Eight Years Later — Seoul, South Korea
The first thing Nyx heard that morning was her father arguing with a toaster.
"I refuse to believe this."
Something clicked downstairs.
"You're supposed to make breakfast, not destroy it!"
A moment later, her mother's laughter echoed through the house.
Nyx buried her face in her pillow.
"Somebody rescue that poor toaster."
At seventeen, she had discovered that growing older didn't necessarily make people wiser. Her father could negotiate multimillion-dollar contracts without raising his voice, yet somehow managed to lose arguments with kitchen appliances.
Her phone began ringing.
She reached beneath her pillow, found it, and squinted at the screen.
7:15 a.m.
Three missed messages from Seyong.
Two from the class group chat.
And one photograph from her brother.
Nyx opened the photograph first.
Her brother stood beside their grandfather in the garden, both holding gardening tools. Their grandfather wore an enormous straw hat and looked thoroughly offended at being photographed.
The caption read:
Grandpa says he's perfectly healthy. Five minutes later, he asked me to carry his watering can.
Nyx laughed.
Her brother had been staying with their grandparents for several weeks, helping them while their grandfather recovered from a fall. Their grandmother insisted she could manage everything herself, but everyone knew that wasn't entirely true.
Their grandfather, meanwhile, considered accepting assistance a personal insult.
Nyx typed a reply.
Tell Grandpa that pretending to be young won't make his knees younger.
Her brother responded almost immediately.
He says you should come and tell him that yourself.
Nyx: Absolutely not. I enjoy living.
She placed the phone down and climbed out of bed.
The girl reflected in the mirror was considerably different She had grown taller, with a slender figure, long black hair, and an unmistakably striking face. Her long, pointed nose gave her profile a sharp elegance, while her dark, expressive eyes seemed constantly occupied with questions.
She had inherited her mother's beauty and her father's stubbornness and unfortunately his talent for arguing.
She smiled at her reflection.
She grabbed her uniform and hurried into the bathroom.
Downstairs, Murphy was examining a piece of burnt toast as though it contained evidence of criminal activity.
Alexa stood beside the kitchen counter, looking entirely too entertained.
"I told you to lower the temperature," she said.
"And I told you this machine is defective."
"You left it unattended."
"For three minutes!"
"Seven."
He stared at her.
"Are you timing me now?"
"I've been married to you long enough to know when supervision is necessary."
Nyx entered just in time to hear that.
"Good morning, my favorite dysfunctional couple."
Murphy turned.
"Who taught you to speak to your parents like that?"
"You did."
"Pffftt....Well....."
"Last week you called Uncle Daniel a walking financial disaster."
Alexa burst out laughing.
Murphy cleared his throat.
"That was a private conversation."
"With the television on and the windows open?"
"Nyx!6"
"Yes, Daddy?"
"Eat your breakfast."
She kissed his cheek before sitting beside her mother.
Despite the teasing, mornings were her favorite part of the day.
Murphy, now forty-eight, still carried himself with the authority of a businessman accustomed to getting his way. He's developing grey hair but his broad shoulders and commanding presence remained unchanged.
Alexa had grown even more elegant with age. Her dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and the warmth in her smile was something Nyx never took for granted.
Their home was beautiful.
Their lives were comfortable.
But Nyx understood that money wasn't responsible for the happiness filling their dining room.
Her parents had spent years learning how to be present for each other.
"Has your brother called?" Alexa asked.
"He sent me a picture of Grandpa pretending to be a farmer."
Murphy chuckled.
"That man never listens."
Alexa gave him a pointed look.
"You neither."
"Why am I being attacked in m..... "
Her phone rang again.
This time, it was a video call from her brother.
Nyx answered and placed the phone against a glass.
"Good morning, unfortunate relatives."
"Look who's talking," Nyx replied.
Behind him, their grandmother could be seen arranging bowls on a dining table.
"Is that Nyx?" she called.
"Yes, Grandma!"
"Tell her to visit us this weekend!"
I didn't hear that....
Their grandfather appeared behind her brother.
"Has your father finally learned how to prepare breakfast?"
Murphy leaned toward the phone.
"Good morning to you too, Dad."
"Don't change the subject."
Alexa laughed.
For a few minutes, the two households exchanged greetings and complaints.
But when their grandfather walked away, Alexa's expression became serious.
"How is he really?"
Her brother lowered his voice.
"Better. But he keeps trying to do things the doctor told him not to."
"You're not supposed to handle everything alone," Alexa reminded him.
"I know, Mom."
"Your studies matter too."
"I know."
There was a slight impatience in his voice.
Nyx noticed it.
Their brother loved their grandparents, but lately he had been carrying responsibilities that sometimes made him seem older than he was.
"We'll come this weekend," Murphy promised.
From somewhere behind the phone, their grandfather called, "Nobody asked you to!"
Murphy closed his eyes.
Nyx burst out laughing.
"Grandpa definitely misses you."
"Apparently," Murphy muttered.
The call ended a few minutes later.
"You should speak properly with your father when we visit."
Murphy looked up.
"We speak."
"You exchange complaints."
"That's still communication."
Alexa didn't smile.
He sighed.
Nyx glanced between them.
She knew her father and grandfather loved each other.
She also knew neither was particularly talented at admitting it.
By eight fifteen, the school grounds were already crowded.
Students hurried toward the main buildings, laughing, arguing, and pretending they weren't worried about upcoming examinations.
Nyx stepped out of her mother's car.
"Remember your inhaler," Alexa said.
Nyx patted her bag.
"And don't skip lunch."
"Yes, Mom."
"And—"
"Don't argue with my teachers. Don't start a revolution. Don't embarrass the family."
Alexa raised an eyebrow.
"I was going to say have a wonderful day."
"Oh."
Nyx smiled sheepishly.
She waved goodbye.
As the car disappeared through the school gates, someone called.q
"NYX!"
Seyong was hurrying toward her from the bus stop outside the entrance.
Her shoulder-length hair bounced against her cheeks, and a large folder was tucked beneath one arm.
At seventeen, Seyong was bright, expressive, and almost impossibly energetic. Her round face and warm brown eyes made her look younger than she was, especially when she smiled.
Today, however, the shadows beneath her eyes were difficult to miss.
"You're late!" Seyong announced.
"It's eight fifteen."
"Exactly."
"Classes begin at eight thirty."
"We have preparations!"
Nyx groaned.
"Please tell me you've found another victim."
"Nope."
They had been inseparable since childhood.
Neither liked remembering the tragic that happened.
As they approached the stairs, Nyx slowed.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Did you sleep?"
Seyong looked surprised.
"Of course."
"How many hours?"
"That feels like an unnecessarily personal question."
"Seyong."
Her friend sighed.
"Three. Maybe four."
"Again?"
Seyong glanced away.
"My parents were arguing."
Nyx's expression softened.
"About the shop?"
Seyong nodded.
Her mother's small flower shop had been struggling with rising rent, and her father wanted to close it before the family accumulated more debt.
Her mother refused.
The shop had belonged to Seyong's grandmother, and losing it felt like losing part of their family.
"They think I can't hear them," Seyong said quietly. "But the walls aren't exactly made of concrete."
Nyx squeezed her arm.
"You can come over after school."
"I know."
"And this weekend."
"I know."
Seyong finally smiled.
Classroom 3-B was already noisy when they arrived.
Two boys were arguing over a missing calculator, while a girl near the windows was desperately copying homework before their teacher arrived.
Nyx surveyed the room.
"Good morning, future disappointments."
Several classmates laughed.
"Morning, Nyx!"
"You're late!"
"Did Seyong kidnap you again?"
"Against my will," Nyx replied.
Near the back window, Min-jun looked up from a notebook.
He had a tall, athletic build, neatly styled dark hair, and thoughtful eyes that made him seem quieter than most boys his age.
He was handsome, although Nyx had no intention of informing him.
His confidence irritated her almost as much as his mathematics grades.
"Cheng," he greeted.
"Kang."
"I saved your seat."
"How charitable."
"You complained about the sunlight yesterday."
"I complain about many things."
"I've noticed."
Seyong made a suspicious humming sound.
Nyx turned.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
Seyong grinned before heading toward her own desk near the front.
Nyx sat beside Min-jun.
He pushed a neatly folded paper toward her.
"What's this?"
"Yesterday's mathematics notes."
"I attended yesterday's lesson."
"You spent half of it arguing with the teacher."
"He was wrong."
"He was explaining quadratic equations."
"Incorrectly."
Min-jun laughed.
She unfolded the paper.
His handwriting was ridiculously neat.
"Thanks," she said.
"You're welcome."
As he returned to his notebook, she noticed the corner of another page sticking out.
A drawing.
A detailed sketch of an old theater.
"Since when do you draw?"
Min-jun quickly closed the notebook.
"Since always."
"That's actually good."
He looked surprised.
"Really?"
"Don't let it inflate your ego."
He smiled, but it faded almost immediately.
"My father doesn't think it's useful."
Nyx glanced at him.
Min-jun came from a respected family. His father was a surgeon, his mother a university lecturer, and everyone seemed convinced that he would eventually study medicine.
Everyone except Min-jun.
"He still wants you to apply to medical school?"
"Already arranged another meeting with an admissions adviser."
"And what do you want?"
Min-jun hesitated.
"Architecture. Maybe design."
"Then tell him."
"I have."
"And?"
"He says hobbies shouldn't interfere with my future."
Nyx looked at the notebook.
"Well, your future sounds terribly boring if someone else gets to choose it."
Min-jun laughed softly.
"Try explaining that to my father."
Before she could answer, their teacher entered.
The class hurriedly settled down.
During third period, their literature teacher announced the school's upcoming Founders' Week celebration.
"Each class will select a student to give a short speech," she explained. "The theme is The Future We Choose."
Seyong's hand shot up.
"I nominate Nyx!"
Nyx turned.
"Excuse me?"
Several students immediately supported the suggestion.
"Yes!"
"Nyx should do it!"
"She talks enough already!"
Nyx pointed toward the last speaker.
"I heard that."
Their teacher smiled.
"What do you think, Nyx?"
"I think there are many talented people in this classroom who deserve opportunities."
"Such as?"
"Literally anyone else."
The class erupted in laughter.
Min-jun leaned toward her.
"You'd be good."
"You're supposed to defend me."
"I am."
"This feels suspiciously like betrayal."
He smiled.
Their teacher waited patiently.
"Just tell us what you think the theme means."
Nyx hesitated before standing.
She looked around the classroom.
"When adults ask us about our future," she began, "they usually want to know what job we'll have or how successful we'll become."
The room quietened.
"But I think choosing our future means more than deciding what we're going to do."
She paused.
"It means deciding who we're willing to become. Whether we'll be brave enough to follow our dreams, even when people disagree. Whether we'll remember the people who helped us, and whether we'll remain kind when life gives us reasons not to be."
Her eyes briefly met Seyong's.
"I don't think a successful future means much if we lose ourselves getting there."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then applause filled the classroom.
Nyx covered her face.
"I believe we have our representative."
Nyx sat down, defeated.
Min-jun leaned closer.
"That was beautiful."
She looked at him.
There was no teasing in his expression.
Only sincerity.
For some reason, she found herself looking away.
"Don't make it weird," she muttered.
His smile widened.
"I wasn't planning to."
Across Seoul, Murphy was reviewing an investment proposal when his assistant entered.
"Sir, the investors would like to meet on Friday evening."
Murphy checked his calendar.
Nyx — School Event.
"Arrange lunch instead."
"They specifically requested dinner."
"Then they'll have to discover lunch."
His assistant hesitated.
"Sir, this partnership is important."
"So is my daughter."
He returned the proposal.
"Make the arrangements."
After she left, Murphy's phone vibrated.
A message from Alexa.
Your father called. He asked whether you're really coming this weekend.
Murphy stared at the screen.
His father had always expected him to be successful.
Strangely, even after achieving everything that had once seemed impossible, Murphy still felt like a boy struggling to earn his approval.
He typed:
I'll be there..... And I'll try not to argue.
Alexa replied almost immediately.
That would be a miracle worth witnessing.
Murphy smiled.
At lunchtime, Nyx and Seyong sat beneath their usual tree in the courtyard.
Min-jun joined them shortly afterward, carrying three sandwiches.
"Why three?" Nyx asked.
"Because Seyong threatened me."
Seyong smiled sweetly.
"I prefer the word persuaded."
Nyx accepted her sandwich.
"You're both suspicious."
Min-jun settled beside her.
"You think everyone is suspicious."
"That's because everyone keeps behaving suspiciously."
Their conversation moved between school gossip, examinations, and an upcoming class trip.
For a while, they sounded like ordinary teenagers whose greatest concerns were grades and whether someone secretly liked someone else.
Then Seyong's phone rang.
She checked the screen.
"Mom?"
Her smile disappeared as she listened.
"What? But you said you had another week."
Nyx stopped eating.
Seyong stood.
"No, don't agree to anything yet. I'll come after school."
She ended the call.
"What's wrong?" Nyx asked.
"The landlord wants an answer tomorrow."
"About the shop?"
Seyong nodded.
Her eyes shone, although she quickly looked away.
"I don't know what we're going to do."
Nyx reached for her hand.
"Then we'll figure something out."
Seyong shook her head.
"You can't solve everything, Nyx."
"I know."
"Your family already does so much for me."
"That's not why I'm offering."
Seyong looked at her.
Nyx squeezed her hand.
"I'm offering because you're my friend."
Min-jun quietly placed his unopened sandwich beside Seyong.
"Eat something first," he said.
She looked between them.
Then managed a small smile.
"You're both annoyingly nice."
Nyx grinned.
"Don't spread that rumor."
That evening, the Cheng family gathered around the dining table.
Murphy arrived home earlier than expected, bringing dessert and an apology for forgetting to buy strawberries.
"How do you forget strawberries?" Nyx demanded.
"I'm a busy man."
"You remembered cake."
"Cake is important."
Alexa shook her head.
Their conversation soon turned to the weekend visit.
Nyx told them about Seyong's family troubles, and Alexa promised to visit the flower shop before any final decision was made.
Then Murphy called his parents.
Their grandmother answered first, delighted to see everyone.
Their grandfather appeared reluctantly, insisting he had only come because the television wasn't working.
Nyx's brother sat beside them, looking exhausted but happy.
"How's our favorite patient?" Nyx asked.
"I'm not a patient," Grandpa complained.
"Of course not. You're a medical mystery."
Their grandmother laughed.
But beneath the humor, Nyx noticed the tension between her father and grandfather.
"Are you coming Saturday?" Grandpa asked Murphy.
"I said I would."
"You also said that last month."
Murphy's smile faded.
"I had work."
"You always have work."
The table fell quiet.
Nyx's brother quickly changed the subject, asking about her school speech.
The conversation recovered, but something uncomfortable remained.
After the call, Alexa rested her hand over Murphy's.
"He misses you."
He looked toward the window.
"I know."
"Then stop waiting for him to say it."
Nyx watched her parents quietly.
For all their laughter, she was beginning to understand that growing older didn't mean people's problems disappeared.
Sometimes they simply learned to hide them better.
Later that night, Nyx lay across her bed, scrolling through messages.
Seyong had finally returned home.
Seyong: Mom says thank you for caring.
Nyx: Tell her I accept payment in flowers.
Seyong: You're impossible.
Nyx: And yet, beloved.
Another message appeared.
From Min-jun.
Min-jun: I meant what I said today.
Nyx frowned.
Nyx: About what?
Min-jun: Your speech.
She smiled.
Nyx: You're becoming dangerously supportive.
Min-jun: Someone has to be.
She stared at the message, suddenly unsure what to write.
Before she could reply, another notification appeared.
A photograph from her brother.
Their grandfather had fallen asleep in his armchair, an open newspaper resting on his chest.
Beneath it, her brother had written:
He pretends he doesn't miss Dad. But he kept asking what time we're expecting him on Saturday.
Nyx smiled sadly.
She typed a reply, then put her phone aside.
Outside her window, Seoul shimmered beneath the night sky.
Seventeen years old.
A loving family.
Friends who understood her.
A future she had barely begun to imagine.
For eight years, life had been wonderfully ordinary.
And Nyx had no reason to believe that would ever change.
Elsewhere in Seoul, an old-fashioned telephone rang inside a dark office.
A man in a charcoal-gray suit answered.
"Yes?"
"The girl is seventeen."
"I know."
"Are we proceeding?"
The man glanced toward his desk.
A photograph lay beside a narrow leather briefcase.
In it, Nyx stood between Seyong and Min-jun, laughing beneath a tree.
"Not yet," he replied.
"The agreement has already been delayed."
"Then a little longer won't matter."
There was a pause.
"And the family?"
The man studied the photograph.
"They've grown rather comfortable."
"Should we intervene?"
He smiled.
"No."
His fingers settled on an old cream-colored envelope, its dark red seal still intact.
"Let them have their happiness."
He returned the photograph to the desk.
"People are always more interesting when they believe tomorrow belongs to them."
The call ended.
The man opened a drawer and placed the envelope inside.
Then he whispered into the darkness.
"Pactum manet."
The contract remains.