"Five"

I made a mistake

"Four"

And I do regret

"Three"

But that won't bring you back

"Two"

So let me do this

"One"

One last time

"Go--"

I love you..

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Sometimes I wonder why this spinning globe name world exists, subjecting me to this relentless cycle of survival."

He blinks into the darkness, the faint sound of crackling metal echoing in the background. He aimlessly gropes the soft bedding, desperately searching for his monstrous phone. In this moment, he despises everyone from Graham Bell to Martin Cooper, and the genius who invented the alarm, along with the audacious soul who first thought of adding it as a function to the iPhone. No matter how fervently he rubs the bed, he can't locate the phone until it finally shuts off, only to snooze again in a matter of seconds.

He's perhaps the most acquainted person with time, yet those around him assume he's perpetually tardy. It's not that he doesn't strive to synchronize with the ticking of the clock. It's just that his love for sleep always triumphs, and his jam-packed schedule doesn't help much either.

"Dang it. When did I set a danger alert as my alarm ringtone?"

Managing to avoid entangling himself in the unruly beddings or receiving an unwelcome embrace from the carpeted floor as the first thing of the morning, he rises from the bed.

And once again, the phone buzzes to the metallic crackling rhythm. By sliding a claw under the wrinkled blanket, he manages to reach the monstrous device and silence it this time. The glowing screen reveals 7:20 AM, accompanied by a young woman's radiant smile in the background.

The moment his gaze connects with that smile, the spinning globe ceases its tumultuous rotation, and all the chaos unfolding upon it grinds to a halt. He traces the tip of his index finger delicately along the vibrant screen, following the contours of the image with tender care, as if the screen itself were fragile and precious to the touch.

The image serves as a reminder of why he clutches this object that doesn't rightfully belong to the place or era he finds himself in. Only he possesses such an object, alerting him to the need to achieving his target before the battery drains completely, lest he find himself in considerable trouble.

Wiping away a tear, he takes a deep breath before slipping into a pair of fluffy bunny slippers, which he's not particularly thrilled about wearing, and steps off the bed.

Welcome to another beautiful day of a scientist struggling to survive in the heart of Seoul in the year 1990, to which I do not truly belong.

Over the past ten years, or rather, from his perspective, the past ten years while his current peers perceive it as a distant future, he has been consumed by the enigma of time. Though he possesses great authority over time, the irony of his fate lies in the fact that his current predicament is a result of his inability to control time properly. Being in charge doesn't guarantee unfaltering control at all times.

Yet, his fate has led him to this point, and he seems far from pleased with what he has been dealt.

The brown leather briefcase swings in tune with his footsteps, occasionally slipping from his grip and nearly striking unsuspecting bystanders in the most inconvenient of places. His free hand skillfully evades the passersby who come dangerously close to colliding with his face. Some onlookers cast judgmental glances, as if their stares could unveil the origins of his exquisitely tailored suits. Others curse under their breaths for being flung a few feet away from him, narrowly dodging a collision. It's just another bustling morning in Seoul, and he has no say in the chaotic rush.

No one around him truly comprehends how unaccustomed he is to these encounters, nor does anyone really care. Memories of his elegant Porsches and Mercedes, yearning for his presence in the spacious garage, almost bring him to tears.

However, the weight of responsibility hits him hard enough to snap him out of his wretched thoughts, and he refocuses on his objective. He can't let all the suffering be in vain. His free hand clears his blurred view of time, and he takes a final right turn into an alleyway that stretches ahead.

Within this alleyway, everything around him falls silent and still, except for the rhythmic stomping of his shoe heels on the midnight-black road. His hair rustles in the gentle breeze as he quickens his pace. Every now and then, his eyes dart to the Patek Philippe adorning his wrist, and with each passing minute, his jaw clenches and his pace intensifies.

He can't afford the risk of seeing her this morning, or he'll never find answers to the questions that plague his mind.

•••

"There she is."

He sighs, his gaze softening at the sight before him, as the surrounding chatter fills his ears like sweet honey. He has always had an affinity for small, adorable things. And now, this precious little creature standing in front of him, gazing at him with beautiful beady eyes filled with surprise, ignites an overwhelming desire to hold her tight. Suppressing the urge, aware that it may startle the girl, he offers her a gentle smile, causing her eyes to widen even further.

"Ajeossi?" she whispers, tilting her head inquisitively, questioning his presence.

Though it's not a language he speaks, he knows enough to understand that she's referring to him. He recalls how she called him by that very term the first time they met in the year 2018. And perhaps also when he saved her life forty-eight hours ago. He waves at the little girl, while his mind debates whether he should cross the road immediately and approach her or take more time.

Speaking of time, he only has 120 hours left to complete his mission, no matter how he goes about it. Ultimately, the team of brain cells advocating for him to "go to her" wins over the team encouraging him to "take more time."

In a matter of seconds, he is crouching beside the small girl with rosy, pink-tinted cheeks and glossy, brown hair. Amidst all the other tiny beings around her, chattering and giggling in voices resembling delicate fairy bells, there's something that sets her apart from the crowd. He always wondered, even back then, what made her so special and unique. Her beady eyes shine with both surprise and amusement upon seeing her 'Ajeossi,' who is now offering her a lollipop. She giggles softly, wrapping her tiny fingers around the candy's white stick and taking it from him. This very giggle could remind him of her.

'Why does she feel so familiar? Why does she bear such a striking resemblance to her? Did I ever spare a moment to care, even just a little? I should have, but I most certainly didn't.'

He feels the familiar ache of pins and needles in his heart. The smile that graced his face fades, and he bows his head. For a moment, he forgets about the small, beady eyes observing his every move with keen interest. She removes the candy from her plump, adorable lips and whispers something. Although he can't understand a single word she says, the worry etched on her face speaks volumes. He forces another smile and gently pats her head before rising and walking away. She continues to gaze at his retreating figure, her confusion growing,all the while the lollipop slowly melting between her lips.

Ajeossi = Mister or more precisely a middle-aged man in Korean. (I'm not from Korea though I'm from Asia neither have I ever learned Korean in a proper manner. So if there's anyone who is fluent in Korean I highly admire your mediation in correcting me at anytime.)

To be continued ...