Game Over: Play again?

Chapter 4: Memory Sync

Chapter 4: Memory Sync

The light that broke over I-LAND was never soft.

It poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a command — clear, white, decisive.

But that morning, before the noise of rehearsals, before the rhythm drills began to pound through the floors, there was something quieter.

Something that smelled like comfort.

Ni-ki woke to it first.

For a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was — only that his pillow was warm, the blanket tangled around one leg, and something familiar filled the air.

Butter.
Garlic.
Rice — the toasted kind that came from a pan, not the rice cooker.

His eyelids fluttered open. The dorm ceiling came into focus — the small LED strips lining the top corners, the faint vibration of the central AC. Then he caught movement through the half-open door.

A wisp of steam, white and soft as a dream, curling out from the kitchen.

He blinked slowly before sitting up, the blanket falling away from his bare skin.

The quiet hum of a frying pan reached him, followed by a light chuckle — low and refined, a sound that didn’t belong in a place of chaos and sneakers.

He knew that voice.

“Hikaru?”

He dragged himself out of bed, hair sticking up, now wearing a hoodie and socks mismatched, the remnants of last night’s late practice still clinging to his bones.

When he stepped into the common area, he froze.

The I-LAND kitchen had transformed.

Golden light spilled across the counters. Plates were stacked neatly. Steam fogged the edges of the polished glass.

Hikaru stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up past her elbows, the collar of her white shirt open slightly at the throat. Her movements were graceful, efficient — like a choreographed routine she’d memorized long before stepping on any stage.

Next to her, Jungwon sat on the counter, hair uncombed, swinging his legs as he peeled an orange with surprising focus.

The smell was unreal.

“Morning,” Jungwon said without looking up. “You’re finally up, chef number four.”

Ni-ki blinked. “...Chef number four?”

Hikaru glanced over her shoulder, tone calm but teasing. “Sunghoon hyung was chef number two. He burned the first batch of toast. Jungwonie's the chef number three which is just a moral support kind of chef.”

From the table, a half-awake Sunghoon raised a hand weakly. “It was artistic. Charred minimalism.”

“Charred disaster,” Hikaru corrected, flipping another egg with surgical precision.

Ni-ki shuffled closer, rubbing his eyes. “What’s happening? Are we… celebrating something?”

Jungwon laughed softly. “You could say that. First morning after everyone finally got a full night’s sleep without ghosts.”

At that, Hikaru’s lip twitched — the tiniest shadow of a smile. “You mean without you all screaming about them.”

Ni-ki’s expression shifted. He caught the teasing gleam in her eyes and realized it wasn’t just a normal morning. It was aftermath — the calm after the storm they’d created together.