Chapter Text
Have you ever thought about those weekends that seem to slip away far too quickly?
Then comes Monday morning, back all too soon. The moment you are forced to plunge right back into the same rigid routines. A subtle wave of frustration—waking up to yet another today. It feels as though all of this clings to us like a parasite, feeding and living off our existence.
We might not like it, but in a world where stopping isn't an option, we have no choice but to keep stubborn feet moving forward.
Yet, as youth gradually fades and rusts away, it feels like we become increasingly lost on where to head next. Once, we never cared how far the end of the journey might be, but now, we no longer know which direction that finish line even points toward.
We can no longer grasp what we stand to lose, yet we have grown terrified of the losing itself. Clutching that fear tight, tomorrow no longer feels like hope.
So, what if we just end it right here...?
"Did you finish the KVs for tomorrow's meeting, Kim Ryul?!"
The Creative Manager’s loud, calling voice stirs a quiet, unexplainable spark of anger deep inside.
"I’ve already sent the files to the team. Just waiting for your approval, hyung."
As I answer, I catch the faint murmur of the manager grumbling under his breath. Probably blaming me for not giving him a heads-up, but I’ve stopped listening. I’ve learned that the best way to end worn-out conversations is simply to remain quiet.
Nothing about the day feels strange anymore. Every week is just a repeating cycle of days already lived, an endless déjà vu. It feels as though everyone passes through it with a quiet, deliberate blindness.
When the email confirming the design approval drops into my inbox, my mind is already racing ahead to lunch. With practiced ease, my hands route the files to their respective destinations. Standing up abruptly, I shove the cigarette pack into my trousers pocket and step out of the office.
11:45 AM is a time you could call a bit early for lunch, but it’s equally a time no one can quite fault you for taking. At the very least, these silent, unspoken compromises are the only small freedoms I managed to carve out for myself.
Corporate culture was never a place where I truly fit, yet how I ended up here remains a blur in my memory.
Maybe I just wanted to put a newly minted degree to use quickly. Maybe it was the rising cost of living I kept hearing about from my mother. Or maybe it was just a random choice. Or perhaps, I was never even given the time to make a choice at all.
It feels like taking a sharp turn without even reading where the signpost points. Sometimes, it just feels like my own mistake.
The office canteen in the afternoon carries a heavy, stifling warmth. You can hear plenty of laughter around, but beneath those voices linger the unsaid pressures and constant metrics.
Some might truly be fine. Others might have just stopped thinking altogether. Watching the stream of people filing in, my own appetite simply vanishes.
Fingering the cigarette pack in my pocket, I step out toward the designated smoking area outside the canteen. The blazing summer heat feels as though it’s burning even underneath the shade. The heat hangs thick and heavy, hovering over the concrete benches. Letting out a deep, full breath, I spark a cigarette.
The nicotine drawing in with the deep inhale seems to briefly blur the oppressive weather away. It feels as if it lulls the constant twitch of my nerves into a temporary standstill.
"Hey~ How are things going?"
At the familiar calling voice, I flash a practiced smile out of habit. It’s not like I want to deal with shallow questions like "Why the long face?" anyway.
"Same as usual. With the new product launch coming up, you know how it is. Plenty of headaches."
"Standard procedure, then. They haven't even finished arguing over the high-level plans yet. Just let them fight it out among themselves."
Julian from the R&D department, standing nearby, speaks with a faint Korean accent. As for me, I just want to drag on this cigarette until there's nothing left.
"Our department is rushing things, too. Though the fact that nothing gets done despite the rush is almost funny."
"If things were actually getting done, that would be abnormal. Let them sort their own mess first. Once they're done, we’ll just end up saying 'yes' to whatever they throw at us anyway."
Julian laughs at my response. Between different departments, there are moments where you find a rare freedom to be openly sarcastic about what’s on your mind. Even if we didn't, to the higher-ups, people in junior roles like ours might as well be on permanent mute.
"Have you had lunch yet? I heard the food in the canteen is good today."
Julian asks casually, lingering for a moment.
"I just feel a bit bloated, so I think I'll skip," I answer with a slight shake of my head. Julian nods quietly without saying more and turns away to chat with his nearby group of colleagues.
My world settles back into silence. A gentle breeze slips under the sleeves of my shirt. The taste of nicotine lingers, heavy and dizzying in my mouth.
The clockwork routine resets itself once again right here. It feels as though my mind has already resigned itself to the fact that nothing will ever grow more extraordinary than this. Boring as it is, I still haven't put out the cigarette in my hand. Amid the restless, humming heat of summer, I remain unable to wake from this waking dream.
Waiting for the lunch hour to slowly bleed away, I keep lighting cigarette after cigarette. It feels like a waste of time, yet I simply lack the spirit to try anything else. Whether the nicotine numbs me or sends my pulse racing, those sensations become my sole reminders that I am still alive.
Even knowing that something is deeply wrong, I no longer know what is broken enough to fix.
When I first received my degree, or when I finished that final university assignment, or when I first stepped foot onto campus—or maybe the day I passed high school—I must have known what it felt like to be full of hope.
That kind of rush where everything felt intensely vivid, where your hands and feet couldn't possibly stay still. Moments spent dreaming and shaping the future. The quiet confidence that you could take on whatever came your way.
I must have known about magical things once. Where I left them behind remains like a math problem whose formula I’ve long forgotten.
Running at full speed, yet arriving nowhere far. A blinding velocity that makes you feel left behind even if you started from the exact same line. Stubbornly refusing to yield, only to realize that first, second, or third place was never meant for you anyway.
Even when I know the lingering self-doubt—wondering if I'm still standing right at the starting line—is completely baseless, I can't help feeling like a useless person who can do nothing. A darkness of my own making, quietly consuming me from within, knowing all too well that no one can come to the rescue, nor pull me up. Like cigarettes burning down to ash one by one, amidst the decaying passage of time, it feels as though no single motion makes any difference anymore.
Trapped in these waking nightmares, as much as I try to push forward, my body remains frozen in place. Like an intimacy forged with fear. Like a comfort found in taking orders. The heavy realization that stepping away from this place might mean losing even more.
Before the sinking feeling reaches its absolute bottom, a phone notification chime shakes me awake. Without even looking, I already know the message is from the team manager.
"There's a change in the KV design. Come see me after lunch."
I let out a short, hollow laugh. The thought of lunch fades completely, nor does the idea of food feel appealing anymore.
Patiently drawing on the lingering stub of my cigarette, I try to stretch out every second, striving to delay the inevitable end of my break.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, I remember to look up at the clouds.
How many people, I wonder, ever stop to notice the vast, empty freedom of the sky?
Bright blue and layered with white clouds, the wide expanse carries on as if nothing in the world matters. Beneath the sharp summer sunlight, the thought of Icarus randomly crosses my mind.
Learning to quietly navigate through days that refuse to fit into place must be another warning bell of growing up. Like an undeniable duty, a necessary skill to acquire, an expectation that you simply must carry on.
When you weigh it all out, the end of the workday feels like a temporary escape. For a fleeting moment, you can feel your own soul again. At the very least, it's something that reminds you to take a full, deep breath. Even if it's not much, this small piece of freedom has to be enough.
In times when you cannot dictate what you want on your own terms, even the smallest crumbs bring a quiet satisfaction.
The twilight after 5 PM always lingers with a subtle exhaustion. Amid the buzzing rush hour outside the office, I find myself moving hesitantly on the way home. I don't know what I'm trying to stall for, but behind the urge to fall asleep the moment I reach home lies the heavy dread of having to restart another morning.
Scenes blur past the bus window. The worn-out faces of people who have survived another day, mixed with the fading orange light filtering through the dusty glass. It feels as though everything is slowly melting down to the very bottom. Pulling myself upright just feels like too much effort.
Stepping off at the bus stop brings a brief breath of relief. This quiet, empty stop has long been a silent fixture of my life.
As I take slow steps forward, the leather bag in my hand seems to grow heavier. The sunset deepens in intensity, and the distant caw of crows drifts through the air. The mercury streetlights emit a quiet, low flicker. The cool air wrapping around feels like it's pulling the solitude just a little tighter around me.
Leaving the loud honking of the main road behind, I turn into the alleyway. The distant noise rushing past never quite reaches this lane—and that is precisely why I like it here.
There are low-rise apartment buildings, a tangled utility pole, and small shops illuminated by bright white fluorescent lights. It isn't extraordinarily beautiful, but it's a quiet lane that rests comfortably in its own space.
The hairline cracks in the building walls, a few tightly parked private cars and taxis, bikes stacked where children left them—every single detail has etched itself into my memory day after day.
Views that never required deliberate remembering would likely become strikingly obvious the moment they changed.
Today, my steps come to a halt in front of a storefront I have never seen before.
You could hardly even call it a proper shop. Beneath the bright, glowing lines of LED lights, gemstone jewelry catches the reflection. On the glass display case sits a small, serene pot of money plant. At the shop entrance, curtains woven from clear crystal beads are tied back neatly on either side.
Pausing to observe quietly, I catch the faint, smooth notes of an instrument drifting from the inner room. Beside the corner of the glass display, a small incense burner sends delicate trails of fragrant smoke curling into the air.
Intrigued, I look up to read the shop's sign carefully.
Miracle - Gems & Crystals
As far as I can remember, up until this morning, this spot was just a locked, quiet little shop unit. A wooden door painted in patchy blue with rusty chain links wrapped around the handles. The kind of place you would pass by without a second thought.
The altered scene feels as alien as it does strangely familiar. No one in this small neighborhood would have ever imagined a delicate gem shop opening in a quiet alleyway like this.
A shopfront glowing so brightly in a place like this.
Thinking about it, there's something charming about it—like stumbling upon a daisy unexpectedly.
A simple existence, yet inherently lovely.
The brightly gleaming stones are a treat for the eyes, waking a childlike curiosity for vibrant colors that I had almost forgotten I possessed.
Stepping two paces further into the shop, my attention is drawn to a bracelet crafted from clear, yellow gemstone beads resting inside the glass case.
"Did you find something you like?"
A gentle, quiet voice—almost overwhelmingly polite—causes me to look up from the yellow stone bracelet.
"If you see something you like, feel free to try it on."
As he approaches, a soft, woody scent drifts through the air. The faint, subtle clinking of the stone bracelets on his left wrist catches my attention.
A young man who looks to be around my age greets me with a warm smile from the other side of the display case.
I truly never thought dark eyes beneath black hair could shine so brightly. Wearing a soft white cotton long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up, he carries an unmistakable air of optimism—a feeling I have long grown unfamiliar with.
"I saw that it was newly opened, so I was curious."
I manage to murmur quietly. The young man looks at me warmly in response.
"We mainly carry gemstones and crystals here. What kind of style do you usually prefer?"
"Something... bright enough to catch the eye, I suppose..."
I answer, pointing toward the yellow bracelet from a moment ago.
"I think you're someone who knows very well what you're looking for."
The young man carefully lifts the bracelet I pointed out from inside the glass case. The clear, yellow stone beads continue to glow brightly even as they move out from under the display lights.
"This is called Citrine. It represents joy and happiness. Others say it stands for memories, and many believe it brings good fortune."
The young man explains with an energetic, bright tone, smiling as he looks at me. As I take the bracelet from him, the cool touch of the natural stone bleeds through my fingertips.
I can feel a soft, gentle wave of energy—as though touching subtle, delicate frequencies. It feels as if a magnetic field clings gently to the polished surface of the beads.
"It really is beautiful," I murmur, and the young man's eyes light up even further. It feels less like the satisfaction of making a sale and more like a pure, unattached excitement. It’s the kind of feeling where you might blindly trust a stranger, yet I feel entirely certain of my own intuition.
Perhaps it's because I can spot feelings I understand reflected deep within his dark eyes.
"Don't you think Citrine looks like frozen sunlight? They hold such a warm, radiant glow. And they say this gemstone gives you the strength to reach for what you desire."
He explains further. The shadows of the blue twilight don't seem capable of dimming the warm yellow glow drifting between us.
"Do you think I should buy it?"
I ask, my voice sounding almost dazed. The stone beads in my hand remain soothingly cool.
I wait with quiet anticipation to see how he will respond.
He simply offers a soft, faint smile.
"If what you are searching for is happiness... then this bracelet was meant for you."
In the space of those words, it feels as though I suddenly become acutely aware of everything surrounding us.
The wall clock inside the shop reading 5:53 PM. The sharp glow of the fluorescent lights. The dry, summer evening air drifting in from behind my back. The quiet click of the stone beads shifting on the young man's wrist.
Every tiny detail suddenly grows magnified and clear.
I remain still, holding the yellow stone bracelet tight. The young man waits for my response with patient calm.
The cool sensation of the stone begins to melt into my palm. A soft yellow aura seems to gently overlay my vision. Drowning slowly in the feeling, I am left entirely spellbound. It feels as if my body is weightless, drifting right into a Monet painting. Along the quiet outline of the young man, I can see faint, golden traces of light shimmering softly.
End of Act I