[In Front of Green Future Holdings Headquarters, 2050]
Late October, downtown Seoul.
The street trees still held their autumn leaves, yet patches of last week's heavy snow clung, frozen, among the branches.
The sun was out, but the air was sharp; the wind against their faces already felt like winter.
The taxi moved in silence.
It had been less than thirty minutes since they left school, but the emotions that had boiled up at the end of the hallway had carried all the way here, into the heart of the city.
In Jian's hand was a crumpled post-it note.
"In 2050, I want to breathe too."
The words clung to her palm, both gentle and desperate.
Green Future Holdings.
On the site where the old JH Group once stood, a new headquarters had risen, with a futuristic name and a sleek glass exterior.
The lobby was spotless and hushed. Floating AR displays projected ESG performance figures, while a muted video of the company's "Carbon Neutral 2050 Declaration" played in the background.
Jian strode straight into the entrance. Her composure had long since vanished.
Sia ran after her, breathless, and caught her by the arm.
"Jian, please—calm down. You can't just walk in like this…"
But Jian did not stop.
She approached the front desk and said firmly:
"I'm here to see Chairman Lee Jungho. It's urgent. I need to meet him now."
The receptionist, flustered, waved her hands in protest.
Security guards were called.
The space remained quiet, but Jian's voice grew louder.
"He's the one who needs to know about the changes we've made! Please, just once—"
At that moment, the VIP elevator opened with a soft chime.
A middle-aged man emerged, walking slowly with his aides.
Lee Jungho.
Now the head of this vast eco-friendly corporation, and an advisor to the National Climate Strategy Forum.
Jian turned toward him, but his gaze was already fixed ahead.
The commotion in the lobby registered in his eyes, yet the girl's face did not.
Only a few steps apart—and still, as if by fate, they missed each other.
A guard restrained Jian. She cried out:
"This is the change we created! He's the one who needs to remember—!"
"Jian!" Sia shouted from behind, her voice breaking.
Jungho paused and turned his head slightly.
His glance brushed across the center of the uproar, holding a difficult-to-define question in his eyes—an odd mix of recognition and strangeness.
But soon, he turned back.
A meeting was waiting, and the lobby had to remain in order.
His footsteps struck the floor again, each sound a steady rhythm fading into the distance.
Dragged back toward the exit, Jian dropped the post-it from her hand.
It fluttered against the glass revolving door, trembling in the wind, as though about to tear.
Jungho left the lobby, while Jian stood restrained, fists clenched, her whole body shaking.
Their words never reached each other.
Only backs turned, footsteps receding, arms being held back—between them, nothing was spoken, as if fate itself had drawn a line of silence.
That distance grew wider and wider, until only silence quietly filled the lobby.
[Suyeon's Office]
In the heart of Seoul, on the sixth floor of a quiet building, sat Choi Jae-hoon's campaign headquarters.
The conference room inside was modest, yet it carried a sense of steady resolve.
Through the windows, pale sunlight angled in under a gray sky, and the air outside hovered near freezing.
A cold-weather advisory had been issued across the capital region. Frost clouded the glass, and cars crawled cautiously along the roads below.
At one end of the room, Suyeon sat before the table, her expression stern as she scrolled through a smart pad.
On the screen, a short social media clip replayed on a loop.
Its title read:
[How to Meet a CEO of a Large Corporation, LOL].
The video showed Jian from the day before, struggling against security guards in front of Green Future Holdings headquarters.
"I have to meet Chairman Lee Jungho! Please, just once—!"
Across her desperate cries, mocking captions and emojis had been plastered.
Suyeon exhaled deeply and murmured,
"This is what kids these days call 'crossing the line,' isn't it? …This one already has thousands of shares."
The room fell silent.
Sia lowered her head in embarrassment, while Jian, her face tinged with shame, lifted her gaze carefully.
"I just… felt like no one would ever listen.
I thought I had to do something, anything. But now… it just looks like a joke."
From beside her, Doyoon finally spoke.
"It wasn't a joke.
If anything… what you felt in that moment was real.
And for someone out there, that could be the message that matters."
Then, from the corner where he had been sitting quietly, Ji-hyuk spoke up.
He couldn't bring himself to look at Jian; instead, his fingers fiddled with a post-it note lying on the desk.
"…I should have gone with you."
A shallow breath slipped into his words.
Since that day, the same thought had haunted Ji-hyuk's mind:
If only I had followed right then. If I hadn't left Jian to walk down that hallway alone…
He had replayed it countless times by himself.
"That day, I just stayed behind, tidying the classroom… and I didn't follow you. I'm sorry."
Finally, Ji-hyuk raised his head.
Jian met his eyes in silence, then reached over and clasped his hands tightly.
Sia, too, gave a quiet nod.
The words were small, almost fragile, yet in that moment there was unmistakably a promise—a promise to stand together.
Suyeon had been watching the young faces in silence.
At last, her voice came, gentle but firm.
"Some will mock you. Some will pretend not to see.
But that doesn't erase the truth of what you feel.
From here on… this is the real fight.
We need to find our direction again."
Spread across the table were news articles about Green Future Holdings and a draft of the Proposed Green Policy Package.
The edges of the papers had curled slightly from the damp air, and a faint shaft of sunlight glinted across them, filling the room with a quiet resolve.
[2050, GreenFuture Holdings – Chairman's Office]
On one of the upper floors of the GreenFuture Holdings headquarters, the chairman's office was silent.
Beyond the glass wall stretched a gray city under an air-quality alert, its skyline blurred. The rooftop purification units hummed dully, and the occasional frozen flurry reminded him of the strange onset of early winter.
Chairman Jung-ho stood alone, staring at the wall screen.
A short clip kept looping.
[How to Meet a CEO of a Large Corporation, LOL]
Onscreen, Ji-an's voice rang out as security pulled her back.
"I have to see Chairman Jung-ho! Please, just once…!"
He watched without a word. His expression was unreadable, and only the faint sound of the video filled the room.
A soft knock broke the silence. His secretary stepped in.
"Her name is Ji-an Jung. A student at ○○ High School in Seoul.
Yesterday afternoon, during a school campaign, she left without permission and came directly to headquarters.
She has since been escorted back by the school."
Jung-ho didn't turn away from the screen, listening in silence. The secretary continued without hesitation.
"The video is spreading quickly on social media.
It's already being discussed in forums about the so-called 'climate manipulation controversy,' and a few media outlets have sent interview requests."
For a moment, silence again.
Jung-ho finally spoke in a low, even voice.
"…Leave me. I'd like to be alone for a while."
The secretary bowed and withdrew.
When the door closed, quiet returned to the office.
Jung-ho slowly walked toward the window.
The frozen city outside was now washed in a faint red hue, as snow mixed with dust drifted across the skyline.
He clasped his hands as he gazed out. His silhouette stood still, wrapped in silence.
After a long while, he turned slightly and spoke again.
"…Ask my senior aide to come in."
By then, the city outside had already sunk into darkness.
[2050, Jung Jae-yoon's Campaign – Unofficial Strategy Room]
In the heart of Seoul, the strategy room of Jung Jae-yoon's campaign headquarters glowed late into the night.
The building's exterior was clad in an energy-saving façade, while the newly installed carbon-capture ventilation system hummed faintly in the background.
Beyond the glass, the city's air had already tipped past the "caution" level and into "hazardous."
On the large screen, the latest poll numbers shone clearly:
Support Rates — Jung Jae-yoon: 48.3% / Choi Jae-hoon: 39.2%
Inside, the atmosphere was buoyant.
Advisors passed pie charts around like trophies, trading jokes, while the communications manager pulled out a small cake, drawing quiet cheers.
Seated at the center, Jung Jae-yoon crossed his legs with ease, smiling broadly.
"Looks like it's over, doesn't it? In the end, the public got scared.
All that talk about 'climate' and 'youth policy'—just sentimental fluff."
His remark set off another ripple of laughter, until someone cautiously interjected:
"Still… we shouldn't get complacent. There could be variables—"
"Complacent?"
Jung set down his cup, cutting the voice short.
"Don't worry. The polls, the media—they're all on our side.
Honestly? Even if we nudged the numbers a little, who's going to know?"
The room burst into laughter again, as if victory were already sealed.
Among them, one man sat quieter than the rest.
Dressed neatly in a plain shirt, he typed away on his laptop, expression unreadable.
He exchanged the occasional polite smile with a colleague, but his gaze stayed carefully neutral.
What no one knew was that, deep inside his bag, a small recorder was running silently.
Unnoticed, it captured every laugh and every ounce of hubris that filled the room.
[2050 – Outskirts of the City, Parking Lot]
Late at night, on the edge of the city, an old parking lot lay in silence.
The wind cut sharp through the air, stretching the shadows long beneath the streetlamps.
In the distance, the darkened signboard of a decommissioned public charging station lit up the emptiness of deserted parking rows, while beside it, the half-collapsed frame of an old disaster shelter stood like a silhouette against the night.
Two figures stepped cautiously into the circle of lamplight.
One wore a hood pulled low over their face; the other, in a black coat, halted with wary eyes scanning the surroundings.
Hanna stood in silence. The hooded figure handed her a small envelope.
"It's the recording," he murmured.
"Tonight's meeting. They talked about the poll numbers—and mentioned manipulating public opinion.
I also secured related reports, internal memos, and fragments of budget data.
Especially the items in the development plan… the numbers don't add up."
Hanna nodded and accepted the envelope.
Her expression was calm, but in her eyes burned a mix of anger and resolve.
From a nearby parked car, she opened the trunk and pulled out a compact laptop.
Slotting in a USB, she clicked open the latest file.
"…The polls, the media—they're all on our side.
And so what if we 'guided' the numbers a little? Who's going to know?"
Jung Jae-yoon's voice carried cold through the night air.
Hanna lowered her gaze, staring at the screen, her lips pressed tightly shut. For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then, at last, she spoke softly.
"…It's time."
She slipped the envelope back into her bag and turned away, her shadow stretching beneath the streetlamp as the wind carried her steps into the distance.
Above, the night deepened, and the northern wind began to stir the city beyond.