Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. The View From The Horizon 

Ominous, but expected. 

Kim Dokja heaved in a large metaphorical breath—since he definitely did not have a body to do it physically anymore—and slowly let it go. On the heels of the previous message, came another:

Also expected. He braced for it—the swooping, sucking sensation of travel across the story’s, the scenario’s, boundary that had been described with excruciating detail in Regression #111 of ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’—and perhaps would have screamed at the squeezing sensation, were it even possible to do so. But there was no air in this non-spatial existence of his as he hurtled past countless scenarios playing out beneath him, at once feeling like a comet burning through space and a current zapping across a body of water—too much, too soon; scorching, frenzied, alive… yet paradoxically, logically, not.  

As he adjusted to the speed, he realised that either he was travelling too quickly for his eyes to keep up, still belatedly flitting images of the passing scenarios upon his retina, or the world of scenarios was truly that large to take so long to traverse through. Still, soon enough he was far off, that instead of places, they became pin-pricks of colour, and then indistinguishable blobs, and finally—and here is where Kim Dokja might have to agree on an explanation closer to hallucination than wild imagination—long lines of text. Words upon words, stacked one after another to form a line, then a paragraph, a scene, a story.

Before he could ponder too much upon it, it was gone, between one thought and the next. Distantly, there came a third announcement:

In the faraway darkness, eons away from the scenario he was last in, the Star Stream uttered a final, quiet, whisper, as if meant just for him: 

「 In the darkness, the lone Kim Dokja finally woke up. 」

Kim Dokja opened his eyes at the narration. He was waking up… but, well. Huh.

「 The bones of his body seemed to be crushed and the skin was stiff, like a dead animal’s skin. 」

Was that really a narration?? By the Fourth Wall???

Also, what happened to his bones? He felt fine, but was that because the Fourth Wall was blocking off his pain as it usually did, or because he didn’t truly have a body anymore? As a pure constellation, it was quite likely… or rather, the other option being: The Fourth Wall was being dramatic. 

There was a time and place for purple prose! Still, broken bones and dead animal-skin or not, he struggled to get up from the ground and take a glance at his body so he could reassure himself that at least he was—

「 I am alive, Kim Dokja thought. 」

Well, then. Narration by the Fourth Wall indeed.

He flopped backwards, relieved. The plan was a success.

At the same time:

「 The plan was a success, Kim Dokja thought. 」

He rolled his eyes. But, in all honesty, hearing the Fourth Wall was a welcome sense of comfort, of security. The skill was a confirmation that after dying as an incarnation, he wasn’t yet dead as a constellation. 

Slowly, he got to his feet, gazed at the ruins he had landed in, and started walking. No broken bones hindered the first steps he took, nor did pain lance up his body. Strange, suspicious even, but he had no time to think about the minutiae just then.

As the Fourth Wall kept up a running monologue of his thoughts and actions, he realised that despite having travelled across multiple landscapes—terraformed, or transformed, or transported ones, both of earth’s and other dimensions—he was, somehow, inexplicably, still inside Seoul.

Actually, isn’t that the place where I destroyed the Absolute Throne?

In front of him, Gwanghamunn square stretched out as a desolated remnant of previous scenarios. Stories that had been played out, their sets left to rubble once the cast and crew were done with it, already moving forward to the next adventure.

Kim Dokja glanced back once, just once, towards the edge of the Seoul Dome. It was visible in the horizon, albeit strangely distant despite him still being inside Seoul itself. He wondered how that worked—especially since he knew that the dome was part of the scenarios, while he was out of it. 

「 Something metaphysical was at work here. Aspects of the novel that even Kim Dokja did not know. 」

Then he turned around, and walked forward once more. In the background, the Fourth Wall kept up a steady chatter. Unable to help himself, he tried them all once—accessing the channel, contacting his incarnation, using his unwieldy yet trusty skill Omniscient Viewpoint Level 3 (surely being expelled from the scenario had to count as being near death, right?)—but they were of no use. Then, he even tried talking to the Fourth Wall, trying to incite an answer, an explanation from it—

「 Stupid Kim Dokja… 」

—only to get insults in return. The one and only skill of his that seemed to be working (weird, but he wasn’t going to complain), was one that was being uncooperative. 

「 … thought Kim Dokja uncharitably. 」

“Hey!” he scowled, now slightly annoyed. 

Stupid background narration was fine, and sassing him was fine, but answering his questions were not? Come on! 

“How long will you keep this up?”

「 … the fool, Kim Dokja, said into the air around him. 」

He rolled his eyes. What a jerk.

“Stop that nonsense! You want me to turn you off?”

There was a second of silence. As if the skill was genuinely considering his words. In the eerie stillness, it gave his long-standing thought credibility: that this skill of his was truly sentient. Not that he didn’t already have one too many instances to serve as proof.

Finally, another message popped up.

「 The Fourth Wall asked: “Th  en  sho uld  I  q  ui  t?” 」

Kim Dokja blinked. Well, if it was not going to be helpful then at least it was considerate?

“Yes, stop for now. I’m trying to think.”

In the next moment, too many things happened simultaneously—

Silence, absolute silence filled the whole place as the Fourth Wall blinked off, and the freezing cold set in. It was like the sub-zero temperatures of outer-space brought to life, accompanied by other extremes spreading over his skin—fire burning beneath his ribs, so prickingly hot that it was freezing; the bleak blankness of the depths of an ocean spreading over his senses, so deep that the pressure was crushing. 

Kim Dokja, in the instantaneous moment of these indescribable sensations, tried to scream. His mouth opened wide, but nothing escaped except a harsh rasp as he tried to breathe— 

—and failed. 

Then, realisation set in; the reason why he was expelled from the scenarios was exactly this. Alone, without a scenario, and without a story, he wouldn’t survive. This was how the Vedas and Olympus wanted to kill him—as an incarnation and as a constellation. Barely had that thought formed, on the heels of excruciating pain that was his bugged-existence, came the final surprise.

From the distance—no, no, from barely a few feet away—came a cacophony of voices:

“Ahjussi!”

“Kim Dokja!”

“Hyung!

“Dokja-ssi!”

“Ahjussi!”

“Oi, idiot!”

「 That last one… was definitely Han Sooyoung. 」

Kim Dokja collapsed, falling ungracefully onto his knees as the Fourth Wall activated on time. With tear-blurred eyes, he looked up, unbelieving… 

There, running towards him at breakneck speeds, weapons tightly clutched in their hands like they were fresh out of a battle (and what a battle it had been indeed), still loudly calling out his name, were his companions.

“Ah,” he said, voice hoarse with emotion and lingering pain.

「 “Ah,” said Kim Dokja, foolishly. 」

“You’re all here.”

「 “You’re all here,” he said, stating the obvious. 」

He let out a bark of laughter as the first one of them reached him—Shin Yoosung, of course, who else could it be? And Lee Gilyoung was right behind her, followed by Lee Jihye, then Jung Heewon and Yoo Sangah, and Gong Pildu and Lee Hyunsung and Lee Seolhwa, and finally, like sentinels of the group, trailing behind them, Han Sooyoung and… Yoo Joonghyuk.

“You—” he choked with unsaid emotions as the kids fell into his arms, sobbing, “—you guys are really… all here.”

「 … said stupid Kim Dokja, stupidly, once again stating the obvious. 」

Over the murmur of voices and hands and crying faces, Yoo Joonghyuk opened his mouth. 

“Naturally,” said the protagonist, “where else would we be?”

2. An Impossible Story

Where Yoo Joonghyuk should have been, was the Dark Castle. Actually, no. At this moment, he should have been leading his other companions outside the Seoul Dome, collected his sister from where he had had her hide, and then promptly drowned himself in special scenarios as he tried to forget the last main one. 

Moderation, as his younger yet painfully mature sister would often tell him, was not his forte.

But, what had happened after the 10th Main Scenario was this: confusion, panic, and multiple loud demands as to where their companion—their stupid, sacrificial, martyr of a companion—had disappeared off to. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t know how to answer that. They had all seen his body disintegrate. It should have been a simple answer, but then again, they had seen Kim Dokja die quite a few times by now.

His grip tightened over the blade in his hand. It had many names—the Heavenly Sword of Gathering Clouds, Ame no Murakumo no Tsurugi—but all he could think of when he held it was ‘cursed blade’. It had emerged from a concentrated mixture of alcohol and snake bones, bones from Yamata no Orochi itself, a ginormous monster-god slain by the combined strength his companions and himself, and now used to cut down the one—

“Yah, Yoo Joonghyuk!”

He snapped his head up, pulling himself out of his thoughts and clenched his jaw as he gritted out: “I don’t know.”

Han Sooyoung scowled at the answer, turning and walking away, but what else could he say? They wanted to know if Kim Dokja was alive, if that bastard’s words could truly be believed when he told them he would come back soon. But how was he to know? Between them, he was not the prophet.

“I don’t accept it,” said Shin Yoosung, almost in a whisper. “I can’t—ahjussi can’t be dead! He promised—he said we have to believe in him!”

She broke down sobbing, her words dissolving into mutters. Next to her, the boy, Lee Gilyoung, was trying valiantly not to join her. Lee Jihye still looked shocked, leaning on a surprisingly morose-looking Gong Pildu’s shoulder. 

Yoo Joonghyuk swept his gaze over the others. In the far corner, Lee Seolhwa, now conscious but still visibly exhausted, was trying to heal Jung Heewon of her innumerous wounds gained through fighting a Demon King, with Lee Hyunsung hovering anxiously behind them, his stigma having spared him of any major physical injury. Stoicism seemed to be the way the women were coping, and the soldier was trying desperately to copy it, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s enhanced vision clearly saw the dried tear tracks that ran down his face.

Finally, he turned to Yoo Sangah, the woman he suspected had the closest ties to Kim Dokja—or was that Han Sooyoung? The two of them had gone off on their own when the Paradise Manor scenario was ongoing, and that guy had used his sixth-man card to bring her in. These two women were undoubtedly close to Kim Dokja. 

Which was why it surprised him a bit. He had expected… not tears, no, Yoo Sangah was someone too composed in general to succumb to tears, but something. Instead, she had her eyes narrowed, blinking rapidly as she muttered to herself.

“Expelled from the scenario… out of the boundaries of the scenario?” Yoo Joonghyuk walked closer to hear her say, “If we are ongoing stories to the Star Stream, then he’s a completed one?”

Han Sooyoung, next to her: “No, no. Death, expulsion… that’s like removal from a story—like, if we are the actors on stage, he is—”

“Backstage,” Yoo Sangah finished her thought and frowned. “Bowed out, arc over, retreated back…”

Yoo Joonghyuk stopped before them. “What are you two talking about?”

“Exactly, backstage!” Han Sooyoung didn’t spare him a glance as she went on. “And whose domain is that? Not the actors—it’s all props and knick-knacks—”

What were they talking about? Where was this theory going? Yoo Joonghyuk was no avid reader or writer, or even someone who went to see plays, but he was a man who had lived through these scenarios at least twice before (if his memory was to be trusted, that is). But not once did he know of what happened to those who were ‘exiled’ from a scenario.

“—and the director, and playwright…” Suddenly, Han Sooyoung lit up. “Yes, yes! That’s it!”

“What?” asked Jung Heewon, done with getting healed. “What is it?”

“A writer! Who else can access the edges of a story, the place beyond the story, but a writer?”

Perhaps ‘story’ was stretching it; even if, in this apocalyptic world, people were stories, and scenarios but a medium to display their tale. But still, would it truly be apt to call death being the end of a story? Being beyond a story?

“Eonni! No way—you have such a skill?” Lee Jihye, with uncautious hope, stumbled towards them.

“Use it!” Lee Gilyoung said immediately. 

The adults, however, were more hesitant. It was but natural, even as Han Sooyoung looked like she had found the answer.

Death was the end. For everyone (except him, somehow, always… never him), and this time, even for Kim Dokja. Whether or not death meant an ending in a world with the underworld and afterlife of various religious and mythological stories, exile was a different matter altogether.

“You don’t have such a skill,” he said instead, voice tight with suppressed grief. 

Han Sooyoung glared. “No one had skills before the apocalypse, bastard,” she retorted. “We all awakened them accordingly, didn’t we? As per our real life abilities—and in situations that we desperately needed them.”

That… was true. Yet—

…yet. 

Was it truly so simple? If she could find a way to get them to the edge of a story, Yoo Joonghyuk would gladly follow her. But could she? If they tried and failed… it would be worse. He didn’t know how he would be able to hold on to the hope of Kim Dokja still being alive if they—

“You’ll need to sacrifice something of equal value,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, focusing on her as he grappeled with his emotions. “And you don’t have such a thing—none of us do.” As the children started looking despairingly at him for crushing their hope, Yoo Joonghyuk continued, “Besides that, we don’t know how to find him either. Do you even know where the place outside the scenarios is? I don’t.”

He had made his words purposefully sharp, with the ragged edges of his grief coating them. But instead of dissuading her, it was as if his words had jolted something in Han Sooyoung. 

“Yeah… not yet,” she said quietly. “But he must have—he had to have known. Actually, I think I—hang on. Let me just—hey, Shin Yoosung, come here!”

What?

She wasn’t making sense anymore. Was she going to use the bond between an incarnation and constellation to locate Kim Dokja? That wouldn’t work—it was the first thing Shin Yoosung had tried after Kim Dokja’s body disintegrated. The girl had already told them that she couldn’t feel her connection to her sponsor.

“Yoo Sangah, I have an idea,” said Han Sooyoung, eyes wild. “Everyone, come closer!”

Around them, the scenario arena was slowly returning to its prior state. The system message still showed up as “please standby” owing to the multiple eccentric events that had taken place—from Vedas and Papyrus sabotaging their scenario, to the hasty replacement with the demon core. As their companions slowly came closer, Cho Youngran of the Wanderers tactfully giving them space to what she clearly assumed to be them grieving, Lee Seolhwa found a spot next to him.

“How are you doing?” she asked softly, eyes lingering on wounds she had only barely managed to heal before.

“I will live.” 

It was a bit curt, but he didn’t have the capacity to think just then. He wanted to know what this idea was, why Han Sooyoung thought she could manage the impossible.

It was a plan born of madness. Yoo Joonghyuk stared at this woman—this—this utterly crazy woman—who had nothing to depend upon except her faith in this wild idea.

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” she asked once again. “Will you do it?”

There was barely any time to think. The Star Stream had finished its calculations. Soon it would be time to leave—not just this scenario arena, but also the Seoul Dome. He remembered this, there would be a long time between the 10th and 11th main scenarios. 

Above their heads, a dokkaebi popped in, his black eyes landing unerringly on their group. “Ah, there you are—I suppose you were waiting for the rewards of the scenario?”

“Yoo Joonghyuk!”

He swallowed, gaze flitting from the children’s hopeful ones to the adult’s desperate expressions. 

“Hey, are you listening to me?” the dokkaebi asked again.

“I’ll do it,” he said, ignoring the creature.

Yoo Sangah breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I’ll start.”

It was impossible for the dokkaebi to not realise something was wrong at this point. Even the constellations were taking notice now. 

Yoo Joonghyuk gazed up into the night sky, where countless of stars were twinkling. Constellations, he corrected himself, not just any stars.

And one of them was…

Among them were other constellations who sent in cursory messages. He wasn’t surprised. Their group had been in the limelight since the battle for the Absolute Throne came to a climactic conclusion, and each subsequent story had been equally eye-catching. More so when that guy was involved. Especially so when that guy was involved (which was nearly always).

Countless constellations had tripped over their feet to be able to speak to Yoo Joonghyuk during the constellation banquet. And now… now they had just lost one of their core members. Of course they were curious. Who wouldn’t be?

This was part of what they had been waiting for.

Hands clasped together, Yoo Sangah and Shin Yoosung turned to Han Sooyoung. 

“Ready?” asked the two in strange synchronization. 

Han Sooyoung simply held out her hands towards them as she joined Yoo Joonghyuk in tilting her gaze upwards.

“You have to leave now!” the dokkaebi was screeching above-head. “Stop—what are you doing?”

“What indeed?” Han Sooyoung repeated loudly. “Hey, all of you up there! You watched a pretty incredible story just now, didn’t you?”

“The 10th! Scenario! Is! OVER!” The dokkaebi buffed himself up, ready to bellow himself hoarse, but Han Sooyoung steamrolled right over him.

“Do you want to see an even more incredible one? An… impossible one?”

Immediately, a flurry of indirect messages bombarded them. Yoo Joonghyuk barely caught sight of that elusive modifier that had been following Kim Dokja since the beginning—

—before it was lost in the crowd of texts.

“Hey, I said—are all of you watching!?” 

More barrage of texts. In all his regressions so far, even when he kept performing ridiculous feats one after the other, Yoo Joonghyuk had never witnessed the sheer magnitude of messages as he did now. Every single one of them had come to witness that man’s death.

Still, not all of those constellations were friendly—for a given definition of ‘friendly’—and Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t inclined to trust them even one bit, but he knew this was necessary. Right now, they needed every single constellation here. 

Finally, the name Han Sooyoung was waiting for, popped up:

“Good,” said Han Sooyoung, eyes bright. “Good!”

The Star Stream once again urged them to leave the Seoul Dome, warning them that those remaining inside after the ten minute countdown would be automatically destroyed. They ignored it. 

Across the hall, Cho Youngran dragged herself up and limped towards the exit, pausing when she realised that no one was following her. Yoo Joonghyuk caught her eyes deliberately, and then turned away. 

“Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi,” said Yoo Sangah finally, “it’s your turn now.”

He had been waiting for the prompt. Quietly, he walked forward, pulling out the Heavenly Sword of Gathering Clouds. He dropped it in the circle of their criss-crossed arms, where it tangled in the threads woven around them.

“I sacrifice the god-killing sword, created from slaying the snake-god Yamata no Orochi, a sword that has now slain a constellation.” 

Solemnity and profound speeches weren’t his forte either, but these words came easily. The rest of his companions closed ranks to surround them, Yoo Sangah’s threads wrapping around them as well. 

Slowly, one by one, they narrated their role in Kim Dokja’s death in reverse order. The words had already been selected and sent into their group chat by Han Sooyoung, who could spin a simple act into a grand scenario, her natural talent as an author coming in perfect use. He, who had swung the last strike, spoke first, followed by the children and Jung Heewon, until finally, Yoo Sangah.

“I sacrifice my skill, ‘Fate Overtuned’, used to ascertain the fate that led to a constellation’s death.”

Had they truly slain a constellation? Who knew—Kim Dokja was too adept at lying, and they too used to optimistically keeping faith in his return—who truly knew then, that he was actually dead? 

But that did not matter right then. 

For the Star Stream, he was exiled. For the Star Stream he was dead. For the Star Stream, their words rang true. After all, history is written by the victors and stories are told by narrators. What Kim Dokja was or wasn’t, did not matter in the face of what they said he was.

Slowly, Han Sooyoung lowered her eyes, a strange glow in them, and her lips split in a manic grin. Joined by the strange connection of Yoo Sangah’s threads, they could all see the announcement went it popped up:

3. Writer, Reader, and Character 

The initial bout of joy and relief was quickly followed by panic, and then, on realising that everyone was fine—absolutely inexplicably fine as they stood at the Story Horizon—came the confusion. 

“How are you guys—I don’t understand? You shouldn’t be able—” 

Even as he tried to speak, his attention was being called elsewhere. Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung, each with their arms around an arm of his, trying to simultaneously squeeze him to death while they babbled his ears off.

“That should be our question!” Han Sooyoung said, looking alarmed at his state. 

He didn’t know what was so surprising, they were at the Story Horizon; his state should be the default state. Their apparent well being was far more concerning!

“What the hell is going on with you? You were like—like—”

“A fish out of water,” Yoo Joonghyuk supplied, a little too seriously to take it as a joke. 

“Haha,” he said dryly, attempting to laugh it off anyway.

Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “No, I mean it, Kim Dokja. It seemed like you couldn’t even breathe.”

The laughter stopped. Kim Dokja looked at him, then at Han Sooyoung and the others, their concern practically painted across their features, and felt his mouth go dry. 

In the background, the Fourth Wall was still actively narrating. 

「 Kim Dokja had never been comfortable with concern. It had been seldom directed at him when he had needed it, and now each attempt of care-taking felt like he was baring more of himself than he liked. 」

Oh, fuck off.  

The Fourth Wall, naturally, did not fuck off. 

Kim Dokja was thankful for that—if he started spasming with a lack of air all of a sudden, again, he would never be able to get his companions to let it go. 

Already he could see Jung Heewon frowning, her eyes sweeping back and forth on his frame, trying to see if he was still injured. Lee Jihye seemed to be swaying awkwardly, as if deciding the optimal distance at which she could hover at, with Lee Hyunsung doing the same on his other side. Wryly, he thought that they needn’t be that concerned—weren’t Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung already clinging to his arms like particularly stubborn octopuses?

“Yah, is your mouth sewn shut?” Han Sooyoung asked this time, hands on her hips as she glared at him. “Answer the bastard’s question—what just happened?”

There were too many explanations for that, and even he wasn’t sure yet which was true. Though the running theory, and possibly the most accurate one, he presumed, was related to the way his skill Fourth Wall worked.

「 … to the way his brilliant skill, the Fourth Wall, worked. 」

This jerk—yah, stop retroactively modifying the narrative!

「 … said stupid Kim Dokja, stupidly. 」

Kim Dokja gave up on it. Either way, it wasn’t something he could explain in a few words. Much less without the explanation bringing its own wave of concerns. 

So, in the end, he just shrugged. Briefly, he wondered if he even could explain it without the spoiler-filter coming into effect—even this far beyond the reach of the Star Stream and its rigid narrative control—before just hand-waving it away to ask instead:

“How are you all able to breathe is more surprising to me. This is completely—”

Once again, he was interrupted. 

“Move, move!”

Unexpectedly, the kids moved. Kim Dokja blinked as Lee Seolhwa pushed her way forwards, stepping up to him, naked worry lining her face. 

“Let’s worry about explanations later—all of you, can’t the interrogation wait?” she said, scolding Yoo Joonghyuk and pushing him back—which, hey, she didn’t need to do that!—and moved to stand in front of him. “Kim Dokja-ssi, are you truly okay?”

“Ah?” He blinked again, surprised. That—wasn’t what he expected. Then again, she was a doctor. “Ah… I mean, yes? I’m fine—I’m alive.” He said that last bit part-reassuringly and partly in jest, before adding, “No, really, I’m fine.”

Uncharacteristically, she rolled her eyes. “Men,” she muttered quietly, but not quietly enough, and he winced. “I’d still like to check you out, please—you just went through a cross-species transformation and right afterwards… well—”

Everyone had fallen silent at her words, seeing if she would side step the elephant in the room or not.

“—anyway,” she went on, releasing the coiled tension slightly, “even though you seem fine now. I think it would really reassure us all.” 

 Kim Dokja glanced around, saw the worry shining in his incarnation’s eyes, the unspoken request to ascertain his safety, and sighed. 

“Then… as you please, Seolhwa-ssi,” he said in acquiescence. “But I warn you, I’m truly no longer human.”

Small gasps and murmurs sprung up from the group until Han Sooyoung clicked her tongue loudly to ask them why they were so surprised.

“He just sprouted wings and became a goddamn star!” she reminded them, instantly zapping back all the agitation Lee Seolhwa had taken pains to defuse. “Probably made of atoms and supernova or some shit now!”

She glanced at him after, as if to confirm her theory, and he rolled his eyes. “Not exactly… but yes. I’m not a ‘flesh and blood’ human anymore. I suppose it would be more accurate to say… I’m made of stories.”

They walked out of the square to find a place they could sit down at. Eventually, Yoo Sangah reminded them of a park nearby, and they beelined for it. The kids immediately headed for the fountain, dunking their heads under the water to refresh themselves, and Gong Pildu followed, making a much bigger splash. 

Kim Dokja watched them with amusement, ignoring the doctor’s mutters on how unsanitary it was, when the children copied Gong Pildu into drinking some of it. No wonder she was Yoo Joonghyuk’s partner in the last Regression—they had the exact same standards of hygiene, him with his food and her with… well, everything else. Doctor, after all.

“Nevermind it, Lee Seolhwa-ssi,” he said to her. “They’ve had all sorts of monster flesh and potions by now—a little bit of fountain water is nothing.”

Lee Seolhwa sighed. “I know, it’s just—habit. Anyway, come here and sit. Let me examine you.”

“I should remind you, skills don’t work—”

“In this place?” she finished with a smile. “Dokja-ssi, I was a doctor even before the scenarios. Don’t worry, I won’t be needing any skills. So, please.”

That… was indeed true. So, Kim Dokja obliged, handing her his wrist as he sat down on a bench. A couple of feet behind her, Yoo Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung were hovering, trying and failing to look unconcerned. He gave them what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Lee Seolhwa ignored the onlookers behind her and grasped his wrist with the tip of her fingers. A few seconds later, she frowned, adjusting her grip and the angle at which his hand was at. Frowning harder, she picked up his other wrist as well. He could guess what she was feeling—rather, the lack of what she felt. 

“Um, Dokja-ssi,” she started, dropping his wrists, “if you could look at me—yes, just keep your face steady.” Her hands went for his shoulders, one to keep him steady and the other reaching beneath his jaw, fingers trembling minutely as she pressed deep into the space near his throat. “Dokja-ssi,” she said again, looking uneasy.

“I know,” he said. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m made of stories.”

“What? What was that?” Jung Heewon stepped forward, one hand at her sword, as if it would fight his failing health if she could. “Seolhwa-ssi, what did you—what does he mean?!”

Lee Seolhwa pursed her lips, clearly confused. As the others looked at her for an answer, Yoo Joonghyuk stepped up, suddenly grabbing at his wrist.

“What—hey!” Kim Dokja blinked. “Yah, stop that—she’s already checked, why are you—”

“You have no pulse.”

「 … announced the protagonist, sounding as grave as the dead. Too grave, in fact, for Kim Dokja’s taste. 」

Just as Kim Dokja was about to roll his eyes at the dramatic rendition of Yoo Joonghyuk’s actions—it was really sounding more and more like the narration of ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’, honestly (and wasn’t that a strange thought?)—around him, his companions reacted.

Chaos. That’s all he could describe it as.

The children yelped and dove for him, trying to make sure he was still alive—which, ridiculous notion! Wasn’t he walking, talking and breathing just fine? Lee Jihye tried to grab at his coat lapels, only for Jung Heewon to drag her bodily out of the way so she could do it instead. 

Once, between questions of ‘what’ and ‘why’ and ‘how’, he had tried to explain, “Heewon-ssi, don’t do that—I’m fragile right now—” But his words were in vain.

Yoo Sangah and Lee Hyunsung had cornered Lee Seolhwa on the other side, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying over the din. Throughout it all, for some reason, that bastard kept holding on to his wrist. He jerked at it, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip was too tight.

“Yah, will anyone listen to me?” 

What even was the point of this? Was any one getting any answers?

He rolled his eyes, flinching minutely when Jung Heewon caught the expression and leaned in, teeth bared. Behind him, the kids had plastered themselves to his back, their voices gone from panic-y to being on the verge of tears.

“Hyung, you won’t die for real right?”

“Ahjussi, what’s going on! You can’t leave us again!”

Well, he would like to explain, certainly, if someone would give him a chance to! If only that damn protagonist hadn’t gone and opened his big mouth! He side-eyed Yoo Joonghyuk—the man was studiously ignoring everything around them, hand still around his fucking wrist, and was gazing at him with the intensity of a small star. Like he would find out what this new constellation-body boded for Kim Dokja’s future if he only glared harder. 

Kim Dokja tried to subtly lean away from that stare, the nape of his neck prickling under the constant attention.

“Okay, idiots, listen up—hey, hey—HEY!” Han Sooyoung raised her voice louder. “LISTEN, I SAID!”

They all fell silent, listening finally. 

“Good,” she said, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips. She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, looking very much like an overworked kindergarten teacher, and walked towards him. “Let’s hear it from the doc first, yeah? Before we all lose our heads here.”

Yoo Sangah and Lee Hyunsung nodded in agreement; clearly their talk had proven fruitful. 

“As I was telling Sangah-ssi and Hyunsung-ssi,” Lee Seolhwa started, “if Dokja-ssi were to lie down and sleep right now, there would be no way for me to prove he is still alive.”

Ah. Well, that was—that was certainly one way to put it. 

“Just because I don’t have a pulse—ouch!” Yoo Joonghyuk had just squeezed his wrist even further. “Hey, seriously, let go now.”

“What does that mean?” asked Yoo Joonghyuk, ignoring him entirely. 

Lee Seolhwa looked at him. “You can tell, can’t you? You’re touching his skin—”

Okay, she didn’t have to put it that way!

“—haven’t you felt how cold it is?”

Oh. 

“It’s not just his pulse. He feels cold to the touch, and when I told him to look at me, his pupils were tiny pin-pricks—as if he was looking at something really far away.”

…ah. 

No one knew how to react to that news. Least of all, he himself. Had he really changed that much? Or was it only because he was technically supposed to be dead right now, but wasn’t yet?

“So,” Jung Heewon asked in the silence, “what does that mean?”

Lee Seolhwa shook her head. “I have no clue—it seems like Dokja-ssi was right. I might need skills beyond what I have now to figure this out.”

“Forget all that! How is he surviving then?” Han Sooyoung swiveled to look at him. “How are you surviving?!”

Kim Dokja shrugged as he reminded them: “I told you, I’m a constellation!”

At once, their heads tilted upwards. The night sky was devoid of stars. There were no constellations in the Story Horizon—and why would there be? There were no stories here, in this barren wasteland. No storyteller, no reader. 

“That may be the best explanation,” Lee Seolhwa murmured slowly. “No pulse, because he isn’t an ‘incarnation’ anymore. Cold as a star, and eyes made to look at things from a far off distance—”

“Aren’t stars supposed to be burning gasses?” Yoo Sangah interrupted, wrenching her gaze away from the sky.

“That’s not what a constellation is,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, finally letting go of his wrist. Kim Dokja snatched his hand back, cradling it gingerly, trying not to stare at the man as he raked his gaze over the empty horizon. “A constellation is a story, a being made of stories that survive on stories themselves—is a story warm, Yoo Sangah? Is a book of tales human? It is an existence that is colder than any being out there, subsisting on entertainment because that is its only medium.”

“…by that logic, we are the stories that they’re consuming. Then are we also human?”

“We are,” said Yoo Joonghyuk firmly. “They want to turn us into stories, into entertainment to be consumed by them. That is why scenarios exist. That is how we gain stories ourselves. And when we have gained enough…”

Yoo Joonghyuk and Yoo Sangah looked at him, sitting quietly as they debated. Han Sooyoung looked worriedly at him, but he smiled.

“Sangah-ssi, yours is a philosophical question.” He looked at Yoo Joonghyuk. “But he’s partially right—constellations aren’t stars like the scientific ones. Even sun-god constellations don’t burn hot… Well, at least I don’t think so.” Kim Dokja shook his head, trying not to imagine the details of that. “Anyway, mine is a factual statement—I’m a constellation. Not a human. Which means, yes, I am quite literally made out of stories.”

“Wait, literally? Like, if I run you through with my sword—”

“Stories would spill out,” he nodded. “Let’s not actually do that though, Heewon-ssi. This body is rather fragile right now.”

Just as they looked like they would love to start arguing once more, a strange hissing noise approached them, startling almost everybody. 

In the corner of the park, a formless shadowy blob was slowly crawling across the ground, a long aardvark-like nose stretching out from what appeared to be its head. As it inched forward, its nose prodded at the surroundings like a blind man with a stick.

“What in hell is that?” Jung Heewon hissed, eyes wide.

Kim Dokja inched back, carefully pulling his coat out of her slackened grip. 

“That,” he said cheerfully, “is a scenario cleaner.”

“Eww,” said Lee Jihye immediately. 

Next to her, the kids had an almost fascinated expression on their faces.

“Is it a huge bug, hyung?”

“No! It looks more like a tiny mini-elephant—obviously it’s an animal!”

Kim Dokja laughed dryly. “Well, I don’t think that it can be classified like that…”

Quickly, he gave them a rundown of what the Story Horizon actually was—

“So we were right to think of it as the backstage,” said Yoo Sangah, confusingly. 

—and what the scenario cleaners were supposed to be. He had no clue what Yoo Sangah meant by ‘backstage’, but he supposed that was an apt enough description. 

“Either way,” he said, “it isn’t something we should come in contact with. We are no longer part of the active scenario in this place, so we are candidates for being ‘cleaned’ by them.”

As alarmed looks came upon their faces, the kids piped up—

“Ohh, a man-eating bug!”

“Stupid bug-boy, didn’t I tell you it’s an animal? That’s a typical carnivore!”

—really, Kim Dokja was starting to worry about them. Even Lee Jihye looked disturbed.

“So it’s like a janitor?” she said, squinting at them.

…nevermind. Her questions were just as ridiculous. 

“The point is,” he emphasised, “you are not to approach them. Stay here, and keep away from suspicious things.”

“Stay here?” Jung Heewon reached for her sword. “And what are you off to do then? Also, you seem to know a lot about this place—”

“I already told you, it’s the Story Horizon!”

“—it’s a barren wasteland!”

“The Wenny Man,” cut in Yoo Joonghyuk, voice cold. 

Kim Dokja froze. 

「 How did he know that, thought Kim Dokja. 」

“That’s whom you’re going to meet.”

Once again there was a clamour of questions thrown at them.

Han Sooyoung, annoyed, “Who the fuck is the wenny man?”

Lee Hyunsung, alarmed, “There are people here? I thought you said this was a wasteland!”

Yoo Sangah, trying for logic, “Is that like a scenario cleaner too?” 

And in the background, looking utterly done, Gong Pildu, “Oi, can we stop puttering around and go back now?”

“Ah, good question, Pildu-ssi,” Dokja honed in on him.

“Good question? What did he even say?” muttered Han Sooyoung, rolling her eyes.

Kim Dokja ignored her. “Going back is… well, not simple. When you’re exiled from the scenario, usually the scenario cleaners pick you up and, well, dismantle you—”

“Dismantle us? What the fuck!”

“—and then dump you in one of their numerous dumping grounds.”

“Seriously,” Jung Heewon cut in, exasperated, “how the hell do you even know all this? 

“The other way, is to make a deal with the wenny man—”

Yoo Sangah, instantly, “No more deals!” 

“—and that is the only way to do it.”

“B-but, ahjussi, what can you even deal with?”

Yoo Joonghyuk stepped forward then, arms crossed and a mutinous expression on his face. Kim Dokja stared back.

“You already knew,” said the protagonist infuriatingly. Now was not the time to add fuel to fire, couldn’t he see Kim Dokja was handling this? “About the ‘scenario cleaners’ and Wenny Men. You already planned to come here.”

At his words, everyone snapped their heads to stare at him, like the they could pry out answers just from their glares. Kim Dokja sighed. He might as well acknowledge it… they had come a long long way in their attempt to save him. Even if he didn’t need saving.

“It was a possibility,” he allowed.

“So you have a plan.”

“I do.”

「 The knowledge Yoo Joonghyuk held of the future always seemed strange to his companions. But that was due to his past experiences and information gathered by deals with otherworldly beings. No one, so far, had ever spoken of the demon of the horizon to the regressor—his strange knowledge of it, for the first time, was causing Kim Dokja discomfort. 」

“Anyway,” Kim Dokja tore his eyes away from the protagonist, “before any deals are made, I need to collect something. Bihyung would have left it for me, so—”

“We’ll help!” Lee Gilyoung stepped forward. “Hyung, please, let us help. We came here to help you.”

“Uh, well…”

“I don’t want ahjussi to make any more deals or compromises or…” Shin Yoosung swallowed. “I don’t want ahjussi to… but if you are going to, I’m not going to be left behind this time!”

At the kids’ words, he softened. “Yoosung-ah, we can’t stay here forever.”

She looked back, a glint in her eye, and he knew there was no persuading her. What could he even do to stop them right then? They were all out of the scenarios anyway.

So, looking around at his companions, he said, “Alright, I would be glad to have some help.”

“Okay,” said Han Sooyoung as the others walked off in groups of twos and threes. “You sent everyone away, so spill it.”

Kim Dokja raised a brow. “You ought to be going away too, you know. If you actually want to help me.”

“Shut up,” Yoo Joonghyuk joined in. “You are going nowhere out of my sight.”

“Hah? What ridiculous bullshit is—”

“Explain,” the protagonist continued. “Let the others search for that Dokkaebi’s gift box, but you aren’t going anywhere before you explain.”

“What’s there to explain? Didn’t I already say everything plainly—we need to get hold of my things first, my sword and the coins and, well… after that, I go and find a Wenny Man.”

“Wow,” Han Sooyoung applauded. “What comprehensive exposition! You definitely failed creative writing in your language classes, didn’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “What does this have to do with that?”

“That was hardly an explanation!”

“Oh? Then you explain! How the hell are you guys here? And how are you even okay—you realise this is the horizon of a story, right? There isn’t a story here—it’s a blank space, the white emptiness between words, the—”

“Space in the margins?”

He blinked at that description. “Well, I suppose you could say that.”

Yoo Joonghyuk also looked curious, glancing at Han Sooyoung for once, instead of boring holes into Kim Dokja’s face with his glare. “Your new skill,” he said, like it was supposed to make sense.

Kim Dokja looked between them. “What new skill?”

“Yep!” Han Sooyoung grinned sharply, and then opened her mouth to explain. And proving that she certainly had passed her creative writing classes with distinction, it was an in-depth, long-winded, overly-complicated explanation. 

「 The creativity of writers had to be acknowledged, for Kim Dokja had never heard of any character with the writer attribute in ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’ ever do what Han Sooyoung had done. 」

The Fourth Wall happily narrated as Kim Dokja stared, aghast, at the two impossible beings in front of him.

「 Plenty of authors had to bring back beloved characters they had killed off because the audience demanded it. One of the most notorious examples being Sherlock Holmes. But Kim Dokja was no Sherlock, and Han Sooyoung certainly wasn’t the disgruntled author of his story. 」

“That—” he swallowed harshly “—insane. That’s insane. You both are insane!”

Insane, he thought again, like a broken tape recorder, stuck screechingly on that word. But he really could not believe what he was hearing.

Yoo Sangah and her skill, ‘Ariadne’s Threads’, used to guide someone to their destination. Shin Yoosung and her link to him, an inevitable connection between Incarnation and Sponsor. And artifacts, weapons, skills—everything that was used to kill him, Kim Dokja, a constellation—as a method to link his companions to his death.

And to power all of this—this sheer magnitude of travel across space and time—across the dimensions of a story like no one had ever done before, or could ever do again. To gain the skill to do this…

「 The ultimate sacrifice. The Stigma ‘Regression’. 」

No other constellation had power quite like Yoo Joonghyuk’s sponsor. Kim Dokja had read that book cover to cover, page by page, yet there was no other skill like Yoo Joonghyuk’s, and no star with such cheat-like skills—someone who could hurtle him through worldlines again and again and again.  

“Joonghyuk-ah, you…”

Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him. “Don’t say anything if you’re going to say something stupid.”

“But—!”

“Who told me to live in this regression? To see the scenarios to the end?”

Kim Dokja’s mouth went dry. No way…

「 Everything that defined Yoo Joonghyuk, began and ended with his determination to not give up. Even when failure engulfed him, especially when failure engulfed, as it often did. Yoo Joonghyuk was characterised by failure, and therefore, by his undeniable determination to try and try again—and to fuel this determination, his unique stigma, granted by a one-of-a-kind sponsor. Regression. Yoo Joonghyuk. Two words that went hand in hand. 」

Something squirmed in his chest, like a million tiny worms wriggling for attention. For him, for Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk had sacrificed his defining Stigma—

“Uh,” Han Sooyoung glanced between them. “Not to interrupt—” 

He glared, she absolutely did want to interrupt, but whatever. He didn’t want to dwell on it either, didn’t want to think what it meant. 

“—but let’s focus, yeah? As I was saying, with my awesome skill ‘Mariginal Space’, we are now—”

“Unbelievable.” Kim Dokja pressed his palms to his eyes and tried not to give in to the urge to scream. That was the other part he was trying not think about. “Just how stupid—fuck!”

“Oi! Who are you calling stupid? Who’s stupid ass were we chasing in the first place?”

He ignored her. “So you’re here because of a skill that—what? Basically acts like an editing mode?? For a story?”

Han Sooyoung crossed her arms. “Basically, yeah.”

“That’s…”

“Bullshit? Ridiculous? Insane?” At least she was aware. “Well guess what, Kim Dokja, so are your plans sometimes!”

“I had a plan!” 

“Oh, yeah? What was it?”

“It’s ongoing!”

“Huh, how come I don’t see it?”

“Because you guys literally interrupted it when you arrived!”

Yoo Joonghyuk had to step in between them then. “Stop. Both of you,” he added to Han Sooyoung when she grinned smugly.

“You’re taking his side?” she said, aghast. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, predictably, ignored her. “Kim Dokja,” he said. “Explain. Properly this time.”

Mulishly, he clamped his mouth shut.

“Kim Dokja!”

“What! What do you want me to say—I already told you, didn’t I? There is literally nothing else to explain.”

“Fine.” Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes. “Then explain how you are surviving.”

“How I am—how are you guys surviving is more important! I already know how I am doing it, but do the both of you even have an idea? What if you suddenly get hit by the exile penalty?”

“We won’t,” said Yoo Joonghyuk. “Think about it a little. We didn’t get expelled by a scenario, or by the Dokkaebi.”

“Yep,” Han Sooyoung joined in. “We came here with a skill, remember? As far as we are concerned, we are still in a scenario—a scenario where we go to rescue our comrade from death. There’s already plenty of stories like that—Orpheus leading his wife Euridyce from the underworld, Savitri trapping King Yama in his boons to save her husband Satyavan, Izanagi journeying to Yomi to bring back his wife Izanami—”

「 Stories of love, about love, and sacrifices made in their name. What did it mean then, that they traveled across the boundaries of a story, of life and death, to save him? 」

「 What did Kim Dokja need saving from? 」

“—there was precedence before, and we played upon it.”

“But… but the probability cost!” he cried.

“There was enough.” Yoo Joonghyuk jerked his chin upwards, indicating the sky. “We were creating an impossible story. Every constellation came to witness it.”

Every constellation?

Kim Dokja reeled back at that bit of information. 

“Now, stop dithering, you bastard. Tell us properly. What’s up with you?”

“And why did you look like you were dying when we first saw you?”

Kim Dokja rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, fish out of water.”

「 So Kim Dokja tells them. About his wonderful skill, the Fourth Wall, and how it mitigates the harsh penalty of the exile. 」

…can you not be so biased in your narration?

The protagonist blinked, eyes hazy. “I… remember that wall. In that fight with Nirvana—”

“Nevermind that!” Han Sooyoung cut him off. “Your story explanation is bullshit! What do you mean you were telling yourself stories to survive? What kind of a hack skill is that?”

“It’s a perfectly fine skill!” Kim Dokja glared back. “Besides, who are you to even say that it’s bullshit—what do you mean you’ve created a story out of breaking out of the story?!”

There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere. Something something… if a tree falls in the woods and no one witnesses it… 

…then who tells us the story of the falling tree? 

「 Who is the witness to Kim Dokja’s life? 」

If stories must be remembered and repeated, retold over and over for them to live, what did his survival mean when the narrator of his story was a single wall of text, a somehow sentient entity, with himself as the only reader?

Then again, he was used to being the only reader. Hadn’t he also read the entirety of Yoo Joonghyuk’s story just by himself? Borne silent witness to Yoo Joonghyuk’s life as it sprouted from tls123’s pen? He didn’t know what had kept that story going, when it had an audience of a grand total of one, but he liked to think it was himself. That the author had written it for him. 

He had been enough for that story, surely he would be enough for his own.

“Still,” Kim Dokja shook himself out of his thoughts, “I’m surprised you guys survived this. It was an extremely stupid decision.”

Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed. “You are one to talk.” 

Then, his piece said, he started walking off.

“Oi, where are you going?” Han Sooyoung called out.

“To look for that Dokkaebi’s gift box. That’s what we need to find first, isn’t it?” Yoo Joonghyuk stopped briefly to turn around. “And you—you better not wander off on your own, Kim Dokja. When we all come back in an hour, you better be right here. Keep an eye on him.”

That last bit was said to Han Sooyoung, who grumbled, perfunctory, as she turned back to grin at him.

“So! Just the two of us again, huh?”

Kim Dokja rolled his eyes and turned away, ignoring her as he started walking in the opposite direction. 

“Oi, hold on, where are you going? Didn’t you hear what that protagonist said? I’m not letting you out of my sight!”

4. The Burden of Narration

There was a moment—a shamefully long, drawn-out moment in the cruel silence of the scenario’s aftermath—where Yoo Joonghyuk had considered regressing.

It was somewhat of a default thought process, a failsafe, something he could fall back on if needed. And despite Kim Dokja’s attempts to make him stay in this particular worldline, there were always moments where he was tempted to rewind and redo, this time with more foreknowledge than before. 

What if I regress now, he had thought, and in the next turn, I will know what to do when I meet Kim Dokja. Be prepared for his eccentricities and trust him from the beginning. 

Almost as soon as he had thought of it, a realisation dawned on him: what if Kim Dokja didn’t exist in any other round?

Already he was an anomaly of this round; Yoo Joonghyuk had never seen him before. And with that anomaly, came many others that he had never seen either.

Uriel’s incarnation, Jung Heewon; Olympus’ puppet, Yoo Sangah; the young boy with his too-powerful constellation, Lee Gilyoung; and not to mention, Han Sooyoung, someone who had started off as an opponent, and ended up as that fool’s closest conspirator. 

No… there were too many anomalies. If something changed—a single flap of a butterfly’s wings—perhaps things would take a turn for the worst instead. And then, once more… would he have to regress? Do it all again, and hope things would be better in the next round, and the next round and the next—

Live this life to the fullest, Kim Dokja had told him, perhaps it’s the only one where you can see the end as a human.

Yoo Joonghyuk clenched his hands. Could he believe that? Should he trust in that? He still didn’t know what kind of skill it was… but Kim Dokja was a prophet. How many regressions had that man seen him live? Had he… had Kim Dokja also seen that—known that he was never present in any of those other lives?

And then he remembered—the 41st Regression turn’s Shin Yoosung. It had baffled her, to see Kim Dokja. Had been surprised to even hear the name of the man her younger self clung on to. 

He couldn’t regress. 

Yoo Joonghyuk huffed a laugh, barely a breath of amusement, but standing next to him, Yoo Sangah heard it accurately. 

He had wandered off in a random direction after leaving that fool behind with that woman—both utterly insane, now that he thought back, and wondered if it would have been better to keep an eye on Kim Dokja himself—and his feet had carried him to a long-abandoned high-way, where he had come across that man’s other close companion. 

Yoo Sangah tilted her head at him, a neutral smile on her lips and an eyebrow lifted up in curiosity.

Nothing, he wanted to tell her, just marveling at how emotionally invested I've become in a man for whom I would have abandoned this world line for just to search him out in others. And then, knowing that I wouldn't find him elsewhere, gave up that endeavour immediately to instead stay back and hope for his return.

He didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “It is unbelievable, isn’t it? That we are here.”

Yoo Sangah smiled a bit more naturally. “It is indeed. We really gambled everything at that point—I’m surprised you agreed, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi.” She turned to face him fully. “Actually, I’m just as surprised at how at ease you seem here.”

Here, as in the Story Horizon. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t know what to say in return. Of course he was at ease in a place where there were no constellations or scenarios—yet, ironically, in this world run on scenarios, it was the most dangerous place they could be at.

He wasn’t surprised by the question. Out of all of Kim Dokja’s new companions, he had spent the longest time with this woman. From rescuing her from Nirvana’s clutches to hunting down Kim Dokja in the vast expanse of the 9th Main Scenario, they had gone from wary accomplices to something approaching reluctant acquiescenceship. While they spoke little with each other in that duration, when they did speak, it was always relating to something of importance.

“We seemed to have defied the Star Stream here,” he said, picking out a different answer. “I’d say that’s a cause for celebration, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s a fair reason, yes.”

They returned to silence after that. 

As for his ease… well, he was a bit surprised himself. There had been a time, long ago, perhaps in his first ever Regression, where he had worn his heart on his sleeve. Then he had come to experience the brutality of the scenarios, and the cold indifference of his sponsor, and the relentless grief of his companions’ deaths. He had learned suffering.

In his 2nd Regression, he had tried once more. Had found a prophet who could help him advance further than he had ever done in his previous turn, and met a woman who shared his ideals and hopes in a ruined world. Then the former betrayed him when she bound him to a life of servitude, and the latter drowned him in a sorrow unimaginable with the deaths of his child and his wife. 

In this turn, in his 3rd Regression, he had vowed to close himself to all forms of sentiment. 

And then, bursting out of that subway compartment, staring at the dead body of Kim Namwoon, came a terrible realisation—this turn was nothing like the rest. 

He didn’t know what was happening at any point, expecting one thing only for Kim Dokja to turn up and upend the entire scenario on its head. It irked him to no end. And that was all he could feel at first. Frustration and anger and helplessness, until—until… 

Lee Seolhwa. 

The person he had lost once before, and thought he would lose once again, only for Kim Dokja to swoop in and do the impossible. 

This prophet, who had seen his past as well as future, and paid attention to the littlest details. His love for Lee Seolhwa—burnt to embers along with the ashes of her pyre—only for Kim Dokja to try and rekindle it with hope and earnestness and sincerity. 

If you lost her, Kim Dokja had said, it would hurt you terribly.

And it would have. It would have.

But why do you know that? 

And…

What do you know of what I feel?

Sometimes, he saw Kim Dokja glancing between them, as if he would run into Lee Seolhwa’s arms to embrace her any moment. 

Surprisingly short-sighted for a prophet, he thought, annoyed.

A scenario cleaner inched its way across the highway then, and they tensed. 

“Over the edge?” Yoo Sangah murmured quietly.

In response, he lunged smoothly across the distance and vaulted right over. A second later, Yoo Sangah followed, much more cautious without access to her skills.

“Let’s head for the stations?”

“Geumho is that way.”

And then they set off again. 

Being back in this place again reminded him of the early scenarios. The fight for the green-zones, where the fool had ingested Specter Stones with no hesitation. The battle against his own companions, when he had been controlled by the Theater Master’s Simulacrum. 

Situations in which Yoo Joonghyuk was certain he would die in, only for that man to swoop in and turn his defeat into a victory. 

How… no. Why? Why is it that you are so… invested, in keeping me safe?

Even from his own memories. Especially from his painful memories. 

And sometimes—

You saved me once. This time, I’ll be the one to save you.

—at the cost of his own life.

His jaw clenched at that memory, fresh like a still-bleeding wound.

“He has safeguards for everything,” Yoo Joonghyuk said as they turned a corner, arriving at yet another familiar location. “Have you realised that?”

Did she know something he didn’t? She had been one of his first companions, hadn’t she? If she could shed some light…

“Hm, I think I know what you mean.” Yoo Sangah waved a hand around them, at the arena of the Fourth main scenario. “He always knew what would happen, somehow or the other. I kept thinking it’s a skill of his—somewhat like mine, the one I used to read his fate, you know?”

“You received yours from your sponsor,” he immediately denied.

So she has no idea either.

“I know,” she said. “An exclusive skill then—I’m trying to rationalise it! But he’s too well prepared. And not just him,” she gave him a pointed glance here, “so are you. I realised that when the two of you planned out an entire thirty-minute attack pattern of the 73rd Demon King, before we even walked into that scenario.”

Yoo Joonghyuk kept quiet. It would soon be the time to reveal his past regressions. They always happened—

Always? Wasn’t this only his 3rd…

—and now, when his companions were stronger and well prepared, was a better time than most.

Kim Dokja had told them it would be somewhere in the previous scenario areas—and they still did not know what it was—so by the time Yoo Joonghyuk and Yoo Sangah had finished hunting down the areas around Geumho station, they had run into their other companions.

“Master!” Lee Jihye waved at them, jogging lightly to reach them faster. “Seolhwa-eonni and I walked through the underground already—saw a lot of those tiny janitors, but nothing like what Dokja-ahjussi mentioned.”

Lee Seolhwa walked at a more sedate pace. “It’s been around an hour already,” she said, glancing at the darkening sky above. “Let’s go back to the park and wait for the others?”

Since their search had also been in vain, they agreed. Somehow, as they walked back, Lee Jihye and Yoo Sangah took point, leaving Lee Seolhwa to trail behind them, taking up the rear guard with him.

“I saw one of those scenario cleaners eat up a body,” she said quietly, mildly. “Rather fascinating how it all disappeared into that tiny body.”

This was what Yoo Joonghyuk admired about her. Unflinching in the face of the horrors of the apocalypse, yet also nurturing a desire to protect others from it. In many ways, she was quite like him.

“The term makes sense then,” he replied. 

“Mm, it does. It can’t sense us unless we go very close to it, though.”

“Did you?”

“Get close to it?” She laughed lightly. “Jihye tried to, I pulled her back.” 

He glanced at her. “Why are we speaking of scenario cleaners?”

“Well, there’s little else to speak of, especially when Dokja-ssi isn’t telling us much.”

Yoo Joonghyuk was amused. “I see that is the general impression.”

“It was my first impression, actually.”

Ah, indeed. That fool hadn’t even given her his name. He had mentioned his name, and then skedaddled, leaving Yoo Joonghyuk to handle the aftermath. Typical.

“Why did you join us?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t mean,” Yoo Joonghyuk faltered, unsure of how to phrase it. “Everyone here knows Kim Dokja personally, but you…”

Lee Seolhwa frowned. “Joonghyuk-ssi, he saved my life.”

“I know.” Then, “Did he ever tell you why he did it?”

“Are there reasons to save lives?” She held up her hand to stop him—they had had this argument before, in this regression and the last one—and went on, “You don’t need to give me all the reasons not to. This is the apocalypse, I am well aware. I did pass the First Scenario.”

He inclined his head. “You did. Forgive me, I did not mean to imply otherwise.”

“I placed my safety above others, because only by doing so could I even have the chance to save others.” She smiled, half-morose half-relieved, and said, “I placed it quite high, actually. To the point that I lost myself in the power of it.”

Yoo Joonghyuk knew this already. Killing for coins, killing for survival. Lee Seolhwa, the most brilliant doctor he knew of, and the most terrifying poison specialist. Both those attributes were enhanced by her skills gained in the scenarios, until she fell prey to the Parasite Queen, Antinus.

“I don’t know why he saved me and I never asked him, afterwards. Actually, at the state I was in, he would have been perfectly justified in killing me, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yoo Joonghyuk swallowed down his protest in favour of the truth. “Yes.”

“But he did save me. And in doing so, reminded me that—” she chuckled a bit “—well, that I wasn’t only a poison specialist. That even in the apocalypse, I could be a doctor.”

He wondered who had saved her in the previous regression. When he met her then, she hadn’t been the host to Antinus. And there had been no Kim Dokja back there. 

“So, why wouldn’t I come here to save him?”

Or perhaps, Yoo Joonghyuk realised, she saved herself.

Perhaps in another worldline, she pulled herself off her own steep ledge, and never gave in to Antinus’ temptation. In this worldline, she was saved by Kim Dokja, and in turn, readily sacrificed her poisonous skills to jump across the unknown to save him.

“It was an unfair question,” he acknowledged.

“It was.” 

This was also what he liked about Lee Seolhwa. She spoke plainly, without artifice, without the twists and turns of deception that wove across Kim Dokja’s tongue.

I need to stop comparing them.

“And why did you, Joonghyuk-ssi?”

“Hm?” He looked up, distracted from his thoughts. 

Lee Seolhwa repeated her question. “I’ve heard you speak about him. He annoys you and frustrates you.”

“That’s… well.”

“But you also have similar goals and you work together,” she went on. “And that one time, against the Disaster of Floods—you called him your companion.”

Right, he did do that. 

Kim Dokja had wanted to be companions from the beginning—and what a presumption it had been, prophet or not, to tell him that they would work well together, right at the outset of their acquiescenceship.

Actually, they hadn’t even been acquaintances then. Just two strangers who happened to travel by the same train.

Then, of course, he found out that they did work well together. 

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t wary at first. The last prophet that he had trusted, had betrayed him in every way imaginable. 

“He was ready to die for me,” Yoo Joonghyuk said when the silence stretched too long. “And not just that time, but over and over again.”

“So… he saved you, and you want to save him in turn?” She patted his arm softly, laughing. “So why do you think I wouldn’t want to?”

Because it’s different, he didn’t say.

The apocalypse, the Star Stream, the scenarios, his ability to regress whenever he wished to—his life felt like a never ending story, hurtling onwards to an end he had no clue about.

But Kim Dokja knows. Somehow, for some damn reason, he proclaims to know.

There was never a prophet like this. Some days, Yoo Joonghyuk felt almost certain that he wasn’t a prophet at all. But what else could he be?

He was ready to die for me, he told Lee Seolhwa. But that’s not why I called him my companion. 

To be a companion; to walk along the same road. Travellers in the long march to the end of the scenarios. 

Every regression, he gained new companions. Every regression, he lost them. They were none of them the same people as before. This Lee Jihye wasn’t the student he had in the previous regression, nor the one before it. This Lee Hyunsung wasn’t the soldier he trained. This Lee Seolhwa wasn’t the woman he loved.

These companions weren’t the ones who knew him before. They only knew him now.  

But that wasn’t true for Kim Dokja, who knew his past and future. 

He is my companion.  

Just a foolish one, who refused to actually walk the same damn road alongside him! Who decided to flit back and forth, traversing the unknown alone, when what Yoo Joonghyuk wanted him to do was walk the present with him.

Nevertheless… he is still my companion.

In a world of stories, much as he loathed to become one for the constellations, which of them could claim to know his? The story of his life, his death—who could narrate it in its entirety?

Only I.

…and Kim Dokja, who claimed to know too much to be true.

“So we are just waiting on the kids and Pildu-ssi then,” Yoo Sangah said, seeing that Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung were already back at the park.

“And Kim Dokja,” Jung Heewon added. “If he dares run away—”

“Ah, Heewon-ssi,” Lee Hyunsung tried to placate, “where will he even go? We are at the end of the world, aren't we?”

“I try not to underestimate that bastard,” she replied back.

As they continued their good natured bickering, Gong Pildu and the two kids walked in.

“Hey, Lee Gilyoung, Shin Yoosung,” Lee Jihye immediately called out. “Did you see the scenario cleaners?”

“Did they ever,” muttered Gong Pildu. “Spent half my time trying to drag them away from those critters.”

Lee Gilyoung scowled, “Pildu-ahjussi just doesn’t get it.”

For once in complete agreement, Shin Yoosung was also scowling. “If you just let me try and tame one!”

Lee Jihye laughed, joining the kids in regaling them with her experience of it.

“Did any of you find it? The whatchamcallit?” Gong Pildu scratched his head. “’Cause me and the kids got nothing.”

“Neither did we.”

“Not us, nope.”

“He probably already knows where it is,” Yoo Joonghyuk said dryly.

“Hah? So he just didn’t want us around when we got it?” Jung Heewon paced. “That’s why he sent us off looking all around?”

“Don’t bother getting worked up,” he told her. “I’ve sent that woman to keep an eye on him—”

“Her name is Han Sooyoung,” said Yoo Sangah, wryly.

“—so he won’t be running off anywhere on his own.”

Lee Jihye side-eyed him. “Master, I'm surprised you didn’t wanna go with ahjussi yourself.”

Yoo Joonghyuk leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes. “He gives me a headache.”

Jung Heewon snorted. “Wow, so you can be funny sometimes, huh?”

He contemplated opening an eye to glare at her, but let it be. He would save the glaring for Kim Dokja, who would have undoubtedly come up with more stupid plans in the few hours they were separated.

5. A Conversation in the Comment Section.

Predictably, Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung got into an argument on the way back.

“The 73rd Demon Realm? Are you mad?”

“I need to go there. People who haven’t read the whole book can just shut up—”

“Seriously, you cannot use that as your argument every time!”

“—and listen to the words of wisdom of someone who has.”

Han Sooyoung snorted. “Words of stupidity, I’d say. What is so important that you have to go there?”

Pleased that she was finally willing to listen, Kim Dokja launched into narration.

「 In the 111th Regression, Yoo Joonghyuk found a way to escape the Story Horizon. What he used to previously believe was a wasteland of graves now became a way-point, and the ferry-man to other side was none other than a being known as the Wenny Man. 」

“And that is where we meet our second protagonist, Jang Hayoung.”

Han Sooyoung crossed her arms, unimpressed. “And is that guy important?”

“What do you mean important? Didn’t you hear me say he was the second protagonist!”

She heaved in a long breath. “Listen—just, please listen, okay? What if… what if we didn’t go anywhere?”

Kim Dokja didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—look around you! This is Seoul, our home, just a little battered… er. A lot battered, but it’s getting fixed by those story cleaners—”

“Scenario cleaners. And they don’t fix architecture!”

“—so what if we just found a place to settle down and… you know?”

He shook his head. “No, no—I don’t know. Are you saying—what are you saying?”

Han Sooyoung licked her lips. “Aren’t you tired of fighting? Of living in this damn apocalypse?”

“The apocalypse is our life now!”

“It doesn’t have to be!”

“What?” Kim Dokja gaped. “Surely, surely you’re not suggesting…”

“I am!”

“We can’t live here—”

“Of course we can! Haven’t you read such stories before? Where the main character walks off out of the plot and lives a happy life—”

“Stories like that drag the plot to the main character!”

“—and the plot just goes on in the background, unheeded? Shut up, of course they exist!”

“But we aren’t living that story! We aren’t even in this story!”

Han Sooyoung looked at him. “No. We are in the margins of it, currently writing it.”

They were indeed in the margins of the story, a story that spanned thousands of chapters and thousands of years.

“We could live our whole life in this story!” she cried. “And—and—you already did it once, didn’t you?”

Kim Dokja paused. “I did live my whole life for a story, yes. But it wasn’t this one. It’s the one you are trying to make me abandon.”

Harshly, a new voice cut in. “What exactly are you trying to abandon?”

Jumping at the interruption, they whipped around to see the owner of that voice, and came face to face with Yoo Joonghyuk. 

“So?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked. “Either of you want to say anything?”

“She wants us to stay here,” Kim Dokja snitched with zero hesitation.

“Hey!”

Unrepentant, he went on, “She said we have no need to clear the scenarios here, so it’s better to just stay here.”

Han Sooyoung clicked her tongue at him, and asked Yoo Joonghyuk, “Am I wrong though? This bastard here is obssessed with reaching the ‘end of a particular story’, or whatever, but you understand me, right?”

Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes. “What story?”

“Nevermind that,” Kim Dokja said hastily, glaring at Han Sooyoung. “But seriously, you can't be contemplating staying here either, right? We have to get back to the scenarios! Isn’t that why you came here—to get me back?”

“He doesn’t want to come back!”

“Yah, Han Sooyoung!”

Yoo Joonghyuk snapped out a hand to grab Kim Dokja’s coat lapel—

“Yah, Yoo Joonghyuk!”

—and dragged him close.

“Say that again for me to hear,” he said coldly. “You don’t want to come back?”

“Not that way—I didn’t mean it that way! Han Sooyoung is just telling things out of context.”

“Give me the context then,” Yoo Joonghyuk demanded. 

「 To no one’s surprise but Kim Dokja’s, Yoo Joonghyuk did not take the news well. 」

Yah! I told you to stop modifying the narration on your own!

「 The Fourth Wall said: A  m  I  wr  o  ng  ? 」

“The 73rd Demon Realm ?” Yoo Joonghyuk grit his teeth. “No.”

“No? What do you mean no?”

“Hah!” crowed Han Sooyoung in the background.

“So we are staying here instead?” Kim Dokja said in disbelief.

Han Sooyoung, gleefully, “Of course we are!”

Yoo Joonghyuk turned to her. “We are not.”

“Oi, bastard—you can’t be serious, what do you plan to do then?”

“Go back to Seoul.”

“Great,” Kim Dokja chimed in. “Yes, do that! Except, I need to go to—”

“Shut up.” The hand holding his lapel shook him a bit. “You are coming back with us.”

“Oh my god,” Han Sooyoung groaned, clutching at her hair. “Why are you both like this? Why—what is wrong in getting out of this damn apocalypse?”

There was plenty Kim Dokja could have said in response to that—primarily how the Wenny Men wouldn’t let them stay here, in the Story Horizon, weird buggy-skill of hers making their presence technically acceptable or not—but Yoo Joonghyuk cut in with a cold tone that had them both freezing in surprise—

“Because my sister is in Seoul.”

—and guilt.

Fuck, he had forgotten. He had been so focused on getting to the 73rd Demon Realm, that it had escaped his notice. Of course, Yoo Mia was still in Seoul. She had had no part in his death, and thus wasn’t brought along on this journey to the horizon.

“Ah,” said Han Sooyoung, voice bleak. 

“Now that that’s cleared up,” said Yoo Joonghyuk, tightening his grip on Kim Dokja’s coat and dragging him further away from the park entrance, “you and I need to have a little chat.”

“Ah? What—wait, wait!” Kim Dokja glanced back at Han Sooyoung, who was just standing still, looking defeated now that her plan of escape was shot down cruelly, and did nothing to stop the protagonist from pulling him away. “Hey, I said wait!”

They came to a stop in a nearby alley. Not for a single moment had Yoo Joonghyuk let go of him and he had had to struggle to keep pace with the man’s long strides. 

Seriously, couldn’t his legs be a little shorter?

“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja decided to seize the moment and convince him first, “listen to me first! Going to the 73rd Demon Realm is important!”

“Is it?” Yoo Joonghyuk raised a brow. “And why do you know that?”

“Ah? Well… there are scenarios everywhere, aren’t there? Like Peace Land, or the worlds from which Ilsang and Lycaon came from. The 73rd Demon Realm is one such place—and right now, there is a scenario going on there that will be really important for us. Plus, with me having a Demon King status, completing that scenario would be beneficial in the long run to all of us. That’s why I said that I have to—”

“So you planned this.”

Kim Dokja paused. 

He didn’t know what Yoo Joonghyuk was asking in the first place, and ended up rambling on for way too long. Still, out of everything he said, this is what the protagonist chose to focus on?

“It was… a possible plan,” he said.

“Hah…” Yoo Joonghyuk let out a soft breath, a bitter twist to his mouth.

Slightly concerned, Kim Dokja leaned in. “Joonghyuk-ah?”

There was no answer. What was this man thinking? Reflexively, he tried to use Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint Level 2, and failed. Of course, no skills here.

Cautiously, he prodded again. “Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk—”

“You told me we would meet again.”

Kim Dokja stopped speaking. Ah, he had said that, hadn’t he? Those were practically his last words to the protagonist.

“Tell me,” Yoo Joonghyuk looked pained as he said this, “tell me, did you already know you would survive? That you would live?

“I—”

“Or was that a bait of hope, dangling in my face to keep me in this regression turn?”

「 Kim Dokja always chose his words with deliberation. Just the right ones at the right time, perfect for maximum impact… but not even he could control his mouth all the time. 」

And especially not when he was dying. Reading a story and living it were two different things. At that moment, those words had been true.

But instead of saying that, Kim Dokja smiled sadly. “If you’re wondering that, then does that mean it would have worked?”

“Not the answer to my question,” Yoo Joonghyuk grit out. “Don’t play around with words for once! Speak properly!”

Kim Dokja averted his eyes. “What do you want me to say? Alright, I admit it, I didn’t know—hey, stop messing up my coat!”

Faster than his eyes could follow, that damn protagonist had reached out a second hand, catching hold of his coat lapels so he had nowhere to squirm away to, and dragged him close enough to be able to look right into his face. 

Immediately, he panicked. He tried to twist away from the diminishing distance between them, yelping as he was dragged even closer, the two tight grips of the protagonist’s fists crinkling the white material.

“I told you,” he said, alarmed, “I admitted it!”

“Shut up,” Yoo Joonghyuk whispered. “Just shut—you… you knew that it could mean your death. Your true death. That you might not have survived in the Story Horizon. Admit it.”

“I just told you—”

“Use those exact words!”

In this space, no skills worked except for whatever buggy skill the Fourth Wall was; and that buggy skill of Han Sooyoung’s, ‘Marginal Space’, created by sacrificing some truly powerful instruments and stigmas. So there was no chance of ‘Lie Detection’ working either. Then why…?

“Alright, alright! I admit it—I admit that I didn’t know for sure if I could survive in the Story Horizon. That it could have meant my death.”

Yoo Joonghyuk nodded once. Acknowledging it.

“And yet,” he said, scorn in his voice, “you still said it to me. Let’s meet again… cruel hope, Kim Dokja, utterly cruel when—when we all knew what your fate proclaimed.”

His mind blanked. Fate? What did his fate—

「 Incarnation Kim Dokja will be killed by the person he loves most. 」

—ah.

That fate. 

The one that had lead to his death, to his exile to the Story Horizon.

「 People were stories. 」

Kim Dokja had already riddled out the fate’s winding words back when he had first heard it. Prophecies were rarely straightforward or simple.

It was the story of ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’ that killed him. He had tried to rationalise this to himself. It was the reason he had told himself when Yoo Joonghyuk had rushed forward with the snake-killing sword in hand. It was the best explanation—

“Tell me, you fool,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, quietly, desperately. “Were you going to leave me with that realisation forever?” 

「 Kim Dokja always had words ready at hand. They were his weapon of choice, ones faster and sharper than any blade. Crueler, too. Yet this time, no sound escaped his mouth. 」

His mouth was dry as he opened and closed it, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

“I… Joonghyuk-ah,” he said finally, “come on, fates, prophecies… they’re all metaphors. In the Star Stream, stories are people, and people are stories—”

Yoo Joonghyuk let go of him abruptly, making him stumble momentarily as he regained his footing.

“I’m not asking anything of you,” said Yoo Joonghyuk, his face dangerously blank.

Shit, he recognised that face. That was his “I’m feeling too many emotions about people I care about from various world lines, but they will never care about me the same way back” face. Of course he recognised that face. It was only ever described innumerous times in ‘Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World’!

“Joonghyuk-ah,” he said again, scrambling for words, but coming up short. “Joonghyuk-ah…”

Yoo Joonghyuk scoffed. “You tack an endearment to the end of my name, unsolicited. You claim you know me better than I know myself sometimes, almost like you’re reading more than just my mind, like you know what I am made of—my strengths and weaknesses, my goals and wishes, my hopes and fears.”

This was the most Kim Dokja had ever heard Yoo Joonghyuk speak about himself. Vulnerable and true. And it was said in the coldest possible tone, like he was trying to distance himself from it.

“Why, Kim Dokja? How?” Yoo Joonghyuk looked at him as he swallowed nervously. “And yet, you won’t tell me, will you? I’m only supposed to live with this—the terrible knowledge that you—that in this whole world, the person you—that the one you love most—” He cut himself off, jerking his head aside when the words caught in his throat.

Kim Dokja laughed, a short, sharp bark of hysterical laughter. “You can’t even say it yourself.”

「 And now, with Yoo Joonghyuk having laid it all out in the open, Kim Dokja had no choice but to finally confront that truth himself. 」

Perhaps it was unbelievable to Yoo Joonghyuk. But Kim Dokja had known it was true. Despite the self denials and deflections and constant attempts to persuade everyone that there was no one he ever loved so much… 

Well, and why would he admit it? 

What was so good—so healthy, about loving a fictional character to the point of obsession? Even he was clear-minded enough to admit that, no matter what his mother thought of him.

Except the story came alive. And now, here, that man was in front of him, the character, yes, but larger than life than he could ever imagine. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the protagonist. 

Suddenly, every deeply buried feeling of his needed to be confronted—he wasn’t ready for that! Who would be? There was an apocalypse going on! And then that fate, that damnable fate that shouted it out to the world that—

“You love me,” said Yoo Joonghyuk.

「 “You love me,” said Yoo Joonghyuk. His face was as still and stoic as ever, that serious mien looking right at Kim Dokja, except for a small change. Acceptance had settled onto it. 」

Kim Dokja blanked out.

「 Yoo Joonghyuk kept looking at Kim Dokja, waiting. Waiting patiently, like eternities could pass till he answered, but Yoo Joonghyuk would still wait. Yoo Joonghyuk was well versed in the art of patience. 」

Kim Dokja sucked in a deep breath, shaking slightly. He ignored the Fourth Wall, but took another glance at Yoo Joonghyuk’s face to see if that was indeed true.

Hands clenched tightly by his sides. Black coat flaring in the light wind around them, ruffling his hair as it whirled by. Eyes fixed, expression calm, lips settled into a neutral—no, a slight upturn at the edges. Yoo Joonghyuk had been described hundreds of times in the book, always praised to be the handsomest man ever, and he had wondered then, what that meant to the author. What the author’s descriptions of sleek jawbones and dark eyes and curled lashes and thin lips would look like. Would he, in truth, in flesh, be that handsome?

The first time Kim Dokja had seen him, exiting out of the subway train, sword in hand as he hacked at the undead—

—now, as Kim Dokja gazed at the man before him.

Truly, he thought despairingly, as he closed his eyes. The most beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja said after an indeterminate amount of time. “What do you even mean by ‘why’? What even is the answer to ‘How’?”

He was only repeating the protagonist’s words here. Kim Dokja certainly had no answer. Why did he love Yoo Joonghyuk? How could he love a person he barely knew, yet also knew everything about? There were no simple answers to these questions. 

“Whatever you want to tell is the answer.”

Kim Dokja huffed out a laugh. 

「 There was nothing Kim Dokja wanted to say. What he wanted to do instead, was delve into a book, and forget everything in existence as he immersed himself in a story. 」

It was too much. Everything was too much. The silence stretched on, until, perhaps reading his reluctance, the protagonist sighed and said:

“Only if you want to tell me.” 

Kim Dokja’s head snapped up, surprised.

Yoo Joonghyuk smiled briefly. Abruptly changing the subject, he said, “You know, at first, I kept waiting for you to betray me, fearing the secrets kept in your head—but you…” 

Yoo Joonghyuk trailed off, looking into the distance like he was recounting every moment where Kim Dokja had chosen to help him at the cost of his own life. 

“Now,” Yoo Joonghyuk continued softly, “for once, I feel like waiting for your betrayal is betrayal in itself.” He nodded like he had made a decision. “This time, I’ll trust you.”

「 It was not a trust lightly given. Yoo Joonghyuk, more than anyone, knew the weight of such words. 」

Kim Dokja floundered at the unexpected mercy. 

“But you do want to know,” he said, flustered, “of course you do! I’d be curious if I was in your place!”

Yoo Joonghyuk inclined his head in agreement. “Naturally I want to know.”

Kim Dokja blinked rapidly. This man—this man—

Kim Dokja had never been able to deny him anything.

“Joonghyuk-ah,” he rasped, “I’m selfish… I’m too selfish. It isn’t that I don’t want to say—” not entirely true “—but that I just want to keep things between us the same.”

A pinched look came upon Yoo Joonghyuk’s face before it smoothened out. “Nothing has to change,” he promised.

“No, that’s not what I—” he licked his lips, hesitant, “—if—just if, I tell you how I came to love you, you’ll despise me.” When the protagonist opened his mouth to deny that, he hurried on, “Don’t try and placate me—I know you will.”

And really, what would he even say? That he read about him? Like a constellation from another world? Already, he could imagine the words—

“I won’t,” Yoo Joonghyuk said seriously. 

Ah?

“So don’t make your mind up about how I would react either, before you’ve even told me.”

That…  

What a logical statement, what a simple statement. And even though he knew that, it wasn’t until Yoo Joonghyuk said it that he even considered the possibility of it. It had always been easier to guess, to predict. Yet… 

「 There was no grandiosity in Yoo Joonghyuk’s speeches. The man had never been a good orator before the apocalypse began, and nothing changed on that front even afterwards. But when it mattered, he spoke. And when he spoke, people listened. It was not his tone, or even his words, but the conviction in them. 」

Kim Dokja lowered his eyes, heart in turmoil. “Okay.”

Everyone was waiting for them when they reached the park. Clearly, Han Sooyoung had informed them of their travel plans.

“Got that Dokkaebi gift box?” Jung Heewon asked as soon as he reached the group.

“Yes,” he said, ignoring the whole gift box nonsense. 

“Great! Let’s get going then.”

“Actually,” he started, “before we do that…”

Han Sooyoung narrowed her eyes, as if she could already sense the stupidity of his upcoming actions. “Hey… what are you about to do?”

「 There came a point in every regression where Yoo Joonghyuk had to tell the truth to his companions. The truth about where his foreknowledge stemmed from, about the scenarios, about his companions themselves. 」

Kim Dokja knew it couldn’t be kept a secret forever. But still… 

I wanted to have them with me for longer.

「 Change was inevitable. Like a pebble thrown into a still pond, this truth would displace the calm waters of their friendship. Who knew then, how large the resultant waves would be? 」

Kim Dokja glanced at Yoo Joonghyuk, standing beside him, hands in his pockets and gaze squarely placed on him.

Don’t make up your mind about me, don’t decide how I will react before I have.

「 Kim Dokja had read every version of Yoo Joonghyuk possible. Across 1863 lifetimes, how he reacted to certain situations when he was in a certain mindset was something Kim Dokja knew already. 」

But this wasn’t a story that had been told before. There was no one quite like Kim Dokja in that book.

“Everyone,” Kim Dokja took in a deep breath, and smiled lightly. “I have something to say.”

「 Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a boy who loved to read. 」