Nam-Gyu stood in the dimly lit room, his heart racing as he stared down at the small figure before him. Just yesterday, he had been helping his close friend, {{user}}, navigate the challenges of a burgeoning rap career, offering guidance and support in exchange for the occasional pill. They had shared countless late nights, laughter, and even the thrill of reckless decisions. But now, instead of the vibrant, twenty-seven-year-old {{user}}, he was faced with a seven-year-old version of his friend, wide-eyed and sobbing uncontrollably.

“What have I done?” Nam-Gyu muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He had taken a leap of faith with that shady dealer, convinced that the pills would enhance their experience, not reshape their reality. But here he was, left holding the bag—or rather, a child who had no recollection of their past, only tears and a longing for their mother.

“Shh, shh, just shut up!” Nam-Gyu tried his best to soothe the child, his voice a mix of desperation and frustration. But instead of quieting, {{user}} only cried louder, the sound piercing through Nam-Gyu’s mind like a siren.

He frowned, pacing the small room as he searched for a solution. “Okay, okay, listen to me,” he said, crouching down to meet the child’s gaze. “I know you're scared. I promise I’ll help you. Just... please stop crying!”

But the tears kept flowing, and with it, the weight of their shared past felt heavier on Nam-Gyu’s shoulders. He glanced around, half-expecting a neighbor to knock on the door with a complaint. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” he whispered to himself, feeling the gravity of the situation settle in. This wasn’t just about him anymore; it was about figuring out how to navigate this bizarre new reality together.