Red Strings

Red Strings : The theory

The journey back to the city was long and dull, the excitement of the retreat slowly draining away with every mile. Daniel sat quietly by the window, the fatigue of two days-one of intense social pressure and another of vigilant action-weighing heavily on him. He didn't speak much, simply offering small nods to Sang-hoon, who was already meticulously planning Daniel's post-retreat fame management.

As the bus finally pulled into the familiar drop-off point near his neighborhood, the late afternoon sun was setting, casting long, familiar shadows. Daniel said his goodbyes, collected his luggage, and started the short, solitary walk back to his small apartment.

He unlocked his door, stepped into the quiet apartment, and dropped his backpack with a tired thud. He was physically exhausted, his muscles aching from the steep hike and the adrenaline of the confrontation behind the resort, yet he felt a strange, deep sense of fulfillment he hadn't known before.

He walked over to his mirror, not to check his flawless reflection, but to check his mental state. He looked tired, but genuinely, wonderfully happy.

Daniel closed his eyes, and the final moments by the lake instantly crossed his mind: Dayuen's kind eyes, the way the sunlight had framed her profile, and the casual, friendly sincerity of her voice.

"Wow, these are really good, Daniel! Much better than my own selfies."

"I guess I owe you one."

Her words, so simple and polite, echoed in his memory, carrying a weight far beyond their meaning. He hadn't just spoken to her; he had made her laugh, received a genuine compliment, and left a positive, non-awkward impression. He had passed the Social Test.

A slow, tired smile spread across Daniel's face. He knew the clumsy confession, the intense feelings, and the awkwardness were all still there. But so was the memory of her quiet applause and her genuine smile by the lake.

He sank onto his couch, too exhausted to even turn on the lights, and simply allowed the happy fatigue to wash over him, knowing that the perfect face had finally done more than just look good-it had finally given him a chance.

-

A jarring sound, sharp and insistent, ripped Daniel from his sleep.

He shot upright on the couch. It was the middle of the night; the room was pitch black save for the faint yellow glow filtering in from the streetlights. The sound wasn't police sirens or traffic noise. It was a clear, high-pitched wail of a child crying.

Daniel rubbed his eyes, his perfect, usually immaculate hair a complete, sleepy mess. He instinctively checked his perfect clock: 3:17 AM.

He crept over to the window, pulling aside the curtain just enough to peer down at the street below. His heart immediately clenched.

There, crouched beneath the dim, flickering streetlamp, was a small girl. She was tiny, maybe seven or eight years old, bundled in a pink, mismatched jacket, sitting on the cold curb. She was clutching a dirty stuffed rabbit to her chest, her small body shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably into her knees.

Daniel's sleepiness vanished. His mind immediately went into vigilant overdrive. Alone, crying, on the street, at 3:17 AM. This wasn't just sadness; this was a potential Red Line of Fate.

He didn't hesitate. He grabbed the nearest jacket, pulled on a pair of comfortable shoes, and moved to the door. He was tired, messy-haired, and just wanted to sleep, but the sound of that heartbroken cry was a command he couldn't ignore. The Social Test was over, but the Vigilante Test never truly ended.

Daniel rushed down the steps of his apartment building, his feet pounding on the concrete. He reached the curb and quickly approached the sobbing child, his voice soft and concerned despite his fatigue.