The sliding glass doors of City B International Airport hiss open, releasing a wave of crisp fall air into the cool, fluorescent-lit terminal.
Seo Yul steps outside.
The air hits her first—cool, dry, and faintly scented with distant leaves. A sharp contrast to the sterile chill of the long-haul flight she had just endured. Twelve hours of recycled air, crying infants, and the occasional turbulence had left her physically drained.
But emotionally, she feels something stir—a turbulent, coiled excitement.
Because she's here, in City B.
Back where it all began.
She drags her luggage to the arrivals curb and comes to a stop. The taxi she booked should arrive any minute. As she waits, passing eyes linger on her.
Her delicate face is framed by long, inky-black hair that falls down her back like shadowed silk. Pale and almost translucent in the fall dusk, her complexion shows no sign of travel fatigue. Her features are soft and refined—heart-shaped lips with a natural rose tint, a slender nose, and gently curved cheekbones.
But her eyes are what make people unable to look away.
Long-lashed and feline, her gaze cuts through the noise like glass through water—sharp, unreadable, and a little too quiet for someone so young. Not cold. Just distant. As if she's watching something far away that only she can see.
She wears a black, form-fitting wool coat, belted at the waist to trace the elegant lines of her frame. High-waisted trousers skim her slender legs, and a pair of leather ankle boots completes the look, their short heels polished to a soft shine.
Her gaze drifts over the familiar chaos: businessmen barking into phones, families crowding around luggage carts, and couples clinging to one another like lifelines.
Yul draws in a slow breath.
Watching the reunited lovers tugs something inside her—a tightness in her chest, sharp and expectant.
She's going to see him any moment now.
Baek Sijin
She still can't believe this is real.
One week ago, Seo Yul woke up in her teenage body—twelve years into the past.
She doesn't know how it happened. She was a thirty-two years old famous actress, filming a scene on the top-floor balcony of a five-story building. During a short break, while leaning against the railing with a cup of coffee in hand, she felt someone push her from behind.
Before she could scream, she was falling.
And then—she woke up.
Back in her dorm room at City A University, Country A.
A college sophomore. Twenty years old.
At this time, she is in the midst of pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Acting.
She had to slap herself a few times before she could believe it—startling her roommates. She is still alive. She is in the past.
And then it hit her—
Twelve years ago, at this exact moment in time, he is still alive.
Baek Sijin
The man who lost his life trying to protect hers.
Without delay, she ran out, still in her pajamas, and applied for a university transfer to City B University—the same university where Sijin is majoring in Computer Engineering.
Her university advisor was against it. So were her friends and roommates.
The decision felt too sudden. It worried them, made them wonder if something happened back home that she isn't willing to share, that she has made a rash decision without truly thinking it through.
But Yul was insistent.
In the end, the advisor reluctantly signed the transfer application form—though not without a warning. City A University isn't just the top institution in Country A; it ranks among the top five in the world, especially renowned for its Bachelor of Fine Arts in Acting. Transferring out now isn't a smart move.
City B University in Country B isn't bad—it's even ranked in the global top fifteen—but it's still not on the same level.
More importantly, Country A offers far more acting opportunities, many of which guarantee international exposure, especially for someone with her talent.
But Seo Yul knows the future.
In a few more years, Country B will rise, becoming a global hub for the entertainment industry. A place where foreigners from all over the world will fight for a chance to break in.
The earlier one builds a foundation there, the better their chances will be.
But more importantly, years after Sijin's death had forced her to re-evaluate what truly mattered, and she already knew her answer.
It's him.
She used to think her acting career was everything.
But now she knows—she had been chasing fame to run from something deeper: the shame, the pain of never feeling enough.
Acting became her outlet for all the emotions she couldn't express as herself. It was a coping mechanism, a way to release what she had bottled up—grief, fear, vulnerability—by pouring it into characters who were allowed to feel what she didn't permit herself to feel.
So even if going back to City B doesn't guarantee her success, she would still do it.
Just as she's lost in thought, a taxi pulls up in front of her. She checks the plate number, then gets in.
"Cheongdam Aria, please."
She has no idea what Sijin's college years were like.
Back then, she had left for Country A soon after high school to escape her own emotions—abruptly—without saying goodbye. Too consumed by her own pain to consider how he might have felt being left behind.
They reunited five years later, after she returned to Country B. But the reunion was not pretty.
They had too many things between them left unresolved. Too many regrets.
She sighs.
She hopes things will go more smoothly this time, now that she has returned to City B three years earlier. This time, she takes initiative to find him, instead of the other way around.
A few days before boarding the plane, Yul had called an old high school classmate, Min Jooha, and asked if she knew anything about Sijin's current situation.
Back in high school, Min Jooha had a voice that was always just a little too loud, and secrets always seemed to travel the fastest when they passed through her lips. She wasn't cruel exactly, just sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, the kind of girl who always sat in the middle of the classroom but knew everything happening in the back row.
Yul isn't particularly close to Jooha, but if there's anyone who knows anything about their former classmates, it's her.
At first, Jooha tried to pry—asking where Yul is and what she is up to. Knowing that Jooha can't keep secrets, Yul replied vaguely. When Jooha couldn't get anything out of her, she finally relented and answered her questions.
According to Jooha, not long after Yul left to study abroad, Sijin cut ties with his father and moved out to live on his own. He began paying his own tuition and even started his own business.
Yul nods to herself, expecting that he has already begun laying the groundwork for his businesses around this time.
In the future, he would go on to own two of the most powerful companies in the world—Sentricon, an AI surveillance software firm, and Kairox Security, a company specializing in the training and deployment of elite security and defense personnel. Both have covert ties to national military operations.
But not many people know this—Sijin has always preferred to operate from the shadows.
Yul, however, knew all too well.
It was because of those very companies that she had never been able to run. He always knew exactly where she was. Every move she made. Every place she tried to disappear into.
He found her—every time.
Yul closed her trembling eyes and took a deep breath.
She had once resented the way he always found her—how he always seemed to know exactly her next move. But after stripping away her shame and accepting her true feelings, she saw it differently. She loved the sense of safety he gave her, even if it came wrapped in control.
What she wants now was for him to feel safe too—for his anxiety to ease, not for her sake, but for his own.
That, however, is something they will have to work through together… later.
What made her chest tighten now was the timing: he had cut ties with his father right around the time she left.
Sijin had long been on bad terms with his father, stepmother, and stepbrother, especially after his younger sister passed away.
She wasn't surprised he'd cut ties with his stepmother and stepbrother—but for him to sever all contact with his biological father? Something must have happened to push him that far.
Two months before she left for Country A, he had disappeared without a word. Maybe that was when everything came to a head between him and his family. At the time, she thought he had abandoned her.
If she had known, she would've waited for him—stayed by his side—instead of leaving him alone when he needed her the most.
Yul shakes her head. Now isn't the time to dwell on a past she can't change.
All she can do now is find him.
Sijin is the kind of person who draws attention wherever he goes, whether it's their former high school or City B University. There's always some bit of news about him floating around.
Jooha admitted she doesn't know all the details—Sijin keeps his business private—but mentioned that a few of their former classmates, now attending City B University as well, have seen him going back and forth between the campus dorms and Cheongdam Aria.
Since the boys' dormitory won't allow a girl in, Yul's best chance of finding him is at Cheongdam Aria.
Located in one of City B's most prestigious neighborhoods, Cheongdam Aria is a high-rise condominium complex known for its discreet elegance and cutting-edge security. The kind of place where famous names are never spoken aloud, and outsiders never make it past the gate without clearance.
Sijin's late mother had bought a unit here and passed it on to him in her will.
Back when Yul was in her last two years of high school, living a hard life with her abusive, alcoholic mother who spent every bit of money on liquor, leaving Yul bruised, hungry, and alone, Sijin used to bring her here. To Cheongdam Aria. He kept her safe, warm, and made sure she was fed.
He gave her a keycard and the door codes, told her she could come anytime she wanted.
As soon as the car comes to a stop, she pays the taxi driver and steps out.
This place looks exactly as she remembers.
Cheongdam Aria rises before her, elegant and imposing. Smooth stone walls curve upward into clean, modern lines, with dark glass windows that reflect nothing but the night sky. There's no sign, no logo, no concierge standing at the door. Just a discreet black gate and a sleek guard booth tucked beneath the shadows—someone is always watching, but never seen.
She used to feel intimidated and trapped here. Now, she misses it.
The lobby is still and dim, its slate-gray walls absorbing sound. As she walks toward the elevators, the security cameras shift slightly, seamlessly embedded into the walls, silent and watchful.
She swipes her keycard. A quiet chime. The elevator doors glide open.
The ride up is silent.
Her reflection stares back at her from the mirrored interior—composed, calm, almost indifferent. But inside her coat pocket, her fingers are clenching tight.
The elevator stops. Floor 20. The hallway stretches ahead, softly lit and hushed. His unit is at the far end.
She stops in front of the door.
The keypad is still there. She remembers the code—muscle memory could take over in a heartbeat.
But she doesn't type it in.
Instead, she lifts her hand and presses the doorbell.
She feels a tight flutter in her chest—the kind that comes when the only thing separating her from him is a single doorframe. The kind that comes from not knowing how he will react to her sudden appearance.
From her perspective, she is twelve years in the past, carrying the memories of everything they went through. But for him, it's been two years since she vanished without a word.
Two years since she left him—right when he needed her the most.
Has he forgiven her?
Stop it, she chides herself.
No matter what happened, he loves you.
Yul squares her shoulders, willing her nerves to settle. She reminds herself that he was the one who sought her out when she returned to Country B after five years abroad, the one who bound her to a contract just to keep her close.
Suddenly, the door clicks open—and her breath catches.
It's not Sijin.
It's a girl—standing there in nothing but a thin bathrobe, hair damp, eyes wide with surprise.