The Commotion At Cheong Wa Dae

The journalists rushed towards the stage, stepping over rows of neatly arranged chairs, while the government spokesperson hurried to exit the press conference. However, their departure was halted by a barrage of cameras and microphones pointed directly at them, accompanied by a flood of urgent questions.

"What caused the Apophis asteroid to suddenly change its orbit?" shouted one reporter, their voice tinged with urgency.

"Is it true there was a bright flash around it? Is it a weapon? An experiment?" asked another, their tone a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

"Can a nuclear missile really destroy an asteroid, given its maximum range is only 20,000 kilometers? Or is this just empty propaganda?"

"If the asteroid breaks up near Earth, does that mean inevitable disaster? Debris and radiation… is that what we'll face?"

The spokesperson's face, which had already been filled with concern, grew even more tense. They tried to take a step back, but a large journalist in the front row swiftly grabbed their arm. Their voice boomed through the crowded room.

"Millions of lives are at stake here! Are you really going to leave without providing any proper answers? Please, give us something concrete!"

The crowd surged forward in unison, pressing closer, blocking the spokesperson's way. Microphones nearly touched their pale face.

"I... uh... I'm not an expert," the spokesperson stammered, their voice almost drowned out by the chaos.

"Other than the information I've already shared, I don't have any further details. I'm sorry."

But their apology did little to calm the rising fury. Reporters pressed on with new questions, this time laced with a more cynical edge.

"How is it possible that the spokesperson from the Blue House knows nothing?"

"What is 'Code One'? Who created it, and what's the plan behind it?"

"If all efforts fail, how do we survive this disaster?"

The spokesperson's face turned even redder, sweat dripping down their temples. After what felt like an eternity, they raised a hand, trying to calm the crowd.

"There will be another briefing soon," they said in a quiet, shaky voice.

"At that time, I'll be with experts to provide more detailed information."

Before they could take another step, the curtain beside the stage was swiftly pulled aside. A group of fully armed soldiers appeared, forming a neat line. Among them, a military officer strode forward with confidence. Lieutenant Colonel Ha Dong-ki of the Crisis Response Team took the microphone, his gaze cold but resolute.

"From this moment forward, an emergency order has been issued," he declared, his voice reverberating throughout the room.

"The military will not tolerate the spread of false information or wild speculation that causes panic among the public. Starting tomorrow, official briefings will only take place at 1 p.m. Any information shared outside of this time frame will not be considered accurate or official. We ask that you refrain from being influenced by fake news."

His final words landed like a hammer, silencing all debate. The soldiers immediately moved forward, standing in formation before the stage, blocking the reporters from advancing. The live broadcast was cut, and television screens everywhere switched to a quiet studio image.

Outside the building, in the funeral home corridors and streets crowded with citizens, skepticism continued to burn.

"What is our government really doing?" an elderly man muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"They don't even have nuclear missiles, right? In the end, we can only rely on survival strategies… if they even exist."

"Survival strategies?" a woman responded with a bitter laugh.

"How do we survive a 500-meter tsunami? It'll destroy everything—there'll be nothing left."

"If they're right, even nuclear missiles won't be enough to destroy the asteroid. We can only wait and see."

Whispers of fear and despair lingered in the air, like dark shadows hanging over a world awaiting its doomed fate.

The sky above the city hung heavy, as though it bore the invisible weight of fear and despair. News of the impending doom caused by the asteroid Apophis spread like wildfire, leaving behind traces of anxiety wherever it went.

"Is our only hope really the nuclear missiles? What if they fail?" Dong-Joo's voice trembled, unable to finish his sentence. His gaze wandered, vacant, to the photo of his mother on the small altar.

"Mom, maybe in just a few days, we'll join you."

His heart seemed to sink into an abyss of hopelessness. All the promises and dreams he'd once built felt fragile, like dust ready to scatter in the wind of impending destruction.

"Yong-Seok, thanks for coming," he said, his voice forced into steadiness.

"Go inside with Dong-Ah first. I need to speak with the funeral staff about tomorrow's arrangements."

"Yes, hyung. Thank you so much for everything," Yong-Seok replied with a respectful nod. He gently took the arm of their younger sister, Dong-Ah, whose eyes were red from crying.

"Oppa, then... I'll go inside first," Dong-Ah whispered, her voice barely audible.

Dong-Joo could only nod in response. He watched them walk away, their figures shrinking as they disappeared down the dimly lit corridor. When he finally turned his gaze back to his mother's photo, a wave of emotion hit him once again. Guilt, sorrow, and anger tangled together, a maelstrom inside him.

"The sky... it doesn't care," he muttered softly, almost like a broken prayer.

"Mom, I promised I would live happily with Dong-Ah, but how did everything end up like this?"

Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind him. The sound reverberated through the empty room, like a sign of something unexpected.

"Who's visiting at a time like this?" Dong-Joo thought, his brow furrowing. Slowly, he turned, his body stiff as if frozen in place.

In the doorway stood Song Eun-Su and her boyfriend, Kim Tae-Ho. Their presence made the air around Dong-Joo feel colder. He stood still, unable to move, his eyes fixed on the two figures he never imagined would appear amid the chaos.