The apartment was quiet again.
Not the chaotic quiet from the morning.
Not the "someone is about to be late" quiet.
This one was… different.
Still.
The front door had closed minutes ago.
Ha-Niel had left for college.
Geon had run off to school, probably causing problems already.
And for the first time that day—
Choi Do-Yun was alone.
He sat by the window.
City stretching endlessly below him.
A script resting in his hands.
Thin.
Unassuming.
No big studio logo.
No famous writer.
No guaranteed awards.
Just a name on the front.
A director no one really knew.
Do-Yun flipped the first page.
Calm.
Focused.
The way he always read scripts—
Like nothing in the world existed beyond those words.
The story began simply.
A man.
Ordinary.
Invisible in the way most people are.
Then—
A strange ability.
For fifteen minutes—
Once a day—
At completely random times—
He could hear people's thoughts.
Do-Yun's eyes slowed over the lines.
Not because it was confusing.
But because it was… interesting.
The first activation came while the man was brushing his teeth.
Another while crossing the street.
One time—
In the middle of sleep.
Uncontrollable.
Unpredictable.
Useless.
Powerful.
Do-Yun leaned back slightly.
"…chaotic," he murmured.
The man tested it.
Observed people.
Listened.
And slowly—
The world changed.
Friends weren't always friends.
Smiles weren't always real.
Kindness had conditions.
Loyalty had limits.
The script didn't rush.
It let the discomfort sit.
Let the truth breathe.
Do-Yun's expression didn't change—
But his fingers paused slightly on the page.
Then—
She appeared.
The girl.
Not dramatic.
Not extraordinary.
Just… someone he liked.
The man wanted to confess.
Simple.
Human.
Terrifying.
But fear got in the way.
What if she rejected him?
What if he misunderstood everything?
What if—
He ruined what little he already had?
So he made a decision.
He would use the power.
Not to manipulate.
Not to control.
Just to know.
He would read her thoughts—
Before confessing.
Do-Yun exhaled slowly.
"…that's cheating," he said under his breath.
But the script didn't agree.
Because the power refused to cooperate.
Every time he was with her—
Nothing.
Every time the ability activated—
She wasn't there.
Timing failed him.
Again.
And again.
And again.
So instead—
He stayed near her.
Talked more.
Walked with her.
Listened.
Observed.
Without realizing—
He started learning her.
Not her thoughts.
Her.
Her habits.
Her pauses.
The way she avoided certain topics.
The way she smiled when she didn't mean it.
And somewhere in between—
The fear didn't disappear.
But it changed.
Do-Yun turned another page.
His eyes sharper now.
More invested.
There was a scene—
A small one.
The man finally gets the power while thinking about her.
He freezes.
Panics.
Searches for her.
Runs.
But when he finds her—
He stops.
Because for the first time—
He hesitates.
Do-Yun's fingers tightened slightly on the script.
The narration was simple.
Almost too simple.
If I hear it now… then what?
If she doesn't like me… will I still confess?
Or will I run away?
Silence.
The man smiles.
And lets the moment pass.
He doesn't use the power.
Do-Yun leaned back.
Eyes lingering on that page longer than the others.
"…huh."
The ending came quietly.
No dramatic music.
No big confession scene under the rain.
Just—
Honesty.
"I like you."
The girl looked at him.
Kind.
Gentle.
And rejected him.
Politely.
Softly.
No cruelty.
No hesitation.
Just truth.
Do-Yun didn't turn the page immediately.
Because the next part—
Wasn't sadness.
The man didn't break.
Didn't regret it.
Didn't wish he had used the power.
He just…
Smiled.
Because for the first time—
He wasn't afraid of not knowing.
He was just…
Free.
Do-Yun closed the script slowly.
The room felt quieter than before.
No explosions.
No grand plot twists.
No guaranteed box office success.
Just—
A story.
About fear.
About honesty.
About choosing not to control everything.
He looked out the window.
City still moving.
People still chasing something.
"…four years," he murmured.
The kind of script that didn't feel manufactured.
The kind that felt… lived.
He stood up.
Walked toward the table.
Picked up his phone.
No hesitation.
He dialed.
"Manager."
"Yes, hyung."
"I'm taking this project."
A pause.
"…which one?"
"The indie script. New director."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"…hyung, that project doesn't have backing yet. No major studio. No guarantee—"
"I know."
Silence.
Then—
"Set up a meeting."
"…where?"
Do-Yun glanced around the apartment.
Then toward the city.
"At the agency café."
He ended the call.
Across the city—
In a small, cramped workspace—
A young director stared at his phone in disbelief.
Four years.
Writing.
Rewriting.
Doubting.
Starting over.
And now—
A message.
Choi Do-Yun wants to meet.
Back in the apartment—
Do-Yun picked up the script again.
"…you didn't take the easy route," he said quietly.
And maybe—
That's why he chose it.
But somewhere else—
Far from the quiet of that apartment—
Another phone was ringing.
Inside a glass office that controlled careers, headlines, and entire futures—
CEO Park looked at the incoming notification.
Her assistant spoke carefully.
"…Director Kang's indie script has been… selected by Do-Yun-ssi."
Silence.
The kind that made people stop breathing.
CEO Park didn't react immediately.
She simply stared at the file.
Then—
Slowly—
She smiled.
Not warm.
Not proud.
Calculating.
"…cancel it," she said softly.
The assistant froze.
"…ma'am?"
CEO Park stood up.
Walked toward the window.
Looking out at the same city—
But seeing something entirely different.
"That project doesn't exist anymore," she continued.
"No funding. No schedule. No meeting."
A pause.
"And make sure…"
Her voice dropped slightly.
"…the director understands that."
Across the city—
The young director's phone buzzed again.
His smile faded.
Back in the apartment—
Do-Yun turned the last page of the script once more.
Unaware.
Completely unaware—
That the story he chose…
Might never reach him again.