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Seoul, early 2000s. A city where dreams can come true—if you’re willing to work for them.
The summer night was warm and starry. Amid the quiet hum of the city streets, in a cozy apartment on the second floor of an old house in the Ikseon-dong neighborhood, children’s laughter rang out.
“And then the sorceress kissed the frog, and he turned back into a prince!” exclaimed Saemi, an eight-year-old girl in bunny pajamas. Her eyes sparkled as she held a tattered fairytale book in her hands.
Sitting on the floor next to her was her best friend—little Wonwoo, a boy of about nine, with unruly dark curls and a serious expression.
“Ugh, kiss a frog? Even for riches?” he grimaced. “I’d rather work ten times harder than kiss some… toad.”
Saemi puffed her cheeks and rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Wonwoo, it’s romance! The princess saves the prince, and then they live happily ever after!”
Wonwoo crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m fine without princes. But when I grow up, I’ll open my own café. A real one. With hot toast, delicious coffee, and sweet pastries like my mom’s.”
Wonwoo’s mom peeked out from the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon.
“And you absolutely will, sweetheart. But only if you behave and go to bed on time.”
“Can I have a bun for the night?” Wonwoo grinned, winking.
“Only half,” his mom laughed.
Saemi closed the book and hugged it to her chest.
“And I’ll marry a prince and become a princess. You’ll see—he’ll come for me in a white limousine.”
“Just as long as he’s not a frog,” muttered Wonwoo.
And at that very moment, a shooting star crossed the dark sky.
The two children fell silent. Each made a wish.
Saemi—to become a princess.
Wonwoo—to open his own café, where it would smell of sweet dough and cinnamon, and people would smile when they walked in.
Years passed.
Wonwoo had grown up—now a twenty-year-old young man, strong, determined, with a somewhat perpetually tired but kind gaze. He kept working—no days off, no holidays, pouring every won he earned into his dream: opening his own cozy café in the heart of Seoul.
In the mornings, he made breakfasts at a small diner. During the day, he helped in the kitchen at a trendy restaurant. At night, he dreamed—of his future, of a warm room filled with the scent of cinnamon, and of a sign over the door that read: “Wonwoo’s Café.”
Meanwhile, his childhood friend Saemi had hardly changed—still romantic, confident, with a soul full of fairy tales. Her father, Mr. Lee, had built a true business empire, and now they lived in a large house with a garden in the Hannam neighborhood.
And then, one day, news spread throughout Seoul:
A prince from the distant land of Valdonia was arriving on an official visit.
“His Royal Highness Prince Mingyu of Valdonia will arrive in Seoul to strengthen cultural ties and carry out a charitable mission. He is expected to attend a high-society ball at the residence of prominent businessman Lee Yeoncheol.”
“He’s handsome, rich, and rumor has it, his parents are looking for a bride!” Saemi chattered excitedly as she flipped through a tabloid, while Wonwoo was helping set up for the ball. “Just look at him!”
The newspaper photo showed a young man with warm skin, thick dark hair, and a confident half-smile. He wore an elegant Valdonian suit, and even through the paper, he radiated something magically unreachable.
“Sure,” muttered Wonwoo, smoothing a tablecloth on the long banquet table. “Definitely in need of saving… especially from an excess of money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Saemi laughed. “This is our chance to touch a fairy tale. Don’t you want to live like a child again, even just for one night?”
Wonwoo smirked.
“As a kid, I dreamed of an espresso machine and a pastry display. Not a prince.”
Saemi squinted at him.
“What if you fall into a fairytale?”
He snorted but said nothing. Fairy tales weren’t for him. He wasn’t the type to find magic—he was the type to grind away while others fell in love and danced.
Meanwhile, at Gimpo Airport…
Prince Mingyu of Valdonia stepped onto Korean soil, accompanied by his security, personal advisor, and a whole swarm of journalists. He looked like he had stepped out of a magazine—tall, relaxed, with a lazy stride. But inside, he was a mess.
“They talked about marriage again,” he whispered to his advisor in Valdonian, while the man translated for Korean officials. “I came here to have fun, not to find a wife.”
“Your Highness, diplomatic ties are important…”
“I’m twenty-three, what diplomacy?! I want to see the country, live a little, dance, try street food, maybe…” he paused. “Maybe even find something real. Without all the titles.”
The advisor calmly told the journalists that the prince looked forward to experiencing Korean culture and was delighted to attend the charity ball hosted by the Lee family.
Mingyu adjusted his collar with a sigh.
“Just don’t make me dance with the crown on…”
The night of the ball came quickly. The Lee family estate glowed with lights like a palace—traditional Korean instruments played in the garden, chefs prepared dishes right out in the open, and waiters in black-and-white uniforms carried trays with drinks. It all looked like a scene from a drama… just a much more expensive one.
Wonwoo stood off to the side near the banquet table. He wore a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and black trousers—not quite a waiter, but definitely not a guest. He was helping with the food at Saemi’s request, though deep down he wished he could just go home and get some sleep.
He was wiping his hands on his apron when he heard a familiar voice behind him:
“If you sigh one more time, I’ll think you have asthma instead of a bad attitude.”
Wonwoo turned. Saemi stood there in a shimmering lavender dress, her hair styled with pearl pins.
“You look great,” he said honestly.
“Thanks,” she smiled. “Just don’t forget: don’t eat anything off the trays. It’s all for the ‘special guests.’”
He was about to respond, but didn’t get the chance — the crowd parted as if on cue, and under the soft whisper of steps on the stone paths, he appeared.
Prince Mingyu.
He wore a dark blue suit embroidered with golden Valdonian patterns. His hair was slightly tousled, a faint smile played on his lips. He walked with confidence, but not arrogance—more like a lazy elegance, as though the whole event was a play he’d long stopped believing in.
“He’s gorgeous, right?” Saemi whispered, nudging Wonwoo with her elbow. “Just don’t start grumbling.”
Wonwoo didn’t grumble. He simply watched in silence.
Mingyu moved through the garden, greeting people, but it was obvious—he was bored. All of it—protocols, ceremonies, expectations. Not a single genuine look, not a single sincere person.
Until his eyes landed on the figure by the banquet table.
And then—he headed straight toward Wonwoo.
“You’re the chef?” he asked with interest, glancing over the table, then at Wonwoo himself.
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.
“I’m the chef, the delivery guy, and the cleaner. And you’re the prince, I take it?”
Mingyu smirked.
“Only on paper. Really, I’m just someone dreaming of sneaking out of this ball.”
“Seriously? A prince who doesn’t like being the center of attention?”
“Exactly. And you seem to be the only one not looking at me like a ticket to a fairytale.”
Wonwoo shrugged.
“Maybe because I don’t believe in fairytales.”
Mingyu leaned an elbow on the table.
“Then maybe you can be my guide to the real Korea? With food, streets, and none of these glittering lights?”
“Sure. For a decent fee.”
They both laughed—and in that laugh, there was something that could be the beginning of something real.
But fairy tales don’t let go so easily.
Night had already settled deep when a man in a mask appeared in the garden. No one noticed how he slipped backstage, approached Mingyu while he had stepped aside for a moment, and spoke in a soft voice:
“Your Highness, you look tired. Perhaps… you’d like a little help?”
Mingyu grew cautious.
“Who are you?”
“Merely someone who knows how to grant wishes,” the man replied, pulling out a small vial. “One sip—and you’ll be free. No one will know who you are. Not the court, not your advisor, not your parents.”
Mingyu eyed him warily. There was almost no one around—they stood in a secluded corner.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested,” the prince said.
The man suddenly brought his closed hand to his mouth, blew on it, and released a cloud of shimmering purple powder.
It hit Mingyu in the face.
And in the next second, everything vanished—sound, light, the ground beneath his feet. He felt his body tighten, as if it were losing shape…
———
Meanwhile, Wonwoo heard rustling in the bushes. He stepped closer and… saw a dog. A huge, fluffy golden retriever with incredibly familiar eyes.
“What the—”
The dog whimpered—human-like, confused.
“You…” Wonwoo squinted. “You’re Mingyu?”
The dog nodded.
“W-what? Is this a joke? What kind of crap is this?!”
Wonwoo knelt down to get a closer look, still thinking it might be some prank from Saemi. As he leaned in, he noticed something odd on the dog’s nose—as if he had dipped it in the same purple powder.
“Wait, you’ve got something on your no—”
Before he could finish, the dog sneezed. The powder burst into the air—and hit Wonwoo straight in the face.
Everything around him went black.
———
The ball at Mr. Lee’s estate was still in full swing when Wonwoo came to.
He felt his body—different. Flexible. Light. Something was brushing the floor.
He raised a paw.
A paw.
“MEOW?!” escaped his throat… in a full-blown cat’s meow.
He jumped up and saw his reflection in the glass: a black cat. With unnaturally bright green eyes. Disheveled, lean, and with a look that screamed: “Why is this happening to me?”
A bark rang out behind him.
There sat Mingyu—now a giant golden retriever, wearing a guilty expression. His tail wagged nervously as he tried to speak, but all that came out was dog barks.
“Just perfect,” muttered Wonwoo, climbing into a flowerpot, nervously licking his paw. “I turn into a black cat in the middle of a high-society ball… and you’re a ball of sunshine and fur!”
Mingyu nudged him with his nose, his tail wagging apologetically.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Wonwoo hissed, his fur puffing up in irritation.
At that moment, someone among the guests shouted:
“A cat! A dog! On the table!”
Panic broke out. Some thought they were strays, others—something worse. One of the guards already had his radio out.
“We’re out of here,” Wonwoo meowed curtly, leaping off the railing. “Fast!”
Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He ran after him.
They darted out of the garden, weaving between flower beds, knocking over statues, confusing waiters, until they slipped through a side gate and vanished into the alley behind the house.
They ran all night. Through courtyards, gardens, over bridges and along streams. Seoul, with its noise, lights, and asphalt, gradually faded behind them—replaced by hills, trees, and abandoned country homes. Somewhere outside the city, near dawn, they turned onto a dirt path, and—
“A forest?!” Wonwoo hissed, struggling to move his paws through the damp grass.
In front of them stretched a dense, misty forest. The trees were tall, reaching skyward, vines hung from branches, and the air was filled with the scent of herbs and wet earth.
“This way?”
Mingyu wagged his tail and stepped into the forest first, glancing back at Wonwoo as if to say, “Do we have a choice?”
“Lovely,” muttered the cat, following him.
The forest was strangely quiet. Only crickets chirped in the distance. Step by step, between the trees, they began to feel as if reality itself had softened, blurred… as though the border between the ordinary and magical world had been left behind.
“Hey,” Mingyu spoke, his voice hoarse, but understandable. “I think… we’re talking?”
Wonwoo spun around.
“You can understand me?”
“Yes!” Mingyu began hopping with joy on all fours. “Seriously! We’re talking!”
“Oh no. This is worse than I thought. A magic forest. We’re really cursed.”
“Well, at least now I can say I’m sorry. For dragging you into this.”
Wonwoo sighed.
“Fine. Let’s say you’re just… a catastrophe with a nice face.”
Mingyu laughed. They hadn’t even noticed how the forest around them had begun to glow with faint floating lights, the tree branches above forming a near-canopy.
Ahead, a strange sound echoed—someone whistling a melody. Twigs cracking underfoot, soft clicks in the air…
“You heard that?” Mingyu tensed.
“Yeah,” meowed Wonwoo. “That’s definitely not Seoul anymore.”
They stepped onto a moonlit clearing and—there he was.
A massive tiger. Majestic, with amber eyes and a striped back, lounging on a rock like a true guardian of the forest.
He lifted his head and lazily smirked:
“Well, well. A cat and a dog in human skins? Or is it the other way around?”
Hoshi looked like he had just woken up, yet radiated the presence of a king. His striped fur shimmered in the moonlight, his ears twitched slightly, and his tail swayed slowly, as if in rhythm with his own thoughts.
“So you’re the two everyone’s whispering about through the forest?” his voice was deep, with a lazy drawl. “One spoiled prince, and one fire-hearted boy turned cat?”
Wonwoo narrowed his eyes.
“Great hearing. Or do you have spies in the bushes?”
“I’m just a tiger,” Hoshi said with a grin. “We rarely see talking animals here. Especially such… emotional ones.”
Mingyu, still stunned, tilted his head.
“You… knew we were coming?”
“I didn’t know. I sensed it. The forest—it’s alive, and it calls to those like you: cursed.” Hoshi rose, stretching fluidly. “Your journey is just beginning. And you don’t even understand half of it yet.”
“We just want to get our bodies back,” Wonwoo said, sitting down like a cat with attitude.
“Then you need the shaman, Seonju. He lives deep in the forest, at the foot of the old mountain. Only he can remove magic that wasn’t cast by your will. But the road is long and dangerous. Not just physically…” the tiger looked closely at them both. “Sometimes, the hardest part is seeing what’s inside yourself.”
Mingyu nodded.
“We can do it. Right?”
He glanced at Wonwoo, who only muttered:
“We’ll manage—if no one drops me out of a tree, or sprinkles more magic dust, and you don’t try kissing anyone.”
“Hey! That was an accident!” Mingyu protested, though amusement danced in his eyes.
Hoshi chuckled.
“All right, time to meet your guide. Small, but with a soul as big as the sky.”
At that moment, the sky above the clearing sparkled. One, two, ten… hundreds of fireflies lit up, like sparks above a campfire. And among them—one shone the brightest, with a tiny bandana and charisma the size of a city.
“Shua, stop drifting—where are you?” Hoshi called.
“Already here!” rang out a light, cheerful voice. “I always show up right on cue, like a K-drama hero!”
The firefly spun through the air and stopped right in front of Mingyu’s nose, glowing gold.
“Joshua Jisoo Hong, but just call me Shua,” he said, pressing a tiny hand to his chest and winking. “So, you’re the two who got all fluffy from a kiss?”
“We’re not—” both started, but Shua was already laughing.
“All right, you can explain later,” he buzzed over Wonwoo’s head. “You must scratch in your sleep and hiss when people try to pet you? Love cats with attitude.”
“I don’t hiss,” muttered Wonwoo. “I… scoff. There’s a difference.”
“Perfect. I love drama,” Shua spun around Mingyu. “And you, you’re all golden—inside and out.”
Mingyu blushed—as much as a retriever can.
Hoshi snorted.
“Shua will take you to the shaman. I’ll catch up—I’ve got business in the southern forest. But remember: in this forest, not everything is what it seems. Not even you.”
“We figured that out already,” Wonwoo said grimly.
“Good,” Hoshi yawned softly and disappeared into the bushes. “Then I’ll see you soon. Don’t be afraid—sometimes, going through the thicket helps more than a straight road.”
———
Their trio—a cat, a dog, and a glowing firefly—ventured deeper into the forest.
Shua chattered non-stop, telling them about Jeonghan—his star.
“He shines for me every night. The most beautiful one in the sky! When everything feels dark, I just look up—and he’s there. You know, everyone needs their own Evangeline. Someone who’s always with you, even from far away.”
Wonwoo snorted:
“Sounds nice. Personally, I’d rather have a job, an apartment, and a human body.”
Mingyu smiled:
“Well, I think romance isn’t so bad. Even if you’re a dog. What matters is who walks beside you.”
Wonwoo looked at him from beneath his thick brows.
“You’re starting to like this body?”
“I’m starting to realize that even as a retriever, I can still be myself.”
They walked on, under starlight and Shua’s warm glow.
———
The shaman’s home looked like no building Wonwoo or Mingyu had ever seen. It seemed to have grown from the earth itself: wooden walls covered in moss and winding plants, and windows glowing with the light of an eternal sunset.
When the door opened by itself, Mingyu and Wonwoo froze in the doorway. Shua gave them a little push.
“What are you waiting for? He doesn’t bite. Well… mostly.”
Inside, it was quiet. Only the soft chime of glass ornaments swaying in the breeze. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and the air smelled of incense and something slightly sweet—like boiled ginger and night flowers. On the walls hung paper charms and old paintings of spirits, animals, and stars.
In the center stood the shaman—Seonju.
Tall, with a straight back, dressed in a dark hanbok embroidered with symbols of ancient Korean magic. His hair was silver—not elderly, but like someone who had long lived in harmony with something greater. His eyes were calm and deep, like a lake you don’t want to look into—but need to.
He raised his gaze.
“I’ve been waiting for you. The prince of Valdonia , and the boy with a heart full of doubt.”
Mingyu instinctively straightened.
“You know who we are?”
“I know who you could become. But you don’t know that yet.” Seonju moved across the room, picking up a steaming bowl from the shelf. “I can return your bodies. But magic doesn’t work without cost. Every transformation has a cause, and every return—a price.”
Wonwoo stepped forward, ears twitching with tension.
“You’re talking in riddles. What price?”
Seonju came closer, his voice soft but firm.
“Each of you wears a mask. One pretends he’s free, but fears his role. The other hides behind sarcasm and thorns because he’s afraid of being needed. I can return your forms… but first, you must take a journey. Not to me—to yourselves.”
He handed them each a piece of dried flower.
“This is the mirwolli flower. It only blooms near those who’ve discovered what they truly want. You must reach the Lake of Souls, pass through the trials, and if the flower blooms—you’ll be ready.”
Mingyu took his petal and nodded.
“And if it doesn’t?”
Seonju looked at him with quiet sorrow.
“Then you will remain as you are—forever.”
Wonwoo rolled the flower in his paw, then sighed.
“Fine. We’ll do it. If only because I’m done sleeping in trees.”
“Liar,” Seonju said with a soft smile. “You’ve simply found someone worth coming back for.”
Both Wonwoo and Mingyu froze, their eyes locking. Something shy flickered in Wonwoo’s expression, while Mingyu’s tail twitched slightly.
Shua clapped his tiny hands:
“All right, my fluffy heroes, time to hit the road! The Lake of Souls is an adventure—and I know a shortcut! Well, almost a shortcut… not too dangerous… okay, there might be flying mushrooms, but it’ll be cool!”
As Seonju disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the house, he said one last thing:
“Remember—form is not essence. Essence is how you hold each other when it’s scary.”
Shua led the group deeper into the path to the Lake of Souls, where the fog grew thicker and darker. The environment changed—trees stretched and warped, their trunks resembling long shadows. Wonwoo felt the air growing cooler, his paws heavy, as if they were walking on water.
“Don’t stop,” Shua said softly, eyes forward. “Everything shifts here. Don’t let illusions drag you down.”
“This is the test, right?” Mingyu whispered, eyes narrowing, sensing something was off. “We’re going to face our fears?”
Shua silently nodded.
“Yes. What’s hidden inside. Each of you will confront what you fear most. And it may not be what you think. For me it was…” Shua fell quiet, not finishing his sentence.
At that moment, as if in answer to his words, the mist tore open—and the first trial appeared.
Wonwoo was the first to feel a cold gust of wind. Everything around him darkened, and in the distance, a blurry figure appeared.
He recognized it immediately—it was himself.
But not the Wonwoo of now. It was the version of himself who had never found his place, who hid from people, who had forgotten what he truly wanted. A reflection with closed eyes, locked within, fleeing from his own feelings. He had seen himself like that many times before.
He stepped closer, then stopped abruptly.
“You… what are you doing?” he asked his double. But the reflection remained silent.
Suddenly, a voice came—not from outside, but from the reflection itself. It was cold and hollow.
“You always fear being open. You hide behind sarcasm and humor so no one can see how much it hurts. You’re afraid to be needed. You don’t want to open up, because you think no one could truly accept you. You’ll never allow yourself to be who you really are.”
Wonwoo recoiled. That was his deepest fear—being rejected, being unloved. He always feared that the people he loved would leave, because he was too imperfect.
But then, something stirred inside him. His heart beat faster. Mingyu was there. Mingyu’s presence seemed to draw all that fear out of him.
Wonwoo inhaled sharply and said:
“I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid to open up. I’m not alone.”
The reflection flickered, like a shadow, and vanished in a cloud of mist. Wonwoo exhaled in relief, feeling the fog around him begin to clear. He understood now—his fear wasn’t just about rejection. It was about being vulnerable.
———
Once Wonwoo had passed his trial, it was Mingyu’s turn.
The mist thickened again, and suddenly he found himself back in his kingdom—golden halls, grand palaces, splendor. But it wasn’t what he longed for. There was no joy, no freedom. He was alone, sitting on a throne, surrounded by luxury, but every day was the same as the last.
Then a figure appeared—his father, the old king, eyes filled with expectations and the weight of tradition.
“You are my son,” the king said, his voice heavy as stone. “You are the heir to my throne. You must fulfill your obligations. You must follow the path I’ve chosen for you. You have no other choice.”
Mingyu felt a coldness clutch his soul. He knew this duty was important—but he also knew he couldn’t find true happiness within it.
“I don’t want to be king,” he whispered, looking into his father’s eyes. “I don’t want to be who others expect me to be.”
Then the fog began to shift, and the royal palace vanished. Mingyu stood in a simple, sunlit field. His eyes were clear. He understood now—his fear wasn’t just about duty. It was about not having a choice in his own life.
“I choose my own path,” he said firmly, and the fog dissolved, leaving him in bright light.
———
Finally, it was Shua’s turn. He was alone.
His trial was no less difficult. He saw Jeonghan—the star he loved so deeply, but never dared to tell.
Jeonghan stood nearby, but his gaze was cold, distant.
“You’ll never be mine,” Jeonghan said with quiet sorrow. “You don’t understand what love means. You’ll always be alone. You’re afraid of closeness.”
Shua felt his tiny heart shrink. His greatest pain wasn’t being small or powerless—it was the fear of loving someone and losing them. He didn’t know how to open his heart.
But in that moment, standing before Jeonghan, Shua finally understood. He didn’t need to fear love. He didn’t need to fear being seen.
“I love you,” he said softly.
And the mist around him faded like morning fog.
———
When all three had passed their trials, they stood in the heart of the lake. The fog had cleared completely. Everything around them was bright and still, and in each of their eyes shone something new. They had not only freed themselves from their fears—they had grown stronger.
“We did it,” said Mingyu, looking at Wonwoo and Shua.
“Yes, we did,” replied Wonwoo, his tail lifting a little in newfound confidence.
Shua smiled brightly:
“And now, we’re ready for what’s next.”
As the fog cleared and the forest regained its familiar form, the peace that enveloped them was deceiving. The journey wasn’t over yet. Even though they had faced their fears and freed themselves, one last challenge still awaited.
Shua slowed in midair, looking at his friends with a serious expression.
“We’re not done yet,” he said, his voice low and firm. “There’s one final guardian who will test if you’re truly ready to return.”
Mingyu frowned, full of uncertainty after what they had already endured.
“You never said there’d be another guardian. I thought the trials were over.”
“It’s not that simple,” Shua answered, hovering in a slow circle, a somber look in his eyes. “This guardian won’t test your strength or your fears. He will test if you’re ready to accept something else… something you may still not fully understand about yourselves.”
The fog began to thicken again, but this time it glowed faintly with golden light. Then, a figure emerged from the mist—neither fully human, nor fully spirit. It shimmered, ancient and eternal, with eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom. It was as if nature itself had formed a guardian to speak.
“I am Raeon, the Guardian of Transition,” the figure said, its voice echoing deep within their very beings. “To return to your bodies, you must pass one last test.”
Wonwoo and Mingyu stood side by side, tense and alert, though neither knew what to expect.
“The path you’ve walked was difficult,” Raeon continued. “But it is not complete. To return, you must give something to the other. True strength lies not only in facing fear but in giving, in being open, in helping those beside you. Who among you is ready to give more?”
Mingyu felt his heart stop for a moment. He was ready to return—but doubt stirred in his chest. He remembered all the times he had lived under pressure, trying to do the right thing for others, but never really knowing what truly mattered.
“You cannot be happy,” Raeon said, eyes fixed on Mingyu, “until you learn how to be present for someone else.”
Then he turned to Wonwoo, his gaze becoming more piercing.
“And you… you cannot move forward if you keep hiding behind your jokes and sarcasm. You must open yourself. You must give a part of your soul so someone else can truly see you.”
Wonwoo felt a heaviness settle in his chest. Raeon was naming the very thing he had always avoided. He never wanted to show his vulnerability. But now he understood—it was necessary.
Then Raeon turned to Shua. Though just a small firefly, he stood quietly, glowing softly but unwavering.
“And you, Shua… You have taught them much. But what will you give? You remain in the same form, unable to become human. Yet you were the one who guided them. Can you still offer light, knowing your shape will never change?”
Shua sighed, his light flickering gently in the dark air.
“I can’t become human,” he said with a small, warm smile. “But I can be the light that leads, the one who supports. If my friends are ready to accept that light, I’ll give it. I can be who I am. That’s enough for me.”
Raeon nodded.
“Then you are ready. Ready to return to your bodies, having accepted not only yourselves, but each other. Form is not what matters. What matters is the bond you’ve chosen.”
The mist gathered around them—not suffocating now, but tender and welcoming. In the next moment, Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Shua felt a wave of magic surge through them, pulling them toward their true forms.
But for Shua, this was a moment of farewell. He remained a firefly—his shape unchanged—but his light was brighter than ever. He knew that his role didn’t require a transformation. He was the guide, the heart, the spark that helped others find their way.
Shua flew to his friends and said:
“Don’t forget who you are. And remember—I’ll always be with you, lighting your path.”
With those words, he disappeared into the mist, leaving behind a warm glow that soon faded into the magic that returned Wonwoo and Mingyu to their human forms.
When it was all over and they stood once again on solid ground, the mist slowly faded, revealing the place where their journey had first begun. Everything looked the same—but they were no longer the same people.
The shaman Seonju appeared once more, observing their changed expressions with a quiet smile. He nodded approvingly.
“You have walked the path,” he said, “and now you understand what truly matters. Returning to your bodies is not the end—it is the beginning of a new journey. Believe in yourselves. Believe in each other.”
The mist cleared fully, and Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Shua—still glowing gently—stood under the stars. The sounds of the forest returned, the air smelled of fresh earth and leaves, and everything felt more alive than ever.
Seonju, standing nearby, gave his final blessing:
“You have come back, but the way you see the world—and each other—has changed. Your hearts and souls have grown. Returning to your bodies means nothing unless you are ready to share your lives with those beside you. You are no longer just two people on a path—you are part of each other now.”
Mingyu, feeling a growing warmth in his chest, looked at Wonwoo. Something had shifted inside him. It wasn’t just gratitude for support or a bond of friendship—it was something deeper, something undeniable. Something that had been growing quietly with every step of their journey.
Wonwoo also felt it—an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. He had always hidden his emotions, masking his fears behind sarcasm. But now, he couldn’t ignore what he felt. Mingyu had become more than a fellow traveler. He had become someone who made him feel safe, someone who made him want to be honest.
Shua, watching their quiet exchange, buzzed gently around them, his glow soft and warm.
“You two have already taken a step forward,” he said with a wink. “There’s something special between you, and it’s not just coincidence. Mingyu, do you see it? You didn’t just open your heart to others—you opened it to Wonwoo. And you, Wonwoo—you’re not afraid anymore, because beside you is someone who accepts you completely.”
Mingyu turned to Wonwoo, voice barely above a whisper, but sincere:
“You matter to me, Wonwoo. And I don’t mean just as a friend. You’re… something more. I don’t know how to explain it. You were there when I was at my lowest. You showed me what it means to be real. And I want that to keep going.”
Wonwoo froze. His heart beat faster. He hadn’t expected Mingyu to say that. He had always feared his feelings would never be understood—but now, standing there, he knew he had nothing to fear.
“I… I want that too,” Wonwoo said softly. “I don’t care what comes next. I just know I want to be with you.”
Mingyu stepped closer. Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the world fell silent. It wasn’t just a confession—it was a promise.
Shua fluttered around them, his voice full of joy and light humor:
“Well, finally! Took you long enough!” He laughed. “You know, it’s been quite the journey. I’m glad you found each other.”
Seonju stood back, watching with quiet pride. He knew this moment was the most important of all. The journey had led them not just through magic—but through the truth of their hearts.
“Now,” the shaman said, “you are ready to return to your lives. But remember—this is not the end. It’s the beginning of a path you now walk together. Be honest. Be open. Let your love be the light that guides you.”
With that, a soft golden light surrounded them again, and the final traces of magic sealed their return.
When it was all over and they stood once again on solid ground, the mist slowly faded, revealing the place where their journey had first begun. Everything looked the same—but they were no longer the same people.
The shaman Seonju appeared once more, observing their changed expressions with a quiet smile. He nodded approvingly.
“You have walked the path,” he said, “and now you understand what truly matters. Returning to your bodies is not the end—it is the beginning of a new journey. Believe in yourselves. Believe in each other.”
The mist cleared fully, and Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Shua—still glowing gently—stood under the stars. The sounds of the forest returned, the air smelled of fresh earth and leaves, and everything felt more alive than ever.
Now that they had returned to the real world, they were ready to face it—not as two people hiding behind masks, but as a pair, supporting each other, walking together no matter what lay ahead.
———
Mingyu and Wonwoo returned home, and though the city around them remained the same, they had changed completely.
The magical journey had transformed not just their bodies, but their souls. Wonwoo, who once had trouble opening up, now found it easier to be honest. Mingyu, once overwhelmed by duty and doubt, had begun to accept and love himself more freely.
As they stepped back into daily life, a new reality awaited them. One where they didn’t have to hide how they felt.
Mingyu took time to reflect. He knew he couldn’t return to his old life. The expectations, the performance—it no longer felt right. What mattered now was connection, sincerity, and doing something meaningful.
So, Mingyu started something new. He created a public movement—a space where people could share their fears and stories without judgment. He began organizing gatherings where people could talk openly about emotions, support each other, and learn how to be vulnerable without shame.
He told his own story: the fear he carried, the journey through the enchanted forest, and how it changed him. He didn’t hide what had happened, and that honesty inspired others. People opened up to him in return. He saw how much it meant to them—how healing it could be.
And through it all, Wonwoo was there.
Wonwoo didn’t speak as much as Mingyu. He still kept to himself sometimes, still had that quiet spark of sarcasm. But he supported Mingyu in everything. He helped organize the events, hosted some of the meetings at his café—yes, the café he finally opened.
Wonwoo’s café became more than a business. It was a haven. A warm place filled with the smell of cinnamon, toasted bread, and fresh pastries, where people felt safe enough to be themselves.
At night, when the last guest had gone, Mingyu and Wonwoo stayed behind. They’d make something simple for dinner, talk about their day, and enjoy the quiet of being together. These moments—these honest, ordinary moments—were the heart of everything they’d built.
Sometimes, they walked the evening streets hand in hand, talking about the future. Wonwoo would still get nervous about opening up, but next to Mingyu, it felt easier.
“Do you think we’re moving too fast?” he asked one evening, his voice uncertain.
Mingyu smiled, eyes soft and steady.
“No, Wonwoo. I think we’re just moving. And I’ve never felt so calm. I used to avoid feelings like this, but now… I think I’ve finally found what I was missing.”
Wonwoo shook his head with a small smile, but there was warmth in his gaze. He leaned in and hugged Mingyu gently.
“Maybe you’re right. I’m not afraid either. I’m just glad you’re here.”
He paused a moment before adding:
“When we were in the forest, I never thought I could open up. I always thought it was too hard. But with you… it got easier.”
Mingyu nodded, his voice quiet and full of tenderness:
“You’ve always been that person, Wonwoo. You just didn’t know you could have someone who accepts you completely. I saw the real you—even when you tried to hide.”
They stood there in the quiet, the city around them buzzing softly in the distance. It wasn’t dramatic. It was real.
A promise.
Life slowly settled into something calm and steady. Mingyu and Wonwoo continued working together, growing both their shared dreams and their bond. Their relationship deepened, rooted not just in affection but in the journey they had taken—one of magic, of truth, and of choosing each other.
Wonwoo began to feel something he’d never truly known before: he was supported. He was loved. Fully, and without conditions. The fear that used to keep him guarded began to soften. He realized that vulnerability was no longer a weakness—it had become his strength.
Together, they began dreaming of future projects. How they could help others the way they had helped each other. It wasn’t just about business anymore—it was about creating a community, building spaces of kindness and understanding, growing a shared life full of purpose and care.
Evenings spent in conversation or simple walks became the core of their connection. They had learned to listen. To give. To receive.
And no matter what the future held, they were ready.
There were still challenges ahead—new doubts, new fears—but now they faced them side by side. For Mingyu and Wonwoo, there were no more walls between them. No need to pretend. Their love and trust had become a solid foundation. Something that could carry them through anything.
Though their journey had begun like a fairytale—with enchantments and transformations—it became something far more real. Something built on honesty, growth, and love.
They had found each other in the most unexpected of ways—and chose, again and again, to stay.
And far above them, in the quiet night sky, a single star shone a little brighter.
Shua drifted quietly between constellations, glowing with quiet joy.
His voice, soft and sure, echoed through the starlit sky:
“You found each other. You chose each other. And that’s the most magical thing of all.”