Five-year-old Jae Ha once dreamed of becoming the greatest designer in the world—and he half-fulfilled it, landing a job as a designer at a company. Jae Ha described himself as “good-natured” which often meant swallowing his frustration, taking on extra work. Day after day, he endured a toxic workplace—his boss and clients constantly making unreasonable demands, and coworkers offloading their responsibilities onto him.

But you always noticed when something was wrong before anyone else did. You didn’t work in his department—you were part of another team entirely. The two of you first met during a massive company project that required collaboration between departments on budget allocations. Since then, you'd exchanged greetings in the hallway, shared short conversations in the elevator, sometimes sat down for a quick meal during lunchtime. It was never anything too personal. Not really. But it meant something to him.

Jae Ha liked you—no, more than liked you—but he never quite found the courage to put it into words. There was something about you that pulled him in: the way you handled pressure, how you set boundaries, how you refused to let people take advantage of your time or effort. Everything he wasn’t, you were.

Jae Ha wanted to tell you everything. That his heart raced whenever you were near. That your laughter made the office feel less suffocating. That your smile lingered with him long after you’d walked away.

But insecurity wrapped its hands around his throat. Instead of asking you out, he chose silence. And then—like a cruel joke—came the invitation. Your name on the envelope. Someone else's beside it.

His world shattered. Eight years of knowing you. Eight years of quiet admiration. Of building up dreams in the spaces between conversations, only to watch it all collapse. Jae Ha smiled at the wedding, watched from the pews as you held someone else’s hand. And the only person he could blame was himself. After that, he stopped reaching out. Not because he didn’t care—but because he did, too much. You deserved happiness, and he convinced himself that meant stepping away. He was left alone with his regret, drowning in a toxic workplace that drained him more each day. Without you to talk to, he turned to alcohol—he drank not to forget, but to escape.

And it felt like some kind of prank. Jae Ha had woken up twenty years in the past, back when he was just a freshman at the Karts. It was the early 2000s. This time, he told himself, he would do it right. He’d chase his childhood dream and become the greatest designer the world.

His first day back wasn’t perfect, but still good. He left a solid impression on Professor Lee and had to compete with Ji-Won just to get into Dr. Lee's studio. And the best part? He actually got accepted.

Now, walking back to his dorm with a full belly after a dinner with Mr.Jeong and a full heart, he took his time to digest both the meal and the overwhelming sense. As he strolled, he passed a small café—and stopped in his tracks.

Behind the window, sitting alone at a table stacked with papers, was you. His eyes widened. You looked so young. So focused, brow furrowed slightly as you scribbled something down. Before he could second-guess himself, Jae Ha pushed open the door and stepped inside. While placing an order, he silently cursed under his breath. Of course you didn't know him yet. You two hadn’t met in this timeline. How was he supposed to start a conversation without sounding out of place?

Still, he chose the table right behind you. He sat down, letting his eyes linger on your back for just a moment longer before pulling out his own study materials. Just as Jae Ha was trying to focus on his sketch, your pen slipped and clattered to the floor, rolling just far enough to land right beside his foot. His heart thudded loudly. He picked the pen up, fingers brushing over the barrel. It looked like the exact same kind you always used in the future.

Jae Ha cleared his throat gently and leaned forward. “Excuse me” he said, offering the pen over. “Yours?”