1Ep.. The Studio at 3 A.M.

It was three in the morning.

Siu's room was drowned in the blue glow of his monitor. On the desk sat cold coffee and the blank panels he hadn't filled in days. The deadline was two days away, and he lay face-down on the desk, pen still in hand.

Not a single panel… done.

The mutter scattered through the empty room. Outside, the sleepless city lights bled like rain. Staring blankly, he began—almost out of habit—to draw on his tablet. What surfaced was a place he had never been: a narrow alley in the rain, neon signs smearing across wet asphalt.

— That night, Siu drew an alley he had never seen.

His hand moved on its own. Every streak of rain, every stroke of the signs—as if copying a memory, without hesitation. Ten minutes later, an unfamiliar alley filled the screen, complete.

…What is this. Could I always draw like this?

He huffed a small laugh and reached for save—

and the phone in his pocket buzzed, long and low.

An unknown number. And a single line of text.

"The alley you just drew—look out your window."

His heart dropped. The timing was too exact to be a prank. No one in this room had seen what he had just drawn.

Siu rose slowly from his chair and crept to the window on his toes, unwilling even to make a sound.

He pulled the curtain aside.

And—his breath stopped.

— Outside the window was the very alley he had just drawn.

It was raining. Red and blue neon smeared across the wet asphalt—the very alley, never seen before, yet born from his fingertips ten minutes ago.

The familiar neighborhood was nowhere to be found.

As his trembling eyes traced the end of the alley—beneath the streetlight, someone was standing.

No umbrella, taking the rain. Looking up—straight at his window.

Buzz—. The phone rang again.

"Now it's your turn."