Chapter Text
South Korea, 2110
The distant cries of police sirens echo through the dark remains of what was once a small city. Claw marks decorate the sides of concrete buildings, raking through doors and leaving abysmal holes where glass windows once remained. In the eerie calm of night, fliers flutter along with the wind, the only companions of the desolate area. Most of the bodies, both monsters and humans alike, had already been disposed of. No one who was still capable of breathing stayed after the devastating tragedy. There was nothing left to wait for, nothing to retrieve or protect.
As the air continues to gently howl through the streets, a lone flier catches onto a gentle warmth. Dusted black shoes crunch to a halt among shattered glass, pausing as the owner peels the flier off his chest and examines the parchment.
The Cheoldoo Guild: Hiring Hunters Now! Join today and get additional limited-time bonuses*
Call: xxx-xxx-xxxx
*terms and conditions apply
*Restorers also encouraged to register
Hunters.
Nearly a decade ago, there wouldn't have been a need for said individuals, but now, it's almost as if there’s never enough of them.
2100 had marked the start of a new century, bringing with it the first appearances of Gates: pocket dimensions that split the fabric of Earth’s reality into two, crackling with angry, destructive power and leaving hordes of monsters in their wake. Civilization had no idea what to do with itself. People were slaughtered like animals, and major world leaders were thrown into a frenzy. But just as the world teetered on the cusp of crumbling, hope arrived in the form of the Awakened: citizens blessed by the Heavens with the abilities of one of the Three Divisions, responsible for restoring order.
The first to Awaken were the Hunters: Combat-ready individuals given supernatural powers, stronger physical attributes, and higher durability. The second were the Healers: Magic-infused beings that distributed buffs, healing, and other spells to assist the Hunters. The two Divisions worked tirelessly during the First Gate Inception, defeating monsters and the Gate’s Boss, preventing a Gate Crash—the implosion of a Gate that would lead to the destruction of everything in a 50-mile radius.
The last to Awaken were the Restorers. The conflict's aftermath left rubble and ruin as fallout, and it was up to the Restorers—individuals with the mysterious ability to reinstate what was previously present—to fix what was once lost. With the help of Restorers, society was brought back to its feet, and humanity became better equipped in preparing for future Inceptions.
And yet, the only Restorer in history with an S-class affinity had disappeared after the Second Gate Crashed, abandoning his very purpose.
The figure quietly folds the paper and slides it into his pockets before glancing at the city ruins. His white hoodie flaps with the breeze, revealing a black mop of hair and two abyssal, sparkling eyes.
With a sigh and a crouch, he places his fingertips onto the ground as a yellow, shimmering aura wisps around him like sparkling starlight. Chunks of concrete lift from the ground, piecing together as billboards, wires, bricks, and plywood circle in a great whirlwind, a tornado of the city’s largest possible puzzle. Glass, once broken and scattered, collects into shining panes. In just a moment, in the midst of what looks like a million fireflies, the city is back together.
The man exhales, and his phone rings in response. The green call button is swiped, and a voice is heard through the other end.
“Kim Dokja, I assume you’ve finished the Gwangju area by now?”
“Yes,” a quiet voice replies. “I just finished.”
———
“Really, I don’t understand why you don’t take on more projects,” Gong Pildu exclaims. “It could be so profitable for you. It’s rare to see someone of your Division and class.”
Kim Dokja rests against a convenience store now buzzing with green blinking lights. “Pildu-nim, we’ve discussed this already,” he begins in a sickly sweet tone, picking at the fibers of his worn-down hoodie. He can hear the elder shivering in disgust through his cellphone. “Big corporations only serve as a distraction. I’m busy enough as it is.” A fiber comes loose. Pildu only sighs in response.
“Look, kid. I don’t know what these big ambitions of yours are, seeing as you’ve been living like this the entirety of our partnership. But tell you what. There’s a guild that recently made an offer just for you. It’s a C class restoration with B class payment. That’s a good deal for the work they’re asking from you—”
“Tell them I said no,” Dokja cuts him off. Pildu grumbles as if he’s going to begin arguing with him again, but Dokja intervenes. “If they’re really that persistent, I’m assuming it’s the YK guild.”
Pildu’s silence is more than sufficient as an answer.
“Companies that just pick and choose like that… that man who doesn’t understand that he’s only wasting his time… people like that are who I despise the most.” And with a brisk beep, the call ends. The lock screen of Dokja’s phone flashes at him, replacing the black caller ID that had previously filled the display of the device.
It’s 11:50.
“I need to get to that bakery now if I want to make it back on time,” Dokja breathes. He twists on his heel, shoes clicking into the distance, the sound of scattering leaves serving as his only company.
———
When Dokja arrives at his run-down apartment complex, he has a cake box in his left hand with some candles and a plastic knife taped onto the side. The inside of the building is completely empty. It has been for a while. With a leisurely hand, he presses the elevator button, stepping inside when the doors open with a warbled dinging sound.
It’s when the doors are about to close that a scarred, rough hand grabs one and begins to pry it to the side. The metal groans in protest as Dokja scrambles to the back corner of the cabin. Heart thumping dangerously, Dokja clenches his hand around the handle of the box before slowly reaching for the plastic knife strapped next to the candle. His adrenaline, however, seeps into a familiar discomfort when he realizes who the intruder is. Schooling his expression into one of casual nonchalance, Dokja gives the tall man in a perfectly tailored suit— seriously, does he vacuum it on —a curt smile as the elevator doors open for the man who steps in, watching as the doors close behind him.
And it’s for some unforeseen reason that Dokja, who’s now trapped in an enclosed space with an annoyingly handsome psychopath, can’t help but feel as if whatever is about to occur will make some sort of irreversible change.
With the moonlight no longer illuminating the insides of the dull elevator, Dokja shifts his attention to the rugged features of the brooding man in front of him.
“Yoo Joonghyuk.” Joonghyuk hasn’t taken his eyes off him since he pinpointed Dokja in the cabin, but a shift in his expression indicates he’s listening. “I thought I told you to stop following me.”
For the past couple of months, the persistent bastard had been following him and appearing at random, demanding- seriously, how is it possible for someone to demand so much with so few words - that Dokja work with his Gate Excavation team, Salvation, for some big project.
When Joonghyuk only glances at Dokja’s hand lingering around the knife in response, the latter swiftly shifts his hands behind him.
“Kim Dokja,” the taller begins. “You have yet to respond.”
“Still a man of few words, huh?” Dokja replies instead. Even without additional context, he knows Joonghyuk is talking about the guild offer Pildu’s been pushing for. “It seems succeeding your brother as Vice President of the Corporation has given you enough confidence to pull a crazy stunt like this. Stalking? Did the former president’s death really give you brain damage?”
Joonghyuk moves to stand next to Dokja, an aura of power exuding just from his close presence. “My father’s passing is irrelevant. I’m doing what’s necessary for the success of this guild—and the world.”
“What a noble cause,” Dokja hums. “But I doubt you need a Restorer for your mission. Not only have dangerous Gate projection rates declined, but your rankers are all A-S class hunters and healers. Asking me to join you after I’ve been out of public commission for nearly 5 years is also highly suspicious.” Dokja’s tone suddenly becomes serious. “Tell me Yoo Joonghyuk. What are you playing at?”
Joonghyuk grits his teeth. “The mission is high profile. The general public doesn’t have access to the intel we do. As for you, you’ll know why a Restorer is necessary after you join us.”
“You say that as if you’re certain I will. Let’s say I fix some buildings for you after you and your team wreck some poor S-rank Gate. What’s in it for me?” Dokja sighs, leaning against the cabin in a more casual manner.
Joonghyuk turns to face the Restorer. He looks at Dokja with a certainty that makes it feel like he’s confident Dokja will agree- that he’ll have no choice but to. Dokja hates it. “We,” he starts, “will convince you.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” Dokja grins, without it ever quite reaching his eyes.
“I will offer you something that you cannot refuse.” Joongyuk declares, eyes grim and tone unwavering as he presses the button to open the door. It feels foreboding.
It feels true.
Just before he leaves, Joonghyuk turns to look at Dokja as he presses another button on the elevator. “Make no mistake, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get you with the program if it means saving the world.”
He must see something in Dokja’s face because something changes in his expression. Like he knows something Dokja doesn’t. Whatever it is, it’s gone as soon as it comes, and the doors close on a broad, turned back.
Dokja looks at the floor buttons. Only one is glowing yellow. The elevator begins to move. A cold chill seeps into his veins.
Floor 13.
He knows
———
Dokja bursts out of the elevator, running straight towards the corridor he knows all too well. Scrambling towards the hall, he rams into the walls, fumbling with his joggers as he tries to find his keys while struggling to hold the cake box. When he feels the grooves of a metal star, he lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. Pulling out the keychain with one hand, he fumbles with the keys before finding the one he needs and inserting it into the keyhole.
It clicks.
Dokja lets out a light laugh. It was locked. Nobody had entered. Turning the knob, he lets the door to the dark apartment open.
“I’m home,” he says. Slamming the door behind him, he kicks off his shoes before heading to a bedroom tucked in the corner of the apartment. Pausing in front of it, he sets down the box before unpacking the strawberry cake and lighting the candles. It was a little mushed from how roughly he had handled it, but it was fine.
Everything was fine.
Once he finished the preparations, Dokja brushed his hands against his pants and opened the door, holding the cake in both hands. Behind a long white curtain, a shadow of a woman could be seen sitting in bed while facing the window.
“Sorry I was later than usual. I had to pick something up on the way here.” Dokja begins, feet padding across the room as he lifts the curtain.
Bottles and needles cluttered all around the room decorate the cabinet and desk.
Abnormal Status Relief Potion Low-Grade
Abnormal Status Relief Potion Mid-Grade
Abnormal Status Relief Potion Mid-High-Grade
“You must be really tired.” Dokja sits on the bed, placing the cake on the bed tray-table and gently taking a cold, aged hand and wrapping it around the plastic knife, pressing it into the cake shakily.
“You have such a bad son, forcing you to wait like this” The figure growls, swinging its legs in a contorted frenzy.
“So please get better” Dokja’s voice wavers, and the knife slips out of the hand as it jerkily thrashes around.
“It’s all my fault so please get better.” Salty tears silently gather at his eyes, as Dokja curls into himself, tears slipping down his face and onto his lap as two empty eyes belonging to a disfigured face stare right through him, the bandages wrapped around the woman’s knees, wrists, shoulders, and neck blending into her ghostly complexion.
She stops moving, the cloth loosening at her joints where her limbs lay in all the wrong ways. In a way that’s completely, entirely unhuman.
And Lee Sookyung just stares.