze lingered on Ji-an for a moment before he continued with a calm smile.
"Because of that, the small solar cooperative that began in my village was able to grow nationwide.
And now… I am preparing to run in a by-election."
The room fell silent.
"To have reached this point, I owe so much to Suyeon's policy advice, and to the support of the environmental network around her."
Ji-an drew in a quiet breath and smiled faintly.
Shia's eyes widened in surprise before she nodded.
The next to rise was Ryu Se-a.
Her expression was bright, her presence lively, as she introduced herself.
"My name is Ryu Se-a. I currently serve as the Minister of Marine Environment, and recently I've been working with the government to implement citizen-response simulations."
She turned to the students with a gaze full of sincerity.
"To be honest, at first I didn't believe what you said.
But by the end of our conversation, I realized just how narrow my vision had been."
Her eyes lingered briefly on Shia.
"The advice you gave me, and the glimpses of the data you shared… they stayed with me longer than I expected.
Thanks to that, I never lost my direction."
Shia blushed, smiling as she lowered her head.
Gratitude and pride were quietly written across her face.
Then Suyeon gestured toward the last person at the table.
"And this is Han Joo-young, an expert in sustainable food and plant-based cuisine."
Han Joo-young rose gently from his seat, greeting them with a bright, refreshing smile.
"It's an honor to meet you. My name is Han Joo-young.
Under the motto 'Delicious Change for the Climate', I've been researching sustainable, plant-based alternatives to food."
At that, Shia's eyes widened in recognition.
She leaned toward Ji-an and whispered.
"Wait— isn't this the vegan chef we saw on TV?"
Ji-an blinked, then let out a small, sheepish laugh.
"Oh… uh, yeah. I did notice, but I didn't say anything. Sorry."
Shia let out a disbelieving chuckle.
"Seriously? You kept that to yourself?
That picky kid from back then turned into this?"
As if he had overheard their whispering, Han Joo-young turned with a gentle smile.
"Were you the ones who once told me, 'Maybe it would taste good if you made it'?"
Ji-an nodded, laughing awkwardly.
"It was just a complaint during lunch…
I never imagined it would turn into this."
A quiet ripple of laughter spread through the room.
It was lighthearted, yet carried a weight of emotion—proof of how far even the smallest words could travel.
Han Joo-young, as if to gently carry the mood forward,
opened the bag beside his chair and pulled out an insulated box.
"Because of your encouragement, I found the confidence to keep pushing myself.
And… since I thought we might be meeting today, I brought some vegan desserts I made."
He laughed a little shyly, then added:
"I figured people might get a bit peckish during the meeting.
I thought it'd be nice to share while we talk."
With those words, the air in the room grew noticeably warmer.
It was a moment where small connections circled back, and the seeds once planted by casual words had blossomed into something tangible, only to return here again.
After a pause, Ji-an glanced around the table and spoke carefully.
"Um… is Han-na, the one we connected with before, not coming today?"
A brief silence followed.
In Ji-an's voice lingered both expectation and unease.
Su-yeon slowly shook her head before answering.
"We haven't been able to reach Han-na yet.
But… I believe she's watching all of this unfold, somewhere."
Ji-an lowered her gaze to the floor, then quietly nodded.
Shia, without a word, bowed her head beside her.
There was a fragile unease in their eyes—something they could not put into words.
The meeting room fell still again.
The warmth of freshly baked desserts lingered in the air, but the laughter from moments earlier had faded, leaving behind only a short pause in time.
It was Choi Jae-hoon who broke the silence.
Rising from his seat, he looked slowly around the room.
"The truth is… we've all been doing our best in our own ways."
He placed his hands together on the table, his tone calm but edged with concern.
"But lately, I'm sure you've all noticed how quickly climate conspiracy theories are spreading."
His voice remained steady, yet the unease beneath it was clear.
"Climate change is happening right in front of us, and yet some still insist: 'The government is fabricating it,' or 'It's just the natural cycle of the earth.' These distortions are spreading openly."
On Ji-an and Shia's faces, a heavy recognition surfaced—they too had felt the weight of those words.
Choi continued quietly.
"Just a few days ago, a midnight gust brought down a transmission tower near my village."
He paused, then lifted his gaze.
"This isn't an era where it's enough to say, 'As long as my place is safe, it's fine.' Not anymore."
His eyes turned toward Su-yeon.
"I've heard about the bill you've been working on.
Honestly, I believe… it could become the standard we need right now."
Caught by his words, Su-yeon rose carefully from her seat.
"Yes… it's called the Future Generations Impact Assessment Mandate Act."
She drew in a quiet breath before continuing.
"This isn't just another environmental regulation.
It's a call to make sure that whenever we make a decision,
we are required to consider how it will affect the generations that come after us."
Her eyes shifted briefly to the young faces before her—Ji-an, Shia, Do-yoon.
And to the changes they had already brought into the world.
"Climate disasters are already part of our daily lives.
If we turn away now, it's the next generation that will pay the price."
Her voice was quiet, but unwavering.
"If this bill passes, it may mean slower consumption, and more complicated decision-making.
But… that is the only way I believe we can coexist with the future."
She sat down again, adding softly:
"But I can't do it alone. I need help.
People I can trust to stand with me."
The room grew silent once more.
This time, it wasn't hesitation—it was the stillness of shared resolve.
The first to speak was Ryu Se-a.
"She's right. We've already seen it once.
When we move beyond just talking and start taking action… people respond."
Her tone was firm, her eyes carrying the certainty of someone who had chosen to act.
Han Joo-young gave a small smile as he added,
"I'll look for ways I can help, too. Food can often speak to people more easily than words can."
He slowly pushed the dessert box toward the center of the table.
"This, too, was one of those small beginnings."
After a pause, Ji-an quietly spoke up. Her voice was bright, yet steady with conviction.
"The system may have stopped… but I actually think this is the real beginning of change."
She glanced around the room as she continued.
"Now we know we don't need LUKA to move forward.
We can still believe, still act.
What I want now… is for us to connect with people directly."
At her words, the room filled with gentle nods—silent acknowledgments, where trust and understanding flowed without speech.
Just then, from the back of the room, Ji-hyuk slowly lifted his head.
His voice was quiet, but firm, carrying nothing but sincerity.
"…The truth is, I'm still afraid.
The idea that a single word from me could change someone's life—or even shift the world—it scares me.
But if that change is truly for the Earth, for all of us… then I want to try.
Even if I can't do it alone."
For a moment, every gaze turned toward him.
Ji-hyuk let out a slow breath and went on.
"I can't shoulder this by myself.
But… this started with the three of us, and now there are so many more people here.
Even if it feels heavy… together, I think we can bear it."
Ji-an looked at him and nodded.
Shia gave a quiet smile and added softly,
"Exactly. Just like we did in the beginning."
And in that moment, the unease that had lingered in the room quietly settled.
What remained, spreading through the air like something almost tangible, was trust—trust that connected them all.
[2050, Jung Jae-yoon's Campaign Office]
Just as the meeting ended and everyone began to file out of the room—
On the outskirts of the city, Congressman Jung Jae-yoon's office sat in near darkness.
The building lights had long since gone out,
the hallways left unlit,
and beyond the glass windows stretched a winter night, the city below blurred in ashen tones.
Inside the office,
the only light came from a single computer monitor casting its cold, blue glow across the desk.
Seated before it, Han-na's face was expressionless as she stared at the screen.
On the display, a quiet scroll of files and footage tracked Su-yeon, the children, and Do-yoon's recent activities.
There were fleeting clips—Ji-an and Ji-hyuk sharing a smile,Shia bent over a tablet,
Do-yoon scribbling notes with his back to the camera.
Han-na followed the stream in silence,
her breath slow, her gaze unwavering.
In that stillness, she exhaled softly and muttered under her breath—
"…So much like me. Or maybe… even better."
Her eyes held no tremor,
her face void of warmth,
as if emotion itself had been stripped away.
Then, with a faint click, the monitor went dark.
The blue glow vanished, swallowed by deep shadow.
In place of the warm light that had filled the earlier meeting room,
only a stark, unfeeling silence lingered in the air.