Ian Jeon stared at his laptop screen like it had personally betrayed him.

The numbers didn’t make sense, his inbox kept refilling itself like magic, and his coffee—his fourth cup—was officially useless.

“I hate my job,” Ian muttered.

Across from him, Eunbi looked up from her phone. “Wow. That’s new. You’ve only said that… every day.”

Ian sighed dramatically and leaned back in his chair. “I work nonstop, and for what? Stress? Back pain? Emotional damage?”

Eunbi nodded seriously. “Valid.”

“I haven’t slept properly in weeks,” he continued. “Even my dreams have deadlines.”

“That’s not a dream,” Eunbi said. “That’s a nightmare with benefits.”

Ian laughed despite himself, then groaned again. “I’m exhausted.”

Eunbi set her phone down. “Then take a break.”

Ian blinked. “A what?”

“A leave. Vacation. Escape. Disappearance. Pick your favorite.”

“I can’t just leave work.”

Eunbi raised an eyebrow. “Ian, you’re one email away from crying in the office bathroom.”

“…Okay, rude but accurate.”

“Go somewhere quiet,” she continued. “Somewhere peaceful.”

Ian thought for a moment. “My grandma’s house. In the countryside.”

“Perfect,” Eunbi smiled. “Fresh air, no Wi-Fi, unlimited food.”

That last part convinced him.

After he successfully file his work leave he go back to his apartment and pack some of his things

The bus ride was long, quiet, and oddly comforting. Green fields replaced buildings, and the noise of the city slowly faded. By the time Ian stepped off the bus, the air already felt lighter.

His grandma’s house stood just as he remembered—small, old, and warm.

Before he could even knock, the door swung open.

“Ian!” his grandma exclaimed. “You’re too thin!”

“I just arrived—”

“Did you eat?”

“…No.”

She gasped in horror. “Why are you starving yourself?!”

“I’m not—”

“Come inside. Sit. I’ll cook.”

Ian smiled, tired but relieved. “I missed you, Grandma.”

Inside, the familiar smell of home wrapped around him. His grandma fussed over him as he sat at the wooden table.

“So,” she said gently, “how is your work?”

Ian hesitated, then sighed. “Hard.”

She nodded like she already knew. “Work is always hard.”

“I feel tired all the time,” he admitted. “Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m doing it.”

His grandma patted his hand. “You don’t have to know everything now.”

She stood up suddenly. “Do you want soup or fried fish?”

Ian blinked. “Huh?”

“You look sad. Soup helps sadness. Fried fish helps tiredness.”

“…Can I have both?”

She smiled proudly. “Good choice.”

As she cooked, she kept talking.

“You used to smile more when you were younger,” she said softly. “But that smile is still there. Just resting.”

Ian felt something warm settle in his chest.

That night, after eating far too much, Ian lay down in his old room. The ceiling looked the same. The air felt different.

For the first time in months, he slept without worry.

Unaware that this rest—was only the beginning of a journey far deeper than a vacation.

Ian dreamed.

He was standing somewhere unfamiliar—wide land, open sky, the air heavy with tension. Before he could understand where he was, a figure appeared in the distance. A man, running.

“Jungkook—” he tried to call out, but no sound came.

Then suddenly—

An arrow pierced the air.

The man was struck from behind, his body jerking forward before collapsing to the ground. Jungkook’s heart raced as he ran toward him.

“Wait—!”

But no matter how close he got, the man’s face remained blurred, like a memory refusing to be remembered.

Ian jolted awake, gasping.

Morning sunlight filtered through the window.

“…Just a dream,” he whispered, pressing a hand to his chest.

At breakfast, his grandma hummed softly while setting food on the table.

“You look pale,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think so,” Ian replied, though his head still felt heavy. “I just had a strange dream.”

She smiled gently. “Dreams visit us when our hearts are tired.”

Ian wasn’t sure what that meant, but he nodded anyway.

After eating, he helped his grandma clean and fix her room. While moving an old wooden cabinet, something slipped and fell to the floor.

A picture.

Ian picked it up.

It wasn’t a photograph—but a sketch. A man dressed in old clothing, his expression soft yet distant. The paper was yellowed with age, the lines slightly faded.



Ian’s breath caught.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, his chest tightened.

“Grandma,” he asked quietly, “who is this?”

She paused when she saw the sketch.

“Oh…” she smiled faintly. “That’s from a long time ago.”

“Who is he?”

She carefully took the sketch from Ian's hands.

“He was your grandpa’s grandfather’s first love. He drew that himself.”

Ian frowned. “First love?”

“Yes,” she said. “They didn’t end up together. Life was different back then.”

Ian stared at the sketch again.

“I don’t know why,” he murmured, “but he feels… familiar.”

His grandma looked at him for a long moment, then smiled kindly.

“Some people never really leave us,” she said. “Even after many years.”

That night, Jungkook lay in bed, the image of the man burned into his mind.

The eyes.

The posture.

The feeling.

“I’ve never met you,” Jungkook whispered into the darkness.

“So why do you feel like I have?”

Sleep slowly pulled him under.

Pain exploded in his head.

Ian groaned as he opened his eyes.

The ceiling above him wasn’t familiar.

It wasn’t his room.

It wasn’t his grandma’s house.

He tried to move, but his body felt weak.

Then he heard voices.

“Did I hit him too hard?” someone asked, panic clear in his tone.

Someone answered "I don't know how clumsy you are" he added "Let him rest for a while"

“Is he okay, Jin hyung?”

"By the gods! Please tell me he's fine"

Ian's breath caught.

Hyung?

Before he could open his mouth—

darkness swallowed him again.

Jungkook slowly opened his eyes again.

This time, the pain in his head was still there—but the voices were clearer.

Two men hovered over him.

One looked worried, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed like he was trying to solve a problem way too big for him.

The other stood beside him, arms crossed, face calm but clearly judging everything.

“Oh,” Jungkook muttered. “Characters have faces now.”

“What?” both men said at the same time.

Jungkook blinked at them.

“Yeah… this is definitely a dream.”

The man on the left frowned. “He’s talking nonsense.”

The man on the right nodded seriously. “That’s a bad sign.”

Jungkook sighed. “Relax. I’ve had worse dreams. Last week I dreamed my boss was a chicken.”

“…What’s a boss?” the serious one asked.

“…And what’s with thechicken again?” the worried one added.

Jungkook froze.

He slowly sat up. “OK. Weirdly detailed dream.”

Both man look at each other

"OK?" worried one look at the other

"Oh! Don't ask me I've read book but never read about that" calm man nervously answered

The calm man leaned closer. “You were unconscious after being hit. Are you truly alright?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said casually. “I’m fine. I’m just still dreaming.”

The two men exchanged a look.

The calm man sighed. “He insists it is a dream.”

The worried one scratched his head. “Should we hit him again?”

“No!— no.” Jungkook yelped. “Dream or not, pain is still pain!”

The calm man nodded. “See? Not a dream.”

Jungkook stared at them. “Wait… what?”

“You were struck by accident,” the calm man explained. “This is real.”

Jungkook laughed nervously. “Nice try, dream characters.”

The worried one leaned closer. “I swear on my life.”

“…That doesn’t help.”

Jungkook rubbed his temples. “Okay, okay. If this isn’t a dream—then who are you?”

The calm one straightened. “Kim Seokjin.”

The worried one smiled awkwardly. “Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook blinked.

“…Why do you sound like historical figures?”

They both blinked back.

“…Why do you sound strange?” Seokjin replied.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Right. I should introduce myself.”

He took a deep breath.

“My name is… Ian.”

Silence...

Namjoon tilted his head.

“…Ian?”

Seokjin repeated slowly. “Ee-an?”

“Yes,” Jungkook nodded. “Ian.”

They stared at him like he had just spoken an ancient curse.

Namjoon leaned toward Seokjin. “That’s… not right.”

Seokjin frowned, squinting at him. Jokingly “He… looks familiar. His family name should be Jeon, right?”

Namjoon gasped. “Yes! And his given name—Jungkook. Of course!”

“…What?” Jungkook asked. “Wait, what are you saying?”

“You are not ‘Ian,’” Seokjin said firmly, pointing a finger at him. “You are Jeon Jungkook.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon added seriously. “Jeon Jungkook. That’s who you are.”

Jungkook blinked. “woah! Wait— who? Jungkook what?”

Seokjin wagged a finger. “Yeah. Here, and now, you are Jeon Jungkook. Ian… Ian does not exist!”

Namjoon nodded like he had just solved a great mystery. “Yes. Ian? Ee-an... That’s ridiculous.”

Jungkook groaned, covering his face. “Even in another time… my name causes confusion.”

Seokjin leaned back, satisfied. “We fixed it, then. Officially: Jeon Jungkook.”

Namjoon nodded. “Finally. Peace restored.”

Jungkook muttered under his breath, “I should just disappear into a corner…”

The two men stared at him.

“…No. You cannot disappear. You are here now, Jeon Jungkook,” Seokjin declared proudly.

Outside, the wind brushed against the window.

And somewhere beyond it—

the past was waiting for him.