Chapter Text
Kim Dokja felt the faint hum of the subway beneath his feet, the sensation grounding him in the endless loop of his routine. His tired eyes stared ahead at the dimly lit tunnel, the faint echoes of a world he no longer understood whirling in his mind. The scenarios were over. The stories were his now. But in a strange, hollow way, he had yet to find peace. His role as a guardian of these stories, as the one who had carried so much on his shoulders, felt far too heavy still. The weight of what he had lost in his world lingered, even as he tried to settle into the dull, quiet life of a reader.
“Every story has an ending,” he muttered to himself, though part of him always doubted that. Ways of Survival had defied that logic, after all. His own life felt like an endless series of chapters that never quite concluded. A strange hum filled the air, and the lights flickered above. Kim Dokja looked up, his eyes narrowing. He felt it before he saw it- a sudden shift in the atmosphere, something unnatural. The air grew heavy, and his heart began to race. He’d been through his fair share of strange occurrences- apocalyptic scenarios, monsters, constellations- but this… this felt different. Before he could process the sensation, the subway train lurched forward violently, knocking him from his seat. The world spun, and for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out. But instead, his vision cleared, and the subway’s atmosphere grew heavy. Like he wasn’t alone.
“What the hell?” he muttered under his breath.
Before he could process the sensation, a presence flickered into view, lingering in the empty car with him. The figure didn’t belong here, yet there they were, standing as if they had always been a part of the scenery, a fleeting shadow against the harsh fluorescent lights. Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the strange shadow. He should’ve known better than to question it. But he did anyway.
A shadow moved in the distance, and Kim Dokja’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that look- the sharp lines of the silhouette, the way the figure walked as if the world itself couldn’t touch him. A man in a dark coat, his face hidden by the lighting. But Kim Dokja felt something else- an awareness.
He’s different. He’s not part of any story I recognize.
As the figure drew closer, Kim Dokja’s gaze narrowed. Something was off about him. This wasn’t just some random character. No, this was someone who didn’t belong in this world. A sense of déjà vu hit Kim Dokja like a freight train, his mind spinning. "Who are you?"
The man’s smile widened, his gaze heavy and urgent. "Osamu Dazai. And you must be Kim Dokja."
“Dazai?” Kim Dokja repeated, the name almost tasting foreign on his tongue. The man didn’t seem familiar, but something about the name triggered an odd sense of familiarity in his mind, like the name of a writer from another world. Kim Dokja paused. He had heard of Dazai before, in the fragmented edges of the stories he had consumed. The name belonged to someone who was far more... dangerous, far more broken than he had ever expected. But here he was, somehow standing before him, as if they were fated to meet.
Kim Dokja hums, trying to piece together what was happening and conveniently ignoring how the other knew his name. There was a time for that discussion later. "You’re... dead, aren’t you? From the… I don’t know which version you are."
Dazai chuckled softly, a dry, hollow sound. "Dead, yes. Or perhaps I should say... lost? A void of sorts. No more world to protect, no more roles to play. But even in death, the game never ends, does it?"
“What do you want from me?” Kim Dokja asked cautiously, his mind working quickly. He needed information. He needed to figure out if this was another one of those scenarios.
The man tilted his head slightly, as though amused by the question. “It’s a little complicated. But I suppose you could say I’m someone who knows a thing or two about stories. About fate.” He took a step closer, his smile widening. “And you, Kim Dokja, are quite the story yourself.”
Kim Dokja was tired of his roundabout speaking. "Speak clearly."
"You see, in every story, there are those who pull the strings, and those who follow them. And sometimes, the strings get tangled. You, Kim Dokja, are tangled up in mine.”
Kim Dokja frowned. He knew the feeling all too well, the never-ending responsibility of being a guardian, a savior, even when the stories had already been written. They both carried that weight. But that didn’t explain anything.
"I... I’m not sure what you're talking about," Kim Dokja confessed. "But I know you're not supposed to be here."
The subway stopped at an empty station, the echo of the doors sliding open harsh and unnatural. Neither of them moved. It was as though time had frozen.
Dazai’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the door, his fingers idly tapping the edge of his coat. "So, tell me, Kim Dokja. Do you know about the Book?"
The question hit Kim Dokja harder than he expected. His heart skipped a beat as he remembered the faint traces of the Book’s existence, its impossible power, the way it rewrote realities. It was a concept he had never fully understood, never had the time to. But he knew it enough to know of its dangers.
It serves the same function as me The Oldest Dream.
"Yeah," Kim Dokja muttered. "I’ve heard of it. I know it’s... dangerous. A power beyond comprehension. But it’s lost, isn’t it?"
Dazai’s smile was knowing, almost smug. "Not lost. Just... hidden. And we both know that things hidden have a way of finding us when we least expect it. Like you and I, for example."
"I don’t want anything to do with that Book," Kim Dokja said, his voice firm and resigned.
Dazai’s eyes gleamed with a strange, almost twisted amusement. "Ah, but you see, that’s the catch, isn’t it? The Book doesn’t care about your fragile world. It rewrites it, if it must."
Kim Dokja frowns. “Hold on, did you just say that the Book-”
Dazai nods gravely. “I felt it from the beyond-” probably the Final Wall “-and I think, no, I know that someone who shouldn’t have gotten their hands on it.” He sighs, his expression holding a weight of its own. “I traveled far and wide to find you, the only person who can counteract its powers. Don’t turn me away now.”
"I don’t trust you," Kim Dokja finally said, his voice low, but unwavering.
Dazai shrugged nonchalantly, the grin never leaving his face. "Trust isn’t something I’m particularly good at. But I think we’ll both learn soon enough that we don’t need it."
The silence stretched between them, an invisible thread tying their fates together, both unwilling and yet unable to escape the inevitable.
Kim Dokja’s thoughts raced. He had fought through so many scenarios, so many trials, and yet nothing had prepared him for the idea that his purpose- his carefully crafted world—could be torn apart again. He had done his best to hold onto the pieces, to protect the people he loved, but the concept of rewriting reality... it was too dangerous. Too much.
And yet, here was Dazai, offering him a new path, a different story.
A story that was his to write- or to break.
Kim Dokja closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his decision. He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know what would happen next. But one thing was certain: no matter what, the story was far from over.