Chapter Text
[Hidden Scenario: Understand A Star!]
[Category: Hidden
Difficulty: C
Clear Conditions: View portions of constellation Demon King of Salvation’s memories to better understand him.
Time Limit: ?
Compensation: ?? coins
Failure: Permanent death of constellation Demon King of Salvation]
[Special note: Events that occur within this subspace will not be displayed on the Star Stream.]
[Enter? Y/N]
The members of Kim Dokja’s company exchanged looks as if to ask each other ‘are you seeing this?’
“Look, Yoosung,” said Lee Gilyoung. “All of a sudden, there’s a hidden scenario about that ahjussi.”
Shin Yoosung looked up from the ball she was curled in, sniffling lightly. A coin lay tails-up beside her. The company watched as she read the scenario, eyes darting right and left. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “We gotta try it, right, Oppa?”
Yoo Joonghyuk grumbled for a moment before accepting the scenario. “What’s the point of this? Kim Dokja is dead.” Kim Dokja had disappeared once again, and Yoo Joonghyuk had proclaimed that he wasn’t going to waste time grieving “that fool.” The weight he had lost and the reckless questing he had undergone since Kim Dokja’s death begged to differ.
Everyone in the company knew they were on the verge of falling apart.
The company watched as their surroundings dissolved around them.
And then, easy as that, they were in the past. Their bodies were translucent and insubstantial, as if they were ghosts.
They stood in a small, threadbare bedroom. It was nearly small enough to be a storage closet, and the furniture looked ancient and ratty enough to have been dug out of the trash. The walls were empty and personal touches few. Papers with children’s chicken-scratch handwriting were scattered around on the floor.
Han Sooyoung pulled at the door handle– or tried to, anyway. They all found that it was impossible to touch anything. Their hands simply passed through solid objects. As terrifying as that was, what was worse was they weren’t sure why they were there.
Minutes passed, during which Jung Heewon anxiously asked what the Star Stream wanted them to see here no fewer than six times.
But then the bedroom door cracked open. A bony hand snuck through the doorway, carefully opening the door. A timid, malnourished boy snuck in, as if scared to be caught coming in. He tossed a worn, nearly-empty backpack on the floor before flopping onto his sagging mattress with a sigh.
“Is that ahjussi?” asked Shin Yoosung. “He’s smaller than me and Gilyoung!”
“How old is he? He looks, what? Four or five?” asked Lee Hyunsung.
“Seven,” said Yoo Joonghyuk, with enough tension to cut the air. “Judging from that calender, he’s seven.” His fist clenched by his side, but he didn’t say anything further.
Lee Seolwha placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “He’s so small.”
Lee Jihye folded her arms. “So this is how he lived as a kid, huh?”
Then, they heard it. -‘ Ahhh, it’s always the same.’
It was a young boy’s voice, but it seemed familiar. Everyone turned to Lee Gilyoung, who just shrugged.
-‘I hope he didn’t hear me come in.’
“That voice must be ahjussi’s thoughts!” said Shin Yoosung, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh my gosh.” Her eyes sparkled at the prospect of hearing the words in her sponsor’s head.
Suddenly, Kim Dokja flinched violently. He curled up into a ball, peeking up through his eyebrows to stare through KimCom at the door. It took everyone else a moment more to hear the footsteps rapidly approaching the door.
Yoo Sangah had a look on her face like her heart was breaking as she watched Kim Dokja react to the sounds. “Oh no.”
"What's happening?" Jung Heewon asked.
Before Yoo Sangah could answer, the door slammed open. A tall, chubby, red-faced man stood behind it, chest heaving. He hiccupped.
Lee Gilyoung went on-guard. This wasn’t an unfamiliar scene to him. “Who’s that ahjussi? He didn’t even bother to knock!” He waved a fist in indignation.
But it was a futile gesture.
The man’s gaze wobbled as he surveyed the room. When his eyes landed on the bony ball of child that was Kim Dokja, his face contorted into a mask of rage.
Kim Dokja watched the man’s face change and clenched into an even tighter ball, trying to disappear.
-‘Even if I know what’s coming, I can’t bring myself to run away. Even if I did, I would just get it worse.’
“Oh, what the hell?” said Jung Heewon. Yoo Joonghyuk was a statue of rage. All of Kim Dokja’s Company were going through similar things, watching what was about to happen as if in slow motion.
The man stomped forward– directly through Lee Hyunsung’s torso– to grab ahold of Kim Dokja’s hair. With a vicious movement, he tossed Dokja to the floor.
The child cried out in fear and pain. “Ah, father! It hurts!”
The man– Kim Dokja’s father– stopped dragging Dokja, but raised his hand. He slapped Dokja across the face hard enough to make a sound like a whip-crack. The boy’s face snapped to the side, a red welt in the vague shape of a hand already beginning to form.
Unconsciously, Jung Heewon rubbed her cheek. To hit a kid that hard might cause permanent damage, she thought.
Kim Dokja turned to look back at his father, only to receive another slap. The sound reverberated once again. And again, and again. Dokja’s cries were drowned out by the sound of the hits.
The beating was relentless, continuing for almost a quarter of an hour, each hit hard enough to leave the small boy black and blue. Dokja’s father ended it with a harsh kick to the soft part of the child’s belly. Dokja let out a wounded noise like an animal on the verge of death.
There was a slight rasping noise as Yoo Joonghyuk drew his sword. Han Sooyoung whipped her head around to look at him. “You idiot! What do you expect to do? It’s not like we can touch anything. What if you hit one of us?”
Kim Dokja’s father adjusted his grip on Dokja’s hair.
“You bastard. I didn’t hear you come in. Why didn’t you greet your father? I was waiting up for you so you could go buy me some drinks!” He ground out the words, Dokja flinching as spittle hit his sore cheeks.
“I- I’m sorry, “ whimpered Dokja. His eyes were lined silver, and his voice was thick with unshed tears.
“Your stupid ‘sorry’ isn’t going to sate my thirst, is it, bastard? Go! And don’t come back without alcohol. Stupid ‘sorry’ ass–”
-‘Ah. It hurts. It hurts so much.’
The sound of Dokja’s inner voice was heartbreaking. Yoo Joonghyuk took a stuttering step forward, realized it was useless, then fell back with clenched fists.
“Why are we seeing this?” wondered Jung Heewon, voice tight with frustration.
Before anyone could respond, the scenery around them changed once again.
They found themselves in a filthy kitchen. The counters were brown and grimy, full with empty bottles and plates covered in cigarette butts. The coppery smell of blood permeated the air.
"Oh, what the fuck?" exclaimed Lee Jihye covered her mouth. It wasn’t just her. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the floor.
There lay the man they had just seen beating Kim Dokja half to death. He was dying.
Kim Dokja, face a lumpy mess of bruises, but a little taller than they had last seen him, stood over his father. He was holding a knife loosely in his fingers, his face a picture of shock. His father’s blood was spreading in a pool around his body, soaking into his socks.
Lee Sookyoung rushed over to Dokja, mantling her arms over his fragile form. “Remember, Dokja. I’m the one who killed your father, okay?”
Yoo Sangah spoke up. “So wait. Kim Dokja was the one who caused his father’s death? Oh my god.”
The scenery began to change once again. “He deserved it either way,” said Yoo Joonghyuk, casually as you please.
Then, they stood in the halls of a middle school. They stood outside a classroom, where a teacher was giving homework assignments.
“Ah, Dokja-hyung is over there!” proclaimed Lee Gilyoung, running into the room.
The company drew together into the room, gathering around Kim Dokja. Lee Gilyoung leaned over Dokja’s notebook. “According to this date, he’s thirteen right now.”
Dokja was writing furiously, doing his best to write down everything that the teacher was saying. “Ahjussi is hardworking in school,” said Shin Yoosung, attempting to pat Kim Dokja on the head. She pulled back with a disappointed look when her hand went through his head.
“He’s weak,” croaked Yoo Joonghyuk, voice full of an unnamed cocktail of emotions.
“What does master mean?” asked Lee Jihye.
“Of course he’s weak,” said Han Sooyoung defensively. “Right now he’s just a kid without powers. His stats are at their natural levels.”
“I mean he’s injured,” Yoo Joonghyuk responded gruffly. He pointed to Kim Dokja’s neckline, where a rainbow of bruises poked up from behind his collar. His pale skin was marred with bruises in yellow, red, blue, purple, black, and more– his face was not spared.
And that was only what they could see. The whine of cicadas floated in the open windows, and sweat dripped down Dokja’s nose. They all, one by one, silently noted that he was wearing long sleeves during the peak of summer.
“Someone has to have noticed, right?” whispered Shin Yoosung.
“I’m sure everyone in the whole school knows.” responded Han Sooyoung coldly.
Then the bell rang, and all the other students (all in short sleeves) packed their bags and headed out for lunch– discussing menu items with gusto.
Kim Dokja just sighed, unhooked his backpack from his desk, and used it as a pillow to lay his head on his desk.
-‘ Ah, my stomach is growling. Well, it’s not like I’m not used to such things. If I sleep through lunch, there’s no time to feel hungry, after all. ’ A wry smile curled on Dokja’s face as his eyes fluttered closed.
“Wasn’t he given any money for school?” asked Shin Yoosung.
“Of course not,” said Yoo Joonghyuk coldly.
“He lives with his aunt and uncle at this time. They like to pretend he doesn’t exist,” volunteered Yoo Sangah.
“Oh.” said Shin Yoosung, seeming to sink into herself.
“When Dokja-ahjussi returns to us, I will make sure he gets to eat whatever he wants,” proclaimed Lee Jihye, childishly. “I will buy him lots of tasty foods.”
“Why would you need to buy food?” asked Jung Heewon, attempting to lighten the mood. “Have you forgotten we have our very own Michelin-star cook?”
“Right,” agreed Lee Jihye. “Master, you have to cook for him as much as he wants when he gets back.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips were thin and white with tension, but he seemed to deflate a bit at that. “Yeah,” he said, affectionately. “I will. My food is better than anything you could buy, anyway.”
Kim Dokja’s company stood silent vigil around the sleeping child that would one day become their leader.
—
A group of middle schoolers, all athletic and well-fed enough to make Kim Dokja look comparatively like a withered husk, waltzed in, laughing and talking.
“I’m telling you man, her tits were so–”
“And I told him he had better have my money the next time or so help me God–”
“Those school lunches are nasty as hell, you know?”
The group went silent as their leader, a redhead who looked to be the strongest and nastiest among them, opened and poured a can of soda over Kim Dokja’s head. The syrupy fluid spilled into his hair and over his bag, soaking everything. Dokja startled awake, gasping at the sudden cold.
-‘ Ah, They’re here again. Song Minwoo and Co, here to make my life miserable.’ Kim Dokja sounded resigned to his fate– so unlike the adult the company knew. It hurt to watch.
“Hey, guys,” said Kim Dokja dumbly. The group burst into laughter. Song Minwoo smiled in satisfaction.
Lee Jihye cracked her knuckles. “If I could touch these cowardly bastards, I’d beat their asses.”
Yoo Joonghyuk smacked her on the back of the head, albeit halfheartedly.
“But what’s up with Ahjussi?” asked Lee Gilyoung. “I know we can’t fight back, but he’s not one to let such things stand. Why isn’t he getting mad?”
Kim Dokja stared back at the bullies, impassive. “Can I help you?” he said, voice full of immeasurable exhaustion.
“Oh, come on,” said Song Minwoo. “We just wanted to let you know you’re looking a little wet and sticky. Maybe you need to wash off.”
One of the cronies chimed in with a snicker– “Or do you plan on staying sticky all day?”
“He probably wanted to tell his whole family about how the mean men poured cola on him.” said another.
“Hey now– don’t you know his situation? His aunt probably pours worse shit than soda on him on the daily! And what can his parents do? Come back from the dead? Break out of jail?”
“Be careful,” taunted Song Minwoo. “If you push him too hard, he might snap and kill us all. Like mother, like son, am I right?”
This particular taunt earned a collective jeering laugh from the group.
Kim Dokja bit his lip, the smallest spark of anger appearing in his eyes. But he said nothing. He wiped his face with his sleeve– not that it helped.
He had a look on his face like this was normal– like he somehow deserved what was happening to him. It was a devastating resignation.
-‘Why is it always like this? I just want to be left alone.’
Hearing this thought, Han Sooyoung spoke up. “Do you think these kids survived the apocalypse?”
“I wonder,” replied Yoo Sangah as their surroundings dissolved once again.
They now stood in a darkened hallway, where the same group of boys stood over a boy crumpled into a fetal position. Song Minwoo was delivering kick after swift kick to Dokja’s sides while the others looked on expressionlessly.
Yoo Joonghyuk spoke through a clenched jaw: “Even if they did, we can work together to make sure they regret not dying early.”
The company members shared a terse nod as their surroundings dissolved once again.
—
Kim Dokja looked slightly older now, and he was standing by the exit of the school. He clenched his backpack in front of him nervously.
“He looks like he does before a battle,” said Jung Heewon. “Like he’s trying to figure something out.”
“He’s making a plan, maybe?” suggested Shin Yoosung.
“Some things don’t change,” murmured Yoo Joonghyuk, affection in his voice. He said it quietly enough that no one else might have heard, but they all did. They all heard.
-‘I don’t want to go back yet…”
-‘But those reporters are probably waiting by the gate right now.’
-‘Of course they are. They are always looking for the murderer’s son, rain or shine.’
-‘Ahjumma might be angry if I bring home any of these reporters…’
-‘Maybe if I go to the park and hide to read some webnovels, I can lose them.’
-‘There usually aren’t any at the back gate, so…’
Kim Dokja took a deep breath before making a break for the back gate. He ran as fast as his knobbly teenage knees would take him. The company followed behind, anticipation building.
“It has to be bad, right? Everything we’ve seen so far has been bad.” said Lee Jihye.
“Maybe this is an exception,” said Yoo Sangah, optimistically.
“Probably not.” replied Han Sooyoung, grimly.
Kim Dokja was already wheezing by the time he reached the back gate– exhausted enough that he didn’t even notice the camera-clad man standing just beyond the gate.
The man leapt out to grab his wrist, calling out for Dokja. “Wait a moment, please! You’re Lee Sookyoung’s child, aren’t you? Just a moment for a few words–”
-‘ Oh no. They’re waiting here too.’
-‘Oh no. I can’t–’
-‘There’s no way–’
-“I CAN’T!’
Kim Dokja shook like a leaf, throwing off the reporter’s hand with a glare and turned to leave. But the reporter had other ideas. He practically threw himself at Dokja, attempting a tackle–
Then, a wind threw him off track, leaving the reporter to skid facefirst along the sidewalk.
Kim Dokja ran without looking back as the company watched the reporter sit up, rubbing his face. “What the hell was that wind?”
But he could only watch the boy’s narrow back as he disappeared from sight.