The subway station was loud.
Not the kind of loud that startled people—no sudden screams or sharp noises—but the constant, dull roar of everyday life. Footsteps overlapped, shoes scraping against tiled floors worn smooth by decades of commuters.
Voices blended together into an indistinct hum: conversations about work, complaints about delays, laughter that felt out of place during rush hour.
Jeon Raon stood among them, unmoving.
The digital board above flickered as it updated the arrival time. Two minutes. As always.
People crowded closer to the platform edge. Some checked their phones, others stared ahead with empty expressions, eyes unfocused, as if already halfway home despite still being underground.
Raon adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and exhaled quietly.and said quietly another day over.
The subway arrived with a metallic scream, wind rushing through the station as the train slowed. Doors slid open, and the crowd surged forward in practiced unison. There was no urgency, no chaos—just habit. Everyone knew where to stand, when to move, how to fit themselves into the limited space.
Raon stepped inside with the others.
The smell of metal, recycled air, and faint perfume filled the cabin. He found an empty seat near the window and sat down, resting his back against the cool glass. Across from him, reflections of passengers overlapped with the real figures behind him, creating a faint illusion of doubled lives moving in opposite directions.
He loosened his tie slightly.
Jeon Raon was twenty-nine years old.
An office worker in Incheon. Former soldier. Former student. Former many things, now reduced to routines measured in train stops and work hours. He wasn't particularly remarkable, nor was he invisible. He existed in that narrow space most people lived in—noticed only when necessary, forgotten immediately afterward.
And he was tired.
Not physically. Not mentally, at least.It was the quiet, persistent exhaustion that came from repetition of it Wake up. Work. Ride the subway. Go home. Sleep. Repeat all this. The train doors slid shut, and the subway began to move.
Raon reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.The screen lit up.A notification sat at the top.
[New Chapter Uploaded – The Beginning of the End]
His thumb froze mid-air.
For a brief moment, the noise around him faded.
Fifteen years.That was how long it had been.
Raon stared at the notification as if it might disappear if he looked away.
The final chapter.
He swallowed the word.
He still remembered the first time he had discovered the novel. A bored high school student scrolling aimlessly through forums late at night, stumbling across an obscure web novel with an odd title and an even stranger synopsis. He hadn't expected much back then.
And yet—
Fifteen years later, here he was.
Reading it through high school. Through college. During military service, stealing minutes whenever he could. Through job interviews, failures, promotions, and long nights when sleep refused to come.
Every day, at the same time.
The subway. The same route. The same seat when he was lucky.
And every day, a new chapter.
Raon tapped the notification.
The novel opened.
The words flowed across the screen, familiar and heavy with finality. He read silently, eyes moving with practiced ease, absorbing sentences that carried the weight of years behind them.
The protagonist made choices Raon didn't fully agree with.
The ending approached too neatly. Too cleanly.
When he reached the final paragraph, Raon stopped.
He stared at the last line.
Then the screen dimmed slightly, as if the phone itself was waiting for his reaction.
"…That's it?"
The ending wasn't bad.
But it wasn't what he had hoped for.
He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes for a moment.
The novel had been good. No—better than good. It had been a companion. A constant presence in his life when everything else changed.
And now it was over.
A strange emptiness settled in his chest.
For fifteen years, that novel had been his anchor. No matter how bad the day was, no matter how angry or frustrated he felt, he knew that at the end of the day, there would be a new chapter waiting for him.
A few minutes of escape.
A world that made sense, even when his own didn't.
And now…"It ended, huh."
Raon exhaled slowly.
He felt like something important had been taken away—not abruptly, but gently, the way a sunset disappears without anyone noticing the exact moment it's gone.
What would he do now?
He considered rereading it from the beginning. Starting over, knowing how it would all end. Maybe he'd notice details he missed before. Maybe it would feel different this time.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.That seemed like a good idea.
The train continued forward.
Then—
THUD.
The subway jolted violently.
Raon's body lurched forward as the cabin shook, hands instinctively grabbing the seat. Gasps erupted around him.
"What was that?"
"Did you feel that?"
Before anyone could answer, the train slowed abruptly.
Another tremor followed, stronger this time.
The lights flickered.
Raon's heart rate spiked.
"Is it an earthquake?"
The word spread quickly, panic rising with it. Some people stood up, others clutched the poles above their seats. A child began to cry somewhere behind him.
The train screeched as it came to a complete stop.
The lights went out.
For half a second, there was darkness.
Then emergency lights activated—dim, red, and suffocating.
The entire cabin was bathed in crimson.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
People screamed.
"What's happening?!"
"Why did it stop here?!"
Raon turned toward the window.
They were on a bridge.
The Han River stretched beneath them, its surface usually calm and reflective. But now—
The water was wrong.
Massive whirlpools churned violently below, spiralling unnaturally as if something beneath the surface was stirring. The sky above had darkened, clouds rolling in with impossible speed.
The air felt heavy.
"Look outside!"
Raon's breath caught.
Another impact hit.
CRASH.
The entire train shook.
Glass shattered.
Windows exploded inward as sharp fragments tore through the cabin. Raon ducked instinctively, shards flying past where his head had been moments before.
Screams turned into shrieks of pain.
When the shaking stopped, silence followed—broken only by sobbing and laboured breathing.
Raon slowly lifted his head.
Blood.
It was everywhere.
Passengers near the windows lay slumped, bodies torn open by glass. Some didn't move. Others twitched weakly, hands reaching out as if unable to understand what had happened to them.
A woman screamed hysterically, clutching her arm as blood soaked her sleeve.A child cried, frozen in terror.
Raon's hands trembled.
This wasn't an earthquake.
This wasn't an accident.
His phone slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.
The screen was cracked—but still on.
The novel page remained open.
The final chapter.
The title stared back at him.
Raon felt a cold realization crawl up his spine.
Something was very, very wrong.
And deep down, a terrifying thought surfaced—one he didn't want to acknowledge.
This felt familiar.
Far too familiar.
As if—
The story he had spent fifteen years reading…
Had just begun to read him back.