March 1st, 2027 — Seoul, South Korea
The morning sun spilled across the city like golden paint over a steel canvas. The streets were already alive with honking horns, footsteps, and the constant, buzzing rhythm of Seoul's early routine. Buses wheezed to stops, street vendors arranged their goods, and cold winter air lingered on jacket collars and breath clouds. It was a day like any other—normal, repetitive, a quiet cycle.
Atop a worn apartment building in the working-class neighborhood of Dobong-gu, a soft digital chime echoed in a cramped, one-room rooftop unit.
Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
19-year-old Kang Min-Jae stirred beneath a faded gray blanket. He blinked groggily at his scratched-up phone screen, which flashed 5:31 A.M. A moment later, the chime stopped, and only the sound of the city beyond the frosted window remained.
He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the curtain hanging across the room. Behind that thin sheet slept his stepsister, Yu-Ri, still curled up in her small mattress with her arms wrapped around a stuffed penguin.
For a few seconds, he just sat there. Blinking. Breathing. Listening.
A quiet sigh escaped his lips—not of sadness, not of joy, just... routine. Fatigue lived in his bones like a tenant who had stopped paying rent but refused to leave.
Min-Jae had no luxury of snoozing alarms or staying in bed. He had a schedule. A routine. And more importantly, responsibility.
He stood, his feet sliding into socks with holes in the toes, and moved silently around the room like a ghost—pulling on jeans, a dark hoodie, a delivery vest, and worn sneakers. His jacket was patched at the elbow, but it still kept out most of the wind. He tucked his cracked phone into his pocket and checked the envelope hidden beneath his bed—a stack of cash wrapped in rubber bands.
His savings. For Yu-Ri's college tuition.
He nodded to himself once and tiptoed toward the door.
Just before he left, he paused and turned his head slightly.
"Yu-Ri…" he whispered, voice too soft for her to hear.
The girl behind the curtain didn't move. Her breathing remained even. Peaceful.
He smiled faintly.
Then he left.
---
6:10 A.M. — Seongbuk-dong, Seoul
His first job was at a bakery near the elementary school.
The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, were kind elders who treated Min-Jae more like a nephew than a worker. He liked the smell of bread. He liked the warmth of the ovens. But what he liked most was the quiet.
Here, no one judged his past. No one questioned why he looked tired. No one pitied him.
By 10:00 A.M., his shift ended. He bowed politely to the Kims and jogged off to his second job—a warehousing position near Uijeongbu. There, he stacked boxes until his back screamed and his palms went numb. Between shifts, he ate convenience store kimbap and drank barley tea from an old thermos.
He never complained.
He never got into fights.
He never wasted a single won.
Everything he did was for the only person who mattered now: Yu-Ri.
---
Back at Home — 9:40 P.M.
Min-Jae opened the door slowly, the scent of rice and soy broth hitting him instantly.
Yu-Ri stood at the stove, hair tied up, sleeves rolled, humming quietly. She turned as he entered, face lighting up.
"Welcome home, oppa."
Min-Jae smiled as he pulled off his shoes. "I'm home."
She motioned to the table. "I made seaweed soup. Your favorite."
He chuckled lightly, lowering himself to sit. "What's the occasion? It's not my birthday."
Yu-Ri pouted playfully. "Do I need an excuse to feed you properly?"
They shared a quiet dinner, filled with light conversation. Yu-Ri talked about her recent studies, the essay contest she wanted to enter, her dream of becoming a literature teacher.
Min-Jae listened, responding softly, his eyes warm but weary.
Later that night, as they folded laundry together, the TV in the background flickered with breaking news:
> "...A man in Gyeonggi Province reportedly fell asleep on stream and turned completely translucent. Eyewitnesses claim his body remained motionless for three hours before regaining form…"
They glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.
"Probably some editing trick," Yu-Ri said, scoffing.
"Probably," Min-Jae echoed. But something cold shifted in his chest.
---
March 2nd, 2027 — The First Whisper
The next day, the phenomenon escalated.
Three more cases. Then twenty. Then nationwide news coverage.
Children asleep in classrooms began fading. Elderly patients in hospitals vanished from the touch of nurses, though their outlines remained visible like foggy glass.
Some reawakened.
Some didn't.
Those who came back reported the same thing:
> "I was in another world."
> "The sky was wrong."
> "There were creatures… monsters…"
> "I had to fight. To run. To survive."
> "I wasn't dreaming. It was real."
Min-Jae scrolled through the reports during a short lunch break. His hands were trembling. Not from fear—yet—but from the sense that something unnatural had begun.
That night, Yu-Ri sat beside him on the floor, knees hugged to her chest. "It's scary," she whispered. "It's like… the world's turning into a movie."
Min-Jae looked at her.
And then said the only thing he knew how to say:
"I'm here."
---
March 3rd–5th, 2027 — No Sleep
Sleep became a threat.
Across the globe, people stocked up on energy drinks and stimulants. Hospitals overflowed with those afraid to sleep. Internet forums swelled with theories: government testing, alien contact, spiritual awakening, a cursed dream virus.
But facts were facts:
If you sleep, you leave this world.
If you die there, your soul weakens here.
Too much damage… and you die.
Worse—some people returned from that other world with scars, wounds, and madness.
And their bodies, while asleep on Earth, had become untouchable. Translucent. Intangible.
No machines worked on them. No CPR. No injections. They became ghosts until they woke again.
---
March 6th, 2027 — Breaking Point
Yu-Ri hadn't slept in 36 hours.
Her hands shook as she tried to pour water. Her words slurred. Her body swayed. But she refused to lie down.
Min-Jae was no better. His eyes were bloodshot. His joints ached. He hadn't eaten in a full day.
That night, they sat side by side on the couch, wrapped in thin blankets, watching the sky darken through the window.
"Oppa…" Yu-Ri whispered, her voice trembling. "Promise me something."
"What is it?"
"If we sleep… and we go there… don't leave me alone."
He turned his head slowly. "I'd never leave you."
"…Promise?"
"I promise."
And then… their eyes grew heavy.
Their heads fell forward.
And for the first time in days, sleep took them.
But what awaited them… was not rest.
It was the beginning of something terrifying.
Something unknown.
Something alive.
---
End of Chapter 1