Chapter Text
Yoo Mia didn’t have a lot of friends. It wasn’t like she needed many people. Not the idiots who tended to approach her so often these days, thinking they could use her to get close to the famous Kim Dokja’s Company. And especially not the jerks who gossiped behind her back about ‘the scenario veteran that went crazy and tried to blow up a museum’.
(No one used terms like ‘incarnation’ anymore, twenty years after the final scenario. But she still got it mixed up, clumsy and out of step in the new world that was softer than the hellscape of the scenarios but still so different from the world she knew before.)
She was friends with Shin Yoosung. And Lee Gilyoung was okay when he didn’t make Mia want to squish him into the dirt like one of his bugs.
She liked most of the members of Kim Dokja's Company, and that was enough.
But because this was Kim Dokja’s Company, the man himself had ended up becoming a pretty permanent fixture in her life as well.
Yoo Mia had never liked Kim Dokja.
He’d looked weird—almost blurry—and had this dumb way of looking into his smartphone or staring off into the middle distance. His ominous smirks were kind of cheesy. Like he was some cannon-fodder anime villain destined to kick the bucket in the first arc. Except Kim Dokja’s very existence spat in the faces of fate, gods, and dokkaebis alike, and he had the audacity to survive until the very end. Which was possibly his only charm point, Mia could admit. Under duress. Grudgingly.
Everything else about him was somewhat mediocre in her opinion.
He was technically the same age as her brother, but Kim Dokja gave off sleazy old man vibes, which her brother did not . Still, her brother liked him, strangely enough. And he was important to Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung and the other members of the Company. So she could accept him, could appreciate his presence even, because of the effect it had on the others.
But that didn’t mean she had to willingly seek him out.
And yet.
Yoo Mia found herself standing by the door to a clean, white hospital room, where the dark-haired man dozed in the bed, looking very small among the pillows and blankets. By his side, a story pack whispered inaudibly as words drifted in and out of focus through the drip. The bed had been moved next to the large window. It was open right now, letting in the sun and wind.
She’d observed him during the group regression, trying to get a better understanding of the man who they were all diving back into the scenarios for—and who was also some sort of god creating the multiverse with his consciousness. (She tried not to think too deeply about that last bit because weird had levels , and that was an existential dungeon boss she was not at all equipped to handle.)
But mostly, Kim Dokja had slept back then, and his lucid moments, which had grown fewer and farther between, had been reserved for the members of the company who’d known him longer. She’d mostly stayed away, feeling like an awkward bystander at a funeral as others mourned over someone’s closed casket. She hadn’t learned much about him in any case.
Now, the sleep wasn’t as heavy; it wasn’t the kind you’d never wake up from. His face was also strangely clear, if unremarkable, like a translucent film had been removed; it was probably another product of the scenarios ending.
She stayed by the doorway.
This was the ahjussi who'd played at least a partial role in messing up her brother so badly that he’d left her to become a terrorist and then left her again to go on a space odyssey. For years .
There were ugly words lying on her tongue. She could spit them out, draw blood and dig in where it really hurt. But that would be pathetic. And she would regret it afterwards, since hurting Kim Dokja would hurt the others.
Yoo Mia swallowed.
Why was she even here? It wasn’t like she had anything else to say to him. She hadn’t known him throughout the scenarios like the others.
“Ah, hello.” The familiar voice was scratchy with sleep.
Kim Dokja was awake, pushing himself up to a sitting position with some effort. His eyes were still somewhat bleary from his nap. Probably tired from the physical therapy session earlier this afternoon, which she only knew because her brother had gone to see him like he always did.
Kim Dokja rubbed his eyes and, after a moment of hesitation, straightened the blanket pooling on his lap, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “Do you—want to sit down?” he asked.
She stomped over and plopped down on the plastic chair next to his bed before crossing her arms and glaring at him. A part of her knew that she was being petty and childish. But whatever. It wasn’t like she cared about what he thought of her.
He scratched the back of his neck lightly as they both stewed in the awkward silence.
“How, uh, how have you been?” He winced almost right after he said it.
The anger that was coiled within her snapped out like it did so often these days. “Oh, you know.” She said flatly. “I finally got to see my brother again at least.”
“Right.” His flinch was barely perceptible.
She looked down at her hands, clenched over her legs. A memory pricked her mind, and she could almost see the ghostly figures of the Company scrambling desperately through the door of this very room as shining stories rose all around them.
Guilt bubbled up, cooling her rage.
“…Sorry,” she mumbled.
“What?” Kim Dokja said blankly.
She glared harder at the floor. “I said—“
“No, I heard you. I was just—“ He frowned and seemed to turn inwards on himself. “You really don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m the one who should be sorry. And I am, even if it won’t ever be enough to make up for everything I’ve done.”
She fidgeted in her seat. It was actually deeply unsettling hearing some of her own worst opinions about Kim Dokja through his mouth, especially in such a matter-of-fact way.
“That’s—” she faltered. Words always felt clumsy in her mouth. For most of her life, comfort, praise, and affection were conveyed through actions, like head pats, and she’d almost always been on the receiving end. There were only a handful of moments when Mia would awkwardly pet someone else’s head, trying to recreate the comforting weight of her brother’s hand. She probably hadn’t done a very good job of it either.
“It wasn’t your fault. Well, some of it maybe. But it was—complicated. I don’t—I mean, I don’t think you should blame yourself for, like, all of it. Or, you know?” She trailed off, stealing a glance at the bed where Kim Dokja sat, looking very confused.
Crap.
He wasn’t very expressive, but something made him appear tired and sad, a bit like her brother after the failed group regression—the kind of sad that had festered and gone ignored for so long it no longer seemed to register. So before she could think better of it, her palm reached out and sort of…touched his head.
If she pulled away quickly, it’d be acknowledging that she’d done something weird. So her hand just—stayed there. On his head. For a while.
They stared at each other in mutual mortification.
She withdrew her hand slowly, face burning.
Act totally normal and no one would question you. It worked for her brother all the time.
The hospital room was silent.
Scratch that, she’d have to kill this ahjussi. Shin Yoosung and her brother could deal.
Kim Dokja cleared his throat after shaking himself out of the daze caused by her stupid, stupid gesture. “Um, right, thank you,” He said, sounding a somewhat desperate to redirect the conversation anywhere else. “But you probably came here for some other reason, yeah?”
The room suddenly felt very small.
“Oppa left,” she said, after a moment.
Her brother was always going off somewhere during the scenarios, but when the scenarios had finished, she had thought—
She hated, hated, hated the familiar prickle in her eyes. It was an old wound: a crybaby clinging to the hem of someone else’s clothes to try and stop them from going. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t be like this anymore.
Horribly, the stinging in her eyes wouldn’t subside, and fat, visible tears started falling down her face.
She pretended to cough violently, bending over with the force of it and ducking her head down. Meanwhile, she angrily swiped her face with her sleeve.
Kim Dokja passed her a box of tissues. “Allergies are pretty bad this year.”
She mumbled in agreement, blowing her nose and surreptitiously wiping her eyes, coughing some more.
When she looked up, Kim Dokja’s expression was even and waiting, not betraying that he’d noticed anything. Fine, she decided, he could live.
“Do you know why he left? Why he would—why…?” she finally asked. Her brother had gone on a crazy, solo journey to discover his inner terrorist before they’d even come up with the manuscript plan, when there hadn’t been a direction to go or a point to leaving all by himself. And maybe this was why she was really here. Kim Dokja knew her brother, knew him better than she did.
He hesitated. “I don’t, I’m sorry.” A flash of disappointment hit her like a quick stab to the gut. “I can speculate, but that’s probably something you should talk to your brother about. He loves you though. Truly.”
The room was blurring again. She blew her nose aggressively into the tissue and desperately wanted to get out here.
She got up, tossed the tissues away, and moved around his bed towards the window, before pausing with her foot on the ledge. She shot him a warning glare over her shoulder. “This never happened.”
“Sure.” He smiled, wearing one of those disconcertingly mild expressions that she’d seen ‘polite’ adults hide behind all the time, but it seemed a little less generic than usual, something a bit sly and brazen at the edges, like he had a secret he was only offering to share with you. It reminded her a little of Shin Yoosung when she was up to no good.
She hesitated, feeling oddly uncertain all of the sudden. “Um. Welcome back by the way.”
“Thanks.” That smile again.
She rolled her eyes as she let her transcendence flood her muscles and sprang into the air, a dark arrow shooting home.
------------------------------------------------------
It was strangely anticlimactic. After that horribly awkward meeting with Kim Dokja, she settled back into her everyday routine.
She hadn’t talked with her brother yet. She wasn’t avoiding it. It was just…they were still on shaky ground with each other. She was still getting used to having him back.
Sometimes, late at night, she’d wake up in a panic and check inside his room, just to make sure he was still there. He knew, probably. The door was always left slightly ajar so she could peek in.
She was going to talk to him. She was .
She just…needed to plan her approach first.
But somehow, a whole week managed to pass.
It was easy to let the mundane grind of life carry her along. School was boring. Uriel dropped a surprise single. People were the same as ever: envious, hostile, or a little too eager to get close, obviously wanting front row seats to an interesting spectacle. Even a loose association with Kim Dokja’s Company (and a former terrorist) came with a lot of recognition.
She could handle it. Her brother had been a famous pro-gamer for years, so even if the intensity of the attention was new, the attitudes themselves weren’t.
Since the start of high school, she’d only punched one kid. It had happened during the first month or so after her brother had disappeared, and her memories of that time were a sticky blur of confusion and grief, so she didn’t even remember what the fight had been about. What she did remember was sending the guy flying—the horrifying moment of standing there, staring at his slumped body, unsure if he was still alive. She’d forgotten how fragile people used to be.
But he’d been okay, and she hadn’t been expelled since Yoo Sangah, The Moonlight Empress herself, had come down in a pristine, ivory dress suit to both reassure and intimidate the administrators. After that, all of her classmates knew not to mess with her.
This classmate clearly hadn’t heard the rumors, or he had and decided they were a pack of lies. It was funny. Before the scenarios, she’d actually been pretty popular, easily turning her classmates’ envy into admiration rather than spite. Social interactions had taken barely any effort.
His obnoxiously loud voice dug into her ears, as he snickered with his group of followers, minions, whatever. He kept blabbing on about how deranged some of those scenario veterans were, really, it was a matter of time before they all snapped. Had they heard about that weird kid with the bugs? He had some friends who went to the same school as that kid, and apparently, bug-boy always sat in the back corner and never talked. Yoo Mia was almost done packing, focusing on stuffing her books and pencil case into her bag.
By the time her classmate comically reenacted how Lee Gilyoung had jumped out of his chair at a loud crash in the hallway, eyes and mouth open wide as her classmate flailed his arms around in a mocking exaggeration, Yoo Mia's hands were trembling with the effort of not pummeling him into dust.
“Shut up .”
The entire classroom grew silent and turned their gazes on her. But these eyes were frail, insignificant things. Not at all like constellations.
The papers scattered on various desks rustled in the breeze. What did they know? They hadn’t seen Seoul crack open as all sorts of foul monsters rampaged everywhere. They hadn’t seen an outer god descending. They hadn’t felt something monstrous writhing just beneath their skin as blood dripped from their eyes and ears and that giant thing blinked at them from the black sky.
Shaking with helpless, indignant rage, she felt a sudden surge of power. Its pull was familiar and deep, like a bottomless pit had woken, opened its maw, and inhaled for the first time in a long while.
She froze.
Heart pounding, she desperately reigned herself back in.
The wind died down, and she took a quavering breath. She hadn’t felt the power of her skill in a long while. The other boy and their friends were staring at her with wide eyes, their legs wobbling as they felt the true magnitude of scenario powers.
After making a hasty exit, she ran a couple of laps around a quiet neighborhood nearby. It was a habit she’d picked up from her brother, and the steady, pounding footfalls as she pushed forward, step by step, helped calm the nervous buzzing in her chest. But not by much.
She was still on edge when she reached the hospital for the weekly Kim Dokja Vigil that Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung had held for all those years while the man was comatose. Back then, she’d followed them to their meetings because she hadn’t had anything better to do, standing silently off to the side while they told the comatose lump about their week and other random stuff. Unfortunately, these Friday evening vigils hadn’t actually stopped after Kim Dokja had woken up. But the atmosphere no longer felt like they were performing ancestral rites for the recently deceased, so she’d take what she could get.
Kim Dokja was currently off doing physical therapy in a different room. Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung were already there, arguing loudly about whether they should order pizza or fried chicken for dinner once Kim Dokja finished.
A tight knot in her chest unraveled at the sight. Even though Mia didn’t actually have an opinion about the inherent superiority of pizza over all other takeout foods, it was easy to act like this was the hill she’d die on, siding against Lee Gilyoung on principle.
A daytime soap opera played in the background as they bickered amongst each other. There weren’t that many channels, and the remote was perpetually missing anyway. The trashy TV shows were practically part of the ritual now.
When the conversation finally lulled, she found her mind wandering back to the day’s events. Without really thinking, she asked them about the state of their skills and attributes.
“I can kind of use my taming skills. It never really went away, but it’s a little easier now,” Shin Yoosung replied.
“Yeah, me too.” Lee Gilyoung admits.
“It’s probably related to Dokja-ahjussi returning,” Shin Yoosung mused.
At that, the two of them launched into a mind-numbingly boring and completely unprompted catalogue of scenario creatures that had made a recent resurgence in the past few weeks. Over the years, while they both vehemently maintained that insects and animals were completely different and that insects were far superior compared to beasts or vice versa, the two of them also came to acknowledge that literally no one else in Kim Dokja’s Company came close to sharing their creature-related passions with the same fervor.
“At this rate, I might get to have another Titanoptera.” He grinned, as though just the thought of the ginormous creatures that had terrorized Seoul’s streets filled him with utter delight.
Even when Yoo Mia reminded him (very reasonably in her opinion) that there wasn’t any room for a giant monster bug in a Seoul apartment, Lee Gilyoung wasn’t all that phased.
“We’re all going to get that big house anyway. There’s a lot more land available, so we can get a place away from central Seoul that’s close enough to a commuting center.”
Giant insects and monsters were hallmarks of the apocalypse, stark reminders that the world had completely flipped on its head. She couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to leave those behind with the scenarios. “I just don’t get why you’d miss it.”
Lee Gilyoung frowned, “I don’t miss it. But the Titano series was one of the good things that came out of the scenarios.” Good things coming out of the scenarios…wasn’t that a strange thought. “And it’s not like we can go back to what things were like before.”
“Well, I think it’s stupid.” She was aware that she’d stopped making any sense and was just spouting whatever came to mind. “Use your insect king powers and—and command a regular praying mantis grow or something.”
“That’s not how it works.” He rolled his eyes so hard that Yoo Mia hoped they fell out of his head. “And why are you so touchy today anyways.”
“I’m not touchy,” Yoo Mia said scrunching up her face.
“Yes, you are. You’ve been acting like that—” he gestured at her general existence, “since you came here.” He narrowed his eyes, gaze trained on her intently like she was one of his bugs. “Did your Kirby powers come back or something?” Shin Yoosung moved to whack him on the back of the head, but he dodged with practiced ease.
“Stop calling it that,” Yoo Mia snarled. She pointedly ignored his grumbling. “But yeah, my skill came back this afternoon.”
“Why do you dislike it so much?” Shin Yoosung asked, genuinely curious.
Yoo Mia picked a piece of lint off of her pants. “I don’t like anything about the scenarios.” They were scary. They swallowed up everything. Even when they were over, they kept lingering and taking, forcing everyone to chase after loose ends.
Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung glanced at each other, holding a brief conversation with their eyes. In times like these, Yoo Mia was struck with the realization that, despite their differences, they share fundamental similarities. There was an understanding between them that she could never hope to share.
Yoo Mia sighed. They were going to get the wrong idea. The sudden return of her skill had caught her off guard this afternoon, but it wasn’t actually a big issue. “I can deal with it. It’s not like I’ll ever need to use my powers now that the scenarios are done. I was just flustered when it came back so abruptly, especially with everything else going o—”
Yoo Mia shut her mouth with a clack.
“Everything else…with your brother?”
They knew her too well. It was especially aggravating in these kinds of moments.
Yoo Mia nodded wordlessly.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Kicking out her feet in a jerky, frustrated movement, she huffed, “There isn’t much to say. Things are awkward between us. He’s been gone for a long time, and I’m still mad at him.”
“Are you mad he didn’t choose you?” Shin Yoosung said, managing to cut into the heart of the matter in that eerie way of hers. Nothing about her tone or expression was judgmental, but it still cut.
“I guess it’s pretty awful of me when you put it like that.” Yoo Mia tried to find the words to describe it, coming back to that empty house one day, an incredibly short note left on the table explaining that he’d taken himself out of her life. “It was just the two of us for so long, you know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She felt terrible. Her brother had saved Kim Dokja by taking that risky, one-in-a-million chance. Kim Dokja, who was to them, what Yoo Joonghyuk was to her.
“It’s okay.” Shin Yoosung took her hand, squeezing lightly. On Mia’s other side, Lee Gilyoung bumped his leg against hers. They obviously didn’t really get it, but…but they were still trying. And they were with her now.
Yoo Mia stayed quiet, not trusting herself to speak just yet without her voice cracking.
They were all distracted when the shouting started. A woman slapped some guy with a whole kimchi on the TV. They watched for a bit as the characters shrieked at each other. Red pepper sprayed everywhere. It was pretty great.
Lee Gilyoung glanced at her and then fixed his gaze on the TV as he muttered, “We can get your fungus pizza.”
They were mushrooms, and totally normal pizza toppings. He was just under-developed. “We can get your weird pineapple and ham, just as long as it doesn’t touch mine.” Yoo Mia said generously.
“Fine, but we’re ordering fried chicken next time.”
Shin Yoosung put in their order with specific instructions to put her cheese wedges on opposite sides, so that the mushroom and pineapple-ham wouldn’t touch.
After his physical therapy ended, Kim Dokja walked in, a light sheen of sweat sticking to his skin. He smiled at them, “Did everyone decide what we’re going to order?”
For a second, Yoo Mia thought she saw something very big and old, packed away tight behind his eyes. She blinked and it was gone.