Chapter Text
A person's life can be summed up in various stories.
Tales of heroism through ballads, moments of love sung in poetry, apathetic recollections of events through newspaper articles. Though, Kim Dokja doesn't think he'd apply for any of those — after all, he's a "reader" before all else.
But if you were to describe his life through a written medium, he thinks it would be the world's most boring webnovel. With thousands of pages rambling on about the most minute, seemingly endless filler and callbacks to previous chapters, with an ending just as unsatisfying as the work itself. Perhaps the most unique feature about this hypothetical "Life-Of-Kim-Dokja" book would be the sheer amount of blank pages.
Books are meant to be read. World-building, foreshadowing, overall plot development; character arcs and plot climaxes, moments of anticipation and the satisfaction that follows. But for Kim Dokja, the number of "pages" that would've been legible were scarce.
Trauma, the internet question and answer forums would respond. After all, everyone did just get out of a literal apocalypse.
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe the reason why Kim Dokja knew nothing but his name and general age or anything before a few years ago was because of that aforementioned trauma. Yet that would only create more questions than resolutions — how bad was it that he can't even remember what happened before that supposed apocalypse? Why was there a bank account, in his name, with more than enough money for the next three generations? What were those strange memories of a boy suffering at the hands of his father, a teen tormented by bullies, of a man fighting against the sky itself that would fade from his recollection the moment he tried to recall them?
Kim Dokja thinks he spent a lot of his life before ignoring his problems, so memory or not he'll keep that attitude.
He's starting to wonder if he was a librarian in his past life (it's become easier to say "past life" than to say "life-before-I-lost-my-memory-and-possibly-before-the-apocalypse") due to his natural gravitation towards books. Classic novels, up-and-coming debut works, fiction and nonfiction alike — so long as it's written and bound, he simply must have it in his possession.
Maybe his ever-growing collection of books is what makes him take a first step into business. While most land and buildings were destroyed in the Event (read: apocalypse) prior, restoration has been underway for at least some time now. Most of the infrastructure has been restored into vaguely livable, particularly the homes and apartment buildings due to the crucial living situation issue, but some key shopping areas have been built up as well.
Having bought a medium sized, aged brick building right in the heart of a main plaza for what Kim Dokja is hoping is a decent price, he's surely on the path for success! Even if it goes under, even if no customer ever graces his cozy abode, the number with a terrifyingly large amount of digits in his bank account keeps him at ease. If anything, it just opens the door for more spending towards his collection! (Business expenses, his mind would reason whenever walking past the book section in the various second hand shops strewn throughout town. Surely another copy of "Idiot's Guide to Sewing (3rd Edition)" wouldn't hurt, yeah?)
Really. If not for the degradation of the <Star Stream> and loss of skills, Kim Dokja would've thought his level of rationalization could've been one.
After the (not-so) grand opening of his book cafe — aptly named just Kim Dokja's Cafe — the actual rate of customers was just as scarce as his memories were. Every now and then, a clearly lost tourist would meander in only to order whatever pastry he had managed to bake from a box mix the night before. Nobody ever really wanted to try his "house coffee blend" (instant-mix with far too much water and far too little of the actual, well, mix.) He tried not to let it get to him though.
Two years had passed just like that. Easygoing days where Kim Dokja's cafe would be open only for the only resident to be Kim Dokja himself, lazy afternoons where he would peruse his own library as though he didn't literally own it, nights that would stretch on for however long Kim Dokja felt like leaving the light on to aid in his reading. It was during one of those exact afternoons that someone had finally decided to break the monotony and actually use the cafe for its actual purpose.
"Does anyone actually run this place or is it haunted by the ghosts of whatever nerd died in a library?" A voice, very obviously one that Kim Dokja didn't know had startled him from his third reread of The SSSSS-Grade Infinite Regressor this month (he swears it's a hate read, but that's never stopped him from picking it back up again.) Normally the only people that stumble into his cafe were either a. lost, b. extremely lost, c. here for the utility bill, or d. all of the above. The ring of the bell from the doorway echoes through the first floor.
"No, it's very much in operation," Kim Dokja responds from beyond the entryway. Based on the tone of whoever just walked in, he's starting to wonder if he should've pretended it was closed after all. Begrudgingly, he manages to sit up from the couch he was just reclining in. "Welcome to my cafe, I'm Kim Dokja, how may I help you?"
Immediately he's starting to regret his self introduction. Having had finally managed to walk over to the entryway, he was met with someone who appeared to be a woman in her mid to late twenties. Part of him had still been hoping that this was someone who was filling in for whoever collected his usual utility bill or something similar, but based on the casual stance and the lollipop the stranger was holding in their mouth, they clearly weren't here on some type of a job.
The two of them simply stand in silence. Already Kim Dokja is regretting ever speaking up at all. He really should've just acted like this was some haunted building, even if that meant he was that ghost of a nerd who died here.
The stranger seems to make no attempt at continuing the conversation, leaving Kim Dokja to do nothing but shift awkwardly on each foot. A long, heavy moment finally passes before she speaks up again.
"Do you carry any of those webnovels or whatever?"
Though the internet was roughly up and running again after the reconstruction efforts, many relics of it were lost to time and destroyed servers and their backups. This led to the importance of written works over digital, and even now most people were hesitant to place their trust in the virtual word again. Perhaps most heavily hit were that of internet webnovels and literature of similar type due to their inherent digital nature — though a lucky few serialized series were able to be bound and printed before the destruction had begun.
The query still caught Kim Dokja off guard, however, as he didn't think he'd find a kindred spirit in regards to that particular genre niche anytime soon. Especially with someone who seemed rather standoffish in just the first few moments of their meeting.
"I— well, yes, we do carry a few," he tried not to let his surprise show in his voice. "Are there any you're looking for in particular? Or would you like a few recommendations?"
The woman only eyes him with an almost calculating gaze — as though she's searching for something in him; as though she knows him, and is waiting for him to know her in return.
"I'll take a few recommendations. Do you have a favorite?" Something about this exchange seems like it means much more to the woman than it does to Kim Dokja, but he quickly brushes that suspicion to the side.
"Not in particular." In familiar territory, books, Kim Dokja manages to resettle. "We have the first five volumes of Trash of the Count's Family, which is rather popular. Though we're missing one, we have the majority of The S-Classes That I Raised as well." He begins to prattle on about the various series in the cafe, hoping that maybe one of the titles seem interesting enough for the stranger to interject and ask about.
"But which is your favorite?" She emphasizes her earlier question just as Kim Dokja was getting off track in regards to the intricacies of the "rofan" niche.
The air between them grows tense again, as though she's digging for an answer that she believes he is willingly hiding. As though she's waiting for him to finish playing whatever prank was currently happening. Kim Dokja pauses before attempting to give some semblance of an answer she appears to be searching for.
"Well, I quite liked I've Become the Retired SSSSS-Grade Sun Wukong, which was a parody of the classic Journey to the West. Not sure if you'd be interested in that, maybe?" She only stares at him more. Clearly that wasn't the right answer.
"Kaizenix Archipelago had some good twists on the body possession and transmigration tropes, though it's better if you already are familiar to get the ref—" He tries again, but no dice. He's out of options.
With a quick glance to the book he had discarded previously in the room behind him, Kim Dokja makes his most desperate (book recommendation) move.
"...Though a bit of an acquired taste, The SSSSS-Grade Infinite Regressor was an interesting read?"
A laugh, startling in its volume and abruptness, finally breaks whatever focus the stranger had on their exchange. At a loss for words, Kim Dokja isn't sure whether this change is for the better or worse.
"Well, obviously you can't remember shit if you're out here praising that — even if it's rather hesitant," she snorts. Her shoulders sag for a moment as the tension holding them rigid releases, seemingly found an answer to whatever question she had been testing Kim Dokja on (even if he isn't sure it was the answer she was looking for.)
Remember? Remember what?
"I don't remember anything, actually," it comes off a bit more cynical than he intended. A bit too melancholy. "Not— not anything before around two years or so at least." The realization that he basically spilled his life story (what he remembered of it) to this random stranger dawns on him a moment later, leaving him rather sheepish.
"Did you know me?" Hope fills him for a brief moment. "Did I... know you?"
Maybe this is an even worse answer than the one about his favorite webnovel, maybe this predicament was worse than the idea of his amnesia being faked. The crestfallen look on the woman's face only remains for a moment before something else — relief? disappointment? clarity? — flits through her gaze. Seeming to have settled on a response, she holds out her hand for him to take.
"The name's Han Sooyoung." Her voice cracks, and Kim Dokja decides not to comment on it. "I'm a writer, and my neighborhood's been far too noisy for me to make any headway on my latest manuscript. How late are you open until?"
He shakes the outstretched hand. The grip is firm. Something nags at the back of his head — something familiar, something he wishes he could explain; moments of a life he cannot recall, of a bond he would mourn if he remembered it.
Nevertheless, their hands drop and Kim Dokja escorts her to beyond the entryway and into the actual main area of the cafe. She settles down at a table near the fantasy section, brings out whatever latest model of high-end laptop she had stored away in her bag and onto the table, while eagerly asking for the wifi password.
The residents at Kim Dokja's Cafe had doubled — from one to two — but it was only the beginning of the incoming regulars that seemed to know him more than he knew himself.