[2050, Jung Jae-yoon's Campaign War Room]
A heavy darkness hung over the conference room.
On the table, the glow of a monitor displayed a rising green line across a graph.
Jung Jae-yoon stared at the screen, his lips pressed tight,
before leaning back roughly into his chair.
"Choi Jae-hoon… I didn't expect that rookie to be such a nuisance."
His tone carried a sharp, irritable edge.
"We can't just leave him alone."
One of his senior aides spoke up cautiously.
"What if we put him on a public stage and go on the offensive?
He won't be fully prepared on policy, and someone with no experience won't be able to withstand the pressure."
Jung narrowed his eyes, sinking into thought.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"…Good."
His voice had regained its cold precision.
"Let's propose a public debate.
If he's humiliated in front of the nation, his support will collapse soon enough."
The room fell silent once more.
But beneath that silence, a political trap had already begun to take shape.
[2050, Choi Jae-hoon's Campaign Office]
Outside, pale sunlight filtered weakly through thin curtains.
On the monitors, breaking news scrolled across the screen:
"Candidate Jung Jae-yoon Calls for Emergency By-Election Debate"
"Jung: 'We will thoroughly test our opponent's competence through a battle of policy.' Directly points to Choi Jae-hoon."
Arms folded, Su-yeon stared at the TV screen before quietly turning her head.
"Assemblyman, this is a trap."
Her voice was low, but firm.
"Jung Jae-yoon knows exactly where we're unprepared.
Data, figures, tactics… he'll have all of it ready."
Choi Jae-hoon kept his gaze fixed on the screen in silence.
Then, slowly, he spoke.
"I know."
He turned to meet Su-yeon's eyes.
"But I won't avoid it."
His eyes burned with resolve.
"Because what we have… is truth and conviction."
The room fell quiet.
Yet it was not the silence of fear, but the stillness before stepping onto a battlefield.
[2050, Empty Classroom]
Through the whitened windows, afternoon sunlight filtered faintly, trapped in a haze of fine dust.
Inside, the classroom lay silent, with Jian, Shia, Su-yeon, and Ji-hyeok sitting side by side at their desks.
Su-yeon was the first to break the quiet.
"Candidate Choi Jae-hoon… has agreed to a public debate with Assemblyman Jung Jae-yoon."
Jian lifted her head.
"It's the same day, isn't it? The Youth Climate Forum."
Su-yeon gave a slow nod.
"Yes. Same day. Different time and place, but both will be about the future."
Her words carried a quiet tension.
It was then that Ji-hyeok, who had been sitting with his head lowered, finally spoke.
His voice was low, but heavy with resolve.
"…I think I have to say this now."
All three turned their eyes to him.
With his fingers tightly clasped together, he continued.
"I… I'm Jung Jae-yoon's son."
The air in the classroom froze.
Even the wind outside seemed to vanish, leaving behind an unbearable stillness.
Jian and Shia stared at him without a word.
Su-yeon gave a small nod, as if she had known all along.
Her expression was calm, showing no judgment.
"…I see."
It was just a single phrase, but it held everything.
Jian and Shia lowered their eyes at the same time, caught between too many emotions to speak, yet unwilling to turn away.
Ji-hyeok kept his head bowed as he went on.
"I'm sorry. For not telling you earlier.
At first, I didn't know either—what kind of man my father really was.
But now… I see it clearly."
He exhaled slowly.
"That's why… I think I shouldn't be the one to speak at the forum.
The moment I step on that stage, everything will be reinterpreted.
Before my sincerity is twisted, that's what I have to protect—the message itself."
Silence lingered again, heavy and unmoving.
Then Su-yeon nodded.
"Thank you for telling us, Ji-hyeok.
I know better than anyone what it means for you to sit here with us."
Her gaze carried trust without needing the words.
Jian lowered her head, whispering almost to herself.
"Thinking about how you carried that alone… that hurts more."
Shia let out a faint sigh, leaning a little closer.
"You're not stepping back.
You're just standing with us in another way."
The air was cold, but something warmer—deeper than words—spread quietly between them.
Ji-hyeok gave a small, fleeting smile.
It was brief, but like a breath that eased a knot inside him.
"…Thank you. Truly."
Jian rose and quietly placed a hand on his shoulder.
Her palm brushed lightly, a single reassuring pat.
Startled, Ji-hyeok met her eyes.
But Jian only held his gaze with a soft smile, as if to say without words, It's okay.
Outside the window, the late afternoon breeze stirred fallen leaves across the playground.
And within the classroom, their hearts, too, began to move—slowly, but forward.
[2050, Another Corner of the City]
Two entirely different futures were quietly being prepared at the same time.
One was under dim lights and gray walls:
the strategy room of Assemblyman Jung Jae-yoon's campaign.
Rows of monitors lit the wall, while the desk was lined with neatly stacked policy charts and records of past performances.
At the center, Jung Jae-yoon slowly rose from his seat and pointed at the screen.
Displayed there was a summary of Candidate Choi Jae-hoon's pledges alongside regional execution statistics.
"Choi Jae-hoon's weakness… is results."
His tone was cold and deliberate.
"Gather every case you can find where his so-called green policies failed to deliver.
Let the data speak for us."
The aides moved with practiced ease, flipping through files and coloring spreadsheets, sharpening analysis into weapons.
The room was quiet, but the language piling atop numbers was razor-edged.
Then the door opened, and a middle-aged man stepped inside.
Jung turned his head.
"We've been expecting you, Director Ahn."
It was Ahn Do-hoon, chief of strategic planning at JH Group.
In his hand was a thick presentation binder, bold letters across the cover reading:
"Public-Private Smart Industrial Complex for Regional Economic Revitalization."
"This is the business model we're proposing.
A green cluster centered on energy transition zones, with JH Group's AI–bio fusion platform at its core."
Jung leafed through the binder, a thin smile curving his lips.
"Excellent. We'll handle the administrative approvals.
As for local government agreements, the Land and Infrastructure Committee is already on board."
"The funding will be processed as planned,"
Ahn replied quietly.
Their eyes met, and nothing more needed to be said.
"For the people… for economic growth."
Jung spoke the words like an aside.
"A convincing phrase. In truth, it means corporations and government working hand in hand to move faster."
He pointed back at the screen.
"We must make this frame familiar to the public.
'The environment matters, but survival comes first.'
That message will stick—especially now, when the word recession never leaves the news."
The lights in the room remained dim, but the words printed across the binder gleamed stark and clear:
"Revive Industry, Revive the Region. A Future City with JH Group."
Outside, the wind brushed against the glass.
Inside, the building slid one step deeper into a script long prepared.
[Meanwhile, in a sunlit workspace]
In another corner of the city, a gentler light filled the room.
Suyeon, the students, and Doyoon were gathered together,
finalizing the draft for the upcoming Youth Climate Forum.
On the table by the window lay handwritten speech notes,
field photographs, and captured clips of past campaigns.
Beside them were international research papers on marine changes that Ji-hyuk had printed out, and materials from Suyeon's award for youth environmental campaigns, neatly arranged.
Ji-an flipped through slide after slide, quietly reviewing the flow of the presentation.
Sia refined the order of speeches, leaving notes along the way.
Ji-hyuk sat silently by his laptop.
On his screen glowed the title: "Northwest Pacific Coastal Ecosystem Changes, 2050 – Public Campaign Analysis."
Without a word, Ji-hyuk slid a sheet of notes toward Suyeon.
"This is what I've organized.
The region Se-a mentioned—its marine waste density has dropped by nearly half.
And an international youth coalition has already begun pushing for expanded marine protected areas.
Here are examples of the youth messages that came out of it."
Suyeon studied the notes, her eyes widening before she smiled faintly and nodded.
"This is good. Evidence like this gives trust beyond numbers.
If you can organize these in the flow of youth- and citizen-led campaigns, it will be powerful."
Ji-hyuk simply nodded again, unfolding another page of notes.
At that moment, Doyoon quietly powered on his tablet.
Across the screen, restored code fragments and log files were displayed.
"Recovered LUKA System Log Records."
Suyeon leaned slightly forward, asking cautiously:
"Doyoon, what about the technical evidence section?
Is there anything we can use?"
Pointing at the screen, Doyoon replied softly:
"The system was designed to leave no trace, so we can't fully prove its existence.
But… these are the residual fragments I was able to recover.
They may not provide full credibility, but if anyone raises doubts, at least we can show a pattern that explains what happened."
Suyeon nodded, then turned to the students.
"Good. What matters most is that you speak of the changes you've seen and the experiences you've lived—concretely, in your own words."
She paused, then added gently:
"What's needed now isn't numbers… it's sincerity."
Ji-an lowered her head, nodding slowly.
Her pen moved again across the page, rewriting sentences that still felt unfinished.
Sia closed her laptop quietly, going over the finalized order one last time.
Beside them, Ji-hyuk pulled up a slide showing the ocean's horizon and whispered to himself:
"The sea we've changed… is now the sea we must protect."
This was not just a presentation.
It was a declaration from those who had lived the future and returned to tell it.
[Another place.The campaign office of candidate Choi Jae-hoon, on the eve of the by-election debate.]
The office looked calm as always, yet beneath that stillness lay a taut tension.
Outside the window, pale clouds hung heavy, and gusts of wind tapped intermittently against the glass.
Choi Jae-hoon sat at the table, flipping through documents—past interviews, public remarks, and case studies of his policy work—revisiting them one by one.
Spread out before him were policy white papers, transcripts from local council meetings, and summaries of social media reactions.
A senior aide spoke carefully.
"Candidate Jung will attack with numbers.
He'll bring up any policy you implemented that fell short."
Choi nodded slowly.
"I'll be ready."
He folded the notepad in front of him and added, firmly:
"I won't avoid it. I wasn't perfect, but I gave my best.
Now it's time to speak for real."
The aide hesitated, then pressed on.
"Behind Jung is JH Group.
Not only their funding, but their grip on media networks and local development data as well.
On our side… we only have fragments of official data to counter with."
He glanced at Choi, then added cautiously:
"To withstand conspiracy narratives and media spin, we'll need more refined evidence."
Choi reached out and quietly switched on the mic recorder at his side.
The sound of his own voice echoed briefly, then faded, leaving the room silent once more.
Almost to himself, he murmured:
"They'll push us with distorted statistics and false frames…
But what we have are honest records.
I can't expect truth alone to prevail.
But at the very least—I will speak it loud enough to be heard."
Word by word, line by line, he began rehearsing which phrases might cut through sharpest on the debate stage.
One side prepared meticulous traps of questions designed to break an opponent.
The other struggled to bring forth truth—through words,
through memories, through the trace of lived effort.
One side brandished twisted statistics and the weight of conspiracy.
The other held only courage and trust.
The day was drawing near.
And across the city, two futures moved quietly toward collision—each armed with their own weapon.