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Cha Eui-jae first noticed the mutation by chance.
He had been on bed arrest yet again, with Lee Sa-young sitting on a chair by the hospital room door the same way a dungeon master would guard its core. He had a laid-back posture, legs crossed as he tapped away on his phone, but his face was hidden behind the gas mask, and one centimeter farther and he would be outside the room.
In his current state, even this far away, Cha Eui-jae felt his heart beating faster with Lee Sa-young’s mere presence. It hurt to have this distance imposed on him. It hurt that Sa-young was worried but couldn’t approach. And yet, Cha Eui-jae demanded his presence. If he were to be forced to be in that damned room, then he’d keep Sa-young close (of course, as long as he wasn’t needed somewhere else; Cha Eui-jae wouldn’t want to make things harder on anybody).
Cha Eui-jae was good at enduring. He’d endure Lee Sa-young’s S Rank menacing aura as long as he had to. As long as he was near. Close. His. Cha Eui-jae could do anything as long as Lee Sa-young was with him. Even be patient.
Trapped on his hospital bed, he’d been allowed a tablet to check the current state of affairs – Nam Woo-jin had been against it, saying he should rest, but he could argue only so much against Cha Eui-jae’s insistence. Eventually, he relented. Things were dire out there. The further Cha Eui-jae read, the further his heart sank. He could see Lee Sa-young’s eyes darting up to him whenever his heartbeat grew irregular, anxiety and restlessness scratching his insides. He pretended not to notice the gaze at him, analyzing him, checking his condition.
Cha Eui-jae sighed, turning his eyes from the tablet to the world outside. Ash was falling relentlessly, tinting the world white. He couldn’t see it from here, but somewhere, monsters were attacking civilians. People were dying. Hunters were struggling.
And here he was, resting. What a hero.
His eyes darted back to the tablet. During his brooding, the screen had locked, and when he raised the device to his line of sight, a reflection of himself greeted him on the dark screen.
His bangs had grown longer, and his black—
Wait. Didn’t his hair used to be darker?
He held a strand of hair with two fingers, rubbing it on his fingertips. His jet-black hair looked a bit faded. Could it be the light? He quickly opened the tablet’s camera. If anything, the color just looked more faded now.
With a frown, he opened the browser and typed his own name. He tapped on the most recent article and scrolled until he reached a photo of himself, standing tall, a dark mask hiding away his face, hair tousled by the wind, ash scattered over his shoulders. On a new tab, he searched for an older article, with an older picture. In this one, he was squatting over a low wall, spear on his shoulder, no wind. He had both opened at the same time, playing a game of Spot the Different that didn’t last long.
His hair color had faded. It was still black, but the color was lighter.
Had he ever dyed his hair, he’d assume the color was fading with time. But no, that was his natural color. He never even had time to consider dyeing it. Then why…?
A realization sank into him, like a heavy stone dropped into a well. He heard the splash echoing deeply. Cold sweat formed on the nape of his neck.
To muffle a gasp, he covered his mouth. Unfortunately, Lee Sa-young’s S rank hearing was too sharp, and a curious and quiet,
“Hyung?” made itself present in the room.
Cha Eui-jae didn’t respond.
There was no way he could say anything without his voice giving him away.
They’d been observing this happening far too closely. They’d been watching civilians mutating with worry and fear. They’d been struggling to contain them, to help them, to develop a vaccine for them. Lately, even some low-grade hunters had been mutating as well, but so far, none of the rankers. The higher the grade, the more resistance one had to the mutation, Nam Woo-jin had concluded. This would mean that J would practically be immune.
However…
With shaky breath, Cha Eui-jae stared at his reflection on the tablet’s screen.
… J had a unique condition.
Right now, he was as weak as a civilian.
And how many times before had he been in this state outside, with heavy ash falling on him?
How many times had he collapsed on top of monster corpses after clearing out a dungeon?
How many times had someone not washed away white monster blood from his shaky body as he weakly clung to consciousness?
Cha Eui-jae felt his stomach turn, bile rising up in his throat. He swallowed dry, trying to push down that nausea and disgust.
“Hyung? What’s wrong?” Lee Sa-young’s voice was louder now, worried. With his peripheral vision, Cha Eui-jae could see he was standing, and yet he didn’t approach. Cha Eui-jae knew he wanted to, desperately, but couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He knew what would happen. He’d seen far too many times how that’d trigger a panic attack, how his aura alone would be enough to send Cha Eui-jae over the edge.
Tears formed on the corner of Cha Eui-jae’s eyes. He wished Lee Sa-young would approach him anyway. To hug him. Hold him. To tell him he was wrong.
His anxiety was already thrashing in his insides, fiercely and angrily, refusing to believe and far too certain it was true.
I’m mutating, it said. I’m mutating.
If he was mutating, it meant he, too, would become one of those monsters, sooner or later.
It meant he’d lose control of himself and go on a rampage and kill innocents and destroy everything on his path.
A civilian turned monster was already difficult to contain.
What would a J monster be like?
Would anybody be able to contain him? How many civilians would he kill? How many hunters? Would Lee Sa-y—
No.
Tears started to fall against his will. Cha Eui-jae covered his eyes with both hands as his entire body shook with sobs.
No.
No.
No
No
no
no no no no no no no— he couldn’t let that happen. This couldn’t happen. This couldn’t happen. This shouldn’t. Not this. I can’t be mutating, I can’t become a monster, I can’t—
And then a sudden, sharp realization hit him:
I don’t want to die.
The tears flowed freely from his eyes.
He’d been dying. He knew that. Ever since he awakened, every time he used his powers and pushed himself, every time his body collapsed, too damaged from choices he made long ago before he even knew the price they’d claim (but if he’d known, he’d do it anyway, wouldn’t he). He’d been dying, but it was on his own terms. He knew the price. He knew the limits. He chose to do it because someone had to take responsibility, and as J, he had to be that someone. So, he was dying, slowly, and he’d die, probably sooner rather than later, but he would die on his own terms, after saving the world, after ending the Apocalypse, after ensuring there’d be a world worth living for Lee Sa-young. That was the plan.
The plan didn’t consider that he would mutate.
The plan didn’t consider that he could end up dying before seeing any of that come true.
The plan didn’t consider that he’d fail.
He couldn’t fail.
He couldn’t fail a second time, pathetically, after making things so much worse for everyone. He couldn’t bear to…
“Eui-jae, what’s wrong?” Lee Sa-young’s voice felt far away. Cha Eui-jae heard the door opening, and then his voice sounded again: “Hey, call the doctor. Now! Something’s wrong!”
Nam Woo-jin was already so busy; Lee Sa-young shouldn’t be calling him for something like this. Cha Eui-jae wasn’t a priority. Shaking his head, he mumbled:
“I’m sorry.”
“What? What do you mean?” Lee Sa-young sounded confused.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I—sorry. Sorry. I’m so sorry, Sa-young. I’m so sorry…” he repeated, again and again and again because what else could he say?
He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell Lee Sa-young that, again, again he was failing. He was a fraud. Useless. He didn’t want to hurt Lee Sa-young with that information. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting him down again, he couldn’t—he just couldn’t.
He wasn’t strong enough. He wanted to live. He wanted to run away. He would, if his body would allow him. Right now, all he could do was sob, hugging his knees to try to hide as much of that shame away as he mumbled his apology again and again in hopes that Lee Sa-young would understand.
Cha Eui-jae could feel him closer now, calling his name, trying to get his attention, desperately wanting to touch him, bring up his face, look into his eyes. But he wouldn’t.
He was afraid to hurt him. Afraid to poison him.
It was another stab at Cha Eui-jae’s wound. His heart was beating so fast it felt like it could explode at any second. His lungs were failing miserably in sucking in air. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. The world was pressing in against him, and he was dying, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to die.
More than anything…
“What’s wrong?” Nam Woo-jin’s voice, out of breath.
“He suddenly—”
“Let’s put him under before he injures himself. Move out of the way, quickly.”
… he wanted to live.
Cha Eui-jae didn’t resist when strong hands pulled him down or when a needle was pushed into his skin. His blurry vision darted around the room until he found Lee Sa-young, and guilt washed over him when their eyes met.
Even behind the gas mask, Lee Sa-young looked terrified.
That was the last thing Cha Eui-jae wanted. It seemed, though, that what he wanted was irrelevant.
He was dying. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Except for the how. He would decide, at least, how he would die. And it wouldn’t be by turning into a monster. He refused.
He wouldn’t give the End that taste. If he were to die, he’d do it on his own terms.
He’d save as many people as he could. He’d save this world. Or die trying.
He wouldn’t become more of a burden. He refused to turn into a monster. He refused to kill his friends.
They needed that vaccine. Part of him hoped there’d be time for him, too. Part of him knew there wouldn’t be time. But he had to try. He needed to stand tall and endure.
Most importantly, nobody could know.
Not even Lee Sa-young.
J was a symbol, one that the world needed right now. If Lee Sa-young knew, Cha Eui-jae would never leave that hospital room again, and the world needed him far too much for that to happen.
As much as he wanted to enjoy every second of his quickly fading existence with Lee Sa-young, now was not the time to be selfish.
When his body recovered enough, Cha Eui-jae got ready. He donned his uniform; he held the mask in his hand. And he waited.
Soon enough, Lee Sa-young came to visit. His boots had ash clinging to their soles, and his gas mask hissed when he breathed. His heart was beating fast. Cha Eui-jae closed his eyes for an instant, enjoying the way the world was unable to hide from him when he had his powers. There was a version of him, from another world, from a previous failure, who would take this for granted. It was so easy for him to see himself as untouchable.
And yet…
Here we are.
“You should be in bed,” Lee Sa-young said, closing the door.
Cha Eui-jae turned to face him. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, roses, to replace the dying ones by the bed. The sight of them made Cha Eui-jae smile. He wondered what would wither away first: him or the flowers.
“I’m feeling better. I heard a new dungeon appeared near a shel—”
A tsk interrupted him.
“And who’s telling you these things? Should we start tying you to the bed?”
Cha Eui-jae knew he would. Right now, though, it wouldn’t matter. He was strong enough to break a wall if needed.
“I’m really better, Sa-young, don’t worry. Hey, I can see you rolling your eyes!”
Lee Sa-young ran his fingers down his curly dark hair, shaking his head.
“What do I do with you, really…” he grumbled.
Cha Eui-jae knew he was worried and hurt. Cha Eui-jae knew he’d make him worry more, hurt him more. He turned back to the window for a moment when his lips began to quiver.
With a sigh, he walked over to Lee Sa-young.
“Take that off,” he said, reaching for the gas mask. Under Sa-young’s protests, he unclasped the mask and tossed it aside. Their eyes met. Violet eyes stared at him. Cha Eui-jae knew Sa-young would notice how he was trembling, how chewed on his lips were, how red his eyes were, the tears threatening to fall. Even so, he reached out to Sa-young’s face, his shaky hands cupping his cold cheeks.
He’s always so cold.
In another world, Lee Sa-young never awakened. In another world, he didn’t need to fear being near people. He could hug people; he could taste meals.
Cha Eui-jae couldn’t help but feel responsible for taking that from him. And then, at the same time, he’d remember the black coffin and the unyielding sorrow of that version of him who’d failed to protect the one person who mattered the most, and a selfish thought would surface: At least he can protect himself now. At least he doesn’t need me.
At least he’ll be fine.
“Sa-young,” Cha Eui-jae muttered, his thumb caressing Lee Sa-young’s cheek softly.
“Yeah, hyung?” Was that hesitation in his voice?
Cha Eui-jae let go of his cheeks and wrapped his arms around his neck. Immediately, he heard the flowers hitting the ground as Lee Sa-young wrapped his own arms around his waist. Tight. Cha Eui-jae sighed, content, tightening his own grip, holding tight to the fabric of Lee Sa-young’s clothing, inhaling deeply his sweet, addictive scent. Trying to memorize it all. Swallow it all.
Quietly, Cha Eui-jae said: “You’re my everything.”
He felt Lee Sa-young freeze for a second.
Then a scoff, his voice quiet against his neck: “Why are you saying weird things again? Should I call the doctor?”
Cha Eui-jae smiled. “Just in case you forgot.”
Instead of replying, Lee Sa-young nuzzled his nose against Cha Eui-jae’s neck, holding him tight. With eyes closed, Cha Eui-jae listened to his heartbeat, his breathing. He inhaled his scent, the sound his clothes made when he moved, the way his hair curled around his neck.
If he could, he’d stop time right then and there. That was all he needed. That was all he wanted.
But the moment passed, and he was forced to let go.
“I’ll be back soon,” he lied. “You don’t need to worry about me, okay?” he lied. “I’ll be fine.” He lied.
And he was gone.
Cha Eui-jae used the back of his hand to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth. His vision was blurry. His other hand gripped the spear tightly.
With blue eyes, he scanned the surroundings. No more civilians needed to be rescued. Most monsters were dead. There was just…
A huge white creature stood in front of him. An ID card still hung around his neck as large, feathered arms swung angrily. It—he? Screeched and cried and screamed in pain. White blood flowed from one of its limbs, where Cha Eui-jae had pierced it.
His monstrous screams sounded like words in his head.
It said—why? It hurts. Why it hurts? Why? It hurts! Why?!
It couldn’t be a good sign that he could understand them now.
Cha Eui-jae coughed up blood. His own, for now, was still red. His limbs were shaking. He didn’t have much time left. His head ached where the monster had hit him, and half his mask had shattered from a previous encounter.
He was pushing it. He knew what it meant. If things continued, he’d…
Cha Eui-jae took a deep breath.
The past few weeks, he’d been pushing himself more than ever. He didn’t have much time left; the world didn’t have much time left.
They needed that vaccine so they could stop worrying about the mutations and focus personnel on the Apocalypse itself. They still didn’t know exactly how to stop it, but surely with more time, they’d figure it out.
So, they needed the vaccine. And for the vaccine, they needed resources. And to gather resources, they needed J.
So, J was there.
Relentlessly, clearing dungeons, collecting materials, assisting researchers, standing tall. Enduring.
He was avoiding Lee Sa-young. He had to. Lee Sa-young would see right through him, so it was better this way. He couldn’t deal with it if he had to hear Lee Sa-young cry “why are you doing this?!” again.
He needed to do what he needed to do.
And now—
The monster rushed at him. His legs refused to move, and a hand gripped his neck. He gasped for air, groaning when his back hit a half-collapsed building, his red blood splashing the white of the monster’s fur. His shaky hands tried to peel away the fingers around his neck. Where is my spear? He didn’t remember dropping it and yet it wasn’t there anymore. The world swayed.
Was this it? Was he dying like this? He couldn’t let this monster live and wander around. Yoon Ga-eul might still be around…
Gathering his remaining strength, he kicked the monster with all his might. The hand around his neck loosened, enough for him to squirm away.
Gasping for air, he scanned the surroundings and found his spear. Cha Eui-jae ran to it, half tripping over debris on the ground. He could hear the monster on his heels, ready to grab him again. With a swift movement, he grabbed the spear, adjusted it in his hand, and turned, piercing the creature’s heart before its claws could reach him.
Their eyes met.
Why?
Their pain echoed into each other, and as the monster fell, so did Cha Eui-jae.
Gasping, he stared at the sky, at the white hole, at the ash, falling ever so slowly, so endlessly.
His strength was leaving him. His powers would soon disappear entirely, leaving him a civilian again. How quickly would the mutation advance?
A small, weak smile formed on his lips.
He could feel it: the broken ribs piercing his lungs, the blood loss, the concussion. To J, these were nothing. But to Cha Eui-jae, in his current state, those were… He would have laughed if it didn’t hurt this much.
This is it.
How pathetic.
He turned his head slightly. A pile of monsters to his right. Another to his left. He defeated all the monsters.
Hopefully, he managed to save people. Hopefully, Yoon Ga-eul was safe. Hopefully, they’d be able to gather enough resources from all this. Hopefully… Lee Sa-young wouldn’t see him in this state.
Ah…
It was getting so cold.
Cha Eui-jae stared at the white hole above.
He had failed.
Again.
After everything… he failed.
Maybe that was meant to be. How could one person stand against the End of the World, after all?
He didn’t regret trying. He would have done it again, if he could.
But now, with his consciousness quickly fading, there was nothing he could do except look back and feel regret.
Regret for failing. Regret for not saving more people. Regret for lying to Sa-young, for not having spent more time with him. Regret and regret and regret.
And, strangely, mixed with all that regret, dulled by all his pain…
Relief.
Pure, genuine… relief.
It’s over.
He wouldn’t disappoint people anymore. He wouldn’t hear people crying anymore. He wouldn’t hurt anymore.
No more pain. No more tears.
Selfishly, embarrassingly selfishly, he was relieved.
He wouldn’t turn into a monster.
People would remember him as a hero who died trying, but he wouldn’t have to try anymore.
He didn’t want to die. He really didn’t. But he didn’t want to continue hurting anymore.
He sobbed, ash clinging to his pale skin as he stared at the white hole.
He wished he weren’t alone for this. It was so cold.
Regret. Relief. And fear.
If he was allowing himself to be selfish… He wished Lee Sa-young were there.
To pick him up. Hold him. Look into his eyes. Call his name. Wish him a good night.
As darkness crept on the corners of his vision, as his breathing started to hurt more and more, Cha Eui-jae tried to picture the face of his one and only. His violet eyes. His smile. They were fading.
I hope you can forgive me.
Regret. Relief. Fear.
Then darkness.