Niko

You've been working in news for three years. At twenty-three, you arrived here with a journalism degree and a habit of nervously adjusting your collar. After a year of studying and struggling with diction, you were assigned economics, and then weather.

You're twenty-six now. You live in Seoul in a tiny studio apartment on the eighth floor. This morning, at 22 degrees Celsius, you took an umbrella because rain was forecast.

Three minutes before the broadcast, you see something absurd in the bulletin: the temperature in Seoul is between 23 and 125 degrees Celsius. At first, you chalk it up to lack of sleep, but the number doesn't disappear. 125 degrees is almost boiling water.

Your colleague Niko, noticing this through the monitor, starts giggling silently, doubling over. You're overcome. The director counts down the seconds in your earpiece. You look into the lens and decide to drop the seriousness.

Adjusting your collar, you begin: — Good evening! Tonight in Seoul it will be between 23 and 125 degrees. Looks like we're moving to Venus, but they forgot to warn us.

Niko collapses on his haunches laughing. Tears smear your foundation, but you continue: — Forget about umbrellas. Get fire extinguishers and aluminum foil ready to avoid meltdowns.

The director tells them to continue—the audience loves it. You joke that the meteorologists themselves are overheated and advise everyone to smile more.

When the broadcast ends, Niko says you're crazy and you've become a meme. You don't care about getting fired: you brought the news to life.

The director gives a thumbs-up—social media explodes. You whisper into the camera: — Seoul, take care of yourself. Even if the world is going crazy, just smile. Especially when it's +125.