"This is a nightmare," Ji-Hwan thought.
The conference room was too bright—ceiling lights humming like insects. Across the table, a man's lips moved, but the words were drowned out by the roar inside Ji-Hwan's head.
"…letting you go."
The sentence fractured the silence like a struck bell.
"Mr. Ji-Hwan?"
No response.
"Mr. Ji-Hwan."
The world slowly returned—air conditioning, the faint tick of a wall clock, the rustle of papers.
Then—
"Mr. Ji-Hwan!"
The sharpness snapped him back.
He blinked rapidly. "Huh—yes?"
His voice stumbled over itself, too fast.
"Did you hear what I said?" the man asked. His tone was calm, almost careful, but unreadable—like someone testing waters, not revealing the depths beneath.
"What? Oh—I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. Could you repeat that?"
A beat.
"We're letting you go."
The second hit was worse.
Ji-Hwan swallowed. The world tilted. "May I… ask why?"
The man leaned back, fingers steepled. His expression was soft—almost sympathetic—but his eyes carried a distance, a quiet weight that didn't belong to anyone here. Calculation? Regret? Pity? Ji-Hwan couldn't tell.
"In a market that's always changing," he began, voice steady, "we value people who change with it. People who reach. People who… dream."
A faint smile flickered—too fleeting to read.
"When you interviewed, you spoke about your dreams as if they were already real. It was impressive. Inspiring, even."
He paused, letting the silence linger—gauge, perhaps, or test.
"But that person isn't here anymore."
It wasn't cruel. But it was cold.
"That doesn't make sense," Ji-Hwan whispered. "I'm good at my job. I follow through. My coworkers like me. You—" a breath hitched, "—you trusted me. Why would you fire me over something as trivial as… dreaming?"
The man exhaled softly. Not quite a sigh.
"You've forgotten something important, Ji-Hwan."
His tone dipped. Softer. Or rehearsed.
"Do you remember our company motto? And what you told me about it, during your interview?"
Ji-Hwan stared at the desk. Slowly, painfully, the memory resurfaced.
"'Where dreams become reality… and I'll make sure my dreams know no end.'"
The man's smile returned—gentle, but hollow at the edges.
"Exactly. So tell me… when did you stop dreaming?"
The question landed like a verdict.
Ji-Hwan's chest tightened. The pity in the man's voice felt wrong—like it wasn't meant for Ji-Hwan at all, but for some decision already made long before today.
"…I see," he murmured. "I guess I forgot why I came here in the first place."
His voice trembled as he bowed his head. "Thank you. You were the first person—other than my grandpa—to believe in me. I… wish you and the company success."
He laughed weakly, wiping at his eyes.
"And tell the team… tell them they were the best. I can't face them right now."
"I'll let them know," the man said. His tone softened again—warm on the surface, unreadable beneath.
As Ji-Hwan reached the door, the man's voice followed him:
"When you find your spark again… come back."
A pause.
"I'll hire you myself."
The words lingered in the air long after the door clicked shut—gentle, comforting… and somehow unsettling. Was it genuine? A promise? Or something else entirely?
Ji-Hwan stepped into the elevator. The doors sealed him in a mirrored box of steel and echoes.
Tears spilled over; his breath hitched in uneven gasps. His chest ached as if the room had shrunk around him.
Then—
his phone buzzed.
Once. Twice.
And then the ringtone played.
Ji-Hwan froze.
His heartbeat faltered… then synced with the slow, familiar melody chime of the ringtone—his grandfather's ringtone.
A song Ji-Hwan hadn't heard since the funeral. A song he'd never changed because… why would he? It belonged only to one person.
"No…" he whispered, voice trembling.
Hands shaking, he unlocked the phone.
The message was from an unknown number.
Confusion twisted inside him. The ringtone shouldn't have been possible—not from anyone else, not from a stranger, not from someone who was gone.
The preview appeared:
"Life's a nightmare?
Let Dreamscape help you live your wildest dreams…"
His breath hitched.
Then another line loaded, like a blow to the chest:
"You deserve to dream too."
Ji-Hwan's fingers went numb. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the elevator floor with a sharp, echoing crack.