The next morning came slower than she expected.
Sunlight filtered through white curtains as a gentle knock tapped at her door.
"Noona? You awake?" came Seojun's voice.
"I'm up," Hayeon replied automatically, sitting up in bed.
She didn't sleep well. The bed was too soft and warm, the kind of bed you could sink into and never wake up.
The opposite of the bunk beds in Eden Garden and there she was taught not to be comfortable with anything.
The door creaked open, and Seojun peeked in, grinning wide. "Mom said I could be your guide! I'll show you everything!"
Behind him, the mother appeared, already dressed in a cream blouse and soft beige slacks, the kind of clothes too clean for apocalypse life.
"If you feel strong enough, let's go slow," the mother said, gently brushing Hayeon's hair back behind her ear. "We'll remind you of everything."
Hayeon followed them down the hallway.
The house was massive. A mansion styled like something from old dramas.
Wooden floors that didn't creak, tall glass windows that overlooked neatly trimmed gardens, and walls lined with family portraits and awards.
But there was something off.
Everything here ran on basic tech. No interface walls, no motion-controlled appliances, no advanced energy systems, and many more.
Even the light switches were physical, not sensory. There were no body scans, no auto-sterilizers, and definitely no hover drones for cleaning.
'This world is behind,' she thought. 'Feels like… thirty years behind? Maybe more.'
'Was this really the same world I used to live in? Maybe years before the apocalypse? Am I back to the past?'
The sky was the same. The architecture wasn't that different. But the systems… they were old. Functional, sure, but old.
'And who is this family? What is this world? I don't understand...'
The more she thought about it, the more painful her head became. At first, she theorize that this was a simulation, or maybe a hallucination from the monster she fought.
But whatever she did, hurting herself, searching for a glitch, nothing... Nothing works and she is trapped here with the family she never has in her world.
"This is your art room," Seojun pointed, walking into the one next to hers. "You always yell when I go in without knocking."
"I did?"
"Yup. Said I'd mess up your paint stuff."
"Paint?"
The mother smiled. "You loved painting. You'd come here after school and just sit for hours. You didn't talk much, but when you did, you always asked for more canvas."
The room inside smelled like oil paint and flowers. A small easel stood near the window, with a canvas half-finished. Blues and purples in vague storm shapes.
'I never painted before in my life…' she thought.
She was a soldier, what she held was a gun, dagger, and weapon to hurt. Not a paintbrush to create something that beautiful...
Art was long gone in her world, as the world turned into hell, the human creativity was death with it. The only thing they could do was survive and create new technology to kill monsters.
Art was a privilege.
Then they passed the music room. The mother paused and opened the door like she was showing off a shrine.
"You always came here after bad days. You said the piano made your head stop hurting."
Hayeon stepped in, slowly.
It was spotless. White grand piano in the center, warm light from the skylight above. Her fingers brushed over the keys, light as a whisper.
She didn't know how to play.
But her hands moved like they did.
Faint notes filled the room. Off-key. She flinched and pulled back.
"Guess muscle memory doesn't lie," Seojun said proudly.
She just nodded awkwardly since it was the first time she touched the piano, hearing that beautiful voice coming out of it instead of the roar of a monster was peaceful.
Room after room passed—her old study, a family gallery, her personal library. The maids greeted her with soft bows, wide eyes, and hesitant smiles.
The butler, a man with a rigid spine and silver hair, looked like he'd aged ten years from stress but said, "Welcome home, Miss Hayeon."
Every time she said she didn't remember something, Seojun would explain in rapid-fire detail.
"You got your tooth knocked out here when you tried to ride a hoverboard down the stairs—don't worry, it was baby teeth!"
"You burned a batch of cookies in this oven and cried like the world ended."
"You hated this wallpaper, said it looked like puke—but it's still here!"
She listened, nodded, played along. For now, she would just pretend that she was their daughter until she found a way back.
***
At dinner, the family gathered like a painting.
The father sat at the head of the table, posture straight, the suit still on. The mother beside him, smiling softly.
The older brother, Jaeha, barely spoke, but his eyes flicked between her and his plate. Seojun rattled on between bites, talking about her old school, friends, and even a club she used to join.
"There's an art show coming next month," he said with full cheeks. "You used to win every year."
The mother added, "Only if you're feeling up to it, maybe you can return to school. Your teachers are still waiting."
Hayeon nodded. "Okay."
She didn't know what else to say. Everything was moving to a bit too fast, like she was guest playing the role of someone else.
The father didn't speak much, but he served her food first. Removed bones from the fish before handing her the plate.
When she reached for water, his hand was already refilling her glass.
He didn't say he missed her. But his actions did.
Make her wonder where was the true daughter of this family and why she suddenly gone like that. Was she not happy with this life or did something happen?
And when the true daughter comes, what will happen to her? Were those people who surrounded her would throw her away?
She clenched the chopstick in her hand, the utensils she didn't get used to...
Whatever happens, when that day comes, she needs to be able to get away from this world too, and come back to where she belongs.
***
That night, when the house had finally quieted, she slipped out into the garden.
The moon hung low, crickets chirped, and the air smelled of roses and dew. She once saw roses in the lab, a beautiful red flower and now she could touch it whenever she liked.
She stood barefoot in the grass, the silk pajama pants clinging to her legs. She hadn't worn anything this soft in years.
She raised her arm and stared at the tattoo again—golden cubes, glowing faintly.
She clenched her hand.
"Come on," she muttered. "Work."
She pulled her stance open. Balanced her feet. Imagined the way Michael always told her to breathe before combat.
"This isn't just a tattoo," she said under her breath. "You're the same damn thing that exploded on me. You saved me."
No response, no glow, not even energy humming through her bones.
She tried again. Pushed harder.
"Move—damn it!"
Still nothing.
She dropped to her knees, fists digging into the grass. The dew soaked her skin. Her chest ached.
Michael should've been here.
Was he alive? Did he make it?
She thought of his stupid grin. His cocky voice. The way he always stood in front of her, even when she could fight just as well.
'You idiot… where are you?'
Tears stung her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
She was a soldier. She would find her way back. She had to.