Episode 1:

Goodbye, Stein

“Test… test…”

The microphone let out a low hum. A sharp metallic ring shot up toward the ceiling, then fell back down, leaving a thin residue of sound hanging in the air, just enough to irritate the ears. Varen Io sat beneath the stage, listening to it. He had held microphones like that countless times over the years, yet today it felt strangely unfamiliar. He wasn’t even touching it, but he could almost feel the cold surface of metal resting against his fingers.

At the front of the auditorium hung a large banner.

<Professor Varen Io, Department of Mechanical Engineering>

<Retirement Ceremony>

The black letters stood neatly against a white background, so perfectly aligned that they seemed as though they might outlast the person they described. Professors filled the front rows, while students scattered themselves across the seats behind them. Some sat upright, ready to applaud. Others stared down at their phones, fingers moving restlessly. The warmth rising from the crowd softened the room, slowly settling over his shoulders.

Retirement ceremonies always followed the same rhythm. Achievements were summarized, time was polished into something smoother than it had been, a few jokes were placed carefully to draw laughter — and in the end, the person at the center would step up to the microphone. It wasn’t his turn yet, but his eyes kept drifting back to it. How many times had he stood there? Explaining the principles of machines, only to find himself, at some point, talking about choices. Speaking of design, then asking about human standards. His lectures had always drifted slightly sideways, and sometimes, his students got lost along the way.

A quiet whisper rose from somewhere behind him. It was meant to pass unnoticed, something to fill the boredom of waiting, but because it was about him, it reached him clearly.

“He’s a great professor… but sometimes I get confused.”

“About what?”

“Whether I enrolled in engineering… or philosophy.”

A small laugh followed.

Without turning his head, Varen spoke calmly. “You’re in engineering.” Then, after a brief pause, “Don’t worry. Your tuition isn’t being wasted.”

Laughter broke out, this time louder, loosening the weight that had settled over the room.

On stage, the department chair continued speaking, but Varen found himself listening to something else entirely. Someone said he felt like a philosophy professor. Someone else joked that he was a Socrates wandering around Einstein’s neighborhood. He neither denied nor accepted any of it. Instead, his gaze drifted somewhere far from the stage — back to a night long ago, to a worn desk, to two sheets of paper lying side by side.

It had been the night before application deadlines.

The papers looked identical at first glance. Same size, same stillness. But when he placed his hand over them, they felt different — subtly, but unmistakably so. From beyond the door, his father’s voice lingered in the room.

“Can you even make a living with that?”

He sat there for a long time, saying nothing, as if the decision were being watched. Eventually, he turned one of the papers over. When the tip of his pen touched the other, his wrist moved before any thought could catch up. Only after his signature was complete did his breath begin to loosen. From that day on, he chose tools over blades.

“And now, we invite Professor Varen Io to say a few words.”

Applause rose, then settled quickly. Varen stood, glanced once at the bouquet in his hands, and walked up to the stage. As he took hold of the microphone, the coldness of the metal traveled slowly into his fingers. He took a brief breath, then began.

“I’m not here to talk about retirement.”

A subtle shift moved through the audience. Chairs creaked. A few heads lifted.

“I’m changing jobs.”

Laughter spread.

“Where to?,” someone called out.

Varen paused, as if considering it for the first time.

“A novelist,” he said. “One who works somewhere between engineering and philosophy.”

The words floated for a moment before turning, slightly delayed, into laughter. He let that moment pass through him before continuing. He spoke about spending a lifetime studying machines, only to realize that, in the end, everything returns to people. That calculations had become faster than ever but deciding what to do with them was still left to humans. And when he said the word “choice,” it didn’t echo as laughter this time — but as something quieter, visible in the small nods across the room.

When he stepped out of the auditorium, the sound thinned immediately. The door closed behind him, pushing the applause away. The hallway held a deliberate kind of silence. In contrast, the fluorescent lights were almost too bright, leaving nowhere for anything to hide. His footsteps echoed at even intervals as he walked.

Passing through the lobby, he stopped in front of a photograph on the wall. The face sticking out its tongue no longer felt burdensome. If anything, it felt familiar.

“Stein,” he murmured.

There was no answer, but the silence wasn’t awkward. After a moment, he turned and pushed the door open. The air outside met him instantly — cold, yet strangely light. It should have been a heavy day, but it wasn’t. His shoulders loosened, as if he had just taken off something he had been wearing for far too long, and his steps followed naturally.

A vibration hummed in his pocket.

<Go Mu-geum>

He looked at the name for a moment, then pressed decline instead of answer. For now, he needed this quiet more than any other sound.

As he stepped onto the campus path, students passed by him — faces smiling, faces tense, footsteps crossing in different directions. He watched them one by one as he walked slowly through.

The closer he got to the main gate, the lighter his steps became. There was no reason to look back, but no need to avoid it either. His body simply leaned forward. Crossing that familiar boundary, he felt, for no particular reason, like a child barely containing his excitement.

When he arrived home, Caffrey was already waiting in front of the door.

The moment it opened, he sprang to his feet, tail wagging, looking up at Varen as if nothing unusual had happened. Varen slipped off his shoes and let out a small laugh.

“Feels like I just became unemployed, doesn’t it?”

Caffrey tilted his head for a second, then turned and sat facing the door. He glanced outside once, then back at Varen — clear enough.

A signal.

Time for a walk.

Varen nodded. “Right… not retirement. A transfer.”

He smiled.

“Alright. First day on the new job — let’s get to work.”

Caffrey darted toward the door first.