Chapter Ten #3
I lifted my hand experimentally, and thin threads of both of our magic reached out to each other, twisting together into an indigo braid.
Even though I wasn’t touching Yejun yet, his heartbeat echoed through me, his thoughts tangled like ivy around my own, his dreams lay out before me as bright as summer constellations in a clear sky.
His magic reeled me in, and before I could stop myself, I clasped my hand around his and the world fell quiet.
It was as if I’d slipped beneath the cool surface of a pond—his magic swallowed every sound, the real world suddenly a thousand miles away.
The walls of the café dissolved, the tiled floor crumpled beneath my feet, and an endless expanse of violet light suspended us in its warm infinity.
There was nothing in this quiet world except for me, and Yejun, and the light singing through us.
For the first time in my life, it felt easy to exist. It was as if the timeline had finally stopped rejecting me and I’d returned to my origin point after a long voyage.
The moment felt inevitable, like every timeline had converged in this brief, delicate second.
No matter what changes the descendants made to the timeline, it would always bend and twist to bring me back here.
This had never happened when traveling with Hyebin.
I probably should have been worried, or at least questioned it.
But as Yejun smiled and tightened his grip around my hand, I didn’t want to dissect the moment with theories or questions.
I just wanted to be here, the way flowers and trees and mountains simply existed without needing to justify it.
Blue light wrapped in ribbons around us, time whispering through the air in all directions. I held tight to Yejun’s hand as the timeline breathed us in.
We arrived in front of a café with BLUE BUNNY in teal bubble letters above the door. The sun had come out, the smog had cleared away, and the little bell above the door jingled as an employee unlocked the door. The smell of bread wafted over me in a warm haze.
As the last of our time magic fizzled out, I became sharply aware of my hand still gripping Yejun’s, our fingers tangled together, the sweat between our palms.
“Mina,” Yejun said, “I—”
But I was terrified by whatever he was going to say next, so I tore my hand away and stuffed it into my pocket.
I knew—because for a brief moment I had known all of his heart—that Yejun had felt the same strange connection that I had.
But he was still Kim Yejun, the annoyingly smug rogue traveler who had forced his way into my life and was ruining my infiltration missions. Our magic had reacted strangely together, but that didn’t mean anything. No one really understood the intricacies of time magic.
“What did you want to show me?” I said, examining the display case of fake croissants and macarons instead of looking at Yejun.
I pretended not to notice how his reflection stared at me in the display window for a moment too long.
Then he shook his head and opened the door.
“Come on,” he said, greeting the staff and holding the door open for me—two things he wasn’t supposed to do while time traveling—but the café smelled good enough that I didn’t want to waste our few minutes here arguing about it.
“Pick whatever you want,” Yejun said as the door swung shut behind him, “but I recommend the croffle.”
“Croffle?” I said, frowning at the cream-and-fruit-covered waffles in the display case.
“Croissant waffle,” Yejun said. “This shop specialized in them.” He leaned closer, switching to Japanese and whispering in my ear. “They went out of business in 2017. I haven’t been able to find a croffle as good as theirs since then. It’s like my Moby Dick.”
“A croissant bit off your leg?” I said.
“Croffle,” Yejun corrected. “You want one or not? They sell out fast.”
What I wanted more than anything was to obliterate the last three minutes from my memory, but since I couldn’t have that, free pastries would have to suffice.
“Two croffles, please,” I said to the cashier, then stepped aside so Yejun could pay.
As much as I wanted to buy one of everything in the pastry case, my sweet tooth wasn’t a good enough reason to cause ripple effects. Just being here was already risking …
A spike of dread lanced through me. I gripped Yejun’s arm, squeezing a pained sound out of him. “Won’t this mess up the timeline?” I whispered.
He handed the cashier a 10,000 won note and shook his head. “I already ran this scenario. Effects should be minimal.”
“When did you run this scenario?” I said, releasing his arm as the cashier plated two croffles and set them on the counter. Yejun thanked her and picked them both up, then walked toward the tables before answering.
“This morning,” he said, shrugging and pushing one of the croffles toward me. It had berries and whipped cream on top and a little jar of syrup next to it. “I finished my ramen and figured I might as well, rather than waste the broth.”
“You used broth as a scrying pool?” I said, trying with all my might to focus on Yejun and not the steaming pastry in front of me. Come on, Mina, the fate of the timeline is more important than dessert.
“You could scry in a toilet bowl if you wanted to,” he said, slicing into his croffle.
“At least, for the kind of basic scenarios that I run. If you have high-security clearance, your files are all locked to your personal scrying pool, but no one ever trusted me that much. Are you gonna try your croffle or what?”
I still wanted to know what had possessed Yejun to run this particular scenario before meeting me today, but I supposed that could wait until I had a bite of croffle. I cut off a piece, dipped it in the whipped cream, and ate it.
“Oh my god,” I said. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Why?” Yejun said, dropping his fork.
“Because this is incredible, and I can’t just pop back in time whenever I want it.”
Yejun beamed. “I told you!” he said. “Congrats on passing your calculus test, Yang. Remember this moment the next time you want to give up on studying.”
I stuffed another piece of croffle in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to respond, pretending I didn’t notice the way Yejun was smiling at me instead of eating his own dessert.
If he’d run this scenario, that meant he’d planned to take me here even before he’d arrived at the café.
He’d thought about me beyond the scope of our mission, had carefully planned a safe trip for me that wouldn’t destroy the timeline.
We were at a café by ourselves for a reason other than work or school and had literally just held hands on the way here—did that make this a date?
The more I thought about it, the more my brain felt like scrambled eggs burning in a nonstick pan.
I took another huge bite of croffle so Yejun couldn’t ask me a question and imagined that he was the one giving me a bracelet as we crossed the stream instead of Jihoon.
I imagined Yejun steadying my waist so I wouldn’t fall off the stepping stone, Yejun’s hands tucking azaleas behind my ear, Yejun whispering I like you, Mina.
Yejun checked his watch again, then turned his attention to his napkin and began to fold it. After a few moments, he had a tiny napkin crane in his hand, which he set on the table next to us.
I stopped chewing, slowly setting my fork down.
That’s why we’re here, I realized, swallowing the rest of the croffle, which felt like cement going down.
“You’re making an adjustment, aren’t you?” I said, my voice flat. He hadn’t come here for me at all. This wasn’t a date—it was work. Suddenly no longer hungry, I dropped my gaze to the shredded remains of my croffle.
“What, you mean the crane?” Yejun said. “No.”
But I was good at reading between the lines, and I knew his words were too careful. He meant: No, the crane isn’t the adjustment. Something else is.
I debated abandoning my croffle in protest but decided that stuffing the rest of it in my mouth in one bite would have the same effect. I finished chewing, wiped my mouth, then sat back and crossed my arms. “I’m ready to go back,” I said.
“Did you … not like the croffle as much as you thought?” Yejun asked.
“I liked it, and I’m ready to go back,” I said. “Or did you have something else to do here?”
“I … well, yeah there was one more thing,” Yejun said, edging away from me as if he sensed this was the wrong answer.
“Then do it quickly and let’s go.”
Yejun seemed to wilt at my cold tone, and I almost felt bad for him but kept my irritation simmering by glaring at the paper crane. This was just a job to him, and to me. I didn’t need to be kind.
Yejun clapped his hands together, suddenly smiling again. “Okay, how about this?” he said. “I’ll do a bunch of things, and you try to guess which one is the adjustment.”
“Is this a game?” I said.
“Yes!”
“Then no.”
“Too late, it’s already happening,” Yejun said. He stood up, stuffed the rest of his croffle into his mouth, then cleared our plates. While still chewing, he took out his wallet and placed a 5,000 won note in the tip jar, then waved for me to follow him outside.
“Where are we going?” I said. He was walking faster now, and I had to jog to keep up with him. “Shouldn’t we go back?”
“I’m on a mission!” he said, mouth still full of croffle.
He ducked into a Daiso and dodged an old woman in the checkout line, then snatched a stuffed bear off the shelf.
Please don’t let that be for me, I thought as the cashier bagged the bear.
Yejun checked his watch, foot tapping impatiently.
As soon as the cashier handed him the receipt, he rushed outside, barely dodging a biker on the sidewalk.
At least he’d finished the croffle at that point or he probably would have spit it everywhere.
The pedestrian light switched on and he jogged across the street.
“Slow down!” I said, barely evading a flock of schoolchildren. “Are you trying to get me flattened by a car?”