.✶ ࣪ ִֶָ 𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪 ִֶָ ࣪ ✶.

e liked autumn best because summer was a busy time for him as a pro hero and winter felt too lonely after all the holidays passed, so it was the "good in-betweener". his words. also— he was a sucker for halloween. he told you that his mother sent him home with enough containers of homemade curry to feed him and all the people he knew, which made you giggle at the mental image. he has two sisters, one younger and one older. he says he's never felt like the middle child a day in his life because they all have such a close bond. his family must be really sweet based on the way he detailed endearing memories of them, you think.

letters made you both say whatever was on your minds and then forget about it for a few days. it was mildly inconvenient, at worst. honestly, it was a little stupid given that you both lived in the same city with perfectly functioning phones. which was exactly why you ruined it by asking for his number. it was the end of letter eighteen (or twenty, you weren't sure). the ache in your wrist from annotating case law made the idea of texting feel nearly seductive.

his response arrived three days later like clockwork. you sat at your desk, unfolded the letter, and immediately got to reading.

you reread his letter a couple times, giggling at his doodles. 

"cute." you said to yourself, trying not to smile.

there was something so boyish about the way he wrote to you that you couldn't help it. he was a pro hero, which should have made him intimidating in theory. he was trained to fight villains, handle disasters, and probably lift cars or something equally horrifying. yet here he was passionately defending the beauty of sending letters back and forth. truly acting like the top ambassador of snail mail.

the worst part was that he was right. you had expected to feel a little disappointed by the refusal, but it was more like being reminded that the strange rhythm you had with him existed because it was this way. texting would make everything too akin to a casual talking stage. oh god. you already were getting ahead of yourself. the smile that was on your lips falters a little. 

neither of you had even defined this relationship you had. you trace the part of the letter with your finger… lawyer pen pal. 

as swoon-worthy as the entire situation was to you, you weren't too keen on getting ahead of yourself and misreading his intentions. lots of rejection and over-romanticization has taught you well and good over the years. despite that, it was hard to ignore the feeling in the pit of your stomach. you had told him things you hadn't told people you've known for forever. you shake the thoughts away.

you set the letter among the others in the old stationary box on your desk. the stack of cream envelopes inside was getting thick enough that you had to press the lid down a little harder to close it.

instead of responding, you forced yourself to shower and review more documents before bed because kami's case was unfortunately not going to be solved by you contemplating e's purely-platonic messages. 

when you finally crawled under your covers and stared up at your ceiling, tired as can be, your mind betrays you by drifting back to the anonymous pro hero. you were curious about what he looked like. you could deduce as an employed and self-proclaimed busy bee at his work, he's probably rather built. maybe tall, but you didn't care neither here nor there. mostly, you simply wondered what color his eyes were. back in your school days, a ton of your crushes had pretty eyes; your kryptonite.

but why would it matter—you didn't have a crush on him, so why were you thinking about it? you brushed off the daydream train as soon as it came. stop fawning over your pen pal's potentially mesmerizing eyes! you turned over in your bed with a small embarrassed huff to no one in particular.

you hesitated to sign it as you usually did after your mental spiral about his intentions with writing you. mystery girl made no sense anyways; you doubt many quirkless women with your name were lawyers in musutafu. 

his friends had ended up at kirishima's apartment after patrol, occupying nearly every available seat. bakugou had made the dinner that was slowly disappearing across kirishima's dining table. "someone's in love central."

he looked up. denki was pointing at him with his chopsticks.

"what? no."

"you're thinking about miss lawyer. i can feel it." sero snorts. "where, in your balls?" denki shoots a withered look towards him. "you're so weird, man."

kirishima rolled his eyes, reaching for another piece of grilled meat. "i was thinking about work, not her."

"liar," denki said immediately. "you've got the face."

"... what face?"

without looking up from her plate, mina chimed in. "it's the letter face."

bakugou clicked his tongue. "you idiots gave it a name?" 

mina nodded matter-of-fact-ly. kirishima's face pulled into a deadpan. "the what?"

"the letter face!" she finally looked at him. "you get all spacey and woo-woo, it's obvious you're thinking about your loooove letters." 

"i do not get all woo-woo!"

"you do," sero agreed.

kirishima gave up trying to defend himself. there was no point once they collectively decided on something. he reached for his drink instead, opting for silence.

"so," denki said. "what was her last letter about?" mina slaps him upside the head. "you can't ask him about his private stuff like that!" slowly, mina gives kirishima a curious grin. "but really… what did she write?"

kirishima rolled his eyes. "it was a lot of stuff about her private life, but she did ask me to trade numbers."

every conversation around the table stopped.

"...and?" mina asked. "i said i'd rather keep writing." sero and denki groan in unison.

bakugou nodded once. "good. no need for some random fangirl to leak your phone number to the internet." kirishima frowned. "she is most definitely not a fangirl."

"whatever dude. fangirl or not, you could've been texting a hot chick," denki whines.

mina snickers quietly to herself, shaking her head as she picked up her phone. the conversation drifted after that. denki started arguing that kirishima was intentionally making his own life more difficult, while bakugou insisted people survived perfectly fine before smartphones existed. sero contributed absolutely nothing useful beyond occasionally saying "that's crazy," regardless of which side he was pretending to support.

mina wasn't listening anymore. she had absentmindedly opened a browser while everyone argued, your first name still lingering in the back of her mind after seeing it on the envelope earlier. quirk discrimination lawyer, right? it couldn't hurt to see what kind of firm you worked at. her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she typed. multiple results populated the screen. 

"hmm." nobody heard her, but she went on to the first link. the firm's homepage loaded almost immediately.

"hey, guys."

the conversation continued. she cleared her throat.

"AHEM, guys!"

denki stopped mid-sentence. everyone looked over. mina stared at her phone for another second before lifting her eyes mischievously toward kirishima.

"i think i found her," she says, sing-song like.

kirishima's brain short-circuited for a second. “found who, ‘her’?”

“miss lawyer! it's her, i'm ninety percent sure." mina held the sparkly pink phone up triumphantly. “mina, no.” he didn't move to take it. "you can't just look people up like that."

"she’s super gorgeous, by the way,” mina gushes, delighted at how easy it was. "totally could be a model." kirishima's frown deepened.

"oh my god—no way you're actually mad, are you?”

"i'm not mad, i just think it's weird to go looking for her before she wants me to see her!”

“you’re making it hard for the rest of us dudes, being so chivalrous,” sero said, "and also you’re lame if you aren’t a little curious.”

"i'm being a good person, sero. it's manly."

"you're being annoying," denki corrected, already leaning over mina's shoulder without asking anyone's permission. “c’mon mina, lemme see!”

"denki, move—"

"oh my GOD," denki said, way too loud for the room. “dude. she's so fucking pretty! i'm pissed. how the fuck does a random letter lead to this?!”

"it doesn't matter. she’ll show me when she’s ready.”

"you're the only man in this apartment who's ever turned down a glance at a pretty girl on principle. idiot," bakugou said, still not glancing up from his plate. kirishima's jaw drops at him. bakugo shrugs.

"kiri, even bakugou agrees," mina points.

"tch, i didn't agree with you! i said he's an idiot."

sero, who had clearly decided the debate portion of the evening was over, reached across the table and turned kirishima's whole head toward the phone by the jaw like he was adjusting a mannequin. "there. you've technically already seen it. might as well look properly now."

"you guys are so stubborn.”

“says you. look at the girl.”

his eyes flick to the screen.

it was just a staff photo. stiff, overlit, a photo every firm made its people take. ideally, it should make everyone look a little uglier than they were in person, but there you were: smiling, your eyes crinkling mid-moment, like someone off camera had said something funny right before the shutter clicked.

"yeah," kirishima said. "she's pretty." the table lost it immediately.

"THAT'S IT?" denki looked incredulous. "all you got is 'she's pretty'?"

"what do you want from me!"

"passion. feeling. use more words!"

"i have plenty of words, denki, i'm choosing not to use them right now!"

"veryyyy suspicious," mina said, already smug again.

bakugou ended it the only way he knows how. by chucking a fork at denki's head, enlisting a yelp from the poor blonde. "shut up! fuckin' irritating, the whole bunch of you. i'm eating."

denki rubs his head and sulks. "every single one of you is violent. violent i tell you."

mina slid her phone back into her pocket, entirely unbothered by having been yelled at. "i'm probs gonna find her insta later,"

"mina."

"keyword probably!"

kirishima went back to his food, ears warm, doing a very bad job of looking unbothered. it was going to be really hard to remove the image of you from his mind every time he's writing. he was already too smitten over you without knowing your face.

adjusting your pencil skirt exiting your car, you walk towards the entrance of the bright orange building. yuma told you this morning that fatgum's assistant emailed her back, and that he was ready to have a talk with you. 

you knew he was one of the best pro-heroes of your time. genuinely kind hearted, always involved in charity events and uplifting his fellow heroes. you were glad he was finally in good enough shape to come in to the office, at least. 

heroes and support staff were moving through the lobby like a whirlwind as you entered the complex. you were used to that atmosphere at hero-affiliated businesses. a couple minutes early, you decided to start reading over your notes while you waited at the front desk. suddenly, someone rounds the corner too fast and fully collides into you, knocking the documents out of your hands.

"geez, i'm so sorry!"

you stumbled backward, one heel slipping against the polished floor. you brace for the contact, but a large hand caught your upper arm before you could do so. the man had quick reflexes, whoever he was. "are you okay? i didn't hurt you, did i?" 

"i'm fine," you said automatically, looking down to regain your footing. then you looked up.

pro hero red riot was stood in front of you. arguably one of your favorite heroes but you weren't alone. children loved him. the elderly loved him. based on yuma's opinions, a terrifying number of women online loved him too. he was much larger in person than he appeared on television, which felt unfair considering he already looked particularly massive in interviews. his red hair was pulled away from his face in its usual sharp style, and he was dressed in black agency athletic-wear instead of his costume.

more notably, he looked horrified.

"i really didn't see you there," he continued. "not that you're hard to notice! you're obviously noticeable. i just meant i wasn't looking, which why would i be looking? wait, no—" the man was tripping over his words unlike anything you'd seen from him. wasn't he known to be a really charismatic guy..? oh well, pro-hero pr agents do work harder than the devil.

you blinked. "right."

"your papers!" 

he released your arm as if he had only just realized he was holding you and immediately crouched down. 

you knelt to help him gather the scattered documents, although he was moving with such frantic efficiency that there was barely anything left for you to pick up.

"you don't have to do all that," you told him. 

"no, it was my fault, i got it!"

he reached for one page at the same time you did, and your fingers brushed. red riot jerked his hand back hard enough to hit his elbow against the front desk, an audible thunk. the receptionist looked down at the commotion, mildly amused.

"ow, fuck!" you look at him with a concerned expression. count that the first time you heard red riot curse. "are you okay?" you asked.

"never better!" his voice cracked slightly.

you frowned, staring at him again. he seemed nice enough, if not a little strange. perhaps he was simply terrible around lawyers. then his gaze dropped to the front page of your files. your name and firm were printed clearly beneath the case heading, confirming his beliefs.

"thanks for helping. i wanted to know if you could show me to fatgum's office?"

something almost like understanding passed over his expression, although you couldn't imagine why. before you could question it, the elevator opened across the lobby and a sidekick called his hero name. red riot glanced over his shoulder.

“shoot, i’m sorry. i have to go lead patrol briefing," he said. “but hina will show you where it is.” he took two backward steps, towards the elevators doors. "and sorry again about nearly taking you out!”

you giggle. "i'll recover, big guy."

he smiled then, wide and warm enough that you finally understood some of yuma's ramblings. he does have some nice eyes. you watched him jog toward the elevator, narrowly avoid walking into a potted plant, and disappear behind the closing doors. what a strange man. 

you turned back toward the front desk. hina, the receptionist, was trying very hard not to burst out giggling.

“mr. fatgum is ready for you upstairs. just up and to the left." she said, pointing at the corridor.

you nod. "thank you."

fatgum's office was located on the highest floor of the agency, decorated with photographs, gifts from children, and framed newspaper clippings from his career. the man himself sat behind a wide desk, dressed casually with one arm still supported in a sling. he was in his normal form, a sharp contrast to the usual size of him you saw during villain fights. he looked a little thinner, probably due to the injury rest time.

"thanks for comin' all the way over," he greeted. "sorry i couldn't meet with ya sooner."

you give him a concerned smile. "please don't apologize. i'm glad you're recovering."

he chuckles. "slowly but surely, kid."

you took the seat across from him and opened your case folder. "your assistant mentioned the police returned the equipment."

fatgum's expression sobered. "yeah. they finished collectin' the forensics they needed from it. the thing's pretty torn up, but i figured you'd wanna see it anyways."

he pressed the intercom and asked someone to bring the evidence container in. "before we look at it, i'd like to go over the delivery," you said. "the report says the aegis frame arrived here two days before the accident." 

"that's right."

"who accepted it?"

"one of our support coordinators signed for the shipment, but i picked it up personally later."

you looked down at the report. "from hashima's courier?"

"not exactly." your pen paused.

fatgum leaned back carefully in his chair. "that's the strange part. i was supposed to get it straight from that young engineer that designed it. kami, i think her name was."

you looked up sharply. "but she didn't come."

"right. another email from hashima came the morning of the delivery sayin' the arrangement changed. told me to pick it up from another hashima employee at one of their satellite offices. i've never had to go out to get new equipment before."

a faint uneasiness crawled up your spine.

kami had never mentioned that she was expected to personally deliver the frame. according to her, the equipment had left her department after the final internal inspection. she believed it had gone directly to the agency through the usual shipping process.

"do you still have that email?"

he slid a printed copy across the desk. "my assistant pulled the whole thread for ya."

you scanned the first message. it appeared legitimate, right down to kami's professional signature and employee identification number. it matched the information that kami originally emailed you with her plea as well. so someone was using her credentials.

the second email, however, had been sent from a different internal hashima address. no name, just a jumble of letters and numbers. there was something oddly familiar about it. not the name itself. the department, perhaps. corporate relations and product reinforcement. you made a note beside it.

"did you speak with this employee?"

"briefly. he was a tall fella, dressed real sharp." he leaned towards you. "listen… off the record? the guy seemed like an asshole. he was actin' like he was in a hurry," fatgum recalled. "he said kami had been pulled into an emergency meeting and the team asked him to handle it."

"did he explain why the location changed?"

"nothing of the sort. was really in and out with giving me the gear. do you mind me asking why you're asking me questions if the police are investigating it already?" 

you give him a firm stare. "because i'm a quirk discrimination lawyer, i usually don't trust the initial investigation. i like to collect my own information, if that's okay."

fatgum raises his hands with a simple glance. "hey, i respect it. i'm willing to comply wherever possible."

the office door opened, and an agency member wheeled in a reinforced evidence case. fatgum nodded toward it.

"that's what's left of the frame."

once the latches were released, you stepped closer. the equipment inside hardly resembled the sleek silver structure from kami's blueprints and pictures. several sections had warped inward. the invisible plating had burned into a dark, glass-like substance around the joints, and internal wiring spilled out from the back of the structure. you pulled on the gloves provided by the police.

"which part failed first?"

"the left shoulder mechanism," fatgum explained. "it locked up when i used my quirk. then the chest plating started constricting instead of adjusting with it. the emergency releases didn't respond, and the rest is what everyone saw on the news." you crouched beside the container. something you noted while looking at the documents at home was that kami's original blueprints included three separate release systems. all of them were designed to function independently. even if someone had removed one during manufacturing, the other two should have activated. you examined the damaged control unit more closely. a part of the hardware control panel was blown open.

"was this panel open before the police recovered it?"

"as far as i know."

a row of screws along the edge caught your attention. most were damaged from the accident, the metal scratched and deformed. one was nearly untouched. newer than the others. you leaned closer. it was obvious someone had opened the control panel after the unit left kami assembled it.

"fatgum," you said carefully, "i'm going to need the original email files, not only printouts. the metadata is what i need. i also need security footage time stamps when you left the agency, the name of every employee who knew about the change, and the plate number of the car you used that day."

his face hardened.

"you think the handoff matters?"

"i'm telling you this because i trust you. but i know for a fact that kami didn't send either of these emails." you looked back at the second unfamiliar email. you shut the evidence case.

"and i think whoever gave this to you wanted everyone to believe she did."

fatgum's jaw tightened. "kid, i like you, and i want whoever did this to answer for it. but if what you’re saying is true..."

he reached into one of the folders on his desk and pulled out a business card, scribbling something before sliding it across to you.

"anything you need from my agency, you ask me directly. i don't care how inconvenient it is."

you looked down at the card before slipping it into your folder.

"thank you so much, fatgum."

"please, don't thank me yet." he shook his head. "i have a feeling you're going to need all the help you can get."

the man nods firmly after viewing the entirety of the footage clip. "thank you, hina. please send this to her as soon as you can." the little receptionist had a flash of mischief glimmer in her eyes. "mr. fatgum, can i show you something kinda funny?" 

he looks at her quizzically, but nods anyway. her fingers move rapidly and the time stamp from earlier this afternoon pulls up, where a certain red haired hero runs into you in the agency lobby. fatgum's eyes light up in recognition as he sees the awkward interaction of his second in charge bumbling about, trying to pick up the papers he spilled. 

hina's beside herself in a fit of giggles. "i don't know about you mr. fatgum, but i think kiri has a crush."

"huh. seems so."

guys i want fatgum

buy me a drink | taglist form | masterlist | previous | next

reblogs are highly appreciated ♡

taglist! @riotsgrl @beeh-ive @6x-x9 @toffeeepaw @pawwwginaaa @okaygojos @updownandbatty @iniko @yo2d @bearymuchso @aespie @its-a-snowflake @intrludefilm @snore_3 @tenselyglimmeringtwilight @astrea-x-star @rottengrlsworld @dabiluvr @starrsoasis @totallyhonestlymebree @notsiva @wtvm0m0 @vidadevivi @hushahushup @5-st4rr @justamewithherweirdlife @4k1to @amigo266 @megssleepygirl @kittychan-25 @casssiesthings @blu3berryies @citrustsuki @tojisleftnip @gaylittleboi69 @c00k13sandcr3am @aomi04 @Iambigwaffle @ykw-im @th3pillowprincess @chiiche @weirdowithaphone | dm me if you were not on this list and filled out my form

all dividers by @cafekitsune, photos from pinterest and art by unknown, credits to og

© sozila 2026, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

@ kamislop || masterlist ◦ Ko-fi ◦ requests ◦ taglist

┊┊🏷️: @tentypos, @simbaruto, @somethingwebs, @trilxogyyy, @27-awesome-ham-sandwiches, @nightmarenyxx, @vlinzoi, @updownandbatty, @levertons, @zmbkats, @lonelyfooryouonly, @abadbitchblogs, @hairiane-ari, @plutooowo, @mo072806, @xoxocelestial, @da1ntyli1ly, @mamashima, @v4mp1r3b4tzz, @love-d-luxe, @tokkushin, @amberr0ckz, @satorusane, @spookyeomgoose, @6x-x9, @bitchycoffeellama, @protectingpluto, @wannasleeppls, @skybluesskin, @miminist, @snore-3, @riotsgrl, @ie4ri, @sunnyjade4, @megssleepygirl, @jeanmarcosno1

Someone had actually pushed him off that roof, and [M.Name] had absolutely no idea who could have possibly harbored such hatred toward him that they would resort to something so final, so violent, so utterly devastating, and the possibilities that raced through his mind were almost as terrifying as the fall itself;

Perhaps it was someone within the agency who had grown tired of him, some jealous rival who saw him as an obstacle to their own ambitions, or maybe it was one of those obsessive fans who had taken their idolization to a dangerous, pathological extreme, or perhaps it was someone else entirely, someone he had wronged without even realizing it, some grudge he had unknowingly cultivated through years of navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry.

But those questions, as pressing and urgent as they were, would have to wait, because [M.Name]'s most immediate and confusing problem was the fact that he was very clearly, undeniably, and inexplicably alive, which made absolutely no sense whatsoever when he considered the physics of what had just happened to him.

How was that even remotely possible?

He had felt the air rushing past his ears, heard the distant screams that might have been his own or might have been the wind playing cruel tricks on his senses, seen the ground growing larger and larger beneath him with each passing millisecond, and yet here he was, lying on what felt like a bed, completely intact and without so much as a single broken bone to show for the experience.

Barely an hour ago — or at least, it felt like barely an hour ago, though time had become a rather slippery concept in the wake of everything that had happened — [M.Name] had been plummeting toward his death, and now he was sitting on a bed that felt far too familiar, a bed he hadn't slept in for long years, a bed that belonged to a dorm room he had long since left behind, and the sheer impossibility of the situation made his head spin with a dizzying intensity that threatened to pull him under.

What the actual fuck is happening?!

The thought exploded through his mind with the force of a bombshell, and [M.Name] found himself scrambling upright, his body moving on pure instinct as his eyes darted frantically around the room, cataloging every single detail with the desperate precision of someone trying to make sense of a reality that had suddenly become completely nonsensical.

The walls were painted that same soft, neutral color he remembered from his early days with the group, the posters of various artists and groups that had inspired them during their trainee years were still tacked up in the same haphazard arrangement, the cluttered desk in the corner held the same collection of notebooks and random items that he had accumulated during those first hectic months after debut, and even the faint, familiar scent of the fabric softener they had used back then lingered in the air like a ghost from the past.

This was the dorm room he had lived in five years ago, back when NOVAE had just debuted and everything had felt fresh and exciting and full of possibility, back when the four of them had been inseparable, practically attached at the hip, staying up late into the night to practice choreography or just talk about their hopes and dreams for the future, back before the relentless demands of the industry had slowly but surely eroded the bonds between them, turning what had once been genuine friendship into something far more transactional and distant.

But that was impossible, because they had moved out of this dorm over a year ago, trading it for something bigger and more luxurious as their success had grown, and [M.Name] should absolutely not be here, in this room that belonged to a version of himself that no longer existed, a version of himself that had been so full of hope and optimism and naive dreams that had eventually been ground down by the harsh realities of the idol industry.

So why the hell was he here?

Is... is it that I've gone back in time...?

The thought was so absurd, so completely and utterly ridiculous, that [M.Name] nearly laughed out loud at his own foolishness for even entertaining it; time travel was nothing more than a convenient plot device in the novels and manhwas he read during his rare moments of free time, a fantasy that allowed characters to fix their mistakes and rewrite their destinies, and there was absolutely no way on earth that such a thing could actually happen in real life, because the universe simply didn't work that way, reality didn't conform to the rules of fiction, and he was being absolutely insane for even considering the possibility.

"This is a dream," [M.Name] said out loud, his voice sounding strange and hollow in the quiet of the room, as if he was trying to convince himself through sheer force of will. "It has to be a dream. That's the only explanation that makes any sense."

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they weren't true, because dreams didn't feel this real, didn't carry the weight of physical sensation and emotional truth that this experience carried; he could feel the soft cotton of the sheets beneath his fingers, he could hear the distant hum of the city outside the window, he could smell the faint traces of the cologne he used to wear back then, he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs with a desperate, anxious rhythm that was far too visceral to be anything but genuine reality.

"It feels way too real to be a dream," he muttered, shaking his head slowly as if trying to physically dislodge the confusion that had taken root in his mind. "This is... this is actually happening. I think. Maybe. I don't know anymore."

[M.Name] pressed his left hand against his hip, the familiar gesture grounding him somewhat as his right hand came up to push his hair back from his forehead in a nervous, habitual motion that he had performed countless times before; but as his fingers threaded through the strands, he froze, his eyes widening slightly as he registered something that sent another wave of shock rippling through him.

His hair was longer than it should have been, noticeably so, the ends brushing against his shoulders in a way that he hadn't experienced in years; he had cut it short a while back, preferring the cleaner, more manageable style that required less maintenance during their hectic schedules, but now it was back to the length it had been when he was younger, when he had been experimenting with different looks and hadn't yet settled into a consistent style.

A long, shuddering sigh escaped his lips, and [M.Name] felt his shoulders slump forward as the weight of everything that was happening crashed down upon him with the force of a tidal wave; he didn't understand any of this, he didn't know how the hell it was even possible or why it was happening to him or what it meant for his future, and the uncertainty was absolutely maddening, gnawing at his thoughts like a persistent, unrelenting ache.

My phone.

The thought cut through the chaos of his mind like a beacon of clarity, and [M.Name] latched onto it with desperate determination; his phone was the one thing that could potentially answer at least some of his questions, the one tool that could confirm or deny the impossible theory that was slowly taking shape in his mind, the one object that could tell him what day it was, what year it was, whether he had truly traveled back in time or whether this was some elaborate, cruel hallucination spawned by a dying brain.

If he could just check the date, if he could just see for himself whether it was really five years ago or whether his mind was playing tricks on him, then maybe he could start to make sense of this situation, maybe he could find some grounding in the chaos, maybe he could figure out what the hell he was supposed to do now.

"Where the hell is my phone?" [M.Name] muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room with renewed urgency as he searched for the familiar device.

His gaze swept across the desk, the bedside table, the cluttered shelves, and the various surfaces where he typically left his phone when he wasn't using it, but the device was nowhere to be found, and a flicker of panic began to stir in his chest as the seconds ticked by without success; he needed to find that phone, he needed to confirm what was happening yo him, he needed to have something concrete to hold onto in this sea of uncertainty.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few moments, [M.Name] spotted the familiar shape of his phone lying on the floor near the edge of the bed, as if it had been dropped or knocked aside in the chaos of his awakening; without hesitation, he crossed the small room, his bare feet padding softly against the cool floor, and reached down to retrieve the device.

But as his fingers closed around the phone, something caught his attention, something that made him stop dead in his tracks with his heart lurching violently in his chest.

"What the..."

There was a mirror directly in front of him, hanging on the wall where he had always kept it back in those early days, and the reflection staring back at [M.Name] was undeniably, unmistakably himself, but that wasn't what had caused his breath to catch in his throat, that wasn't what had made his blood run cold with a sudden, bone-deep shock.

The reflection was him, yes, but it was a version of him that shouldn't exist anymore, a version of him that belonged to a different time, a different life; his face was younger, softer, lacking the subtle lines of exhaustion that had etched themselves into his features over the years.

His skin had that healthy, vibrant glow that came from youth and hope and the belief that the future held nothing but good things, and his eyes — God, his eyes — held a brightness, a spark of something that he had long since lost, something that had been extinguished by the relentless pressures of the industry and the gradual dissolution of the bonds that had once meant everything to him.

He was twenty years old again.

The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, and [M.Name] staggered backward, his hand releasing the phone as he stumbled away from the mirror, his heart racing wildly against his chest as the implications of what he was seeing crashed over him in wave after wave of overwhelming shock.

Twenty years old.

He was twenty years old again, which meant that NOVAE had just debuted, which meant that everything that had happened in the past five years — every success, every failure, every moment of joy and every moment of heartbreak — had been undone, wiped away as if it had never happened, leaving him with the daunting, terrifying prospect of having to live through it all over again.

The good times, the bad times, the gradual drift that had turned his bandmates from brothers into mere coworkers, the loneliness that had crept in like a slow poison, the sense of isolation that had become so familiar that he had stopped even trying to fight it — all of it was going to happen again, and [M.Name] would have to sit back and watch as the people he had once loved like family slowly slipped away from him, becoming strangers wearing familiar faces.

"I can't do this," [M.Name] whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the image of his younger self that still haunted his vision. "I can't go through all of that again. I can't watch them drift away again. I can't—I just can't."

His hands found their way into his hair, his fingers gripping the longer strands with a desperate, almost painful intensity as he tried to process everything that was happening; the familiar ache of his scalp provided a small, grounding sensation, something to focus on besides the overwhelming chaos of his thoughts.

"How is this possible?" he muttered through gritted teeth, the words barely audible even to himself. "This doesn't make any sense. This isn't supposed to happen. This only happens in stories, in fiction, in—"

Lowering his hands slightly, [M.Name] couldn't help but steal another glance toward the mirror, despite knowing that doing so would only confirm what he already knew to be true; the reflection stared back at him with those bright, hopeful eyes, that younger, softer face, that slightly longer hair that he had almost forgotten he ever had, and the sight of it made something twist painfully in his chest.

Holy fucking shit, I'm actually twenty years old again.

The thought was both terrifying and strangely liberating, a paradox that [M.Name] didn't have the emotional bandwidth to fully process at the moment; he was younger, healthier, full of potential that he had long since squandered, but he was also being given a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite the script of his life in ways he had never even imagined possible.

At this point, absolutely nothing could be worse than this current situation — or so he tried to convince himself, because if he was twenty again, that meant he and his group were at the very beginning of their career, teetering on the edge of everything they had ever dreamed of, and they were going to have to start all over again from scratch, rebuilding everything from the ground up, navigating the treacherous waters of the entertainment industry with the knowledge of what lay ahead weighing heavily on his shoulders.

And that wasn't even the worst part.

Because the worst part was the distance that had grown between them over the years, the way they had gone from being inseparable brothers to polite strangers who happened to share a stage; the bond that had once seemed unbreakable had slowly, inexorably crumbled under the weight of success and pressure and the simple passage of time.

[M.Name] would have to watch it happen all over again, he would have to experience the slow erosion of their friendship, he would have to—

【   Welcome, Player!   】

"What the—"

[M.Name]'s eyes snapped wide open as a brilliant blue screen materialized directly in front of him, hovering in midair with an impossible, otherworldly presence that made absolutely no sense in the context of his normal, mundane reality; the text was crisp and clear, almost glowing with an ethereal light, and for a long moment, [M.Name] could do nothing but stare at it with his mouth slightly agape, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing.

Are you fucking with me right now?

The thought was equal parts incredulous and furious, because seriously, was the universe playing some kind of elaborate joke on him? First he got pushed off a roof, then he woke up in the past, and now he was being greeted by what appeared to be a video game interface? What was next, a tutorial level? A pop-up explaining the controls?

This was absolutely ridiculous, and [M.Name] found himself torn between the urge to laugh hysterically and the urge to scream in frustration.

He had really thought things couldn't get worse than they already were, that the situation had reached its peak of absurdity, but apparently [M.Name] had severely underestimated the universe's capacity for fucking with him, because how in the name of all that was holy had a blue screen just appeared before his eyes like something out of a sci-fi movie or a video game?

【   A mission has just been assigned to you!   】

"You cannot be serious," [M.Name] said, his voice dripping with dramatic disbelief as he grabbed handfuls of his hair between his fingers, the familiar sensation of the strands slipping through his grip doing little to calm the rising tide of panic and frustration that was building in his chest. "A system? A mission? Are you actually kidding me right now?!"

Because this was insane, absolutely and completely insane; [M.Name] was just a k-pop idol, not some fantasy hero destined to fight monsters or save the world, so why the hell would he need a system giving him missions? What kind of cosmic joke was this? What had he ever done to deserve this level of absurdity?

His mind raced with a thousand questions, each one more frantic than the last, but before he could fully articulate any of them, the screen before him shifted, new text appearing in that same ethereal glow that made his skin prickle with unease;

【   MAIN MISSION #001 :

Share a true friendship with the members of NOVAE.

Time: Indefinite.

If failure: Death.

Reward: ???   】

The words seemed to burn themselves into his retinas, and [M.Name] found himself reading them over and over again, each repetition driving the gravity of the situation deeper into his consciousness.

'Share a true friendship with the members of NOVAE.'

The sentence echoed in his mind like a mantra, and he stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, his thoughts spiraling in increasingly chaotic directions as he tried to parse the meaning behind the words, tried to understand why such a mission had been assigned to him, what it meant for his future, and what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

If he remembered correctly — and he was fairly certain he did, given that the memories of those early days were some of the few that had remained untainted by the bitterness and distance that had come later — the four members of NOVAE, himself included, had already shared a close and sincere friendship when they first debuted; they had been inseparable, united by their shared dreams and struggles, bonded by the grueling years they had spent training together, and their friendship had been one of the things that had set them apart from other groups, that had made fans fall in love with them.

So why was this his mission? Why did he need to share a true friendship with them when he had already done exactly that?

Unless...

Is it because of the fact that we drifted apart over the years?

The thought was like a knife to the chest, sharp and painful and unavoidable, because it was true, wasn't it? They had started out as brothers, as close as close could be, but somewhere along the way, the demands of their careers had taken their toll, the relentless schedule and constant pressure had worn them down, and the bond that had once seemed unbreakable had slowly, inevitably eroded into something far less substantial.

They had become coworkers, professional acquaintances who happened to share a stage, and the friendship that had once defined them had faded into nothing more than a distant memory, a ghost of what it had once been, and the realization of how much they had lost hit [M.Name] with a force that left him breathless.

"Ah, seriously..."

[M.Name] no longer thought this whole situation was a dream — the evidence was far too overwhelming, far too concrete to be dismissed as a product of his imagination — and that realization was far worse than everything else that had happened to him, because it meant that this was real, that he had actually traveled back in time, that he had been given a second chance, and that he now had a system giving him missions with the threat of death hanging over his head if he failed.

For God's sake...

He had died, he had been pushed off a roof by some unknown assailant, and instead of simply ceasing to exist, he had been thrust into this impossible situation, given a second chance at life with conditions attached, and now he had to navigate this new reality with the knowledge that failure meant death and success meant... what? What was the reward? The question marks that had appeared on the screen offered no clues, no hints, nothing but the promise of something unknown, something that could be anything from wonderful to terrible.

It looks like this new life is going to be very, very complicated and full of surprises.

The thought was laced with a dark, bitter humor that did little to alleviate the weight pressing down on his shoulders, but it was better than despair, better than panic, better than the overwhelming confusion that had threatened to consume him in the wake of everything that had happened.

[M.Name] was alive, he was twenty years old again, he had a second chance to fix his relationships, to rebuild what had been lost, to maybe, just maybe, find a way to preserve the bonds that had meant everything to him before they had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

And maybe, just maybe, that was worth fighting for.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, [M.Name] forced himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror, to really look at the younger version of himself staring back, and he made a silent promise to that bright-eyed boy, a promise that he would do everything in his power to protect him, to guide him, to make sure that this time around, things would be different.

"I'm going to figure this out," [M.Name] said aloud, his voice firm despite the lingering tremor of uncertainty that ran through it. "I don't know how this happened or why, but I'm going to figure it out, and I'm going to make sure that everything turns out differently this time. I swear it."

The words hung in the air like a vow, and for the first time since waking up in this impossible reality, [M.Name] felt a glimmer of something that might have been hope stirring in his chest, fragile and tentative but undeniably present.

He didn't know what the future held, he didn't know how he was going to accomplish the mission that had been set before him, and he didn't know who had pushed him off that roof or why, but he knew one thing for certain; he wasn't going to give up without a fight.

This time, he was going to do things differently.

This time, he was going to hold onto what mattered.

This time, he was going to save his friendship with the members of NOVAE, no matter what it took.

The blue screen flickered once, twice, and then faded away into nothing, leaving [M.Name] alone with his reflection and his determination and the knowledge that his new life was about to begin.

And it was going to be one hell of a ride.

previous masterlist next

note ∘ ∘ ∘ i’ve always wanted to write an original book but i was way too lazy to actually do it because wdym i have to create an entire universe, the lore AND all the characters??? 😭 but after rereading DEBUT OR DIE for God knows how many times i got violently hit by this idea and … well, here we are! so i genuinely hope you’ll enjoy reading MIDNIGHT FICTION as much as i love writing it 🫶🏼