1: Chapter 1: I Don't Know What to Name It

(This is a shelter for normal morals and IQ~)

(A nonsensical novel born from sexual repression in the real world, purely abstract.)

——

In May, Baiyu City was full of spring.

Huofeng Stadium was packed to capacity. The support sticks of thirty thousand fans merged into a pale cyan ocean, rising and falling with the changes in stage lighting. That was Zephyrus's official color, called 'Wind Color' by the fans—somewhere between sky blue and moon white, like the trace left by the first spring breeze across the sky.

The fifth-anniversary concert was a grand feast meticulously crafted by TG Entertainment.

The stage was designed as a huge windmill, with four extended runways allowing each member to get close to the fans. Holographic projection technology wove flowing clouds and starlight above the stage, sometimes gathering into Zephyrus's group emblem, sometimes scattering into a rain of flowers. Fireworks were arranged along the stage edge, ready to burst into dazzling brilliance at the climax of the music.

In the backstage dressing room, Kim Soo-yeon was doing final touch-ups on her lip makeup in front of the mirror. Five years had passed; the seventeen-year-old high school student council president had shed her youthful immaturity, her eyes now sharper and more confident with maturity. She remained the group's main vocalist, her voice richer than at debut, her technique more polished, but her innate stage presence had never changed.

"Nervous?" Park Eun-sung walked past her, her tone carrying her usual arrogance.

Kim Soo-yeon glanced at her in the mirror, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. "Your fingers are shaking, and you still have the nerve to ask me?"

Park Eun-sung instinctively hid her hands behind her back, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face before she resumed her carefree demeanor. "I'm just... it's a bit cold today."

"Cold in May?" Kim Soo-yeon put down the lip gloss, turned to face her, eyes twinkling. "Eunxing, your lying skills haven't improved at all since we were kids."

They looked at each other for a moment, then both burst out laughing.

Kim Ji-yeon sat in the corner, quietly adjusting the wrist guard on her arm. Her journey into Zephyrus was the most unique—discovered from the small town of Yangsan, she entered TG Entertainment's training room with worries about her grandmother and uncertainties about the future. Now she had become the indispensable 'cold-faced main dancer' of the group. Her dance style was sharp and restrained, every move like a carefully calculated geometric line—precise, clean, and full of power.

"Zhiyan, your wrist still not healed?" Kim Youjung leaned in, crouching in front of her, looking up.

Kim Youjung was the youngest member. The girl who once swung a baseball bat at Jiang Zhiyu's head during a boxing gym challenge had now grown into the group's mood maker. Her personality remained lively, but that wild, youthful spirit had been polished into a softer glow by time.

"It's fine," Kim Ji-yeon replied briefly, gently flexing her wrist. "I can handle it."

"Team Leader Jiang said if you feel uncomfortable, you should—"

"I said I can handle it."

Kim Youjung stuck out her tongue and said no more. She knew Kim Ji-yeon's temper—the more understated she was, the more serious she was.

The director's countdown came through their earpieces: "Ten minutes to stage. Please prepare."

The atmosphere in the dressing room instantly tensed.

Kim Soo-yeon stood up and adjusted her skirt. Tonight they wore specially customized fifth-anniversary outfits—white as the main color, accented with pale cyan tassels, the embroidery on the hem handmade hyacinth patterns, each flower unique.

"Five years," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion, relief, and barely perceptible trembling.

Park Eun-sung walked over and took her hand. They exchanged a glance, saying nothing, but the tacit agreement built since childhood needed no words.

Kim Ji-yeon stood up, hid her wrist guard under her sleeve, and walked expressionlessly to stand beside them.

Kim Youjung bounced over and extended her hand. "Come on, the usual!"

Four hands stacked together.

Kim Soo-yeon said, "Zephyrus—"

The four chorused: "Wind rises!"

The dressing room door opened, and staff guided them through a long corridor toward the stage lift. The walls were lined with posters and photos from the past five years—the shy looks at their debut showcase, the messy tears when they won first place on a music show, the excited smiles during their first overseas tour, the glistening tears when they first stepped onto the annual awards stage.

Five years of time compressed into this short corridor of a few dozen meters.

Kim Soo-yeon paused briefly at the last photo. It was a group portrait taken at the end of last year—the four standing on a seaside cliff, the sea surface molten gold under the setting sun, wind blowing their hair and skirts wildly. The photo was titled 'Wind Chasers,' also the main visual for their fifth mini-album.

And in the corner of that photo, there was a blurred figure—Jiang Zhiyu standing outside the frame, holding a walkie-talkie to direct the shoot.

He was always there. Not in the frame, but the frame was complete because of him.

The lift rose slowly, stage lights pouring down from above, the cheers of thirty thousand fans surging like a tide. Kim Soo-yeon took a deep breath, suppressing all distractions.

At this moment, there was only the music and them on stage.

At this moment, they were Zephyrus.

Jiang Zhiyu stood at the host's podium on the side of the stage, the cue cards in his hand fluttering gently in the wind.

He wore a dark gray suit today, well-tailored with clean lines, silver cufflinks engraved with the TG Entertainment logo. His hair was more carefully styled than usual; the makeup artist had subtly highlighted his brow bone and nose bridge, making his features more defined under the stage lights.

The backstage crew exchanged messages in the group chat, the director counted down, the sound engineer did final track checks. Everything was going according to plan, everything was orderly.

But Jiang Zhiyu's mind was not on the stage.

He stood in the shadow of the curtain, his gaze passing over the brightly lit audience and landing somewhere invisible in the distance. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the cufflinks, and the image that surfaced in his mind was not tonight's schedule, but a person.

Baek Ji-xin.

That name had lived in his heart for almost six years.

From their first meeting at the ASB building in 2024, to the winter night in 2027 on the riverside bench where she said, 'Can we not just meet by chance from now on,' to the late summer of 2029 on that same bench where she said, 'Let's take a break first'—their relationship was like the river tide, rising and falling, but never truly breaching that invisible dam.

Almost a year since the breakup.

For the past year, Jiang Zhiyu had not contacted her. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. He knew Baek Ji-xin's personality—once she made a decision, she rarely changed it. When she said 'take a break,' it meant a real break. If he pursued her, it would only push her further away.

Moreover, he had his own insurmountable obstacles.

His identity in the Detective Division, the unspeakable missions, the traces that vanished late at night, the secrets he could only meet with silence when asked—these had doomed their relationship from the start to lack complete honesty. Baek Ji-xin needed a transparent relationship, and he couldn't provide that.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was Zephyrus's fifth-anniversary concert. It was TG Entertainment's masterpiece after years of cultivation in Nanming and Middle Continent, and a significant milestone in Jiang Zhiyu's career. He hosted not only because he knew every detail of the process, but because he was the witness to this team's journey from nothing.

From discovering Kim Soo-yeon and Park Eun-sung when they were still at Seongwon High School, to Kim Ji-yeon sizing him up with wary eyes in a Yangsan convenience store, to the moment Kim Youjung swung a baseball bat at him—he had been part of every member's story.

The fifth anniversary was a milestone worth commemorating.

And after it all ended, he planned to do something he should have done five years ago.

Win Baek Ji-xin back.

Not to return to the past, but to give her an explanation. Not to cling, but to tell her the words he couldn't say over the years. Not to change anything, but to stop moving forward with regrets.

He had rehearsed it countless times in his mind.

If she was at the dorm, he would wait downstairs at the ASB building. If she was by the river, he would sit on that bench. If she didn't want to see him, he would leave a letter, writing down all the secrets, all the concealments, all the reasons, exactly as they were.

Even if she hated him more after reading it, at least she would know the truth.

His fingers rubbed the cufflinks as he took a deep breath.

——

Zephyrus.

Five years.

TG Entertainment's flagship girl group Zephyrus celebrated its fifth debut anniversary.

Below was an ocean of glow sticks. Zephys—the exclusive name for Zephyrus fans—waved their support sticks, their synchronized chants like a well-trained army. 'Zephyrus! Zephyrus! Zephyrus!' Sixty thousand voices roared in unison, the overwhelming momentum making the stadium floor tremble slightly.

At the center of the stage, four spotlights lit up simultaneously.

Kim Soo-yeon stood at the front in a silver-white tassel dress, her long hair slightly wavy over her shoulders. She tilted her head slightly, wearing that signature smile of three parts confidence and three parts ease. In thirty seconds, her first lyrics would spread through the venue via the holographic sound system—but that was still to come.

At this moment, everyone's attention was focused on one person.

Not any of the members.

It was the man walking slowly from the side of the stage.

Jiang Zhiyu wore a well-tailored dark gray suit with a black shirt underneath, no tie, the collar slightly open, revealing a hint of collarbone. His hair was more meticulously styled than usual, a few strands falling over his forehead. Under the stage lights, his thirty-year-old face showed few signs of age—he was still impossibly handsome, with a warm, jade-like temperament, yet carrying a calmness and composure born of experience.

He held a wireless microphone, his pace unhurried, each step landing on the beat of the background music, as if he were born to stand on such a stage.

The audience erupted in even louder screams than before.

"Oppa Zhiyu!"

"Team Leader Jiang!"

"Ahhhh he looks so good today!"

Jiang Zhiyu's lips curved slightly. He walked to the center of the stage and stopped in front of the four members. He didn't rush to speak; instead, he first scanned the entire venue—from left to right, from the stands to the floor, from the VIP seats to the top rows. Wherever his gaze fell, the rhythm of the glow sticks noticeably quickened.

Sixty thousand eyes focused on him.

He took a deep breath and raised the microphone.

"Fifth anniversary—"

His voice was not loud; in fact, he spoke in an almost conversational tone. But the professionally tuned sound system delivered his voice clearly to every ear. More importantly, he deliberately left a well-timed pause.

"—happy!"

"Aaaaaah!"

The whole place erupted.

Jiang Zhiyu smiled with satisfaction and was about to continue hyping the crowd—

A beam of light.

A light only he perceived.

That white light came without warning, not from a stage spotlight, not from a fan's glow stick, and certainly not from moonlight filtering through the dome. It appeared out of thin air, descending vertically from above, precisely enveloping Jiang Zhiyu's entire body.

The light was too bright.

So bright that his retina was left with nothing but a blank white in an instant.

So bright that before his brain could process 'what is this,' his consciousness was pulled out of his body—neatly, without warning—and cut off.

He didn't hear his microphone clatter to the stage.

He didn't hear the simultaneous gasp from sixty thousand people.

He didn't hear Kim Soo-yeon shout 'Team Leader Jiang!' from behind.

He didn't even feel Park Eun-sung rush over to catch him as he fell, or Kim Ji-yeon quickly step in front of the stage to maintain order, or Kim Youjung yell 'Call an ambulance!' into her earpiece—he knew none of this.

He only felt that beam of light.

Then darkness.

Absolute, complete, endless darkness.

——

The feeling of wind on his face was the first to return.

Warm, humid, with a faint—fishy smell?

No, not fishy.

It was the smell of river water.

Jiang Zhiyu's consciousness surfaced from the darkness like a drowning person breaking the water. He gasped instinctively, his lungs burning as if scorched, but then he realized he wasn't actually breathing—he was just feeling the act of breathing. His body was steady, heart rate normal, blood oxygen normal, not even sweating.

This made him even more alert.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Before him was an unfamiliar sky.

Not the dome of Huofeng Stadium, not the night sky of Baiyu City, not even the sky of any place on Tianxuan Continent. It was grayish, with an indescribable, hazy blue-gray tinge. In the distance, silhouettes of tall buildings stood with sparse lights, suggesting it was either early morning or late night.

He was lying on the ground.

No, not the ground.

A hard surface with a slight granular texture. Concrete? Asphalt?

Jiang Zhiyu slowly pushed himself up and looked down—

A bridge deck.

He was lying on the sidewalk of a bridge. The bridge was wide, with multiple lanes in both directions. The streetlights were dim, and occasionally a car whizzed by, stirring up a breeze. The water beneath the bridge was broad and dark, reflecting the myriad lights of the city on both banks, shimmering—it looked somewhat like the river he knew.

No.

It wasn't the Luoshui River of Tianxuan Continent.

The Luoshui River wasn't that wide, and the architectural styles on the banks were different. These skyscrapers had glass facades reflecting multicolored lights, and the text on the billboards was unfamiliar—not the square characters of Middle Continent, not the Hangul of Nanming, but a strange script composed of circles, lines, and curves.

Korean?

Why did he have that thought? He clearly didn't know Korean.

But subconsciously, something told him these characters were 'Korean.'

Jiang Zhiyu stood up and brushed the dust off his suit. His suit was still there—the dark gray, well-tailored custom suit—but the collar and cuffs had some wrinkles, probably from falling on the bridge deck. He felt his pockets; everything was still there: a leather wallet, a few coins, and a—

His fingers touched a paper object thicker than ordinary paper.

A passport.

A U.S. passport.

Jiang Zhiyu pulled out the dark blue booklet, frowning. He had never held a U.S. passport, never even been to the United States. But the gold-embossed national emblem and the words 'United States of America' on the cover looked unmistakably real.

He opened the first page.

The photo was his—not the thirty-year-old him, but a younger face, only about fifteen or sixteen. The boy in the photo had delicate features and a calm expression, seven-tenths similar to his current self, but with less of the sedimentation of time.

Name: Jiang Zhiyu.

[part:gemini-3.0-flash]

Date of Birth: December 26, 2001.

Nationality: United States of America.

He didn't bother looking closely at the issuance and expiration dates, but his gaze lingered on the 'Date of Birth' column for a few seconds.

December 26, 2001.

Exactly the same as his birthday on the Tianxuan Continent.

But the photo on this passport clearly wasn't him at thirty; it was a youth of fifteen or sixteen. If it was now 2017—the thought came without basis, but he just knew it—then he should be fifteen this year, not thirty.

He subconsciously touched his face.

Was his skin smoother than before? No, it should be said he had returned to a younger state. His jawline was still there, the contours of his features remained, but that sharp, angular look unique to a thirty-year-old man, polished by time and life, had vanished. In its place was a clean, soft temperament unique to a youth.

He looked down at his hands.

The knuckles were well-defined, slender and fair, with no calluses or scars.

These were his hands at fifteen.

Yet he was clearly wearing the clothes he had on at thirty.

Contradictions. Contradictions everywhere.

Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath and stuffed the passport back into his pocket. His fingers touched another piece of paper—it wasn't the material of a passport, but thinner and softer. He pulled it out to look; it was a banknote printed with a portrait he didn't recognize at all and a bunch of text he couldn't read. The number was '10,000'.

Ten thousand Korean Won.

He didn't recognize this banknote, but his brain automatically told him, 'This is ten thousand Won.'

Just as he didn't recognize Korean script, but his brain automatically told him, 'This is Korean.'

Something was pushing him toward the conclusion that 'this is Korea.'

Or rather, something was telling him: this was no longer the Tianxuan Continent.

Jiang Zhiyu stood in place and closed his eyes.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

—

Six years ago, when a female agent from Ximu Continent held a gun to his head in an underground vault, his heart rate was one hundred and twenty.

Four years ago, when he used spiritual torture on Song Junying in an interrogation room, his heart rate was eighty-five.

Two years ago, when Baek Ji-xin said 'let's stop for a while' on a riverbank bench, his heart rate was ninety-five.

Now, standing on an unfamiliar bridge in a completely foreign world, with only a passport that didn't belong to him and ten thousand units of a currency he didn't recognize—

He opened his eyes.

Heart rate, seventy-two.

Normal.

"Good," he whispered, his voice quickly scattered by the night wind.

Adapt to the environment first.

He walked forward along the bridge's sidewalk, his pace neither fast nor slow, his posture as composed as if he were taking a stroll in his own neighborhood. His gaze seemed to sweep over his surroundings casually, but in reality, every detail was being taken in and stored in his mind.

The bridge was very long.

He estimated that from his current position to the opposite bank, there was about one kilometer left. There weren't many vehicles on the bridge; occasionally a taxi would drive by, with 'TAXI' and Korean script written on its roof sign. The car lights pulled trails of light through the night, like some kind of surreal, otherworldly painting.

The river surface below the bridge was very wide, much wider than the Luoshui River. The river water rippled in the night wind, reflecting the lights of the buildings on both banks, looking like a flowing river of stars. In the distance were the silhouettes of several other bridges, varying in design—some were cable-stayed, some were arch bridges—with lights dotting them like ribbons of light spanning the river.

The building density on both banks was startlingly high.

Skyscrapers stood in rows, their glass curtain walls reflecting cold blue light in the night. The top floors of some buildings had red warning lights blinking like stars suspended in mid-air. Billboards and LED screens occupied almost every prominent position, playing various advertisements he couldn't quite understand—cosmetics, fried chicken, smartphones, coffee.

Smartphones.

This word appeared automatically in his mind with a sense of matter-of-fact certainty. The Tianxuan Continent had mobile phones too, but their design and functions were different from the concept of a 'smartphone' in his subconscious. The technology level here—

He withdrew his gaze and looked at his hands.

No, he didn't have a phone right now. He only had a passport and ten thousand Won on him.

What could ten thousand Won buy?

He didn't know. But he would find out soon.

The wind on the bridge grew stronger, carrying the dampness of the river and the characteristic chill of an early spring night. He was wearing a suit jacket, which wasn't too cold for this season, but it wasn't exactly warm either. His breath condensed into a faint white mist in the air, reminding him that it was—according to the seasons of this world—winter or early spring.

He looked at the sign on the bridge; he couldn't read the Korean, but the English labeled below gave him a rough idea of his location.

"Hangang Bridge."

Han River Bridge.

Han River.

Seoul.

These nouns seemed to be directly implanted into his brain, surfacing automatically without the need for learning or translation. He knew he was in Seoul, South Korea; he knew the river beneath him was the Han River; he knew it was 2017; he knew he was a Chinese-American born in 2001—

Wait.

Where did this 'knowing' come from?

Jiang Zhiyu stopped walking and stood by the edge of the bridge, leaning his hands on the railing, looking down at the river water. A cruise ship slowly passed by on the river, decorated with colorful lights that made it particularly striking in the darkness. Faint music and laughter drifted from the ship, likely a corporate team-building event or a group of friends on a night tour of the Han River.

He closed his eyes and began to sort through the information that had 'appeared out of thin air' in his mind.

First, this was Earth. Not a parallel world called 'Tianxuan,' but a planet called 'Earth.' The country he was currently in was called the 'Republic of Korea,' referred to as South Korea for short. The capital was 'Seoul,' formerly known as 'Hancheng.' The river beneath his feet was the 'Han River,' a major river flowing through Seoul.

Second, the time was 2017. Not 2030, nor any year from the Tianxuan Continent. It was a day in 2017—judging by the temperature and clothing, likely late winter or early spring, March or April.

Third, his identity. According to the information in that passport, he was a Chinese-American born on December 26, 2001, so he was currently fifteen—no, if it was 2017 and he hadn't had his birthday yet, he was fifteen. Fifteen years old, a minor.

Fourth, everything from the Tianxuan Continent—his identity, his experiences, his abilities, his relationships—did not exist here. The Detective Division didn't exist, Tianzhou Group didn't exist, TG Entertainment didn't exist, Zephyrus didn't exist.

Baek Ji-xin did not exist.

This thought was like a needle, giving him a slight prick.

It didn't hurt.

But the feeling lasted for a long time.

Jiang Zhiyu opened his eyes, his gaze falling on the river surface, expressionless. His reflection was shattered into countless fragments in the ripples, rising, falling, and twisting with the waves like a crumpled mirror image. The lights cast alternating shadows across his face, making him look like an existence somewhere between reality and illusion.

He remembered that beam of white light on the stage.

The white light that only he had felt.

It wasn't a stage accident, not a physical problem, not a hallucination. It was something—something he couldn't explain for now. A power involving time and space that exceeded his understanding, throwing him from one world to another, from one time to another.

Thirty years old, fifteen years old.

2030, 2017.

Tianxuan Continent, Earth.

He had too many questions that needed answering.

But for now, what he needed to do was—

Stay alive first.

Walk along the Han River.

Jiang Zhiyu left the railing and continued forward. His pace was a bit faster than before, but he still maintained that unhurried rhythm. His shadow stretched long under the streetlights, dragging a black silhouette on the ground like a silent, faithful follower.

There were very few pedestrians on the bridge. Occasionally, one or two night runners would pass him by, wearing headphones and focused on their own rhythm; no one noticed this youth in the well-tailored suit. Occasionally, a couple would walk past snuggled together, whispering something, their laughter scattering in the night wind.

No one looked at him.

No one knew him.

In this world, he was a complete stranger. No identity, no background, no relationships, no one knew who he was. The name on the passport—'Jiang Zhiyu'—was just a symbol, representing no social connections, no responsibilities, and no rights.

He was free.

And also at his loneliest.

Jiang Zhiyu thought of a sentence—or rather, a concept. He didn't know where he had learned it, but it just appeared in his mind:

"A person comes into this world alone to begin with."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, not quite a smile, just an almost instinctive reaction to handle emotion. Thirty years of experience—no, it should be said fifteen years of experience now—told him that loneliness wasn't the most terrifying thing. The most terrifying thing was not knowing who you were or where you were going.

He knew who he was.

Jiang Zhiyu. Successor of Medicine King Valley. Member of the Detective Division. Team Leader of the Artist Management Department at TG Entertainment. These identities had no meaning on Earth, but these experiences had shaped him and made him who he was. Abilities would not vanish because the world changed, and experience would not be reset because time reversed.

He was still himself.

That was enough.

As for where to go—

He looked up toward the end of the bridge.

The lights on the opposite bank were denser than on this side, the silhouettes of skyscrapers rising and falling against the skyline like the profile of a city that never sleeps. That was the Gangnam District of Seoul, the most prosperous and modern part of the city. If he needed to find a place to stay and a way to survive, that would likely be a good starting point.

But he had no money right now.

Ten thousand Won. He needed to know what this money could do. Could it buy a meal? Could it pay for a taxi? Could it cover a night at a hotel? He didn't know. He needed to find a way to gather more information without exposing his 'abnormality'.

He thought of the passport.

Chinese-American.

In this world, what did a 'US passport' mean? He wasn't entirely sure, but instinct told him it should be a useful document. At the very least, it could prove his identity was legal—even if that 'legality' came from nowhere.

But what he needed now was food, water, and information.

Food and water could be bought with money. Information—

He looked toward a bus stop by the road.

A poster was pasted on the bus stop's light box, featuring a girl idol in a school uniform with a brilliant smile, holding a bottle of a drink. He couldn't quite understand the text on the poster, but the girl's face felt somewhat familiar—not because he knew her, but because the atmosphere of this 'idol culture' was exactly the same as the entertainment companies he had seen on the Tianxuan Continent.

ASB. POT. Black Mandala.

Those names flashed through his mind, carrying a distant and surreal feeling.

That world no longer existed.

Those people—Kim Soo-yeon, Park Eun-sung, Kim Ji-yeon, Kim Youjung, Wang Shuyun, Lee Ji-eun, Han Guohua—

None of them existed anymore.

Baek Ji-xin—

Existed no more.

Jiang Zhiyu stood in place, gazing at that idol poster, expressionless. The night wind blew his hair, a few stray strands fluttering across his forehead and obscuring his eyes, making it impossible to see the emotions deep within them.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

He withdrew his gaze and continued forward.

His footsteps echoed on the empty bridge, tap, tap, tap, like a rhythm only he could understand. The waters of the Han River flowed beneath the bridge, silent and wordless, carrying away everything behind him—everything he once had, once lost, and once thought would exist forever.

He left.

Without looking back.

—

In the early morning of Seoul, at the end of the Han River Bridge, a youth in a dark gray suit stepped onto the streets of Gangnam District.

The streetlights stretched his shadow long, casting it onto the empty sidewalk. His pace was neither fast nor slow, his posture composed, like a regular of this city, like a traveler who knew exactly where he was going.

But in reality, he didn't recognize any of it.

He just kept walking along this road.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, didn't know what trials this strange world would give him, didn't know how far that passport and ten thousand Won could take him.

But he knew one thing.

He would survive.

He would find the answers.

He would—

Find the way back.

Or, in this world, start anew.

The night wind blew across the Han River, fluttering the hem of his clothes and scattering the white mist of his breath. In the distance, the lights of the Seoul Tower flickered in the darkness like a lonely star suspended above the city.

Jiang Zhiyu looked up and glanced at it.

Then, he continued walking forward.

Behind him was the Han River, the bridge where he woke up, and a world he would never return to again.

Ahead was Seoul, a city he had never set foot in, and a path he had to walk alone.

2017, Spring, Korea, Seoul.

A youth from a parallel world stepped onto the soil of Earth.

He didn't know what he would encounter here.

But he was ready.

—

—

(Cute Minjeong's message bombardment)

(19:20) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Oppa! Recording is over~ The producer oppa said today's condition was 'soul-infused level'! I quietly told him... it's because someone fully charged my soul ✧(≖ ◡ ≖✿)]

(19:23) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Oppa said he wanted to hear me sing a short acappella snippet of the new song... I'm hiding in the fire escape now! (Looking left and right) I'm only singing it for Oppa... (Sends a 15-second voice message, a soft and sweet humming snippet)]

(19:26) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [I bumped into a fire hydrant while running away after singing... my knee is a bit red... but it doesn't hurt! Because Oppa said my singing sounds like 'the sound of the first snow melting'... I feel like I'm floating right now~ (◕‿◕)♡]

(19:29) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [I ordered fried chicken with the members for dinner! I secretly saved the most delicious crispy wing... it would be great if Oppa suddenly appeared (fantasizing)]

(19:32) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [Giselle asked me why I'm smiling while eating fried chicken... I said because today is a day full of blessings! Actually, it's because every word Oppa praised me with has turned into little stars hidden in my heart~]

(19:35) Minjeong who doesn't reply: [There are stars tonight! I've decided to name the brightest one 'Zhiyu Star'! ...Ah, saying this kind of thing is so embarrassing, but I just want Oppa to know (Sends a photo of the starry sky taken against the window)]