Jinwoo Lee died on a Tuesday.

It wasn’t dramatic, not in the way it should’ve been. No thunderstorms, no car crash, no screaming final words. Just cold metal under his skin as he lay bleeding in the apartment he shared with the man he loved—Minjae—and the friend he trusted like family—Haejin.

He’d come home early that day. Just one hour early. Just enough time to hear the moaning behind the bedroom door. To hear his name on someone else’s lips, being used like a joke, gasped in pleasure by the person who once kissed his forehead and called him “my everything.”

He should have screamed. Should have thrown something. But he stood there frozen. Heart thudding like the soft beat of a funeral drum. When the door opened and they saw him, Minjae didn’t even look guilty. He had the audacity to say, “You were supposed to be at work.”

Haejin just pulled the sheets higher to cover herself, biting her lip in a way that used to look shy, but now seemed filthy.

Then came the push. The shouting. The blur. Jinwoo remembered being shoved. He remembered the sharp pain when his head hit the corner of the coffee table. And then…

Nothing.

---

The world around him returned in the sterile quiet of a hospital hallway. Not white and clinical—beige and depressing. Like the place had long given up on hope. There were voices. Muffled.

Jinwoo blinked.

The lights above him were too familiar. The hum of the fluorescents. The smell of hospital-grade sanitizer. He gasped and sat up, clutching his chest. His body—his body wasn't bruised. No blood. No broken bones.

He looked down at his hands. Smooth. Younger.

The wall clock said 2021.

No.

He was supposed to be in 2024. He was supposed to be dead.

---

It took hours to accept what had happened. It took a spilled cup of vending machine coffee, a mirror, and a date on a nurse’s clipboard to confirm it.

He was back.

Three years before Minjae and Haejin betrayed him.

Three years before he gave everything to a man who threw it all away like garbage.

His phone still had old messages. His email still had unopened interview offers from companies he never joined. He hadn’t quit his toxic job yet. He hadn’t moved in with Minjae. He hadn’t told Haejin his secrets. Everything that had hurt him hadn’t happened yet.

But it would—unless he changed it.

---

Jinwoo was not the same man he had been in 2021.

This version of him was colder. Sharper. His kindness now layered with steel beneath the soft voice. He smiled at Haejin when she sent her usual good-morning selfie—but inside, he was already planning how to cut her off cleanly.

He responded to Minjae’s flirtatious texts with polite indifference, not the shy eagerness he once had. Let the bastard wonder why his pet wasn’t wagging its tail anymore.

But what Jinwoo didn’t expect… was Yunho.

Yunho was the quiet team lead in a department Jinwoo used to ignore. Tall, broad-shouldered, always dressed in black and navy. He never smiled unless something truly delighted him. In the old timeline, Jinwoo only remembered him as the man who once covered for his work mistake—nothing more.

But now, in this life, Yunho looked at him differently. As if Jinwoo were a mystery he’d seen unravel before.

One day, after a long staff meeting, Yunho cornered him at the elevator.

“You’re different these days,” he said. His voice was low. Like smoke.

Jinwoo blinked. “Different how?”

Yunho studied him for a long moment. “You stopped apologizing before speaking. That’s new.”

Jinwoo gave him a thin smile. “I guess I’m tired of apologizing for existing.”

That earned him a soft laugh. Just once. Quiet and real. Yunho leaned closer as the elevator doors opened.

“I like this version of you,” he murmured. “Don’t let anyone ruin it.”

Jinwoo watched him walk away.

In his past life, no one had said things like that to him. No one had looked at him the way Yunho did.

Was he being kind? Or did he see too much?

---

Later that night, Jinwoo sat alone in his apartment. His fingers hovered over the call history. Minjae’s name blinked at him like a trap.

He pressed block.

Then he opened the old messages he’d saved. Screenshots. Hidden photos. Evidence from three years in the future. Photos of Haejin wearing Jinwoo’s necklace in Minjae’s bed. Proof of falsified reports that got him fired to make room for Haejin’s promotion. Every little betrayal. Every knife to the back, documented and timestamped.

This time, he wouldn’t wait for justice. He’d create it.

But he’d play the long game. Like they did.

---

The next morning at work, Haejin latched onto his arm like she always did.

“Jinwoo-ya~ let’s get lunch together, ne?” she cooed. “I heard they added your favorite at the cafeteria!”

Jinwoo smiled so sweetly it made her blink. “Actually,” he said, “I’m having lunch with Team Leader Yunho today.”

“Oh?” Her voice faltered. “Since when do you talk to him?”

“Since he started paying attention to me.”

He patted her hand and pulled away.

Her smile wobbled.

Jinwoo didn’t look back.

---

That day at lunch, Yunho didn’t say much at first. He just watched Jinwoo eat slowly, as if memorizing every bite.

“Why me?” Jinwoo asked finally. “You could be eating with anyone.”

Yunho wiped his mouth with a napkin and said calmly, “Because you’re pretending you haven’t been hurt before. And I can see the cracks.”

Jinwoo stared at him, heart suddenly cold. “What if I told you not to look too closely?”

Yunho’s eyes didn’t waver. “Then I’d ask why you’re afraid of being seen.”

Jinwoo’s breath caught.

Don’t fall, he warned himself. Don’t trust. Don’t hope.

But a part of him—a small, quiet part—whispered that maybe, just maybe, this time… he wouldn’t have to walk through hell alone.

Jinwoo kept his secrets behind his smile.

The new Jinwoo—this Jinwoo—wasn’t the kind to sit still and hope karma did the dirty work. He had three years of betrayal carved into his bones, and now time was begging him to rewrite every moment. But revenge wasn’t just fire and fury. It had to be clean. Silent. Beautiful.

Like a poisoned cup of tea.

And the first one to drink would be Haejin.

---

Haejin’s weakness wasn’t just Minjae—it was attention. She fed on it like air. Being admired, pitied, envied. She had to be the center of every circle, every conversation. So Jinwoo pulled away. Bit by bit. No longer answering texts within seconds. No longer laughing at her bad jokes. No longer offering sympathy when she whined about how “hard” her life was.

And she noticed.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked one afternoon, cornering him by the printer room.

“No,” Jinwoo said gently. “Just… growing up.”

He left her standing there with a bright, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

By Monday, rumors were already spreading. “Did you see Haejin and Minjae talking outside last night?” “A little too close, don’t you think?”

All Jinwoo had to do was raise a brow and stay silent. That was the beauty of truth—once you planted the seed, it watered itself.

---

Meanwhile, Yunho was watching him.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a concerned way.

He was observant. Calculating. He didn’t pry, didn’t ask too many questions. But he noticed—the way Jinwoo kept his phone face-down during breaks. The way he never flinched when people gossiped near him. The way he scanned a room like he was looking for exits, not friends.

And he didn’t offer pity. He offered space. Stability. A quiet presence at his side like a lighthouse in fog.

Jinwoo had to admit—it was disarming.

Too disarming.

---

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yunho’s voice cut through the silence of the rooftop break area. He stood beside Jinwoo, hands in his pockets, his black jacket ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jinwoo replied, sipping his coffee.

“Then you can just sit and pretend with me,” Yunho said, leaning on the railing. “I’m good at that.”

Jinwoo looked over at him. “Why do you care?”

Yunho smiled without teeth. “Because you remind me of someone who cared too late.”

There was a pause. A long one.

“…What happened to them?” Jinwoo asked.

“They disappeared before I could say sorry.”

Something inside Jinwoo twisted. He turned his face away, shielding himself behind the rim of his coffee cup.

They stood in silence after that.

But it wasn’t empty.

---

The next phase of his plan began on Thursday.

Jinwoo had once overheard Minjae bragging about a minor accounting trick he used to skim bonuses from team budgets. Just a little here and there. Enough to go unnoticed. But not to someone who knew where to look.

This time, Jinwoo started logging expenses early. Took screenshots. Collected timestamps. Made sure to “accidentally” CC the wrong department head on an email Minjae would later use for manipulation.

He was building a trap. And Minjae, in all his arrogance, wouldn’t even see the rope tightening around his throat.

---

“You’re… scaring me lately,” Haejin said that evening as they walked out of work.

Jinwoo smiled at her sweetly. “Why?”

“You just feel different.” Her voice dropped. “Colder.”

“I’m not cold, Haejin,” he said. “I’m just not blind anymore.”

She stopped walking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “Nothing.” A pause. Then: “Do you still see Minjae?”

Her eyes widened. “W-what? Why would you ask that?”

“I didn’t say you were,” Jinwoo replied. “I asked if you still do.”

He turned away before she could recover.

Let her stew. Let her panic.

Guilt made people sloppy.

---

Later that night, Jinwoo lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. His apartment was still the cheap studio it had always been before Minjae “rescued” him with promises of shared rent and shared dreams. Back then, he had believed love meant sacrifice. That being chosen meant being saved.

Now he understood: being chosen wasn’t the same as being valued.

His phone buzzed.

[Yunho]

Are you awake?

He hesitated, then replied:

[Jinwoo]

I am now.

[Yunho]

Come out. I’ll drive. You need air.

---

They drove in silence. No destination. Just city lights and winding streets. Yunho didn’t ask questions. Just let Jinwoo breathe.

Eventually, they ended up at a quiet hill overlooking Seoul. The kind of place couples came to park and make out.

Jinwoo laughed softly. “Romantic. Should I be worried?”

Yunho smirked. “If I wanted to seduce you, I wouldn’t take you to a hilltop covered in pigeon crap.”

“…So you don’t want to seduce me?” Jinwoo asked before he could stop himself.

There was a pause.

Yunho’s voice was lower than usual when he answered. “Not tonight.”

Jinwoo’s heart skipped.

---

They sat on the hood of Yunho’s car, legs stretched, shoulders brushing.

“Why are you really helping me?” Jinwoo asked quietly.

Yunho’s profile was sharp in the moonlight. “I don’t like watching good people be destroyed. You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed, Jinwoo.”

“Who hurt you?”

“My best friend,” Yunho said, after a pause. “He lied. Took someone from me. Then pretended it was fate.”

“And you let him go?”

“No.” Yunho’s eyes glinted. “I let him live with everything he lost.”

Jinwoo swallowed.

“...That sounds like revenge.”

Yunho looked at him. “Revenge isn’t evil. It’s justice with memory.”

Jinwoo’s chest tightened.

Maybe, he thought, I wasn’t brought back to be alone.

Maybe fate wasn’t punishing him.

Maybe it was giving him an ally.

Or a weapon.

---

By the next morning, Jinwoo had already planted the final piece: an anonymous complaint with attached documentation about budget inconsistencies in Minjae’s team.

Not enough to get him fired.

Just enough to spark an audit.

And fear.

The first crack in the perfect image Minjae built.

The first tremor in the world Jinwoo would bury him in.

The audit began quietly. No announcement. No drama. Just a group of suits from Compliance walking into the finance department with clipboards and forced smiles.

Jinwoo didn’t look up from his desk when it happened.

But he smiled.

---

By noon, the whispers had begun.

“Is someone getting investigated?”

“They’re looking at purchase orders and bonuses. Something’s off.”

“Wait—Minjae’s name came up?”

Haejin was the first to panic.

She stood at the copy machine, nails tapping against the edge of a report, clearly trying not to look like she was eavesdropping.

Jinwoo passed behind her with perfect timing, dropping a file on the tray, his voice low but loaded.

“Did you know Minjae used to handle bonus allocations manually?”

Her head snapped toward him. “What?”

He gave her a practiced blink of innocent surprise. “Oh. You didn’t?”

Then he walked away.

---

That afternoon, Minjae stormed out of a conference room looking like a kicked dog in a designer suit. His usual cocky smirk had curdled into something mean. Haejin followed three minutes later, pale-faced and tight-lipped.

The sight of them made Jinwoo’s coffee taste sweeter.

He returned to his desk and found a post-it note stuck to his screen.

“You’re playing with fire. Be careful.”

– No name.

But the handwriting was clean. Familiar.

He didn’t need a signature to know it was from Yunho.

---

They met again on the rooftop.

“Was it you?” Yunho asked. He didn’t look angry—just resigned.

“Would it matter if it was?” Jinwoo replied calmly.

“I just want to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Jinwoo turned to face him, the city stretching wide and bright behind him. “Far enough to make sure I never get used again.”

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver. “And if you lose yourself in the process?”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “Then maybe I was never worth saving.”

That made something flicker across Yunho’s face. Not pity. Something harder.

“You are,” he said.

And he stepped closer.

Close enough that their shoulders touched again.

Close enough that Jinwoo could feel his breath, calm and steady, like an anchor in a sea full of traitors.

---

That night, Jinwoo went home and opened his old box of things. Things he’d packed away before he moved in with Minjae in the previous timeline. Photographs. Birthday cards. A chain bracelet he thought he lost years ago—Minjae had said it must’ve fallen out during laundry.

Jinwoo stared at it now, knowing full well what had actually happened.

Minjae had given it to Haejin.

He remembered the photo he’d found just before his death. Her wearing it. Posing in his shirt. Looking proud of what she stole.

He snapped the bracelet in half with his hands.

No more pieces of himself left for liars.

---

The next day, Haejin showed up with coffee and a sickly-sweet smile.

“Jinwoo-ya~” she sang. “You look so tired lately. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, not looking up. “Just busy.”

She slid the coffee cup toward him. “Thought you might want your favorite.”

He stared at it. Slowly. Then pushed it back toward her.

“You can have it. I’m not thirsty.”

Her smile faltered. “Are you… mad at me?”

He finally looked up. His eyes sharp, voice cool. “Should I be?”

She flinched. “Of course not! I just—you’ve been so cold lately. It’s like you don’t trust me anymore.”

“I don’t,” he said, plainly.

And before she could even fake a tear, he picked up his phone and walked away.

---

That evening, Yunho found him sitting in the underground parking lot on the hood of his own car, staring at nothing.

“You alright?” he asked.

Jinwoo didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Do you ever think about what you would’ve done differently if you had the chance to do everything again?”

Yunho leaned against the next car over, arms crossed. “Every day.”

Jinwoo glanced over. “And would you do it?”

“I am.”

Silence.

Then Yunho added, “I used to think forgiveness made people stronger. Now I think it just makes people tired.”

Jinwoo smiled bitterly. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘weak.’”

“No,” Yunho said. “It means you tried.”

He stepped closer.

And for the first time, Jinwoo didn’t pull away.

---

The next Monday, the first blow landed.

Minjae’s team lost its upcoming project contract due to “unreliable financial practices.”

The email went out company-wide.

Jinwoo watched from his desk as Minjae sat frozen, staring at the screen. Then suddenly bolting to his manager’s office, shouting things he couldn’t take back.

The walls were thin. Everyone heard.

By 11 AM, Minjae had been pulled into a private meeting with HR.

By noon, Haejin stopped smiling altogether.

Jinwoo hummed as he watered the office plants.

---

That night, Yunho drove him home again.

But this time, when they reached Jinwoo’s apartment, Yunho didn’t drive away.

He got out. Followed him up the stairs.

Stood in his doorway.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, voice low.

Jinwoo stared at him for a long second. “Why are you really here, Yunho?”

Yunho stepped forward.

“Because I want to protect you,” he said. “And I want to break the hands of anyone who hurt you.”

Jinwoo’s breath hitched.

Then he turned, unlocked the door, and let him in.

---

Inside, the apartment was small. Neat. Too clean. Too empty. Like no one had ever really lived there.

Yunho didn’t comment.

Jinwoo leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

“I’m not fragile,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“I’m not looking for someone to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to,” Yunho replied. He stepped closer. “I just want to stand beside you.”

Something in Jinwoo cracked. Just a little.

He hadn’t cried since coming back. Not once. But now, standing in front of someone who didn’t want to use him, lie to him, or turn him into a stepping stone—

It hurt.

Yunho reached out.

And Jinwoo let him.

No kisses. No whispered confessions. Just hands on hands. Warmth. Presence.

And a promise:

This time, you won’t fall alone.