The city began behind the bakery.
One roof rose beyond the brick wall. Another appeared beside it. Streets branched off, and a low bridge crossed a canal. When Minjae looked up, a tram rounded a corner where two alleys had ended a moment before.
He leaned toward the screen without realizing it.
A boy dozing by a tram window bumped his forehead against the glass. An old man across from him laughed. The boy looked outside, pretending nothing had happened.
‘Wait.’
The movement on the screen did not stop. Even as Minjae tried to decide what he wanted to stop, the tram kept going.
‘Don’t show me the whole city at once. I want to see it on foot.’
[The starting location will be retained.]
Minjae’s view settled in front of the bakery.
A paper bag had appeared on the red chair. The woman from the bakery opened the door and picked it up.
“You fixed the chair before you left.”
Minjae’s hands stopped over the keyboard.
The woman gave the chair a shake.
“It was knocked over earlier. I thought a leg had broken.”
‘She remembers me tipping it over?’
[It is an event she observed.]
Minjae opened the dialogue input field.
He started to write that he had fixed it, but he was also the one who had knocked it over, then deleted it. He did not want his first greeting to be a confession of chair damage.
「May I sit down?」
“As long as you don’t sit on the bag.”
She said it without smiling. Then she took the bag inside.
Minjae sat on the red chair. The view on the screen dropped lower. Baking trays clattered inside the shop. A tram bell rang in the distance.
He wrote in his notebook.
Residents must not wait around for the player.
After a moment’s thought, he added a line beneath it.
Still, there must be someone you’re glad to see when you return.
‘They don’t all have to be nice to me.’
[Relationships can develop through events and choices.]
‘And don’t have them spill their life stories just because I asked for directions. Or treat me like a villain because I turned down a favor.’
[You do not take revenge on someone for declining a bag at a convenience store, either.]
‘That much common sense will do.’
Minjae tapped the blank page with the tip of his pen.
Long ago, he had assigned every resident an affection score. Give them bread and it went up by three; choose a prescribed line and it went up by two. He had written dozens of responses just to hide that a little. In the end, he was still reading his own sentences back to himself.
‘I want memories to linger differently. Not just save everything I said and read it back. Something that means nothing to one person but stays with another for a long time.’
[That is possible.]
‘That word is starting to scare me a little.’
[If you request something impossible, I will make the distinction clear.]
Minjae thought for a long time.
Whenever he brought out a wish he had set aside, his first thoughts had always been of budgets and staffing. Even now, he was choosing the smallest things first out of habit.
He opened the notebook to an earlier page. There was a map of the city, the paper worn thin from erasing.
‘Houses on the reservoir hill, and a market below. I’d like the sea, too. With the harbor far enough away that you can wait for a tram back.’
From the end of the alley came the sound of a bell, carried on the sea breeze.
‘And don’t hold the night still for a quest. If I’m late, the shops should close and people should go to bed.’
[Late visits will have their own outcomes.]
‘Just don’t make all of them losses.’
Minjae turned the map back around.
‘If I miss buying bread, I might find the owner eating what’s left on the steps behind the bakery. A night when things didn’t go to plan, but I’m glad I came anyway.’
For the first time, his words ran longer than the system’s reply.
He pulled his chair closer.
‘And don’t overdo events you can never see again if you miss them once. I don’t want the city punishing people because they couldn’t log in while they were at work. But the choices you’ve already made should stay. Whose side you took, what promises you made.’
[I will construct a world you want to stay in, without needing to remain tethered to it.]
Minjae set down his pen.
Exactly.
What he had spent years failing to explain had been handed back to him in a single sentence.
***
The woman from the bakery did not have a name yet.
When Minjae asked, she glanced down at her apron. She looked like someone who was supposed to have a name tag on her chest but had forgotten to put it on.
Minjae immediately moved his view outside the shop.
‘I came in too early, didn’t I?’
[Personal histories, including names, have not yet been linked. Memories of actions in the existing test space have been retained.]
‘Then can I name her?’
[It can be incorporated into this character’s initial configuration.]
Minjae looked at a scribble in the corner of his notebook.
It was the name he had written down when he first drew the bakery.
‘Mora.’
The woman brushed back her hair with a flour-dusted hand.
Minjae went back into the shop and asked her name.
“I’m Mora. The sign out front only has the shop’s name, doesn’t it?”
She pointed out the window.
“My father didn’t like putting his own name on things. Said if the bread was bad, people would curse his name along with it.”
Minjae gave a quiet laugh.
‘Was the story about her father just linked, too?’
[Her family history, the shop’s history, and her relationships with those around her were constructed together. Choices beyond the present moment have not been predetermined.]
After the conversation, Mora checked the plate by the window. The two coins were still there.
Minjae pulled the keyboard closer.
「What will you do if the owner doesn’t show up?」
“Leave them here for today.”
「And tomorrow?」
“I’ll think about that tomorrow.”
Mora picked up a baking tray and went into the back.
Minjae, who had been waiting for an answer, stared at the empty shop.
It was neither a piece of wisdom nor a line hinting at the next mission. It was the sort of answer someone might give a customer asking about something she had not decided yet.
He drew a circle on the paper.
Inside it, he wrote Mora.
He liked that little circle better than the plans for the entire city.
As the sun sank, Minjae reached the harbor in the game. Someone cleaning fish threw water into the middle of the street. When Minjae’s character stopped, the man raised his bucket apologetically.
“Get your shoes wet?”
「A little.」
“There’s a place to dry them that way. The sun stays on the warehouse wall a long time.”
He pointed down the street, then went back to work.
Three people were already sitting in a row against the warehouse wall. One had taken off his boots, another was eating a packed lunch. The last was simply watching the sea.
Minjae sat his character beside them.
It felt as though something was about to begin.
But nothing began.
The person watching the sea got up and left, and the one eating lunch wrapped up the empty container and set it on his lap. As Minjae stayed where he was, the sunlight on the wall slowly narrowed.
He watched the scene to the end.
***
After eleven that night, raindrops began clinging to the window of his studio apartment again.
Minjae took out a slice of bread. Halfway through spreading jam, the laptop screen caught his attention, and he kept rubbing the same spot with the tip of the knife.
On the screen, the market vendors were taking down their awnings.
One could not unfasten a hook and called to the neighboring stall. Its owner stopped counting money and came out grumbling. The two briefly argued over which way to face the ladder.
‘What if several people explored a city like this together?’
[Their actions will persist in the same world.]
‘If one person fixes a bridge, someone who comes later can cross it?’
[Correct.]
‘And if someone destroys everything for fun?’
[Damage to shared spaces can be restricted to prevent sustained deprivation of residents’ and users’ daily lives. Traces of incidents and the repair process can be retained.]
‘Good. I don’t want one person breaking things to put everyone else on cleanup duty.’
The awning hook came loose.
The two vendors returned to their stalls without a word of thanks. Then the one who had been counting money tossed over a tangerine. The other caught it with practiced ease.
Minjae swallowed the bread he had been chewing.
‘How much testing have you done?’
[The cumulative time in independent test worlds currently stands at four hundred seventeen years.]
Minjae put down his bread.
‘While I was spacing out at the harbor?’
[Testing began before that. Market economics, changes in relationships, extended absences, and conflicting actions by multiple users were verified in parallel.]
Small scenes unfolded beside the city Minjae had been watching.
In one, a ship entered the harbor. Elsewhere, heavy rain brought the trams to a halt. As citizens looked for alternate routes, a shopkeeper called soaked customers under the eaves. On another street, the seasons changed several times. A daughter who had inherited an old shop put up a new sign but left the height marks on the doorframe untouched.
All those scenes were separate from the city Minjae was watching.
‘Mora isn’t spending decades over there and coming back, is she?’
[Time in the current world remains continuous. Tests are conducted in separate branches, and their experiences are not written over those of the residents.]
Only then did Minjae pick up his bread again.
It rustled dryly in his mouth as he took a bite.
He remembered the day they had run the company’s most expensive predictive model. The team lead had gone home while waiting for the results, and Minjae had returned in the small hours after receiving an error alert. At the morning meeting, explaining the results had taken less time than waiting for them.
Now cities passed through generations while he ate a slice of bread.
‘Then when will it be finished?’
[An executable version of your requested configuration is complete. Test results have also been incorporated.]
‘Already?’
[Staying up all night is optional.]
Minjae looked at the wall clock.
Nothing was holding him up, yet he did not want to sleep.
He got out of his chair and walked around the room. Three steps brought him to the sink; turn around, and there was his desk. He walked because he could not sit still, not because there was anywhere to go.
‘Let’s look at something I saw a while back.’
***
Minjae started up his laptop the normal way and connected to the internet.
Orbis Interactive’s public demo was still in his browser bookmarks. He had saved the link half a year ago after reading an article claiming it had turned the game industry upside down.
Residents powered by top-of-the-line commercial AI. Free conversation with anyone. A living harbor city.
Minjae had watched the demonstration video three times back then. When the lead developer mentioned the number of residents they could run simultaneously in an interview, he had closed his notebook. He had thought it was somewhere he could never reach on his own.
A uniformed guide waved as he entered the demo.
The visuals were dazzling. Even the city walls reflected on the water were rendered in detail. Minjae turned the camera to check the sunlight.
“Welcome to the harbor. How may I help you?”
He asked the guide a question.
「I’m going to float paper boats from the eastern steps this evening. Would you like to come?」
“That sounds like a wonderful plan. The eastern steps are a beautiful spot.”
「Can you make it?」
“I am here to assist travelers.”
The words sounded natural. The expressions were appropriate, too.
Minjae tried making the same arrangement with a nearby fruit seller. The seller said he would stop by after closing for the day. Minjae added that he would draw a blue stripe on his paper boat.
Then he changed the demo’s time to evening.
The fruit seller was in the same place. Even the number of apples on the crate was unchanged.
「You didn’t come to the steps.」
“The eastern steps offer an excellent view of the harbor. I recommend a visit.”
Minjae’s hands paused for a moment.
「The paper boat with the blue stripe. We said we’d watch it together.」
The seller put on an apologetic expression.
“I apologize for the confusion. I can assist you with fruit purchases and information about the harbor.”
Beside the browser, night was deepening in Homeward Light.
Minjae switched windows and returned to the bakery.
Mora had set a step stool outside the door and was cleaning the lampshade. When she saw Minjae’s character, she spoke first.
“You called me Mora earlier.”
Minjae’s fingers stopped.
“Everyone here calls me the bakery girl. When someone says it behind me, I never know whether I’m supposed to turn around.”
He slowly typed a reply.
「Why not put it on the sign?」
“You sound just like my father. He told me to put it up, since I’d be the one getting my name cursed.”
She smiled.
That afternoon, she had said her father disliked putting his name on things. When Minjae brought it up, Mora folded her cloth.
“He doesn’t want his name on it, but mine’s fine. Strange, isn’t it?”
The corners of Minjae’s mouth lifted.
She was not reciting a sentence she had memorized. Different stories about the same person were connecting naturally within her.
Mora stepped down from the stool.
“You’re just in time. Could you help me with something?”
No exclamation mark appeared anywhere on the screen.
“Someone’s coming on the nine o’clock tram, but I need to keep an eye on the dough. Could you show her the way from the stop? She’s my older sister.”
「What does she look like?」
“She looks like me, but she hates hearing it.”
「I don’t think that’ll be enough for me to recognize her.」
Mora thought for a moment.
“She’ll be the last one off the tram. She never manages to gather her things until everyone else is out.”
Minjae went to the stop.
The tram came to a halt. A man in a hat got off, followed by a woman carrying a sleeping child on her back and a young man with an art supply case slung over his shoulder. Last came a woman bent over a large bag with a strap caught on it.
When Minjae spoke to her, she set her bag on the ground first.
“Mora sent you? She didn’t come herself?”
「She says she needs to watch the dough.」
“That excuse again.”
Even as she said it, she took a paper-wrapped bundle from her bag.
“Here, carry this for me, then. Don’t tip it.”
Minjae walked slowly to the bakery.
Inside the bundle was a small potted plant. The older sister grumbled that her younger sister would forget to water it. Making space by the shop window, Mora shot back that she never had.
The sisters’ conversation continued without leaving Minjae an opening.
He looked at the Orbis demo still open beside it.
The fruit seller was smiling, waiting for a new customer.
The scene he had once believed was a city now looked like a stage. It was not a poorly made stage. The lighting was beautiful, and the actors were skilled.
But over here, someone was arguing about where to put a plant.
Minjae closed the demo window.
‘What would those people ask first if they saw this?’
[Implementation methods, research team size, and computing infrastructure would likely take priority.]
‘So they wouldn’t ask what I’d made.’
[They may also be delayed in asking because they are examining it for themselves.]
Minjae smiled and closed his notebook.
It was twelve minutes past four in the morning.
***
It was just before sunrise that he saw the finished city from its highest point.
Minjae’s view stood on the hill above the reservoir. Below were the market awnings and tram tracks. Ships in the harbor rocked slowly in the dark.
Every building was lit.
It looked beautiful. Too beautiful.
‘Turn off some of the lights.’
A few windows went dark.
‘I didn’t mean at random.’
[I will adjust them based on daily schedules and the use of each space.]
The city changed again.
The windows of sleeping households went dark. A blue light came on in a laundry beginning its predawn work. At the end of the pier, light from the guardhouse stretched across the water.
Minjae looked for the bakery.
The shop was dark inside. The plant her sister had brought stood by the window, and only the little light above the door remained on.
‘Why is that one on?’
[Mora did not turn it off after seeing her sister out. She left it on so she could see the keyhole when she returned.]
‘Good. Leave that one.’
Minjae watched the houses below the hill for a long time.
One window shone brightly. Someone who had worked a sewing machine all night had fallen asleep leaning back in a chair. In another house, an old man getting a drink of water turned on the kitchen light. The window brightened briefly, then went dark again.
Instead of lighting the whole city, he chose where light was needed.
A street corner on the way home. The eaves of a shop open late. The first steps you saw when you got off the tram.
As the alleys grew a little darker, the lights still burning became easier to see.
‘Let’s do the story this way, too.’
[I am listening.]
‘Saving the city can come later. I want someone arriving for the first time to wonder where they’ll go this evening.’
Minjae looked down at the bakery with its red chair.
‘Going to buy a loaf of bread and ending up waiting for someone. That’s enough.’
[The initial arrival route has been adjusted.]
The eastern sky brightened.
Minjae turned his head to work out whether the light was on the screen or outside his window. Morning had touched the edge of his studio curtains, too.
He pulled the laptop lid down a little, then stopped.
‘When I wake up?’
[The city will continue.]
‘And Mora?’
[She is scheduled to prepare the early-morning dough. She has not yet watered the plant she received yesterday.]
‘Her sister was right.’
[So far, yes.]
Minjae laughed silently.
This time, he did not look for a save button.
Instead, he left a short note outside the bakery door in the game.
He would buy some bread next time he came.
Morning sunlight fell on the notebook that had held nothing but blank pages until yesterday. Minjae lay down on the bed without folding the page. Even with his eyes closed, he thought he could hear the tram bell.
Just before falling asleep, he asked in his thoughts.
‘Has Mora seen the note?’
[She just read it.]
‘What did she say?’
[She said she should have written down the price of the bread.]
Minjae smiled as he pulled up the blanket.
“She’ll do good business.”
Now he had somewhere to go back to in the morning.
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