Humanity might vanish in the blink of an eye—just thirteen days remain until the world, as we know it, ends.
The news hit like lightning out of a clear sky. And yet, strangely, the next day, life carried on as usual. The world didn't stop spinning. At the funeral home, staff busied themselves preparing the hall for the deceased's final farewell. Though there had been concerns the emergency situation might disrupt the burial, the late man's nieces, nephews, and close friends arrived as promised. Everything proceeded smoothly—on the surface, at least.
As the hearse made its way to the crematorium, it rolled slowly through the city's familiar chaos. The view through the tinted windows was almost indistinguishable from any other day. People still bustled off to work, markets buzzed with haggling vendors and customers, the roads teemed with traffic, and planes continued to streak across the sky. But there was something new—something impossible to ignore. Soldiers stood guard at nearly every corner, their eyes scanning for threats. Emergency military notices plastered city walls, the glaring red ink screaming warnings no one dared to voice.
"Will that asteroid really strike?" I wondered, staring up at the sky, which somehow seemed gloomier than before.
"Or do they really believe they can destroy it?"
On NewTube, the virtual cacophony of madness exploded, filling every corner of the digital world with outlandish conspiracy theories.
"Aliens! It's the aliens! They've redirected the asteroid to wipe us out!"
"The asteroid isn't real! This is just a military ruse for a coup—they've already taken over the media!"
"A prophet foresaw this. He says only his 18,000 followers will survive. The registration's almost full—sign up now if you want to live!"
Meanwhile, the news broadcast scenes of chaos from airports. Thousands of people crammed into departure halls, scrambling to flee the country, desperate to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Okinawa—the predicted impact zone. Flights to Europe and South America sold out in an instant, with ticket prices soaring to absurd heights. Yet no one seemed to care about the cost.
Amid the growing hysteria, a single question gnawed at my mind. "Should I also book a plane ticket as soon as possible?"
I didn't have an answer. Time was ticking, and the window for making decisions was rapidly closing. The world inched closer to its end. Yet humanity, as it always does, chose to pretend it didn't hear the approaching footsteps of doom.
****
"Come on, let's have a meal together with the friends who've helped us out today. Raise a glass to celebrate this moment! You've worked so hard—thank you so much!" Dong-Joo's voice rang out warmly, brimming with sincerity.
After the cremation ceremony concluded, Dong-Joo handed a thick envelope filled with cash to Gwak Hyeong-Gyu, an old friend from his youth. Their bond went back years—back to high school, where they had been fierce rivals, constantly battling for the top spot in their third-year class. Yet, life had taken them down starkly different paths after those turbulent school days.
Hyeong-Gyu, once aspiring to become a lawyer like Dong-Joo, had faced repeated failures in his attempts to pass the law school entrance exams. After years of trying, he finally gave up and returned to his hometown of Gwangju. Now, he served as the head of food safety at the Dong-gu district office—a position far removed from the dreams of his youth but one he carried out with quiet dedication.
"Oh, come on now. You're the one who's really gone above and beyond today," Hyeong-Gyu said, a tired smile softening his features. "Oh, by the way, Sang-Jin said he's on his way. Should be here any moment."
"He's coming here?" Dong-Joo raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"Yeah. He said he felt guilty about not making it to the funeral home, so he insisted on showing up at the crematorium."
Dong-Joo let out a small scoff, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Sang-Jin, his childhood best friend, hadn't even bothered to come to the funeral home to pay his respects. Yet, knowing Sang-Jin had made the effort to come to the crematorium softened his annoyance just a little.
"Dong-ah! How's it going?" Sang-Jin's voice boomed from afar, followed by his lanky figure jogging towards them.
Sang-Jin had been Dong-Joo's close friend in high school and had gone on to attend the same university. The two had once been inseparable, even joining the campus Go club together. But Sang-Jin's life had taken a dramatic turn after those carefree university days.
Back then, Sang-Jin was a star student, attending on a full scholarship and the pride of his family. Yet the allure of the Go club began to consume him, leading him down a completely unexpected path.
While Dong-Joo funneled all his energy into law school preparations, Sang-Jin was the type to savor the present without worrying much about an uncertain future. What began as a casual pastime—playing Go for fun—soon spiraled into something far more consuming. By day, Sang-Jin played Go matches; by night, he found himself at poker tables or mahjong games. His studies took a backseat to his gambling pursuits, and his once-impeccable academic performance suffered.
Four years of living recklessly ended predictably. Sang-Jin failed to meet the graduation requirements and eventually dropped out of university. He returned to Gwangju, where his name gradually gained notoriety in the local Go-playing community, particularly in the underground gambling dens known as *kiga*. Initially, he approached the game with noble intentions, but gambling slowly took over his life. The money he earned from his bets was enough to buy him a house and earn him a degree of respect in the niche world of Gwangju's gamblers.
Yet today, he looked far from respectable.
"You're holding up okay, right?" Dong-Joo asked, his tone probing, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Sang-Jin's disheveled appearance.
"Ugh, I'm so sorry!" Sang-Jin groaned, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Honestly, I had this huge match with some kids from Seogang. They're incredible players. I managed to win two rounds of poker!"
"Impressive," Dong-Joo replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Yeah, well, I thought I'd walk away with a decent haul. But they wouldn't let me leave! I ended up playing for two nights straight and—well, you can guess how that turned out. Lost everything. Again. I only managed to get out of there when I was completely exhausted. I'm really sorry, Dong-Joo!"
Sang-Jin wiped his pale, haggard face, his greasy hair unkempt and sticking out in odd directions. Despite the chaotic state of his friend, Dong-Joo could only sigh deeply. This was Sang-Jin in a nutshell—the same as ever, for better or worse.
"You never change, do you?" Dong-Joo said at last, his words carrying a hint of exasperation but tinged with a faint, knowing smile.
Sang-Jin chuckled weakly, then plopped down beside Dong-Joo. For a moment, their light-hearted chatter filled the heavy silence of the crematorium. It was as though time had rewound, bringing back fragments of a simpler past—a time when their biggest worries were high school rankings, chess games, and the fleeting promise of youth.