Chapter Text
Books
The screen flickered.
The words Kim Dokja shimmered, then dissolved like smoke caught in a sudden wind. New text emerged, letter by agonizing letter, each one materializing with a deliberate, haunting slowness.
[For some people, their lives were ruined by the apocalypse]
The company stared at the words. Several people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and Heewon found herself nodding slightly.
"Understatement of the century," Jihye muttered from where she'd resettled near Heewon's feet. Sangah hummed in somber agreement.
It was true, wasn't it?
The scenarios had destroyed everything. Families, homes, entire civilizations wiped away in the span of months.
But Heewon didn't like the phrasing. It felt....sterilized. As if the scenarios were just some unfortunate natural disaster rather than the hellscape that had torn apart everything they'd known.
Ruined, she thought bitterly. What a sanitized way to describe watching people die in front of you. Watching children kill their parents. Watching the world end.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is nodding solemnly]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' says the scenarios destroyed many worlds]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' remembers the fall of many kingdoms]
The company understood that sentiment intimately. The apocalypse had ruined them all in different ways, carved pieces out of their souls that would never grow back, left scars that went deeper than skin.
Yoo Joonghyuk glared at the constellation messages with barely restrained contempt.
Hypocrites, he thought viciously. Every last one of them. These bastards took pleasure in watching people kill each other. They sponsored the strong and abandoned the weak, turned human suffering into entertainment for their own amusement.
And now they speak of ruin and tragedy as if they weren't complicit in creating it, as if their hands aren't stained with the blood of billions.
He gritted his teeth, his hands clenching on his knees
I'm going to kill them all, every last one of them. I'll make sure they pay for what they've done.
"Sunfish," Han Sooyung's voice cut through his thoughts. She was watching him with sharp eyes. "Your murderous aura is showing."
"Good," he growled.
Let them feel it. Let them know their executioner was watching.
She snorted but didn't argue. Her own expression was dark enough.
Lee Hyunsung’s thoughts drifted to his own losses. His life before the scenarios hadn’t been perfect, but it had been stable....and predictable. He’d had routines, expectations, a path forward, even if it wasn’t the one he’d wanted.
He thought back to that monotony, the emptiness, the feeling of being trapped in a system that had no place for him. The apocalypse had stripped all of that away, leaving him scrambling to find purpose in the chaos.
It had been horrific, yes. He'd watched people die in ways that still haunted his dreams. He'd lost count of how many times he'd thought he wouldn't survive another day.
But they’d also given him something he hadn’t realized he was missing—purpose, direction, a reason to keep moving forward. A reason to wield his strength for others.
He glanced at Dokja's sleeping form, at the man who'd given him that purpose without even realizing it, and felt shame curl through his stomach
Was I one of the lucky ones? The ones who benefited from the apocalypse? Because it brought me to these people?
Does that make me a terrible person?
That I can't bring myself to wish the scenarios had never happened, because that would mean losing all of this? All of them?
Gong Pildu's jaw tightened. He'd lost his family in the first scenario. Lost the land he'd worked so hard to acquire, lost the life he'd built. For him, the apocalypse had taken everything that mattered.
Jihye kept glancing between the screen and the squids sleeping face, as if trying to reconcile what she was seeing with what she knew. Or thought she knew
The screen remained static, those words hanging on the screen. Seolhwa, seated between Aileen and the space where Joonghyuk loomed behind Dokja like a silent guardian, felt something cold twist in her chest as she reread them.
[For some people]
The phrase bothered her.
"For some people," she murmured, repeating it under her breath.
Not everyone. Just...some people.
Aileen glanced over, already reading her expression. "The specificity bothers you?" She asked quietly.
"Doesn't it bother you?" she countered. "It's like... it's implying something. Like there's another category we haven't seen yet. Something worse"
Aileen's hands tightened. "I.....was thinking the same thing."
Up in the balcony, Uriel leaned forward, her emerald eyes fixed on the screen, her wings rustling. Her small hands pressed against the ornate metal railing, tracing its patterns absently.
"Oh, Dokja," she murmured to herself. "What are we about to see? What could be worse than what we already know?"
Beside her, the Abyssal Black Flame Dragon slouched in his human form, looking profoundly bored. His round purple eyes reflected the screen's glow. "Oh who cares about what the scenarios did. Whatever. Most of them died because they were weak. That's the point. Show something interesting already."
"Shut up" Uriel snapped "This isn't about your weird entertainment. This is about him."
The dragon rolled his eyes. "What, you think he's special? He's just another human who got lucky."
"I said shut up!" Uriel turned on him fully, her wings flaring. "If you're not going to take this seriously, then just be quiet you lizard!"
Sun Wukong, standing nearby with his arms crossed and his tail swishing in agitation, ignored their bickering. His usual grin had faded into something more contemplative. The Great Sage had lived long enough to recognize foreshadowing when he saw it.
The text is setting something up, he thought And it's not going to be pleasant.
"Interesting," he muttered. "Kim Dokja is very interesting.
Uriel and ABFD continued arguing, their voices rising.
"You're so dramatic," the dragon sneered. "He's just a human."
"He's my incarnation's closest friend! And he's important to the story!"
"Your incarnation? Please, you barely pay attention to her anymore. You're just obsessed with—"
"That's enough."
The voice was calm and cold. Persephone had lowered her black fan, her gentle features now set in a stern expression. Her sharp eyes, which held millennia of experience, pinned the two bickering constellations. "Both of you, be quiet. This isn't the time for your childish arguing."
The black flame dragon bristled, turning his glare toward her. "What, you want to fight too? I'll take all of you on right now!"
Persephone didn't even flinch. She sighed, the sound weary and exasperated. "Think, you idiot. What just happened a couple minutes ago? That child—or....whatever he is—pressured all of us by just raising his hand. Do you not remember how easily he silenced an entire theater of strong constellations? Are you trying to court death?"
ABFD scowled, crossing his arms. "So what? If I actually tried, I could kill him."
Uriel scoffed. "Keep dreaming."
Persephone closed her eyes briefly, as if praying for patience. "It's clear he might not even be from the <Star Stream>. He brought us here this easily without any probability restrictions. Do you think you could do that?"
ABFD glowered but said nothing.
"Exactly," Persephone said, her voice low and firm. "Stop being stupid. If you want to fight him and die, be my guest, but don't rope me into this. Stop making so much noise and listen quietly. Otherwise, he might decide he's had enough and end us all."
Hades' darkness, which had been coiled silently beside her, shifted. The shadowy form leaned forward, and rested his head on Persephone's shoulder, wrapping his darkness around her in a protective embrace. "I would never let that happen to you," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through the balcony itself.
Persephone smiled softly, leaning into his touch. "I know, my love. You're very strong. But we have to be realistic. I don't want any harm to come to you either." She placed a hand over the darkness covering hers. "We can't do reckless things anymore. We've got a son to look after now, right?"
Hades lifted his head, and though his face was obscured, a faint smile seemed to touch the shadows. "You're right, my beloved."
Persephone smiled warmly. "Thank you."
"Well, excuse me, madam."
Mass Production Maker, who stood nearby in his symbolic form—a grey-haired middle-aged man in a ludicrous pink pineapple-print polo shirt and torn jeans stepped forward. He raised a hand politely, though his expression was more amused than apologetic.
Hades' obsidian eyes fixed on him, and the temperature around them dropped several degrees. "What do you want?"
Mass Production Maker chuckled nervously, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "Nothing, nothing, O Great and Mighty Hades. I was just hoping to offer a slight correction to my lady's earlier statement."
Persephone raised an elegant eyebrow. "Go on."
"Well," he began, tapping a coin against his palm, "before you told the dragon and the angel to stay quiet because we might be killed by that entity... I agree they were being loud and disruptive, and I would certainly prefer them to be quiet, but I don't believe we would get into trouble just for making noise or their immature bickering."
ABFD whirled around. "What did you say, you old geezer?"
"Now, now, calm down," Mass Production Maker said, his smile never fading. "The reason that terrifying being got angry earlier was because we were sending too many system messages. That was distracting the incarnations below and that's what provoked his warning. It's clear we're not the main audience here—we're just side characters, it seems. And that's what we constellations do anyway: we observe from above. I don't think the audience hear us even if we use our true voices. If they could, some of them would have looked up by now to see the dragon and angel arguing."
Persephone considered this, her fan tapping against her chin. "Hmm. That does make sense."
Hades' oppressive aura receded slightly, though his gaze remained heavy on Mass Production Maker. "You will live another day it seems."
Mass Production Maker bowed his head, chuckling. "Thank you for your benevolence, O Owner of Death. I would never oppose you. After all, I've still got far too many coins to earn."
Hades gave a noncommittal hum.
Uriel nodded slowly, her wings relaxing. "It does make sense." Then her expression fell, a genuine sadness crossing her features. "But that means... Kim Dokja can't hear me at all."
Sun Wukong barked a laugh, grinning at her. "How funny Uriel. One might think you prefer him over your own incarnation down there."
Uriel flustered immediately, her wings fluttering. "What? No! Of course not! I like them both equally!"
Wukong leaned down, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Really?"
Uriel looked away, her voice dropping to a whimper. "...Yes."
Wukong laughed openly, and ABFD snorted in disgust. "He's not even that great," the dragon muttered.
Wukong raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you want to be his sponsor so badly back then?"
ABFD paused, caught off guard. He recovered quickly, sneering. "Hah! I felt pity for him, so I was giving him the opportunity of a lifetime. Obviously, he was too stupid to take it."
Wukong's smirk widened. "If that's what helps you sleep at night."
ABFD snarled, baring his teeth. "You bastard—"
"Well," Wukong continued, ignoring him and looking around, "that means out of his four original sponsors, only two of us are still in the run. Me..." He turned his gaze toward the deepest shadows at the back of the balcony. "...and you."
All eyes followed his look to the Secretive Plotter. The figure stood motionless, wrapped in a cloak that seemed woven from starlight and swirling galaxies. He hadn't moved since the screen first appeared, his attention fixed on Kim Dokja with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. At Wukong's words, he glanced up briefly, his expression hidden, then looked back down at the sleeping reader.
Wukong grinned. "The quiet type, huh?"
ABFD scoffed loudly. "And the weak type, too, by the looks of it. What kind of weak-sounding name is 'Secretive Plotter'? He's probably just some no-name, unknown constellation trying to act mysterious."
The Plotter looked up again, directly at the bandaged teenager this time. He didn't speak, just let out a single, derisive scoff before turning away completely.
ABFD bristled, purple eyes flashing. "What? You want to fight, too? Bring it on! I'll take all of you on by myself right now!"
The Plotter ignored him entirely.
Surya, standing regally with his four arms folded, observed the exchange with detached interest. He was curious about the Plotter as well—the being was an enigma—but he said nothing, his third eye remaining closed.
Persephone's was different. She studied the Plotter with a shrewdness that belied her gentle appearance. "I'm also curious about you. I've never seen you before. You seem to have a great deal of coins, considering how many messages you send. Yet I've never seen you at the Constellation Banquet or any gathering for that matter. And you definitely possess the qualifications to enter. We don't even know if you're part of a nebula or not. In fact, the only thing that's known about you is that you seem to like Kim Dokja."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "A lot."
The Secretive Plotter finally turned his head fully toward her. For a moment, he said nothing, the galaxies on his cloak shifting slowly. Then he spoke, his voice clear, sharp, and utterly dismissive. "It's none of your business."
Hades' darkness expanded threateningly, but Persephone lifted a hand, stopping him. "Fine, fine," she said, smiling coolly. "Everyone has their secrets. However, I should warn you that as his parents, we'll be watching to ensure you have no malicious intent towards our son."
Hades' aura flared in agreement, making several nearby constellations shift uncomfortably.
The Plotter didn't respond. He simply turned back to watch Kim Dokja, his silence more telling than any retort.
Persephone turned away as well, her fan waving once more.
Cheok Jungyeong, who had been watching the interplay from the side; a narrative grade Korean constellation among these mythic beings—felt a thrill run through him. He wasn't intimidated; he was excited. The thought of potentially testing his blade against any of them, or even against the entity Kim Gwanja, sent a warrior's fire through his veins. He kept his expression stern, but his hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword.
Mass Production Maker chuckled, breaking the tension. "I'm also curious about our mysterious friend. But honestly, I'm more curious about this 'Kim Gwanja'. The power to summon and silence us so casually... Now that's a story I'd pay to understand."
Wukong picked at his ear with one finger, his tail swishing lazily. "Well, I'm sure we'll understand if we just do what he wants us to do. Watch. Listen. And don't piss him off."
With that final, pragmatic statement, the constellations fell into a watchful, tense quiet. Their attention returned to the screen.
Down below, Lee Sookyung's hands were still folded in her lap, but her fingers had gone white with pressure.
[For some people, their lives were ruined by the apocalypse.]
She knew what came next. Of course she knew. She'd lived through it. She'd caused parts of it. She'd failed to prevent the rest.
Her eyes flicked down to Dokja's sleeping face, so close she could reach out and touch him. Could brush those dark strands of hair away from his forehead that had fallen once again just like she used to when he was small. When he still let her, when he would look at her with love instead of hate
Then, the text began to fade, the letters breaking apart like ash. And as they disappeared, new words started forming. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Each letter materialized one at a time almost as if the truth was resisting being written
[Whereas for some...]
The sentence paused, incomplete, taunting them with its unfinished meaning.
Gilyoung grabbed Yoosung's hand without looking at her. She squeezed back, both of them staring at the screen with wide eyes.
"What?" Jihye whispered. "Whereas for some what?"
The company leaned forward unconsciously, waiting. The silence in the theatre was heavy, broken only by the sound of breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric.
Lee Seolhwa stared intently. I knew it.
The letters continued their slow emergence.
[...their lives had been an apocalypse from the very beginning]
Shit.
Heewon felt the oxygen leave her lungs. Her hand gripped the armrest so tightly, it started splintering. "What?"
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' has gone very still]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is asking what that means]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' has stopped moving]
[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is leaning forward with intense focus]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' has stopped waving her fan]
[The constellation 'Father of the Rich Night' is exerting pressure without meaning to]
Jihye's head snapped up, her eyes wide with confusion and dawning horror.
"From the very beginning? But... but that means..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought.
Yoo Sangah felt her stomach drop. Her hands began to tremble in her lap, and she pressed them together hard enough to hurt.
She knew. Oh god, she knew what was coming, what they were about to see, and she wasn't ready for it...she would never be ready for it.
Han Sooyoung had gone completely rigid in her seat, the lollipop stick between her teeth forgotten. Her eyes darted to Sangah, saw the other woman's pale face, and understood immediately that whatever was coming was going to be bad. Worse than bad.
She'd known there was abuse and that his childhood had been a nightmare, but from the very beginning? From the very beginning, his life had been hell? What did that even look like?
The atmosphere in the theatre had shifted from tense to suffocating.
Yoosung's small voice broke the silence. "A-ahjussi's life was bad? Even before the scenarios?"
"It seems so," Minyoung said quietly from the third row, her expression deeply troubled.
Gilyoung's grip on Yoosung's hand tightened. "How bad?"
Nobody answered him.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the screen. His golden eyes tracked every word with the precision of someone analyzing an enemy's weak points. But his jaw had tightened fractionally, and his hands, resting on his knees, had curled into loose fists
An apocalypse from the very beginning.
He thought of his own second regression unwillingly, unable to stop the memories from surfacing.
The one where he'd had, and lost everything. Where he'd learned what it meant to love and then watch that love be systematically destroyed by a supposed friend.
He thought of Lee Seolhwa and their child. Of Minyoung and Sky Sword Master. Of everyone he'd failed to protect.
But those had been temporary apocalypses. Moments of devastating loss within a broader context of struggle and purpose. Brief periods of absolute suffering punctuating an otherwise continuous fight towards a goal.
From the very beginning meant something different. It meant never having peace, never having safety. Never having a single moment where the world wasn't ending.
It meant living in hell from birth, with no memory of anything better to even hope for.
And this fool lived like that?
“Joonghyuk-ah.” His master’s voice came gently from behind him. “What are you thinking so deeply about?”
He didn't turn. He wasn't going to tell her the full truth. She already knew about his second regression, but they didn’t. So he gave her the part he could say aloud
"...We're about to see something terrible."
"Hmmm, more terrible than what we just witnessed?" She meant his breakdown. The panic attack that had reduced their leader to a shaking, incoherent mess.
"Yes."
The certainty in his voice made several people shiver.
Yoo Mia sat on her Oppa's right, her young face pale and confused. She kept looking at the screen, then at Dokja, then her brother, seeking answers he couldn't give.
The blood on her lip from where she'd bitten through it earlier had dried, leaving a rust-colored stain. She'd been so quick to judge Dokja when they first met in the fifth scenario. So certain he was just another obstacle between her and her brother.
Now, staring at those words, her early judgments felt childish, washed away by a cold, creeping dread.
What exactly happened to you, Ahjussi?
Namgung Minyoung leaned back in her third-row seat, her tall frame somehow managing to look relaxed.
"Interesting choice of words," she murmured.
Kyrgios made a soft sound of agreement. His clear eyes had narrowed slightly, and he was watching Lee Sookyung with the intensity of someone putting together a complex puzzle.
Beside Minyoung, Jang Hayoung sat with her beautiful golden curls falling forward to hide her face.
Their lives had been an apocalypse from the very beginning.
She thought of her own past life, the overwork, the constant exploitation and...the death that had freed her from it.
But she'd had something before that. Some years of normalcy, of childhood, of moments that weren't suffering.
From the very beginning implied he had never had that.
"I don't understand," she said quietly. Minyoung's hand was still resting on her head from earlier. "If his life was an apocalypse from the beginning... what does that even look like?"
"I suspect," Kyrgios said, his voice harder than usual, "we're about to find out."
Lee Sookyung's hands were shaking so badly now that she had to clench them into fists to hide it. Her thoughts were a screaming void of white noise and fractured memories. She stared at the screen with eyes that had gone slightly glassy.
They were going to see it. All of it. Every horrible, shameful moment she'd failed to protect her son from. Every time she'd been too weak, too scared, too afraid to do what needed to be done.
Her eyes burned, but no tears fell. She wouldn't allow herself that relief. Not yet.
I'm sorry, she thought, her gaze sliding to her son's sleeping face. I'm so sorry, Dokja. I wanted to protect you from this. From all of it. But I never could, could I?
Yoosung and Gilyoung were still sat on the floor, their small faces pale, drawn with confusion and growing dread
They didn't fully understand what the words meant yet, but they knew that whatever they were about to see, it was going to hurt. It was going to hurt them to watch, and it was going to hurt them immensely to know that their Ahjussi had lived through it.
Gilyoung knew all too well what it meant to live a life where no one truly cared. After all, the only reason he’d been on the subway that day was because his aunt had been planning to abandon him at an orphanage.
He knew what it felt like to be unwanted, to be seen as an obligation rather than a person worth loving.
But even so, he still carried memories of a time before that. Of his mother and father. And even though their families had disapproved of their relationship, before the accident they had all lived happily, surrounded by love.
Kim Gwanja stood on the stage, his small form radiating an overwhelming sadness. His pale blue eyes gazed on at the sleeping Dokja, and tears had begun to slowly track down his cheeks.
The child-entity raised one small hand, and the screen shifted again.
The darkness lifted like curtains being drawn back, and suddenly they were looking at something else entirely.
The image resolved slowly, coming into focus like a photograph developing.
It was a living room.
Small but tidy, with worn furniture that had clearly been cared for despite its age. Along one wall, books filled makeshift shelves, a mismatched collection of cheap paperbacks and old library castoffs. Their creased spines showed the affection of hands that had returned to them again and again.
A single window looked out toward what might have been Seoul, though the angle hid most of the skyline. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass and painted everything in shades of honey and amber.
And there, on a faded grey couch—
Heewon felt her breath catch.
A woman sat with a small child in her lap.
The woman was young, impossibly young, maybe late twenties at most. Her face was round and soft, with none of the harsh lines that came from years of suffering. Her hair fell past her shoulders in gentle waves, light brown and glossy with health. She wore a simple dress, nothing fancy or expensive, but it was clean and whole without any tears or stains and it fit her well.
She was smiling.
And she was beautiful.
"Oh," Sangah breathed, one hand pressed to her chest. "She's..."
"Gorgeous," Han Sooyung finished, her voice carrying none of its usual sharpness. Just surprise and something almost like wonder.
Lee Hyunsung stared at the screen with wide eyes. This was Lee Sookyung? This bright, lovely young woman with that gentle smile?
He glanced at the present-day version sitting rigidly in the front row. She had the same face, the same basic features. But the years had carved away all that beautiful softness
What happened to you?
"She...looks so different," Yoosung whispered, awed.
"....happier" Gilyoung added quietly.
And she did. There was a lightness to her expression, a softness around her eyes that the current Lee Sookyung had lost somewhere along the way.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is saying she was beautiful]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' agrees that she was beautiful]
[The constellation 'Father of the Rich Night' is observing carefully]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' sends 'Father of the Rich Night' a curious look]
[The constellation 'Father of the Rich Night' panics and says it's not what she's thinking]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' laughs and says she's just teasing]
But the true focus, the magnet for every eye in the theatre, was the child in her lap.
Kim Dokja.
"Oh my god," Aileen whispered.
He couldn't have been more than five years old. He was small and thin, clearly hadn't grown much yet, with a mop of messy black hair that stuck up in endearing, unruly directions. His face was round with baby fat, cheeks full and pink with health. Long, dark eyelashes framed eyes that sparkled with pure joy.
He wore a dinosaur-print shirt; bright blue with cartoon t-rexes scattered across it, and small jeans with the knees slightly worn. His feet, clad in tiny socks with grips on the bottom, kicked idly as he squirmed in his mother's lap.
And he was grinning. A huge, gap-toothed smile that crinkled his eyes and dimpled his cheeks, so wide and genuine it seemed to light up the entire apartment
He was wiggling in her arms, and his little hands were clutching a picture book to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.
The contrast between this child and the man sleeping in front of them was staggering.
“He’s…” Jihye’s voice cracked, soft and stunned. “He’s so small.”
"..and adorable," Yoo Sangah whispered, tears already gathering in her eyes despite herself.
And he was. This tiny version of Kim Dokja, with his chubby face and bright smile and complete lack of the careful masks he wore constantly as an adult, was heartbreakingly cute.
Gilyoung said nothing. He just stared at the screen with an expression caught somewhere between wonder and devastation.
That's Hyung? That's really Hyung?
He looks… genuinely happy. Like he feels safe, loved. Like nothing in the world could ever hurt him.
His gaze dropped to the sleeping Dokja besides him. Even in unconsciousness, tension lined his eyes. His jaw was set. He looked like someone who'd never truly relaxed in his entire life.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is squealing that he was such a precious child]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' admits the small human is quite cute]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' is smiling fondly]
[Multiple constellations are expressing how adorable young Kim Dokja is]
Minyoung leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes tracking every detail of the scene. The small modest apartment. The cared-for secondhand furniture. The library books.
They’re poor, she noted, but clean… and happy. They’ve made the best of what life handed them, playing the cards they were dealt—and that, if nothing else, deserves respect.
On her shoulder, Kyrgios made a soft noncommittal sound. "He looks healthy."
"For now," she murmured back, "Let's not get too happy".
Because they both knew what the text had said. An apocalypse from the very beginning. This happiness....this safety was temporary. It was simply the fleeting calm before the storm.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the screen, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He'd never seen Kim Dokja as a child. Had never even bothered to imagine it, really. Kim Dokja had always been Kim Dokja, that frustrating, irritating, self-sacrificing fool who somehow knew everything and nothing simultaneously.
But this...
This was just a little boy. He was small, fragile and completely dependent on the woman holding him.
What happened to you? he thought, What could possibly have happened to turn this into what you are now?
The mystery was quietly starting to take root in his mind
Yoosung stared, trying to reconcile this laughing child with her Ahjussi. "He looks so happy. I don't understand. The text said his life was an apocalypse, but he looks really, really happy here?"
"Maybe it meant later?" Jihye suggested hopefully. "Maybe something bad happened when he got older?"
But Lee Sookyung's reaction told a different story.
She was staring at the screen with an expression of such raw, unvarnished pain that several people looked away. Her hands were pressed flat against her thighs now, and she was breathing very carefully, very deliberately, like someone trying not to break down completely.
Then, a voice suddenly echoed through the theater: young, bright and unmistakably innocent, though pitched higher with youth. It came from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating inside their skulls with uncomfortable intimacy.
[All of you will be able to feel Kim Dokja's feelings and understand some of his thoughts]
"I'm sorry," Kim Gwanja said again. "But this is necessary. To understand him... you need to feel what he felt. Know what he knew."
He was still crying, tears flowing freely down his pale cheeks.
But before anyone could process what that meant, the sensation hit them all at once, washing over them like a wave breaking against the shore.
It wasn't a memory they watched. It was an experience they felt.
Happiness.
Pure, uncomplicated, absolute happiness.
It flooded through their chests, warm and golden and so simple. It was the kind of joy that came from being held by someone who loved you, something only children could feel, untainted by cynicism or doubt or the weight of past hurts. The kind of joy you felt from feeling safe, warm and completely protected from all the bad things in the world.
It bubbled up inside them like champagne filling every corner of their consciousness with warmth.
Then it was love.
So much love it was almost painful.
So much love it felt like drowning.
Love for the woman holding him. Love for the way she smelled like flowers and old books. Love for her voice when she read to him, making all the characters come alive. Love for her laugh, bright and musical. Love for the way her arms wrapped around him securely, keeping him close and safe.
It was the absolute certainty that he was cherished. That her embrace was the safest place in the universe and he was exactly where he belonged.
Finally freedom
The freedom of being five years old with no responsibilities, no fears beyond monsters under the bed, no understanding that anything could ever truly hurt him. The freedom to just exist in this moment, in this sunshine, in these arms.
And weaving through it all, like a golden thread was a fierce, unyielding love for books.
For the stories his mother read to him, for the worlds that unfolded in her voice, for the way words could create entire universes in his mind. Reading with his mother meant being held, it meant being close, it meant hearing her voice and feeling her warmth and knowing without question that he was loved.
The tales lived and breathed in his imagination. He could see the heroes standing proudly and hear the dragons roaring, smell the scent of the magical forests. And through it all, his mother's voice would guide him steadily, lending meaning to all the big words he didn't understand yet.
“Ah—”
Heewon gasped involuntarily, one hand flying to her chest. The feelings were so intense, so genuine, that they overwhelmed her completely. How long had it been since she'd felt anything so pure?
Simple, childlike thoughts filtered through the emotional torrent:
[Eomma's reading to me!]
[I like this story! The hero is so cool!]
[I want to stay here forever. I never want Eomma to stop reading to me.]
[I love Eomma and Eomma loves me. Nothing bad can happen when Eomma's here.]
The company sat in stunned silence, still reeling from the intensity of what they'd felt. It was one thing to see a happy child. It was another thing entirely to feel that happiness from the inside, to experience it directly, to know exactly what it meant to that child.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is sobbing uncontrollably]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is shaken and won't admit it]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' is trembling]
[The constellation 'Father of the Rich Night' is exerting immense pressure through sheer emotion]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' has stopped smiling]
[Multiple constellations are sponsoring coins out of distress]
[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' remains motionless but his hands have clenched]
Heewon looked from the radiant child on the screen to the man lying broken before them in complete shock.
He used to feel like this? He used to be capable of this kind of uncomplicated joy?
When had she ever seen him look like that?
When had she ever seen him truly happy? Satisfied, maybe. Accomplished. Relieved when plans worked out. But this pure, simple delight? This complete, unquestioning safety?
Never.
Not once.
Jihye made a broken sound. "Is this... is this what he felt? How he felt?"
"Yes," Yoo Sangah whispered, the light trembling in her irises. "This is what it was like to be him. To be that child."
Lee Hyunsung's eyes were wet. His massive shoulders tensed as he absorbed the weight of what they were experiencing, one hand pressed over his mouth.
He was so small. He loved her so much. He felt so safe.
When was the last time he'd felt that safe? That certain that he was loved?
Yet this knowledge and understanding, the scene he had just witnessed made the present joy all the more agonizingly painful
Because he knew—knew—that this feeling wouldn't last. The text had already told them that. Whatever apocalypse Kim Dokja had lived through, it started from here.
From this moment of perfect happiness.
Heewon reached over without thinking and gripped Hyunsung's hand. He squeezed back desperately.
Aileen was sobbing too, silently, her shoulders shaking with the force of trying to keep it quiet.
Han Sooyung's jaw was clenched so tight it had to hurt. She wasn't crying...she refused to cry, but her eyes were slightly bright. The emotions pounded through her like a drum, relentless and overwhelming.
She looked at Lee Sookyung, sat rigidly in the front row.
I've seen your guilt and grief, your desperate attempts to check on him from afar but I never understood...
You had this, Dokja had this. Both of you had this. And something took it away from the two of you
Yoo Sangah was crying openly now unable to bear it any longer, tears streaming down her face as she pressed both hands over her heart. The happiness hurt. It hurt so much because she knew it was temporary. It would be taken away.
And that was unbearable.
Even Yoo Joonghyuk looked visibly affected, his jaw set in a hard line as the emotions washed over him.
They were emotions he had never felt before, a form of happiness he had never known and had never allowed himself to imagine. It was difficult for him to comprehend how such warmth could exist without cost in a world that had taught him otherwise.
Almost in unison, they turned to look at the sleeping man beside them
He looked nothing like the joyful child on the screen. His face was pale and drawn, dark circles under his eyes speaking of too many sleepless nights and too much worry. His body was thin, almost frail-looking without his usual coat to hide his frame. His hands bore scars, his skin showed signs of old injuries, and even in sleep his expression held a tension that never quite faded.
What happened? They all thought desperately. What happened to that happy child to turn him into this?
Yoosung was crying openly now, fat tears rolling down her cheeks
"Ahjussi, Ahjussi..."
Gilyoung wasn't crying, he didn't think he had anything left to cry anymore. But his heart....it was breaking, fragmenting into tiny little pieces
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is sobbing]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' is holding her husband tightly]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' has gone very quiet]
[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' has not looked away from the screen even once]
On the screen, the scene continued.
Young Dokja squirmed in his mother's lap, his small hands reaching for the book she held. He couldn't read yet...not more than a few simple words, but he loved looking at the pictures. He loved tracing the illustrations as his mother's voice washed over him.
"Again!" he demanded, "Read it again, Eomma!"
Lee Sookyung laughed, the sound light and pretty. "Again? But we just finished? Don't you want to play?"
"No, Again!" He bounced in her lap, his grin widening. "Please, Eomma? Please please please?"
But even as he asked, the emotion bleeding through the memory suggested his real reason:
He just wanted to be held longer. He wanted to stay in her arms where it was safe and warm, to hear her voice and feel her chest rumble.
He just wanted to prolong the love and undivided attention he was receiving.
Reading again meant more time together.
Gilyoung felt his throat close up. Beside him, Yoosung continued sobbing silently.
"Ahjussi," she whispered brokenly. "Ahjussi used to be like us."
Small and scared and desperate for someone to hold them and tell them everything would be okay.
Gilyoung reached out slowly, hesitantly, and rested his hand on Dokja's leg. The sleeping man didn't react, but Gilyoung needed the contact. He needed to confirm that he was still real and present, still theirs
Don't leave us, he thought desperately. Please don't leave us, Hyung.
Uriel buried her face in her hands. Her wings had wrapped around her body like a shield, trembling with the force of her crying. The Abyssal Black Flame Dragon sat beside her, one bandaged arm around her shoulders and was trying his best to keep scowling
Even Sun Wukong looked shaken, his usual playful demeanor completely absent. His yellow eyes were wide n with something approaching horror.
He had watched Kim Dokja from the very beginning. What had started as simple curiosity had long since become something else—and he would be a fool to deny how deeply the incarnation had grown on him.
And now he couldn't help but be saddened with what he was about to witness.
Persephone had stopped waving her fan. Her borrowed face (Sangah's face) had gone pale and drawn. She stared at the screen with eyes that had witnessed millennia of human suffering, of painful stories and still found this unbearable.
Because this was Kim Dokja.
This was her son.
Oh, child, my poor, broken child, her heart cried out
Hades' darkness coiled tighter, obsidian eyes gleaming with something that was a mix of fury and grief.
The scene on the screen continued its gentle play, a devastating prelude to a storm none of them were ready to witness. It did not care about the hearts it was breaking in the audience.
Kim Dokja had figured out early that reading time meant extended physical contact. It meant being held and cherished, and he was absolutely going to exploit that knowledge for all it was worth.
Smart kid, Han Sooyoung thought, a tiny smile tugging at her lips despite her shaking eyes.
On the screen, Lee Sookyung sighed dramatically. "Alright, you little schemer. One more book."
Her smile gave her away.
"Yes!" Young Dokja pumped his small fist in the air, then immediately settled back against her, victory achieved.
The scene played out before them. His Eomma’s gentle voice carried words sometimes too big for him, yet they fascinated him. He savored their rhythm, puzzled over their meaning, and welcomed the quiet thrill that came with learning something new.
[Big words! Eomma uses such big words! I want to learn all the big words so I can be smart like Eomma!]
[This story is so cool! The prince is going on an adventure! I want to go on an adventure too!]
[I like how the words make pictures in my head. It's like magic! Stories are magic!]
They sensed his thoughts churning, working through each clue to uncover what the words meant. The moment understanding dawned, delight flickered across his features, quickly followed by that familiar, hungry curiosity—an unending desire to explore, to know, to grasp the world around him.
It was the pure joy of discovery. The wonder of imagination. The magic of words creating worlds inside his head.
And through it all, the constant warm foundation of his Eomma's presence. The unshakeable certainty that he was safe and loved.
Lee Sookyung watched the screen with a face that was barely controlled. Only her hands betrayed her, shaking violently in her lap despite her attempts to still them.
I remember this day.
The memory crashed through her.
I remember that shirt. That book. The way he smiled when I said we could read it again.
She looked at Dokja, sleeping so close she could reach out and touch him, cup his face and plant a gentle kiss on his forehead.
I’m so sorry, Dokja. I couldn’t keep you safe. I couldn’t protect you from what was coming, and I couldn’t give you the life you deserved.
In the quiet prison of her mind, Sookyung let her heart spill open, desperate for even the smallest miracle.
Maybe, somehow, her feelings would reach him across the chasm of years and ruin. Maybe he would understand that despite everything that had happened, she had truly, desperately loved him.
But another part of her recoiled from the idea. She wasn’t sure she deserved that chance. She had failed him once, and now he had moved on—found new friends, new family, people who had a place in his life.
She wasn’t convinced she did anymore.
........
On the screen, the scene had progressed.
Lee Sookyung adjusted the young boy in her lap, settling him more comfortably against her chest. His small head rested over her heart, and she could feel his solid weight
"Read the words slowly," young Dokja murmured, his voice muffled against her dress. "The big ones Eomma. I want to learn them."
Something in Lee Sookyung's chest expanded until it felt like it might burst. She pressed her face briefly against the top of his head, breathing in the mix of cheap shampoo, sunlight, and that unmistakable scent of childhood innocence.
"Okay, my little reader" she replied softly. "I'll teach you all the big words you want."
And she did.
..........
The memory shifted—not to a different day, but to different moments scattered across weeks and months. Young Dokja sprawled on the floor surrounded by books, sounding out words with painstaking concentration. Beside him, his Eomma waited with patient encouragement.
"Con-sid-er-a-tion," he said slowly, guiding his small finger under each syllable, tracing the letters. "Con... consi... consideration!"
"Perfect! Well done!" Lee Sookyung praised, and his face lit up like she'd given him the world.
The emotions flooding through the memory were complex now—still happy, still loved, but mixed with something else. Pride. Accomplishment. The dawning realization that words had power. That stories could transport him somewhere else. Somewhere better.
That reading could be a kind of magic.
[I love stories!]
Young Dokja's thoughts echoed through the theater. His mental voice was awed and wondering.
[I love how the pictures in my head look. I love imagining what happens next. I love being somewhere else, being someone else, being anywhere but—]
The thought cut off abruptly, as if he'd caught himself, stopping just in time
But the lingering emotion was unmistakable.
Heewon felt that realization hit like a punch to the gut.
"Did you catch that? What was that?" she asked Hyunsung urgently.
"The cut-off thought?" He nodded grimly. "I did. it felt like escape. He wanted to escape from something even then, at five years old."
"But from what?" Jihye demanded. "He was happy. He had his eomma. What was there to escape from?"
Nobody answered. They were all starting to suspect they knew, or would soon find out.
Heewon looked at the screen—at the small boy surrounded by books—and understood.
The apocalypse had already started, hadn't it? Even in this happy memory. Even when he was safe and loved.
Something was already wrong.
Yoo Joonghyuk's golden rimmed eyes tracked every detail of young Dokja's expressions, catching mannerisms that would persist into adulthood.
The slight tilt of the head when concentrating. The way his eyes crinkled when he was truly delighted. The habit of biting his lower lip when he was thinking hard.
I never knew, he realised. I never knew any of this about you.
How many scenarios had he spent fighting besides the constellation, arguing with him, being saved by him....and he'd never once thought to ask about this.
About who Kim Dokja had been before the scenarios. What had shaped him into this infuriating fool who somehow knew everything.
But to be fair, he had never felt this way about anyone before. Constantly regressing had forced him to cauterize certain attachments. He could never afford to get too close, to know someone too well. It only made the inevitable losses sharper.
Looking at the screen, Joonghyuk felt something he rarely permitted: a hint of regret coupled with a slow burning anger
I should have asked. I should have known, I should have.....
But the scene shifted again, relentlessly
Young Dokja was now sat on the couch, still no older than before. A book lay open in his lap, its last page staring up at him, but he was no longer reading. His small face was twisted in displeasure, brows pulled together in a dramatic, unmistakably childish scowl.
“That’s it?” he demanded, glaring at the ending like it had personally wronged him. His bottom lip jutted forward in a pout so tragic it could have earned him a starring role in any playground drama. When he looked up, his eyes were wide, dark, and shining with pure betrayal
"But what happens next? Does the prince find the treasure? Does he defeat the dragon?"
Despite everything, several people in the company felt their lips twitch. The sheer tragedy in his little cute voice was almost funny.
Almost.
"Ahjussi is adorable when he's upset," Yoosung said, then immediately looked guilty for finding anything about this situation remotely cute.
The emotions that rose from the memory were layered. There was disappointment, of course, but also something quieter and more profound. It was a sense of incompleteness, as if someone had torn away part of himself before he was ready to let go, or that the world inside the pages had pushed him out before he was ready to leave.
[I don't want it to end] young Dokja's thought echoed. [I don't want to leave. I want to stay in the story forever]
Hayoung felt tears sliding down her face. She understood that feeling viscerally, the devastation of reaching the end of a story you'd loved.
The grief of having to return to reality.
For Kim Dokja, that grief had started young.
Lee Sookyung—the younger version on the screen, still untouched by the tragedies that would one day reshape her—looked down at her son with soft, knowing eyes
"Stories always end, baby," she said, reaching out to card her fingers through his messy hair. "That's what makes them stories."
“But that’s not fair!” he burst out, wriggling in her lap with distress. “Stories shouldn’t end! They should keep going forever!”
His tiny features tightened into an even fiercer scowl, one far too serious for such a small face. It was undeniably, heartbreakingly adorable.
He turned back to the book, pressing his fingers against the last page as if sheer willpower might coax new sentences to appear. The way he stared at that blank space held a pleading hope, the innocent belief that if he wanted it enough, maybe, just maybe, the story might somehow continue just for him.
Gilyoung recognized that expression immediately. He'd seen it on adult Dokja's face a hundred times, that stubborn refusal to accept an ending he didn't like. The determination to find another way, a better way, a secret route where nobody had to die and everyone could be saved.
So It started here, he realized. Hyung's been trying to change endings ever since he was little.
Current Lee Sookyung watched herself on screen—watched that younger, happier version—and felt her heart break all over again.
I knew, she thought. Even then, I knew he was different. That stories meant more to him than they did to other children. That he was building walls already, trying to escape into fiction because reality was starting to hurt.
And I encouraged it because I thought it was harmless....i thought it would help. I never imagined it.....
The company felt the sincerity of his distress.
For young Dokja, the end of a story was not a simple disappointment. It was a kind of loss. It meant leaving behind characters he had grown attached to, worlds he still wanted to explore, places that felt safe in ways the real world did not.
It also meant the quiet warmth of reading time would fade. The moment might end, his Eomma might stand up to do other things, the cuddles would be over and the comfort he clung to would slip away.
[I hate when stories end, I want to stay in them forever. Why do they have to stop?]
The scene on screen shifted one final time before the critical moment.
Lee Sookyung placed the book beside her and gently turned her son in her lap so she could see his face. Her expression was soft and knowing, touched by a wisdom the older Sookyung watching the scene had almost forgotten she once carried.
"Dokja,"
The company watched, transfixed. They leaned forward, drawn in by the tenderness of her voice.
“Do you know what I do when I feel sad that a story has ended?”
Young Dokja shook his head, the pout still on his lips but curiosity now glinting in his eyes.
"I read it again."
He stared up at her in bafflement, blinking slowly. "What? Read it again? Eomma why would I do that? I already know what happens."
Lee Sookyung watched this moment unfold.
She remembered this. She remembered this exact conversation, this exact moment. Back them she'd thought it was just a cute exchange with her son, a small piece of parenting wisdom to soothe a child's disappointment..
She didn't know then that she was planting seeds that would grow into something much larger, much more important.
It was only years later, when Dokja sat across from her in a cold visitation room—older, quieter, carrying wounds she couldn’t see—that she realized what she had actually given him.
That those words had become more than comfort. They had become a method of survival, something he clung to in the dark whenever she wasn’t there to protect him.
She didn't know that this innocent lesson would eventually become the only thing keeping him alive through thirteen years of hell.
Young Sookyung smiled, "Read it again, my little reader. Trust me."
Young Dokja remained skeptical, lips still pursed, but he was nothing if not obedient to his mother. He picked up the book again, his small hands careful with the worn pages
He looked from the book to his mother, seeking one final confirmation. When she nodded, he drew a steadying breath, slowly turned to the first page, and began.
He began reading again.
His small voice...still learning, still stumbling over bigger words, filled the warm afternoon air. Lee Sookyung held him close, her cheek resting against his hair, and listened to him read. The emotions flooding through were different now.
The company watched, feeling Dokja's emotions shift from skepticism to confusion to sudden, brilliant realization.
It was different.
The story was the same, yes. The words hadn't changed. But now that he knew what was coming, he could notice things he'd missed before. The subtle ways the prince’s personality appeared in tiny actions. The hints about the dragon’s true nature that appeared in the early chapters. The foreshadowing that had been invisible to him during the excitement of his first read.
It was like seeing a completely different story wearing the same words, a new story hidden inside the old one.
Young Dokja stared at the book in his hands, then up at his mother, his eyes huge with wonder. "Eooma you were right! It's different! The same story is different!"
His eomma laughed proudly. "Read it again, but maybe this time from a different characters perspective."
And he did.
The third read-through was different too. Now he could appreciate the language itself, the way the author built tension, the careful craft behind the words. He caught jokes he'd missed, understood metaphors that had gone over his head before, saw connections between scenes that seemed unrelated at first.
Each reading revealed new layers, new meanings, new things to discover and love.
[Stories don't end] young Dokja realized, his mind exploding with the implications.
[They just keep going! You can read them forever and keep finding new things! Stories never really end at all!]
The theater had gone absolutely silent. Even the constellations had stopped sending messages, caught in the gravity of the moment playing across the screen
They didn’t fully understand the significance, but they all felt it. This was a pivot point. A foundational stone was being laid in the deepest crevice's of Kim Dokja's soul, and the architecture of his entire life would be built upon it.
No one could have articulated why it felt so monumental.
Nobody except one person.
Yoo Sangah wept silently.
Because she knew.
She had seen inside the Fourth Wall. She had glimpsed how deeply concepts like this—reading, revisiting, finding new meaning—were interwoven with the way Kim Dokja thought, lived and endured.
She knew what this moment would blossom into, what it would mean for the man he would grow into. And it had all started here, in this sun-drenched room, with this innocent moment of a mother teaching her son to love reading.
Han Sooyoung's throat was tight. As a writer, she understood on a visceral level what this meant. The power of stories to be infinite, to contain multitudes, to mean different things on different readings.
She'd known their leader was a dedicated reader, but seeing where that dedication had been born, seeing it emerge from this pure, simple love between mother and child, made something in her chest ache.
How amazing would it be to have such a reader?
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is crying harder]
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' says that was such a beautiful moment between mother and son]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' is nodding in understanding]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' is wiping her eyes]
[Multiple constellations are moved by this scene]
.......
Young Dokja was beaming now, clutching the book to his chest like treasure. "Eomma! Eomma, you're so smart! How did you know?"
Lee Sookyung smiled and lightly booped the tip of his nose.
"Because I love reading too, my little reader. And I wanted to share that love with you."
From then on he returned to that book again and again. Sometimes he read beside his eomma, leaning against her arm as she guided him through the words.
Other times he read alone in quiet corners of the house. Each reading revealed something new. Each reading deepened his understanding. With every turn of the page he sank further into the story until the border between what was imagined and what was real became soft and uncertain.
Until stories became more real than life.
The scene on the screen began to fade, the warm light of the room slipping away as if someone were gently closing a door. Just before the image vanished completely, young Dokja’s voice rang out one last time:
"I'm going to read this book a hundred times! A thousand times! Forever and ever!"
The screen went black.
The company sat in stunned silence, still processing what they'd seen. Still feeling the echoes of that pure, uncomplicated happiness.
They all looked at Dokja, who slept on in the front row, his face pale under the theater's dim lights… and they understood something fundamental.
He'd been escaping his entire life. Long before the scenarios. Long before Ways of Survival. He'd learned young that reality could be painful and stories were safe. He'd learned to prefer fiction because fiction, at the very least, couldn't betray you.
And that preference had shaped everything about the man he became.
"This doesn't make sense," Jihye said finally, her voice confused. "The text before said his life was an apocalypse from the beginning. But we just watched him being so happy. His mom loved him and they were a family."
"Maybe it meant something else?" Gilyoung suggested hopefully. "Maybe we misunderstood?"
But Lee Sookyung's reaction told them they hadn't misunderstood anything. She was sitting perfectly still, her face drained of all color, hands shaking, staring at the now-dark screen with an expression of such profound dread that it made everyone's skin crawl.
Yoo Sangah had both hands pressed over her mouth, trying to hold back sobs.
Han Sooyoung had gone very still, her sharp mind already putting pieces together and not liking the picture they were forming. There was a person missing from this picture. A necessary figure in any household.
Then the screen flickered to life again.
This time, there were no images.
The theater lights remained dim, leaving them in that uncomfortable half-darkness that made it impossible to see clearly but just bright enough to make out shapes and shadows.
For several long seconds, nothing happened.
Then new text appeared—stark white letters against infinite black.
[Until that day]
[All good things come to an end]
.........
"Ah-"
Lee Sookyung's breath hitched. She bent forward slightly in her seat, one hand coming up to press against her mouth. Her shoulders trembled, but she didn't make a sound. Her control was fraying at the edges, but she held on.
Several people glanced at her with concern, but no one knew what to say.
Han Sooyung half-rose from her seat, one hand reaching towards Sookyung before hesitating. Sangah had tears streaming down her face, her gentle expression twisted with compassion and grief
"Sookyung-ssi," Sangah whispered.
But Lee Sookyung didn't respond. No, she couldn't respond. She just sat there with her face buried in her hands.
Because she knew what came next.
All good things come to an end.
And the end of their happiness had been devastating.
The company's collective dread intensified. If just the text made her react like this, what horrors were coming next?
What were they about to see?
The screen shifted once more.
The warm golden light of the earlier memories had vanished, swallowed by an oppressive, suffocating darkness
A child’s bedroom emerged from the gloom
It was small and cramped, illuminated only by a weak nightlight glowing in one corner. Its dim blue halo stretched thinly across the room, creating long shadows that clung to the walls.
Stuffed animals were lined up neatly along one side and bright cartoon posters filled another. A small bookshelf sagged under the weight of paperbacks and borrowed library books.
In the corner, curled into the tightest ball possible, was their young leader. He still looked to be around five.
Han Sooyoung’s eyes narrowed, her writer’s mind analyzing everything even through the swell of nausea.
It's night. Late, judging by the darkness. He should be asleep. Why is he awake? Why is he sitting in the corner like that?
She wasn't the only one who'd noticed
“It’s nighttime,” Yoo Mia whispered, confusion lacing her tired voice. She leaned forward, squinting. “Why is he…?”
The nightlight cast just enough light to see Dokja's face when he lifted his head slightly. His eyes were wide and glassy, fixed on something beyond the camera's view. His lips were pressed together so tightly they'd gone white
He was wearing pajamas now, something with little stars on them that should have been cute but instead looked heartbreakingly vulnerable in the darkness. His small body was curled into itself, arms wrapped around his knees.
He was shaking.
This was not a restless wiggle or a playful shiver. It was something much deeper, something that was making his small frame vibrate like a leaf in a storm.
“W-why is he shaking like that?” Yoosung asked, her voice small. “Whats going on? Is he cold?”
Gilyoung's hand tightened around the hem of Dokja's coat, watching the scene with growing dread. "I don't think so, it looks like...Hyung looks... scared."
"W-what...but why?" she asked, her face white. "What's he scared of?"
His breathing was shallow and controlled. It wasn't the deep, easy breaths of sleep, but the careful stillness of someone trying very hard not to make noise.
Not to be noticed.
Not to be found.
Then the emotions hit them, and understanding crashed through the company
Fear.
Pure, primal fear that made his small heart hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird. Fear that made his stomach clench and his throat close and his entire body shake despite his attempts to stay still.
“Ah—!” Lee Seolhwa gasped, her hand flying to her own chest trying to calm the frantic, phantom pounding.
Heewon's entire body tensing as adrenaline flooded her system. Something's wrong, her instincts screamed. Something bad is about to happen.
The fear was crushing...the kind of terror that came from being so small, helpless and completely at the mercy of forces beyond your control.
This wasn't worry or anxiety or trepidation, this was fear of survival, the deep, instinctual terror of prey hiding from a predator.
It wasn't just watching it—it was feeling it, living it, drowning in it.
And knowing it came from their friend, from Dokja, made it infinitely worse.
A door stood slightly ajar in front of him.
Through the narrow gap he could see shadows shifting across the floor and stretching along the walls. Voices filtered through. A man and a woman were arguing, their words harsh and cutting even though the exact content was muffled by the walls
"Oh," Aileen breathed, understanding dawning. "Oh no."
"I work all day!"
A man's voice, thick with rage and something else. Alcohol, maybe. "I come home exhausted and what do I find? Nothing! You've done nothing all day! Just sitting around with that brat, reading stupid books!"
"I take care of our son."
His eomma's voice, still trying to be calm, trying to be reasonable. "That's not nothing. Dokja needs attention, he needs his education—"
"He needs a father who isn't being bled dry by an ungrateful wife!"
The man’s shadow swelled across the floor, growing larger and more distorted. "Do you know how hard I work? How much I sacrifice?"
CRASH!
Young Dokja flinched violently as something shattered in the next room. The sharp explosive sound of breaking glass made him jerk backwards, pressing himself even further into the corner. His small hands quickly clamped over his mouth to smother any sound that might escape
The emotions continued to assault them
Confusion.
He didn't understand what was happening, or why his appa was angry or why his eomma's voice trembled. This had never happened before. His parents didn't fight. They didn't yell. They didn't break things. Everything had changed so suddenly that he couldn't make sense of any of it.
And underneath it all, a desperate, aching question that repeated over and over in his young mind:
[Why is this happening? Is this my fault? Is Appa angry with me? What did I do wrong? I'll be good, I promise, I'll be so good, just please stop, please stop, PLEASE STOP]
Minyoung felt like she was going to be sick. Her hands were shaking so badly with rage she had to grip the armrests to keep them still. Beside her, Hayoung had gone completely white, her small frame hunched forward as if trying to physically shield herself from what they were witnessing.
"No, no, no, no, please..."
Jihye had uncurled from her ball on the floor, pushed herself up until she was half-standing, her hand instinctively reaching for where her sword would be. She was staring at the screen with an expression of absolute horror.
She thought of her master knocking Dokja unconscious earlier, how she'd defended him, and why that act had triggered such a violent schism. She understood now. She understood why any violence towards the reader—even violence meant to protect him—would trigger such intense reactions from those who knew.
Because once, long ago, he'd been this terrified child listening to violence and being unable to do anything about it.
Her face was twisted with hot-blooded anger
"This fuckin-"
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is covering her mouth in shock]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' has gone very quiet]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' is radiating cold fury]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' is no longer smiling]
[Multiple constellations are expressing distress]
Seolhwa's eyes had narrowed. Certain things were starting to make sense now. The way the constellation flinched when people raised their voices. The way he hated seeing the children upset. The way he would insert himself between conflicts, always trying to de-escalate, always trying to make himself the target instead of letting others fight.
On the screen, the arguing continued. Lee Sookyung's voice was rising now, no longer calm, matching her husband's anger with her own.
"How dare you?! I sacrificed everything for you! I gave up my dreams, my career, everything! And you throw it in my face like I'm some kind of burden!"
"You ARE a burden! You and that useless brat both! All you do is take and take and take and give nothing back!"
"Ha-"
A small sound escaped young Dokja. It was barely more than a whimper, a frightened breath that slipped out before he could stop it. Yet in the sudden stillness that followed, it was deafening.
The arguing stopped instantly.
Then footsteps.
Coming toward his room.
Young Dokja's heart rate spiked so fast it stung. His terror multiplied tenfold, a suffocating wave that forced him to scramble back further into his corner, trying to be invisible
He squeezed his eyes shut, the darkness behind his eyelids somehow more comforting than the sliver of light from his door. His whole body was shaking now, violent tremors he couldn't control no matter how hard he tried.
[Please don't come in please don't come in please don't come in] repeated like a mantra in his young mind. [I'll be quiet I'll be so quiet I promise I'll be good just please don't come in—]
The door opened wider.
Light flooded into his room.
Young Dokja's breathing stopped entirely. His small hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms, and he braced himself for whatever was coming.
Heewon couldn't breathe. She wanted to look away, couldn't bear to watch whatever was about to happen, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the screen. She couldn't possibly abandon this terrified child for even a moment, even if he was just a memory, an image on a screen.
Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyung were sat but looked ready to jump at the screen, to protect young Dokja from whatever was about to enter. Kyrgios was silent but the fury emanating from his small body was sizzling the air
But the footsteps stopped. There was a long moment of silence.
Then they heard Lee Sookyung's voice, quiet and strained.
"He's sleeping. Don't wake him."
More silence.
Then the door closed. The footsteps moved away, softer now, fading down the hall. The argument didn't start again, yet the apartment wasn't quiet. Noises still echoed. Someone getting a drink, someone pacing. Someone doing something to occupy themselves
The immediate threat had passed, but the fear lingered in their chests
Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyung slowly settled back into their chairs, their eyes remaining glued to the screen, burning with identical, cold fury.
I’ll kill him.
The thought was a synchronized vow in both their minds, their faces masks of pure, undiluted hatred.
Young Dokja waited, every muscle in his small body tense, until he was absolutely certain they were gone. Then he slowly uncurled himself, his limbs shaking so badly he could barely move.
He climbed into his small bed, pulled the covers up over his head, and began to cry.
"Hh— hh— I—"
Instinctively, he sobbed silently because he'd already subconsciously started learned that making noise was dangerous. His small hands pressed against his mouth to muffle any sound, and tears soaked into his pillow.
[I'm scared I'm scared I'm scared]
[I want Eomma. But Eomma sounds scared too. I want it to stop. I want it to go back to how it was. Please let it go back to how it was.]
And underneath that, more devastating than anything:
[Did I do something wrong? Is it my fault? He said I'm useless. He said I'm a burden. Maybe if I'm better, maybe if I'm good enough, maybe it'll stop. Maybe they'll be happy again. I have to be better. I have to be perfect. Then Eomma will be happy and Appa won't be angry and everything will be okay again.]
The company was drowning in his feelings, in his terror and confusion and desperate attempts to make sense of something no child should have to understand.
The grief in the room had curdled into anger. Lee Seolhwa stood rigid, hands balled into fists as she glared at the screen. "Motherfucker"
Gong Pildu had taken off his golf cap and was twisting it between his hands, his expression stricken.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is sobbing uncontrollably]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' has manifested darkness around her in rage]
[The constellation 'Father of the Rich Night' is trying to calm his wife down]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' looks genuinely angry]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is asking if he can burn someone]
[Multiple constellations are expressing fury and distress]
Kim Gwanja stood on the stage, tears streaming down his face unchecked. His small form was trembling, and he looked like he wanted to climb onto the screen, to reach through time and space and gather that terrified child into his arms.
The scene finally faded, leaving only the image of young Dokja in his bed, crying himself into an exhausted sleep.
[Tomorrow will be better] his young mind tried to convince itself.
[Tomorrow Appa won't be mad. Tomorrow Eomma will smile again. Tomorrow we can read stories and everything will be okay. It has to be okay. It has to be]
But they could all feel the lie in those thoughts. The desperate hope of a child trying to cope with something too big for his understanding.
The screen faded to black.
The text reappeared, this time in young Dokja's voice. It resonated in their minds.
[I was scared. And....it only got worse from there]
"No," Yoosung whispered. "No, no, no."
"It gets worse?" Gilyoung's voice cracked. "How can it get worse?"
But Lee Sookyung's expression told them it could. That it would. That what they'd just witnessed was only the beginning.
The screen shifted again.
Young Dokja was in his room again, but this time he was peeking out through the crack in his door deliberately. They could see the same apartment beyond, small and cramped.
One floor, modest furniture, the kind of place that suggested financial struggle but not poverty. A home that should have been cozy, could have been happy, but instead felt like a cage.
His parents were arguing again.
The angle allowed a partial view of them. Lee Sookyung stood in profile, her features tight with the strain of someone fighting to remain composed. Her husband’s form loomed beside her, a large, lumbering figure.
The company couldn't make out his face, it remained indistinct, blurred by the projection, but his general shape could be seen. He was big enough to tower over a small child, moving with the erratic aggression of a man who had been drinking.
[Fat] Dokja's young mind labeled him unkindly.
"I do everything for you!" His voice was slightly slurred. "Everything! And what do you give me? Nothing! Just a useless brat who does nothing but read and waste my money!"
Young Dokja flinched at the word 'useless.'
The word landed like a physical blow and lodged itself deep inside him. It would take root there, settle deep, and over time become part of how he understood himself.
[Useless] his young mind repeated. [Appa says I'm useless....Maybe I am. Maybe that's why he's angry. Because I'm not good enough.]
The fear was building again, that same suffocating terror from before but growing stronger. The company felt it rising in their chests like flood water, making it hard to breathe.
Lee Sookyung on the screen tried to respond, but her husband talked over her, his voice getting louder, angrier, more out of control.
"You've never done anything for me! Never! All you do is take care of that brat! What about me? What about what I need?"
"He's your son!" Lee Sookyung's voice cracked. "He's five years old! What do you expect me to do?"
"I expect you to act like a wife! I expect you to prioritize your husband! But no, all you care about is him! That useless little—"
Young Dokja's throat made a sound before he could stop it. A tiny, wounded noise.
No, no, no.
He'd made the exact same mistake again.
The arguing stopped instantly.
His father's head turned toward his room. Young Dokja felt his gaze in his direction. He stumbled back in panic and scrambled for his bed, trying desperately to look like he had been asleep the whole time.
But his limbs betrayed him.
His hands were shaking too badly, his movements too jerky and panicked. He threw himself under the covers and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his breathing, trying to look peaceful and asleep.
But he was terrible at it.
His small body trembled violently, making the blankets shake. His breathing was coming in short, frightened gasps that he couldn't quite suppress. His eyes were clenched shut, his forehead wrinkled, and even through closed lids they could see tears squeezing out from the corners.
The company felt his terror escalate to completely new heights.
His heart was hammering so fast it felt like it might explode. Every muscle in his small body was locked tight with fear. His mind was screaming, a wordless panic that had no shape, no coherent thought, just pure animal terror.
[He's coming he's coming he's coming please please please I'm sorry I'm sorry I'll be good I'll be so good just please—]
And that fear possessed them.
It wasn't a conscious decision. Their bodies moved on pure instinct, responding to the overwhelming terror of someone they cared about, someone they'd fought beside and bled for and would die to protect.
Heewon snatched up her sword and charged forward, tears streaking down her face as she screamed, “STOP—!”
She swung again and again, her blade flashing uselessly against the screen. Rage, terror and helplessness poured out of her with every strike.
Jihye scrambled to her side, pounding on the screen with frantic, desperate blows that did nothing but echo hollowly. Her hands would bruise later but she didn't care. Both of them were raw, wild, tears streaming down their faces as they tried futilely to reach through time and space to protect a child who was long past saving.
Yoo Joonghyuk pushed himself to his feet, barely containing a white-hot fury; the single thought pounding in his head was simple: I’ll kill him. ’ll kill him. ’ll kill him. ’ll kill him. ’ll kill him. ’ll kill him. ’ll kill him. ’ll kill him.
Han Sooyoung's eyes blazed with a cold rage. She didn't rush to the screen like the others, but she was on her feet, hands clenched into fists at her sides. If she could reach through that screen, then there would be nothing left of Kim Dokja's father but ash.
Yoo Sangah sat apart, shoulders shaking, silently sobbing until her chest hurt. Nearby, Yoosung and Gilyoung had turned towards the constellation's unmoving body; each clung to the sleeve of his coat, their faces wet with tears, helplessness exuding out of them with every shuddering breath
He heard footsteps approaching his room. Heavy footsteps that seemed to shake the floor. Or maybe that was just how it felt to young Dokja, whose entire world had narrowed down to just those approaching sounds.
The door opened.
Heewon couldn't watch. She collapsed and closed her eyes, unable to bear witnessing whatever was about to happen. Beside her, Lee Hyunsung had followed her partway, but stood frozen with his head bowed
Young Dokja was vibrating with terror, his small form shaking so badly the bed was creaking. His mind had gone blank with fear, capable of nothing but that repeating litany of [please please please]
The footsteps came closer.
Stopped beside his bed.
There was a long moment of silence, stretching into eternity. Young Dokja waited, every nerve screaming, for whatever was coming.
Then they heard his eomma's voice from the doorway. "Leave him alone."
A miracle.
Heewon, Hyunsung, Sangah, and Jihye all snapped their heads up at once—eyes wide, breath catching in their throats.
Please... please let him be okay, we'll do anything just please...keep him safe
They didn’t know who they were pleading with, or if anyone was listening at all.
But as they stared at the screen before them, that single word kept surfacing, again and again, clinging stubbornly to hope.
Please.
More silence.
"Hmph."
Then, finally, the footsteps retreated. The door closed, softer this time. They heard the sounds of someone moving away, back to the main room.
The group released the breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding, the suffocating tension finally breaking.
Seolhwa and Aileen hurried forward, gently guiding Heewon and Jihye back to their seats. The fire that had driven the grieving members moments ago had drained completely, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
Sooyung slumped back into her chair, loathing the bitter feeling of helplessness that clung to her. Hyunsung followed close behind Heewon, his silent concern was evident but he didn't say anything
The rest of the company focused on the screen feeling the same powerful overwhelming feeling of weakness
But young Dokja didn't relax. He couldn't. He stayed frozen beneath the blankets, trembling and terrified, waiting until he was absolutely certain his father had left. Only when the apartment had fallen into a distant, muffled quiet did he let himself breathe again.
Then slowly, he curled into the smallest ball he could manage under his blankets and began to cry again. Silently, desperately, his small body shaking with the force of suppressed sobs. His hands were pressed so hard over his mouth that it had to hurt, but he didn't dare make a sound.
[I hate this I hate this I hate this], his young mind wailed.
[I want it to stop. I want Eomma to be happy again. I want Appa to not be angry. I want to read stories and be safe and not be scared all the time. Please let it stop. Please]
But underneath that, there was something more insidious, more damaging:
[It's my fault. I'm useless like appa said. I'm a burden. If I was better, if I was good enough, maybe appa wouldn't be angry. Maybe eomma wouldn't be sad. It's my fault. I have to be better. I have to be perfect. I have to not exist so much. Then maybe they can be happy again]
The company was choking on his emotions, on the overwhelming guilt and fear and desperate need to fix something that was absolutely not his fault. They wanted to scream at him, to tell him it wasn't true, that he was just a child and none of this was his responsibility.
But they couldn't. They could only watch and bear witness to a small boy breaking under a crippling weight no five-year-old should ever have to carry.
[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is begging someone to make it stop]
[The constellation 'Queen of the Darkest Spring' is manifesting killing intent that's making the theatre shake]
[The constellation 'Father of the Rich Night' is holding her back]
[The constellation 'Great Sage, Heaven's Equal' looks murderous]
[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is asking permission to incinerate someone]
[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' has not moved but his presence has intensified with rage]
[Multiple constellations are expressing fury and the desire for violence]
Yoo Sangah was trembling, tears streaming down her face. She'd read about this in the Fourth Wall's library, had seen the stories written in Dokja's memories. But reading about it and experiencing his emotions directly were worlds apart. The fear, the guilt, the desperate attempt to make sense of something senseless, it was unbearable.
Lee Sookyung was barely holding on. Her breathing had become ragged, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She was staring at the screen with eyes that looked haunted, watching her past self fail to protect her son, watching her young son break under the weight of circumstances he should never have had to endure.
She felt sorry. God, she felt so sorry it was like acid burning through her chest. If she could go back, if she could change things, protect him better, be stronger—
But regret didn't mean she would have done anything differently when it mattered most. She had made her choices. She had done what was necessary for his survival, even if it meant becoming the villain in his life. Even if it meant he hated her. Despised and loathed her. Even if it meant his friends abhorred her.
She would do it all again if it kept him alive.
That was her resolve. A mother's resolve.
But her hands still trembled
Young Dokja finally cried himself to sleep, his small body still trembling even in unconsciousness. His last coherent thought before exhaustion claimed him was a desperate prayer to no one in particular:
[Tomorrow....will be better. Tomorrow has to be better. Please let tomorrow be better]
The screen faded to black.
............
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The company looked drained—faces pale, shoulders slumped, hands trembling. The emotional assault of experiencing Dokja's childhood terror and emotions firsthand was taking its toll. Combined with everything else they'd been through, the exhaustion was becoming palpable.
"....Was that your first fight?"
Everyone's heads turned toward Han Sooyung, then followed her gaze to Lee Sookyung in the front row.
Sookyung had been getting used to the emotional onslaught, adapting to it in the way survivors learned to adapt to pain. Her posture was less rigid now than at the beginning—her back slightly bent, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Her hands still trembled, but less violently than before. The beige trench coat over her prison uniform rustled slightly as she shifted.
For a moment, she didn't respond.
There was a knowing look in her eyes, ancient and weary, as if she'd expected this question was going to crop up eventually.
Then she let out a long, weary sigh. Resistance was pointless, all her secrets would be revealed eventually anyway. Why bother hiding them?
"Yeah. That was our first major fight."
"Wait," Aileen said, confused. She leaned forward in her seat. "I don't understand. That happy memory we saw at the beginning—the one where he was reading with you—there was a moment where his thought cut off at he end. He was thinking about wanting to escape, wanting to be somewhere else. But if that was your first fight, and it came after that memory, what was he trying to escape from?"
Sookyung's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Before she could speak, Yoo Joonghyuk's cold voice cut through the theater.
"He must have felt something before that."
Every head turned towards him.
"Children that young don't develop that level of fear from nothing," he continued, his tone blunt but edged with something dangerous. "Even if this was the first major fight he heard openly, there must have been tension before. Smaller arguments. Cold silences. Things he couldn't fully understand but felt on some level."
Lee Sookyung turned her head slowly to look at him. For a moment, they just stared at each other—his gaze analytical and cold, hers steady and resigned.
"He's right," she admitted finally. "There were smaller fights. They never lasted for more than a couple minutes and neither did we end up shouting the house down. We tried to keep them away from him. We would wait until he was asleep or in another room before quietly talking."
Her voice was matter-of-fact. There was no defensiveness or self-pity
"But he did know," Seolhwa said quietly from her seat. "Not consciously perhaps, but children are incredibly perceptive. They pick up on tension and stress and changes in their parents' behavior even when they can't articulate what they're sensing."
Gilyoung nodded silently, his small face serious. He understood that better than most. He'd sensed his aunt's resentment long before she'd tried to abandon him at that orphanage. Children always knew when they weren't wanted, even if no one said it out loud.
"What Dokja experienced that night wasn't just shock from an isolated event. It was the first time his subconscious fears were confirmed. He'd been feeling that something was wrong for who knows how long, and that night gave his fear a form he couldn't deny anymore."
Yoo Joonghyuk's eyes hadn't left Sookyung. "....You noticed, didn't you?"
Several people looked confused. Han Sooyoung had a knowing grimace on her face, already understanding where this was going.
"Joonghyuk," Minyoung said warningly from the third row.
But he continued, "You knew that fool knew. You knew he was picking up on the tension, on the fights you thought you were hiding. You knew he sensed something was wrong. And you did nothing."
Lee Sookyung's eyes flashed. She was slouched in her seat, hands in her pockets, but she pivoted her upper body to face him.
"Don't you dare call my son a fool again"
The room went taut.
Then, colder still, “And don’t you dare look at me with those self-righteous eyes," she snarled.
"I don't deny I've made mistakes. But the past is the past. Are you going to sit there and tell me you've made no mistakes, bastard?"
"This isn't about me—"
"Isn't it?" She cut him off. "You want to stand in judgment of choices you know nothing about? You're a hundred years too young to understand what I did or why I did it, brat. Don't think watching a memory or two will ever fix that"
Yoo Joonghyuk's jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists, and he started to rise from his seat.
"Joonghyuk-ah," his master said firmly from behind him. "Enough."
He froze halfway up, every muscle in his body coiled tight with barely restrained fury.
Lee Sookyung's lips curved into something cold and mocking.
"That's what I thought. Be a good little boy and sit down."
The deliberate provocation worked. Rage flashed across the protagonists face, and for a moment it looked like he was going to ignore his master entirely and lunge at Sookyung.
"Joonghyuk-ah," his master repeated, more forcefully this time.
Slowly, with visible effort, he lowered himself back into his seat. But the fury radiating from him was palpable, and his eyes never left the wanderer's face.
They stared at each other, for a long, tense moment.
Finally, they both looked away.
Yoo Sangah let out a long, exhausted breath. "Can we not do this right now? Please?"
Minyoung made a sound of agreement from the third row.
"Ahjussi wouldn't want this," Yoosung said quietly from where she sat on the floor, her small hands still gripping Dokja's coat sleeve. Her eyes were red from crying, but her voice was steady.
Gilyoung muttered under his breath, "Stupid bastard, always has to pick fights."
Yoo Joonghyuk's head whipped toward him, his left eye twitching.
"Baat! Baat baat!" Biyoo chirped anxiously from her perch near the children, her small voice managing to sound both scolding and worried at the same time.
Yoo Mia reached over and placed her small hand on her brother's knee. She didn't say anything, just looked up at him with wide, concerned eyes—a silent plea for him to let it go.
Joonghyuk's expression softened fractionally as he looked down at his sister. He took a breath, and his rigid posture eased slightly.
"The emotional toll of what we're experiencing, combined with everything else we've been through, is wearing us down." Minyoung said holding her tobacco pipe," We're not in the <Star Stream> anymore. We're just people, and people have their limits."
There was a hum of agreement from multiple people.
Han Sooyoung ran a hand through her hair. Unlike a certain stupid fish, she was focused on understanding the depth of each memory. So far what they’d learned was clear enough:
Kim Dokja had been living in a warzone long before that first major fight between his parents. He’d already been sensing the tension, feeling unsafe, searching for places to hide.
Which meant the first memory they’d seen—him finding comfort in rereading stories with his mother—hadn’t just been a happy moment. It had been the start of a coping mechanism. An early escape.
And if that was true, then her gut feeling was telling her that the memories still waiting for them would only show how necessary that escape became. How books slowly turned into his only safe place.
Her eyes turned back towards the screen
In the front row, Lee Sookyung sat with her back slightly bent, her hands folded in her lap. She wasn't shaking as badly anymore. What remained was a tired resignation—she had stopped trying to forgive herself long ago.
But that didn't mean she would prostrate herself for judgment. Especially not for Yoo Joonghyuk. She had done what was necessary. She would do it again. Her hands might shake from reliving the memories, but her resolve was iron.
They waited for the text.
But this time, instead of text appearing, there was just darkness. Long, oppressive darkness that seemed to last forever.
Then the image finally shifted to the next day.
Sunlight was streaming through the window again, but it felt different now. Less warm, more harsh. Less comforting, more exposing.
Young Dokja woke up slowly. For a moment, just a moment, he looked peaceful. Then his eyes opened fully, and they watched his memory return. His expression shifted from sleepy confusion to happiness at the sunshine, to the sudden, devastating remembrance of what had happened the night before.
His small face crumpled.
[Last night. Last night was real. It wasn't a nightmare]
He sat up in his bed, clutching his blanket to his chest like a shield. His mind was racing, thoughts tumbling over one another, trying to figure out what to do. Should he stay in his room? Should he go out? What if appa was still angry? What if he made it worse?
[I have to be good today. I have to be perfect. No making noise. No making appa mad. No being a burden]
They felt his decision to be brave. To go out and face whatever was waiting. Maybe if he was really good, maybe if he was quiet and helpful and didn't cause any problems, maybe everything would be okay.
He slid out of bed carefully. He made his bed with the meticulous attention of someone far older than five. He smoothed every wrinkle, adjusted every corner, fluffed the pillow twice just to be sure. Everything had to be perfect because maybe, maybe if everything was perfect then nothing bad would happen.
The company felt his thought process, the desperate logic of a traumatized child trying to control an uncontrollable situation through sheer force of perfection with a mixture of anger and aching recognition. They'd all seen traces of this in the adult Dokja—that obsessive need to prepare for every contingency, to control every variable.
Young Dokja walked to his door and hesitated. A small hand hovered over the doorknob, trembling. He leaned closer, pressing his ear to the wood, listening for sounds from the main room, trying to gauge the situation
He heard sounds. Cooking sounds. The clatter of pots and pans. Nothing else. No arguing. That was good. That meant maybe things were okay.
He took a deep breath, and opened the door.
The sight that greeted him made the company's collective breath catch in a different way
The apartment was filled with morning sunlight, streaming through the windows and making everything look warm and golden. The kitchen was in full operation, and Lee Sookyung was there, cooking something that smelled amazing even through the barrier of time and memory.
Omurice.
Young Dokja's entire face lit up at the sight. His mouth started watering automatically, his stomach growling. The smell of his favorite food filled his senses, momentarily overriding his fear.
[Eomma's making omurice! My favorite!]
The company recognized it immediately, and a quiet shock rippled through them. None of them had known this was Dokja’s favorite food.
"He never said," Heewon murmured, her voice tight.
In all their meals together, through all their shared food in the apocalypse, Dokja had never once mentioned this was his favorite.
The realization settled heavily in their hearts, how much he’d kept to himself, how little they’d truly known despite everything they’d shared.
Yoo Joonghyuk made a mental note of the fact, promising that he would make that as his first meal when they returned back to the industrial complex...returned home
But then he stopped himself before stepping out of his room completely. Because he'd seen something else