How long had it really been?
Sitting on the living room sofa, Kang Ichae stared only at the ticking of the clock’s second hand.
A day? Three? Maybe weeks?
Or even longer?
Time definitely seemed to flow, but every clock scattered throughout the house moved at its own pace, making it impossible to tell the exact hour. Even the sunrise shifted a little each day.
So Kang Ichae began looking for a more objective way to measure time—something that wouldn’t lie.
That turned out to be the mechanical metronome sitting atop the piano in his favorite room.
He wound it once, then began playing the first movement of Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2. If his memory was correct, the metronome would stop around the same time the piece ended.
“...Hmm.”
As expected, the metronome stopped just before the final notes faded.
Kang Ichae lifted his hands and slumped forward over the worn keys.
The tangled, disorderly echoes of sound drifted through the room.
“...Should I start measuring a day by this now?”
He let out a small laugh of disbelief and leaned back, gazing upward.
“Hey.”
[Loading...]
“Hey, I said let me out.”
[Loading...]
He’d called out to the system over and over again, but all that ever appeared was that same blue window with the words “Loading...” written across it.
A long sigh escaped him, his head drooping—
Ding!
“You’re back?!”
The familiar notification sound made him jerk his head up.
[Due to overload, shutting down power!]
The system window blinked out.
“...I almost swore.”
He suddenly understood why Seo Hoyun had such a rotten personality—this useless system probably played a big part.
Raking a hand through his hair in irritation, he stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Wow, Kang Ichae’s life sure is full of shit, huh.”
Thrown into another ridiculous place again.
The reason for ending up here wasn’t even dramatic.
After the members scattered for their individual schedules, his head began to ache. The manager nearby fidgeted anxiously, suggesting they postpone the day’s interviews.
He hadn’t liked the idea, but he really had felt sick, so he’d had no choice but to agree.
[‘Kang Ichae’ is not a ‘Player’ of this system.]
While he was groaning on the bed, a system window suddenly appeared in front of him.
It had never been this vivid, not since he’d handed the system back to Seo Hoyun during the Song Camp shoot. Startled, he stared as the text scrolled.
[Due to repeated system proxy actions, ‘Contribution rate’ has exceeded the ‘agreed’ threshold.]
[E R R O R!]
[E R R O R!]
[E R R O R!]
[E R R O R!]
[E R R O R!]
[E R R O R!]
.
.
.
The instant he read it, he’d realized something was very, very wrong. But before he could react, blood poured from his nose, staining the sheets red.
Clamping one hand over his face, he fumbled for his phone with the other—but there was no one he could reach.
‘Would it even matter?’
Maybe Seo Hoyun had hidden his own sickness before for the same reason—because there was no way to explain it, no one who could help.
Only now did Ichae begin to understand why Hoyun had chosen silence over honesty. It wasn’t cowardice—it was to avoid worrying the others when there was no solution.
Even knowing he’d be scolded later if he got caught, Ichae wiped away the blood with a towel, changed clothes, pulled on a mask, and stepped outside to hail a taxi. He recited the address from memory.
‘XXth Street, Brooklyn, NY.’
It was the same house that had once held his younger self. He kicked the gate open, pushed through the overgrown plants, and opened the grayish white door.
The moment he removed his mask, the world tilted sideways. His vision swam, blood dripped to the floor—and then everything went dark.
“...Clean.”
When he woke again, it wasn’t the dusty old house that greeted him, but the home from his happiest years—spotless, neatly kept.
After that, he’d screamed for the system until his throat hurt and wandered the area like a madman.
Still, it wasn’t as bad as when he’d been trapped alone in the world where Seo Hoyun had been an actor.
‘Because this time, I thought I could handle it.’
After half a year of serving as the system’s proxy, managing quests, and observing its mechanisms, he’d believed he understood it well enough.
But now—
‘...I’m screwed.’
No matter where he went—no matter how many doorbells he pressed—there wasn’t a single person.
He’d even smashed a window to break into another house, but they were all empty inside.
That’s when he realized the truth.
He was completely alone here.
And he’d been arrogant to think he could manage.
‘I didn’t expect to end up wandering a ghost city with not even an internet signal.’
Ironically, everything he liked had remained intact—his metronome, his favorite movie DVDs, old sheet music filled with memories.
To stave off madness, he hooked up the DVD player to the TV. Thankfully, it worked.
He played a film, the actors’ voices filling the background as he idly drew lines across staff paper, organizing his thoughts.
By the time he’d filled dozens of sheets, the metronome had been wound only ten times—yet four moons had already passed outside the window.
“Ah, this is driving me insane.”
Finally fed up, he threw his pen and spoke his thoughts aloud.
“...I miss Dajun.”
If the maknae were here, that elephant-like steadiness of his would’ve helped.
And once that honest admission slipped out, more followed.
“...The others, too...”
If they were all here, they’d grumble about him being gross and then end up laughing together over dinner.
The contrast between those imagined scenes and his current loneliness made the weight on his chest grow heavier.
He shot upright, ruffling his messy red hair.
“...I can’t just sit around. I have to do something...”
Maybe this time, he really would find someone.
‘There’s got to be some way.’
He still couldn’t grasp what kind of world this was. The scenery suggested it was somehow connected to him, but that was only a guess.
Still, doing nothing wasn’t an option. He’d already waited too long before; wait any longer and he’d lose his mind.
The system window had gone completely silent earlier, but at least he knew it existed here. If he could find someone—anyone—maybe the quests would return, maybe he’d find a way out.
He knew it was wishful thinking, but he forced himself to ignore that fact and started walking.
“...I’ll be back.”
Pausing at the entrance, he looked at the photo of his younger self with his mother, tapped it lightly with his finger, and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
He got into a nearby car and started the engine. Like the DVD player, it worked without question.
He decided to drive farther than he ever had before.
But—
“A perfect confirmation...”
Retracing familiar streets to a small shopping district, he found nothing. Not a soul. He leaned against the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching his fists, exhaling deeply.
He drove in circles around the area for a while longer, but the streets stayed empty.
“It’s fine...”
Would he really be able to escape?
“It’s fine...”
Or would he just end up guarding this place alone forever?
The car screeched to a sudden stop. He shut his eyes tight.
His breathing was rough, then slowly steadied. Just as he was about to start driving again—
Rumble—
A sudden clap of thunder shook the air. The sky, glowing red with sunset, darkened as black clouds rolled in, lightning flickering between them.
“Ugh...”
The dazzling light filled the horizon, then abruptly vanished.
Shielding his eyes, Ichae waited until the silence returned, then slowly lowered his arm. The street was calm again, as if nothing had happened.
He stared at the stillness for a moment, then turned the car around and headed home. Parking by the roadside, he trudged past the broken fence toward the front door.
“...Huh?”
The door was open.
‘Didn’t I close it when I left?’
But he’d confirmed earlier—there was no one here but him. Who else could’ve opened it?
Even as he thought that, his senses sharpened, every nerve on edge.
Cautiously, he stepped forward.
【...—I’m sorry, I should have believed in you】
The OST of the movie he’d left playing drifted softly through the house. With each step, the faint light from the TV spread across the walls.
【This is moment in our life—...】
And there, in the middle of the room littered with half-written sheet music, stood a man cloaked in shadow.
【I will never forget what you’ve said to me】
Even from behind, he knew instantly who it was.
A white turtleneck, faded jeans, a jacket with a brand logo—
Exactly how he’d last seen him before falling into this strange world.
【(Ah— Ah— I will never forget)】
Kang Ichae froze.
It felt like seeing a ghost.
The man sensed him and turned his head. His brows were furrowed in irritation, but the moment he saw Ichae, his expression softened with relief.
“...Am I crazy?”
Was this a hallucination, or another disaster?
While Ichae hesitated, the man spoke slowly.
“No, you’re not crazy.”
The voice he’d missed so much. The person he’d longed to see stood before him, approaching step by step until he stopped right in front of him.
“You’ve never been crazy.”
And Ichae realized—it was «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» the genuine answer to the words they’d once exchanged on the emergency stairwell.
The man’s gaze swept over him, checking for injuries, then lifted to meet his eyes. Ichae noticed his own fingers trembling slightly. Seeing that, the man shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his chin up.
That small motion made Ichae laugh.
“Why...”
Because it really was him.
“...Why are you here, hyung?”
This world had only ever been his.
Even when he’d begged to be found before, no one had come.
At the childish complaint in his tone, the man’s eyebrow twitched.
“Why?”
Then, looking straight into Ichae’s wavering eyes, he smiled faintly—the same expression he always wore when The Dawn faced hardship, as if to say it was nothing, easily fixed.
“You said you couldn’t handle being alone.”
Seo Hoyun spoke as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
