Work Text:
-☆-
it all began when he defeated the dokkaebi king, regaining his memories and surpassing the final wall to find himself on a train. an eerily sanitary one– nothing like the trains from before the apocalypse (which he based off the train in the 1st scenario). he said that they would see each other again if he regressed 1864 times, before sending him on his long, weary journey to save the world. as the train moved to their destination, yoo joonghyuk felt his consciousness slowly slipping away, the animated chatter from his companions just like white noise to his ears, lulling him to sleep.
[ you are being reincarnated! ]
just as his eyes closed, being met with the dark emptiness of sleep, the glare of luminescent white letters met his eyes.
yoo joonghyuk was confused. he did not die– there was no notification saying that he had died. why was he here? in his drowsiness, he did not manage to make out the word “reincarnation”, instead thinking he was about to regress. however, he is a tired man, and will get all the rest he needs now.
-☆-
yoo joonghyuk woke up to vastly different surroundings. he could only see prim and pristine buildings lining the streets, unlike the usual rubble of broken, tattered buildings from the regression rounds. he seemed to be in a dumpster, hidden amongst piles of rubbish, deserted in the pouring rain. the second thing he noticed was that he was– very short. trash cans were the size of skyscrapers, and those high-rise buildings overhead could compare to the greatest outer gods that he had fought, while he stood at full height. the third thing he noticed was that his movements were very restricted. looking at his reflection from a nearby puddle, he was left with the biggest shock.
looking at himself, no longer with a scarred face and ragged clothes, no longer made of flesh– he was a soft toy. left with a body standing at 3 mcdonalds dipping sauces tall, and his head being nearly half that length, just slightly smaller than his body, he felt slightly disoriented. is that really him? he couldn’t even bend down to look at his feet much anymore, his doll head being robbed of any movement. now, left without any weapon to defend himself with, without any companions to lean on for help, in a whole new world different from his own. if he could do this before, when getting expelled in the scenarios, what was stopping him now? for the time being, he made up his mind– to seek shelter from the rain.
-☆-
the walls were thin here, he noted. under a cardboard box, he stared blankly at the rats opposite him, scouring for food in the trash, while listening to the conversations in what seemed to be an apartment building, hoping that there would be useful information for him. not that he would know what information would be useful to a now turned-haunted doll, anyways.
his thoughts were interrupted by loud shouting, suggesting that someone had opened the door. he barely managed to catch phrases of what the person said, before the door slammed, making the rats scuttle away in fright. a boy– not older than twelve, staggered down the apartment’s stairs from the second floor, sliding down next to yoo joonghyuk with blood running down his nose and an ugly purple bruise on his cheekbone.
“what are you doing there?” he wheezed, most probably from the pain of his wounds getting soaked in the rain. the light from a nearby streetlamp reflected off the mystery child’s rainwater-soaked face, giving him an ethereal look, just like a god– despite his bruises and cuts, and despite being in this dreary garbage dump.
oh, right. he wasn’t supposed to have consciousness. accepting that he got caught, he tried to show a cool, unbothered look. however, he could not accomplish such a feat, being unable to change his facial expressions with a face made out of sewn craft-string.
“hah, right. as if a soft toy could talk to me. i’m getting more delusional every day.” the boy chuckled, picking up yoo joonghyuk and putting him in his lap, before taking the cardboard box that yoo joonghyuk used for shelter over his head, making sure to cover yoo joonghyuk too. “you’ve been abandoned too, huh. my aunt and uncle are mad at me right now, so i might have to spend the night here. at least i won’t have to spend it alone, with you by my side.”
-☆-
yoo joonghyuk learnt much about the kid– called kim dokja– in the two days and three nights he was with him, where he did not show any signs of paranormal activity but instead, watched from the sidelines. he realised that he could ‘exit’ his body to look in other directions– behind his head, left and right, without turning his physical doll head. he could even move into a third-person perspective– just like when playing a video game. truly, an out of body experience.
(yoo joonghyuk found out about this when he was left face-flat on kim dokja’s poor excuse of a bed, unable to see anything, and yeared to have a better look at the interaction between him and his aunt, to better understand his situation.)
as kim dokja stayed inside his small room most of the time, reading webnovels on his phone, yoo joonghyuk did the same. constantly surveying the four walls of kim dokja’s 2 metre by 2 metre room, which was only large enough to fit two pieces of furniture– one tiny, stale mattress and a small cardboard box which he used as a table. what else was he supposed to do? in those two days, yoo joonghyuk had easily accepted his new life as an unmoving doll– perhaps too easily. as he and kim dokja read a new romance novel that dokja had stumbled upon, hidden away from the outside world.
watching kim dokja was entertaining, to say the least. as the fifteen-year old (too malnourished and small for his age) giggled, kicking his mattress, occasionally rolling on the bed– nearly crushing yoo joonghyuk in the process, when the female lead and the male lead finally confessed to each other.
-☆-
to yoo joonghyuk, it felt as if only a few hours had passed since he met kim dokja, and yet he had grown fond of the kid, ready to trust him with his life– and accept being with him as his ‘retirement’ from being a regressor. a feat that even his companions through the regression rounds did not manage to accomplish. in fact, it had been two whole days.
watching as kim dokja trudged to school, with yoo joonghyuk left forgotten– dokja had put him in his bag the previous night, tucking him into his ‘blankets’ which was just the piece of cloth attached to the zipper. in the morning, kim dokja had been roughly awoken by his uncle, who told him to “get out of the house and go to school immediately!” in a hurry, kim dokja had stuffed his textbooks back into his bag, leaving yoo joonghyuk sandwiched between the books, and ran off– without even eating breakfast. no wonder he was so thin.
entering the classroom, kim dokja was promptly met with loud jeers from his classmates, one of them– with a nametag saying “song minwoo” latched his sweaty, smelly arm around kimm dokja’s shoulder, guiding him to his seat.
“ya, kim dokja. today is a very special day! my birthday! to celebrate my birthday, i have a very special present to give to you– aren't you surprised it’s not the other way round?” song minwoo sneered. kim dokja’s table was covered in graffiti– no doubt by song minwoo and his group of lackeys. even worse, his table and chair was covered by a murky yellow liquid, with bits of seaweed splattered everywhere. “hey, dokja-ya. why aren’t you congratulating me? i even brought some seaweed soup for you to drink!” song minwoo and his gang cackled sinisterly.
“come on, have a taste.” seeing how kim dokja kept a blank, unmoving expression, song minwoo roughly tugged at kim dokja’s hair, pushing him down to the table without a moment of hesitation.
yoo joonghyuk was enraged. he stared daggers at minwoo, even peeking out from kim dokja’s bag to take a closer look at the abomination that never should have been birthed; never blinking as he watched song minwoo commit such atrocities. his blood boiled, burning even hotter than uriel’s hell flames, even though he no longer had blood. in those 1864 regressions, he thought he had learnt to be patient, to control his anger. in this moment, all he wanted to do was send his face, complete with his greasy mop of hair, to his knee, shattering his nasal bone. he would dig out his eyes with his very own fingers, and kim dokja would see no harm again.
those five words, “come on, have a taste” crushed his last string of patience, turning it into mere pieces of dust that would never be seen again until the man was dead. instinctually, he grabbed a book from a nearby table– the largest, heaviest one he could find– and slammed it right into song minwoo’s face.
what he was not expecting was for the book to connect with song minwoo’s face, sending him and his lackeys to the ground like poorly-stacked dominos.
what a shame, yoo joonghyuk thought. if he had his old body, all of them would be mauled to pieces with that one slap, left unidentifiable.
a shred of realisation returned to him then. it hit.
-☆-
class passed smoothly after that, the teacher arriving in the nick of time to stop song minwoo from physically breaking out into a fight with kim dokja. while yoo joonghyuk was slightly annoyed that kim dokja had to sit through class with soiled pants from the soup (he managed to clean up the table using a handkerchief), he felt immense satisfaction from punching song minwoo, akin to when he killed his very first constellation with his very two hands, who had been consuming his story as entertainment, not taking him seriously. next, he switched his attention to the fact that he moved that book– to slap minwoo. thus, he began experimenting with his powers; picking up kim dokja’s pen when it dropped from the desk to the ground, and even breaking song minwoo’s ballpoint pen, causing an ink spill onto his textbook.
those last few hours in which class was ongoing was over, as kim dokja and yoo joonghyuk prepared to face song minwoo and his equally disgusting underlings. this time, they had trapped him into a corner, making him unable to escape from their weasel-like scowls, obviously blaming the paranormal activity on him.
song minwoo’s minions threw kim dokja to the ground (using the power of friendship) before he sent a kick to dokja’s stomach, not even bothering to hide the grin curling up the sides of his wretched mouth.
“what was that earlier, you brat. it must be that new doll toy that you have with you, isn’t it? always causing problems. maybe– it’s the devil! you were contracting one so you could kill me! there’s nothing else on your mind except killing, isn’t it? you truly are a murderer’s son.” song minwoo said between breaths, ruthlessly landing punches on kim dokja’s helpless body, curled up in a fetal position.
yoo joonghyuk felt devastated. instead of saving kim dokja from his bullies, he was causing him to have to take their hits like a worn punching bag. he had to use a different approach. wracking his brain, he thought of an idea, and immediately set into action. outside the classroom door, there was a teacher on patrol. all he had to do was open that damned door.
his irises burned from staring at the door, using all his strength to pry open the door. the constant sound of punches reverberated throughout the classroom, only adding to the urgency of his situation.
“in the olden days, they used to make murderers kill themselves. why not take the burden for your mother, huh?”
yoo joonghyuk’s blood ran cold, turning to see those nameless henchmen dragging dokja to the window. he had to get the door open. just a little bit more, and the teacher would see. just a little bit more– even just a few centimetres–
-☆-
kim dokja’s life was a mess. the oldest memories he could remember were of his mother protecting him from the monster that never really was his father; the sight of the green glass making him cower in fear, making bile creep up his throat, choking him, like the thought that he should not have been born. even after he– his mother– killed him, murdered without any form of pity or regrets.
he needed his mother, but she had left, leaving him with his aunt and uncle, who verbally abused him every day, making him do chores that his frail body could barely handle. at times, he did not know what he had become; a worthless son, nothing more than a murderer’s child who would become a murderer one day– a monster.
his doll– his friend– deserved more than him. he could find a child that would treasure him for life, raise him in a happy, sheltered home unlike his. kim dokja knew of his supernatural abilities, since the very first time he saw him in the dumpster. too used to sudden movements, he noticed him moving in an instant, knowing he had supernatural abilities.
being with him was calming. kim dokja always felt more at ease around him, being freed from the constant thought that someone was going to creep up behind him, cornering him and beating him until the bruises stung for days, skin red and raw.
if he died, his lovely friend would find someone else– someone better. he was the only person who cared so much for kim dokja, after all. he was sure that the doll would be loved by anyone else who chanced upon him with his big, black onyx-coloured eyes, which shimmered with a tint of gold in sunlight, he could charm anyone with his stubby legs and his cute little tummy.
why was he struggling? why was he fighting back? he had to die– everyone else would be happier without the threat of a murderer’s son around them. what was the use in his life?
he didn't want to die.
how could he live in such circumstances?
he didn't want to die.
he didn't want to die.
he didn't wantto-
the most unlucky boy. no one wanted him alive, and yet he was saved, kept alive, time and time again. his wrist was bruised from the teacher pulling him up from where he fell.
his mind barely registered going to the principal’s office, and getting scolded by his aunt. at that point, it was just muscle memory for him, to sit and take the harsh scoldings- becoming background noise in his head.
-☆-
blinking out of his dissociative stupor, he found himself back in his room. in his hand was his phone, one result for a web novel staring back at him, luring him to read.
“three ways to survive a ruined world.”
like a starved man, he began devouring the words, ingraining the black pixels in the sea of white in his head. this was his salvation.