Archive of Our Own

It’s been five days.

Five days since Huiwon brought them to Paradise. Five days since Dokja told his companions that they had a week to decide if they’d be staying or leaving, and each and every one of those days was painful for him. It was painful as he watched his companions, the same people he’d saved time and time again, fall deeper and deeper under Reinheit’s spell.

He watched as Hyunsung gradually integrated himself into the city’s defenses. He fit right in among the other bright-eyed young men and women, all of them prepared to lay down their lives to protect this little slice of peace that they’d come to call their home, and whenever Reinheit came by, they would bow and salute to him. Praise him as their savior and hero.

They didn’t know the truth.

He watched as Lee Gilyoung explored the city’s streets, befriending every insect he came across. The other children were unnerved by him at first, but soon, they came around. They started following him as he explored, a tiny little herd of them, although Gilyoung seemed to have eyes only for Shin Yoosung. The two of them argued and squabbled and ran around to their heart’s content, and Dokja got used to hearing their laughter filling the streets.

Gods.

They sounded so happy.

It made him wish so badly that it could be real; that this place could be real, and he couldn’t blame his companions for falling for this particular poisoned fruit. Its smell was tooth-achingly sweet, its nectar promising a life like the one they’d lost, and everyone seemed so happy.

Even Jihye, who was tagging along with them because Yoo Joonghyuk was who knew where, kept going on and on about how nice it was here, how much her Master would like it here.

But Kim Dokja knew the truth.

Yoo Joonghyuk would hate this place. He’d hate it because he knew the truth about it and if he was here, he would’ve told everyone immediately. He would’ve told them what Paradise was the second Huiwon had brought them here, but Dokja wasn’t like Yoo Joonghyuk.

Dokja was a coward.

He was scared and maybe a part of him had wanted to see if they’d choose him.

They’d been by his side for so long, and although he knew that they cared about him, their companionship had always been one of necessity. Even if none of them would ever admit it, they’d used him to keep themselves alive, and he’d used them to do the same.

It shouldn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter if their companionship was a matter of convenience, but somewhere along the way, Dokja had come to care about these people. He’d come to care about them which meant it was only a matter of time before they’d leave him.

He didn’t want that to happen.

But if they were going to leave, it was better for them to leave now. It’d hurt less this way and even if he needed them for the next scenario, if they truly chose Paradise, he would respect their decision even if it ruined everything he’d worked for.

He wouldn’t force them to save themselves.

It was their choice, and at first, he was content to wait. He watched from afar as his companions fell in love with the city, with Paradise, and no one fell for it harder than Huiwon. She seemed to have finally found her place here. She’d never complained when they were fighting for their lives, and the Judge of Evil had thrived in the scenarios.

But here, she wasn’t the Judge of Evil.

She was just Huiwon; she didn’t have a job to do. She didn’t have anyone relying on her. She got to simply enjoy her days in the markets, talking to vendors, making friends. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone in return; it was like she’d lived here her whole life.

But it was a life of ignorance.

He kept waiting for her to notice it. For her to realize that there was a mysterious lack of crime here, that everyone coexisted so peacefully—too peacefully—even for Paradise, but she didn’t. She didn’t notice and whenever she did stop to study something, it wasn’t the city.

It was him.

She watched him watch her, a frown creasing her brows and worry lines appearing by her eyes. More than once she’d tried to talk to him, and each time, he’d brushed her off. He’d vanish before she could demand why he was so insistent on leaving, why he wasn’t even trying to live in Paradise like the rest of them, and why he’d given them a week to choose.

It wasn’t like him.

He was normally better at hiding his secrets.

But a part of him knew that this secret wasn’t like his other ones. He kept many secrets these days—things about himself, the future, and especially about Three Ways to Survive—but for once, he wasn’t keeping this secret to protect them.

This secret of his was entirely selfish.

He was the one who couldn’t bear to tell them the truth, the one who couldn’t bear to rip Paradise from their fingers and replace it with the hell that was reality. He was keenly aware that he’d already taken so much from them—asked for so much from them—and did he really have the right to tear away this dream and demand more?

They were happy here.

He didn’t want to be the one to ruin that.

That’s why he’d hoped that if he gave them a week, they’d figure it out for themselves. The problem was that they seemed more keen on figuring him out than this city, and the longer he watched from a distance, the more their eyes followed him.

Questioned him.

It wasn’t just Huiwon; it was everyone.

They all knew that something was wrong but whenever they asked him or tried to talk to him about it, he’d make an excuse to leave or act like they were imagining things; there was nothing wrong. Everything was perfect—this was Paradise, wasn’t it?

What could possibly be wrong?

In truth, he was the one in the wrong. He was the coward who couldn’t stomach telling them the truth and maybe it was that guilt that made him say yes when Jeong Huiwon invited him for dinner. They hadn’t had dinner as a group since they’d arrived here, and he missed it.

It’d be nice to see everyone.

To feel like he belonged somewhere, even if it was just for a meal, and although he’d resolved to stay away, to avoid influencing their decision, he was ultimately lured in by the promise of a homemade meal. He’d been eating street vendor food for the last five days, and he was tired.

It wouldn’t hurt to have one dinner.

***

He arrived as the sun was just starting to set.

It cast shadows on the tiny house they’d been renting—a place that Dokja paid for even though he was rarely around. He figured he’d be a bad sponsor if he let Yoosung live in the streets, and since he was already paying for the place, he might as well let the others live there too.

He knocked on the door.

“Dokja, welcome!” Jeong Huiwon beamed at him, stepping aside so he could enter, and he shivered as he stepped over the threshold; it was oddly cold in here. Huiwon didn’t seem to notice though, and she pulled him toward the dining room, her hand firm on his arm. “Dokja’s here,” she announced, and immediately, he was swarmed by the two kids.

“Ahjussi!”

“Hyung!”

Shin Yoosung and Lee Gilyoung hugged him tight, and he patted their heads awkwardly. He still hadn’t gotten used to how they flocked to him, their tiny arms constantly wrapping around his torso, even on days when he’d only been gone for a few minutes.

They were oddly insistent about it.

And they were cute enough that he didn’t mind.

“I got to him first—” Gilyoung tried to drag him toward one side of the dining table, where food was already laid waiting for him; it looked like he was the last to arrive. “He should sit with me!”

Yoosung shook her head. “I’m the one that said hi to him first—” she tried to pull him toward the opposite end of the table, and with one kid tugging on each arm, he was very glad that he’d invested all those coins into Strength.

Otherwise he might’ve been torn in half.

Someone laughed from the table, and he knew that laugh. His eyes narrowed onto the person currently lounging at the head of the table, their legs strewn over the side of their chair, a lollipop peaking out from the corner of their mouth, and Han Sooyoung grinned at him.

“Aw, poor Kim Dokja,” she said. “Have the little kiddies trapped you?” Her eyes sparkled, her mocking tone intentionally grating on his nerves, and she was lucky that the kids were too wrapped up in fighting each other to hear her comment.

They weren’t just “little kiddies.”

One of them was the literal Beast Lord.

He rolled his eyes, and he was about to insist that he was fine; he’d get them off him eventually, but Lee Hyunsung was already at his side, gently prying them off him. “Sorry, Dokja-nim—” Dokja winced. He’d told Hyunsung not to call him that— “Yoosung-ah, Gilyoung-ah.” Hyunsung shook his head at the two of them. “You both need to be well-behaved today, alright?” They hesitated, looking like they might argue. “Remember what we talked about?”

Yoosung and Gilyoung startled.

They glanced over at Dokja sharply, and then hung their heads.

“Sorry, ahjussi.”

“Sorry, hyung.”

He blinked at their fast apologies, wondering what Hyunsung could’ve possibly talked to them about, but he was too grateful to not have them trying to tear him apart to care. It let him finally take a seat at the table, next to where Huiwon was delivering the last of the food.

It was omurice, a dish served with ketchup, and his mouth twitched. “This looks good,” he lied, and Huiwon rolled her eyes, shoving the serving fork into his hand.

“It better look good,” she said. “I spent hours making it.”

He nodded and helped dish Yoosung and Gilyoung up some. Yoosung had ended up on his right and Gilyoung on his left, and he really didn’t know why they hadn’t done that from the beginning. It was strange because he could’ve sworn that the entire time he was helping them, and even when he settled back with his own food, he was being observed.

He caught Huiwon looking at him more than once.

Her gaze kept drifting to his cup, and maybe she felt bad for not providing him with anything to drink, but he really didn’t care. He ate his food silently, listening to the conversation around them. Gilyoung talked animatedly about a new type of bug he’d discovered hanging around the city’s outskirts, and Yoosung was quick to correct him; he meant that she’d discovered a new type of bug. That resulted in a glaring match between the two, which Dokja ignored.

He started listening to Huiwon and Hyunsung instead.

They were talking about the city’s defenses and how Reinheit—he winced at the name—had asked Huiwon to be captain of the guards. Dokja wasn’t surprised; he’d expected that Reinheit would ask eventually, and he was only thankful that Huiwon said she hadn’t decided yet.

She didn’t know if she’d accept.

It gave him hope.

Meanwhile, Han Sooyoung was also watching. Listening. He felt her eyes on him throughout the dinner too, although she was more subtle about it than Huiwon, and she’d chime in every once in a while with a sarcastic comment. Jihye was next to her, and the two of them were whispering something at the moment, something that made Jihye’s eyes flick over to Dokja.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide, before she looked away and continued eating like nothing happened. A slight frown pulled at the corner of Dokja’s mouth, especially since Jihye seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. It made him uneasy, made it even harder for him to eat the omurice and pretend that everything was fine.

This was a normal dinner.

But the longer it went on, the more unnerved he became.

He was probably being paranoid—he was definitely being paranoid—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this dinner than simply eating some food and catching up. There was also the fact that the constellations had been suspiciously quiet.

It wasn’t too unusual.

Their viewership had dropped since they’d been in Paradise and Bihyung kept asking him when they were going to try the next scenario, crying about his channel. Dokja knew that he had a point; the more constellations that were watching, the more money they’d make.

But Dokja had given his companions a week.

And there were still a few days left. He wouldn’t leave until he’d heard their decision and he wouldn’t go back on his word and ask them to decide earlier than he’d originally said. Bihyung and the Star Stream would just have to suck it up for a few more days, and then, he’d leave.

Even if no one else came with him, he’d at least have one person. Han Sooyoung would leave with him, not because she was particularly fond of him, but because she knew the truth about Paradise. She hid it well but he knew that being here in Paradise made her nervous.

She’d cornered him the first day.

She’d asked why they weren’t leaving, why he hadn’t told anyone the truth about Paradise, and Dokja had shrugged. He’d told her that they’d leave in six days, and he’d promptly left. Her glare had pierced his back but after a while, she’d reluctantly given in, recognizing that Dokja wouldn’t change his mind. She’d decided to enjoy their time in Paradise while she could.

In hindsight, he should’ve found that suspicious.

Han Sooyoung was never one to give up easily.

He was listening to Hyunsung gush about one of the guards he’d met—apparently they'd offered to teach him some new fighting techniques—when he saw Han Sooyoung lean over the table. She poked Huiwon in the side and whispered something in her ear.

Huiwon nodded.

A moment later, she slipped out of the room. She returned a few minutes later with a tray of alcoholic drinks, some of which Dokja had never seen before. It wasn’t long before every adult other than him had one—the kids and Jihye even asked for one, but Huiwon refused. She said she wouldn’t be responsible for under-aged drinking, and Dokja was thankful for that.

He didn’t want alcohol anywhere near his kids.

Not after what it’d turned his dad into.

Huiwon tried to pass him the last cup but he stopped her. “I don’t drink,” he reminded, and she frowned at him. The same kind of frown she’d been giving him for the last five days.

“Really?” she said. “I thought I'd seen you drink before.”

She must be referring to the time Dionysus made him drink with Yoo Sangah, but he couldn’t very well explain that a constellation had made him get drunk—that kind of thing didn’t happen to a normal Incarnation, and it’s not like it’d hurt him to take the drink.

“I guess I’ll have a little,” he said.

Huiwon’s frown broke into a smile. “Perfect!” She passed him the cup, almost like she was anxious to be rid of it, and she returned to her seat, although she didn’t sit down. She raised her own cup, which Dokja couldn’t help but notice was a different kind of alcohol than his own. His was a kind that he’d never seen before, but he figured it was just unique to Paradise.

Not exactly a comforting thought.

He stared down at the murky liquid, wondering if he could just fake taking a sip. “Thank you everyone for coming,” Huiwon began her toast, her drink oddly clutched between her fingers; it was almost like she was scared of dropping it, and her smile was strained but determined.

There was a chorus of of course’s and happy to be here’s.

None of them came from Dokja; he was too busy watching. There was something strange going on with Huiwon right now. She was pointedly not looking at him, just like Jihye earlier, and her gaze was heavenward, despite the ceiling that blocked her from seeing the sky.

“I appreciate the one who made this happen, and I appreciate each and every one of you for letting this happen, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Was Huiwon talking to the constellations? If she was, there was no response.

The others shifted in their seats but no one said anything.

Huiwon lifted her drink. “May the walls around our hearts crumble, and the truth be revealed.” She drank from her cup, and around the table, everyone did the same. Dokja was now more than unnerved but he figured that one of the constellations must be privately paying her in exchange for her words; they were probably someone who liked the dramatics.

Maybe they’d wanted this dinner to happen too.

It was none of his business either way, and he took a small sip. The alcohol was a little on the strong side for his liking; it burned on the way down. Made his throat feel thick and the air around him feel heavy, pressing down on his skin and making his head spin.

Goddamn.

What was in this drink?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the world to focus again, but there was a loud crash and he blinked a few times, realizing that the door had caved in. Three figures stood in the dust, their silhouettes outlined by the moon, and there was a wildness to them.

A desperation that made Dokja nervous.

He felt their gazes scanning, searching the room rapidly, and he was barely able to stay up right in his chair. His body was trembling, protesting the alcohol working its way through his veins, and he knew he was a lightweight, but it’d never been this bad before.

Yoo Joonghyuk stepped into the light. “Where is Kim Dokja?”

The cup slipped from his fingers. It shattered on the ground at his feet and the murky liquid hissed as it made contact with the floor, a thing that should’ve worried him, but Dokja was too busy worrying about the notification that had popped up.

[The Fourth Wall has identified a foreign substance.]

He frowned at the message; that had never happened before when he drank alcohol, but he couldn’t worry about it because Yoo Joongyuk was striding toward him with a look on his face that promised violence, pain, and a slow death.

Normally, Kim Dokja would start running right about now.

But his body wouldn’t work.

He stayed rooted to the chair, his muscles locked, trembling in his seat. His thoughts were scrambled, scattering, and everything was too hot, too warm.

[The Fourth Wall is trying to neutralize the substance.]

He felt it fighting in him, felt it trying to shut down whatever the hell he’d ingested, and Yoo Joonghyuk was almost upon him. He tried to speak, to tell Yoo Joonghyuk to give him a minute to recover before Yoo Joonghyuk started beating the shit out of him, but his throat closed up on him.

It refused to work.

And suddenly, he was coughing. He was coughing and it was wracking his body, blurring his vision even worse than before, blurring it until he couldn't see his own hands, let alone Yoo Joonghyuk, and Dokja’s eyes began to water.

[The Fourth Wall is thinning.]

Please, he thought. Please fight it.

This couldn’t happen right now. Not when Yoo Joonghyuk had just arrived back from wherever the hell he’d been, not when he was having a nice dinner with his companions, except, there had always been something off about this dinner, and although his brain was scrambling to catch up, his heart knew the truth. It knew that he’d been betrayed.

He tried to shove away from the table, to make a run for it—not even because they’d betrayed him or because they’d done this to him, but because he didn’t want them to see him like this. He didn’t want them to see him weak, to see him crumbling, and his legs gave out beneath him.

His knees hit the floor.

He curled up in a tiny ball on the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible, even as his body kept shaking, kept heaving. He’d yet to stop coughing and it was scraping his throat raw, making his lungs rattle as blood filled his mouth, coated his tongue.

[The Fourth Wall is unstable.]

No, he thought. That can’t be right.

The Fourth Wall never faltered. It could shake, it could thin, but it never became unstable. It was the one thing that had kept him sane through all the scenarios before, the one thing that had kept his emotions from drowning him, and he couldn’t lose it.

He needed it.

Vaguely, he realized that someone was screaming. He thought it might’ve been himself but he was too busy coughing up blood, and the voice was too high to be his. “Oh my god ohmygod ohmygod, what have I done? Dokja, I’m so sorry, please. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—” someone tried to reach for him but an arm shot out and stopped them.

“Don’t touch him.”

The snarl was ripped from deep in Yoo Joonghyuk’s throat, and Huiwon recoiled from it. From him. She backed up a few steps, tripping over herself to get away, and there were hands on Dokja’s body, hands on his face, their callouses scraping his skin, and he knew those hands.

He groaned.

His body leaned into their warmth, and the hands stilled. They stilled on his cheek, cradling his head as another round of fits made Dokja gasp for air. He couldn’t get enough, not when he was coughing out most of it, and his heart stopped at the next message.

[The Fourth Wall cannot fight the substance.]

No.

Please, it had to win—

[The Fourth Wall crumbles in defeat.]

A whimper escaped Dokja and the fingers on his cheek pressed harder, their steady weight the only thing keeping him from slipping into oblivion: death or sleep, he did not care. He would be happy if anything claimed him, if anything saved him from this horrible situation.

He’d been in pain before.

But God, he’d forgotten what it was like. He used to be able to handle anything that life—or his father—threw at him but now, even something as simple as this had him in shambles. He couldn’t even lift his head; he was that goddamn weak.

“Kim Dokja?”

The voice was blurry, reaching him only at the surface, and Dokja would’ve ignored it if it was anyone else, but even in shambles, even after going through what felt like hell, Dokja could never ignore Yoo Joonghyuk. His body responded on its own.

His eyes fluttered open and he squinted at Yoo Joonghyuk’s face.

It was closer than he’d thought it would be.

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, and it was like he was the one who’d been seconds from passing out or maybe even dying from lack of oxygen. The words were breathless, his name a whisper on Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips, and Yoo Joonghyuk was watching him closely.

Studying his face and searching for answers.

Dokja opened his mouth but his throat was scraped too raw to talk just yet, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers were moving. Dokja swallowed as those fingers brushed against his cheek again, almost alarmingly gentle, especially considering this was the same man who liked to threaten to choke him to death, but it was also oddly comforting.

Yoo Joonghyuk abruptly released him.

“Kim Dokja—” his voice was sharp. “Why are you crying?”

Oh.

Dokja wanted to reassure him that he was fine but the words got caught in his throat and he found that no matter how badly he wanted to say them, they wouldn’t budge. It was like someone had barricaded his throat, like a new wall had been constructed to replace the old one.

His heart throbbed at the reminder.

The Fourth Wall.

He tried to search for it, thinking that maybe it was still there, deep down, but he was met with silence. A silence that he wasn’t used to anymore, the kind that made him all too aware of how alone he was in this world, and he found himself answering honestly, his voice soft, hoarse.

“H–hurts.”

That’s why he was crying.

Yoo Joonghyuk scowled. His gaze turned on those watching, and Dokja realized that he was still in the dining room. He was on the floor near the table, his entire body dwarfed by Yoo Joongyuk, and he didn’t know how but he’d somehow ended up in the other man’s lap.

His face was buried against his chest.

It was warm here, nice, even.

“Who did this?”

The question rang out in the room, and it was greeted with silence. No one dared answer when Yoo Joonghyuk looked like he’d murder whoever spoke first. Dokja honestly didn’t know why everyone was worried; if Yoo Joongyuk was going to kill anyone here, it’d be him.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, shakily raises their hand.]

Dokja’s world stopped.

Everything suddenly clicked into place. He remembered how Huiwon had thanked the one who made this happen and all the ones who’d let this happen; he remembered how the constellations had been suspiciously quiet the whole night, and he remembered the drink.

The one Huiwon had given him.

It had burned on the way down; it had started this.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms tightened around him, and he looked ready to wage war on Uriel. Dokja realized that if he didn’t do anything, he’d have more than one attempted murder on his hands—if that was what this was. Had Uriel tried to murder him?

His heart throbbed painfully.

She’d been one of the few constellations he actually liked.

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, says that Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is not the only one to blame for this situation.]

[Constellation, Queen of the Darkest Spring, says they all agreed to go along with the plan.]

[Constellation, Secretive Plotter, is watching you.]

Dokja felt all their eyes on him, and he knew that they were waiting. They were waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t know what they expected him to say. Did they expect him to say thank goodness, I’m glad it was all of you who betrayed me and not just Uriel?

That was insane.

Honestly, he didn’t want to say anything. He wanted to get out of this horrible situation and pretend it never happened. He didn’t want to face the fact that the constellations—and oh my god his companions—had intentionally poisoned him.

Did they know this would happen?

But why would they try to kill him?

He wanted to stay silent but silence didn’t get him answers. Silence wouldn’t solve the swarming storm of questions he had, the tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. Maybe they hadn’t been trying to poison him.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, begs for your forgiveness.]

Or maybe not—an innocent person wouldn’t beg.

They wouldn’t ask for forgiveness.

Something bitter twisted in Dokja, a sharp jagged part of himself that he hadn’t felt in a long time, and he realized that he was done sitting here, playing the fool, hoping, when he could get answers. He’d been poisoned so now he had to fucking deal with it.

He took a long breath.

And he lifted his head. Instantly, the room fell quiet, but it wasn’t the same quiet as before. Before they’d looked at him with a mix of regret, worry, and horror, but now, their silence was filled with dumbfounded astonishment as they stared at his face.

It was Jihye who broke the silence.

“Since when did ahjussi have eyelashes?” She was squinting at him, and Dokja didn’t have the energy to worry about whether or not he had eyelashes. He knew they all thought he was ugly already, so he didn’t know why she’d take this moment to remind him of it.

He managed to shift into a seated position.

It made his bones creak, made him wince. His body swayed a little and he wondered if he’d fall again but familiar hands held him in place. They’d settled on his waist, so fast that Yoo Joonghyuk might’ve done it without thinking, and Dokja chose to ignore them for now.

He’d deal with Yoo Joonghyuk later.

“I’m going to ask some questions,” Dokja said. His voice was surprisingly steady. “And I’m going to get answers, or I’m going to walk out that door and do what I’ve wanted to do for the last five days.” He met Huiwon’s gaze, and she flinched.

“What did you give me?” he asked.

Huiwon hesitated. She looked heavenward, but the constellations were silent again. He wondered if Uriel was too busy crying to write a message. “It’s called a Truth finder,” she said.

A truth finder?

He’d never heard of that before.

“You mix it in a drink and it’s supposed to remove all the walls that person has up.” Dokja glanced up sharply, his heart in his throat. It could be a coincidence. The phrasing could mean nothing, except, the item had worked. It’d destroyed the Fourth Wall.

Maybe forever.

He grimaced. “How long?”

“It lasts 24-hours,” Han Sooyoung answered. Her gaze was unflinching, and unlike Huiwon, she didn’t look the least bit apologetic about it. He would’ve cursed her out, but he was too relieved to even think about being upset right now.

24 hours.

A whole day.

But compared to forever, that was nothing. He could deal with 24-hours. “Okay,” he said. He still felt a little shaky but he tried to move out of Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap, knowing that he needed space to breathe, to think on his own. But Yoo Joonghyuk had no intention of letting go.

He probably didn’t want to let his prey escape now that he’d found it.

He’d asked where Dokja was earlier, and Dokja was under no disillusion that he’d been asking for a good reason. It did finally set in though that at least his other companions hadn’t been trying to kill him; they’d just been trying to remove his (metaphorical?) walls, and he remembered Huiwon’s words. May the walls around our hearts crumble, and the truth be revealed.

His gaze found her again. “What truth?” he asked.

Huiwon’s face was grim. She didn’t look up to the heavens this time; she knew they wouldn’t help her. “I wanted to know why you wanted to leave Paradise so badly, so I asked Uriel for help. She offered the Truth finder, but neither of us knew it’d be so—violent.”

Right.

Violent.

There was still a slight tremble in his fingers when he wrung them in his lap, remembering just how violent it truly was; it was like the Fourth Wall had been viciously torn from his body, his very bones deprived of what they needed to survive, and Dokja shook his head.

“But why?” he asked. “Why not just ask me?”

Han Sooyoung scoffed. “Like you would’ve answered if we asked you normally.” She stalked toward him and looked like she might try to touch him, but Yoo Joonghyuk growled and she jumped a few feet back, her hair sticking up much like a cat’s would. “This was the only way,” she hissed. “You’ve always been a secretive bastard but now, we’ll know the truth.”

She already knew the truth.

At least about why he wanted to leave Paradise, but he suspected that she was after the reason he’d decided to stay for as long as they had instead. Or maybe Huiwon had approached her with the idea and she’d decided this was her chance to pry all his dirty little secrets from him.

His fingers curled into fists.

Did he have the right to be angry?

He wanted to be angry, he wanted to harbor the tiny seed of hatred inside his heart until it grew bitter, poisoned fruit, but he knew that it wouldn't help anything. Huiwon’s intentions weren’t exactly pure, but they weren’t evil either, and the same went for Han Sooyoung. If he was going to believe them, then neither of them meant to poison him.

It was just unfortunate that he’d reacted as he had to the Truth finder.

They didn’t know about the Fourth Wall; they’d just wanted him to tell the truth.

He turned to the rest of his companions, wondering if they’d been after the same thing; had they all grown tired of his secrets and decided to do something about it? He could see Huiwon and Han Sooyoung being that headstrong, but not the rest of them.

His eyes narrowed on Hyunsung.

He was standing a little off to the side, slumped, every part of him radiating defeat, and Dokja knew in that moment that he’d known. His gaze traveled to the children, and it was the same experience. Gilyoung’s tiny hands were clenched into fists that mirrored Dokja’s own, determined, even though he looked like he wanted to run to Dokja and ask if he was okay.

Next to Gilyoung, Yoosung gazed at him with sad eyes.

It answered his question; she’d known. They’d all known, and even Jihye in the corner looked sheepish, like she knew she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Only Yoo Sangah seemed innocent and that was because she’d arrived with Yoo Joonghyuk.

She hadn’t known about this plan.

The hands on his waist tightened, and he wondered what Yoo Joonghyuk made of all of this. He was emitting a killing aura but that was typical for Yoo Joonghyuk, and Dokja didn’t dare turn around to study his face. He was already aware of how close they were.

He could feel every inch of Yoo Joonghyuk pressed against him.

But that wasn’t what mattered right now so he lifted his gaze to the heavens. “Uriel,” he said quietly. “You gave them the item, right?”

Silence.

He sighed. “I’m not mad at you,” he said. “You weren’t trying to hurt me.”

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, hides her face in her hands.]

“You just wanted the truth, and even though I don’t know why you care so much, I’m going to assume that it’s for a good reason.” He couldn’t live with this if it wasn’t. “I trust you, Uriel.”

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, shakes her head.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, says she is undeserving of your kindness.]

“That’s not for you to decide,” he said. She wasn’t the one who got to decide who was deserving of his “kindness,” as she put it; he’d already made the decision to forgive her, although he was wondering if he’d regret it. It was clear that they weren’t trying to poison him but forcing him to tell the truth for 24-hours wasn’t that much better. He had too many secrets, too many things he was hiding from them.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, says she didn’t mean to hurt you.]

“I know.”

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, asks why you’re not upset.]

He opened his mouth to lie, to tell her that it hadn’t hurt that much, but of course, the words stalled on his tongue, and the truth spilled out instead.

“You could’ve done worse.”

It made him wince, and he bit his tongue to keep anything else from falling out. He hadn’t meant to tell her that, and he caught how the people around him sucked in a breath, their worried eyes tracing his frame, weighing him down, and he realized how tired he was.

Gods.

Has he always been this tired?

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, is intrigued by your response.]

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, is glad he no longer has to be quiet.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, glares at the other constellations.]

Dokja blinked and realized that he was right earlier; the constellations were being suspiciously quiet, but not because less of them were watching. Someone had paid for their silence, someone who wanted this dinner to go off without a hitch, and once again, he remembered Huiwon’s speech. She’d thanked the one who made this happen—Uriel—and the ones who let this happen—the other constellations—because they hadn’t ruined the surprise.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, apologizes again.]

200000 coins have been sponsored.

Dokja sighed. He’d never turn down more money but coins weren’t going to fix this. He honestly didn’t know what was going to fix this and he knew it was only a matter of time before they started asking him questions, things that he didn’t want to answer, and he was tired.

So goddamn tired.

He wondered if he could just sleep until the 24-hours were over. Everyone here owed it to him after what they’d put him through—even if it was an accident—and without the Fourth Wall, there was nothing holding him up anymore. He slumped forward, his eyes fluttering closed.

Sleeping didn’t seem that bad.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s body was warm, and it lulled him into a false sense of security. It made him forget that he was sitting in the lap of someone who actively wanted to murder him, but Yoo Joonghyuk was quick to jog Dokja’s memory, using the most brutal means possible.

His reminder came in the shape of a hand.

It was a single hand that normally, Dokja would’ve been able to brush off or dodge, but his eyes were closed and even if he had seen it coming, he had no strength to move or defend himself. The Fourth Wall was gone, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s palm collided with his face.

The slap wasn’t even soft.

It was so hard it made the Truth finder seem better in comparison. Dokja’s eyes snapped open, and he barely bit back a scream. He tried to scramble away from Yoo Joonghyuk and nearly tore his arm off in the process. He didn’t know when, but sometime, Yoo Joonghyuk had let go of his waist and had grabbed his wrist, and he now refused to let go, despite the fact that he’d just slapped Dokja across the face.

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, is outraged on your behalf.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is close to tears again.]

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, says that this is more like it.]

2000 coins have been sponsored.

Meanwhile, the bastard in question was staring down at his own hand like it’d grown wings and flown away from him, slapping Kim Dokja in the process. He had such an absurdly funny look on his face—torn between surprise and his natural inclination to hit Dokja again.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again, and it was so goddamn funny imagining that Yoo Joonghyuk was deciding if he should apologize or not—even if Yoo Joonghyuk would never do such a thing—that Dokja began to laugh; he couldn’t help it, and once he’d started, there was no stopping it.

His laughs started off small.

Tiny little giggles that grew into whole body heaving. He was laughing so hard that he felt like his ribs might break, his lungs growing beyond what they could contain, and distantly, he knew that everyone was staring at him. He could feel their eyes, their confusion, their worry.

They were worried about him.

Han Sooyoung scowled, her arms crossed. “Of course you’d find this funny,” she said. “I always knew you were a psychopath—” He ignored her and he just kept laughing. He kept laughing and it was freeing to let go for once in his life, to laugh not because it was expected of him, because people would worry if he stayed silent, but to laugh because he found something funny.

Regardless of what others would think.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is asking if you’re okay.]

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, is questioning your sanity.]

[Constellation, Secretive Plotter, is staring at you.]

Dokja would’ve kept laughing for the rest of the 24-hours if Shin Yoosung hadn’t approached him. “Ahjussi,” she said. “What’s so funny?” Her eyes were wide, trying to search his face, to understand, and Dokja finally managed to get it together. He sombered, remembering that there were people here who relied on him, people here who expected him to lead them.

His laughter didn’t inspire confidence.

He opened his mouth but there were no words. No words could fix this, no words could properly explain why he found this all so funny. Anything he said would only make it worse.

“Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was steady; he’d recovered from the shock, and he was scowling as he glared at Dokja. “Answer her question.”

Now even Yoo Joonghyuk was against him. Maybe he’d decided that this was as good a time as any to start pulling back Dokja’s layers and since the opportunity had presented itself—since Dokja couldn’t lie—he’d be a fool not to take advantage.

If Yoo Joonghyuk had been the only one to ask him, he would’ve given him the middle finger, damn the consequences, but Yoosung had also asked it. Yoosung was the one who was currently staring at him with a worried look on her face, and she was his incarnation.

He couldn’t ignore her.

So he offered her a tight smile. “Many things in this world are funny, Yoosung-ah.”

A non-answer, but objectively the truth. It wasn’t what anyone here had wanted to hear though, and he felt the air sour around him. He shifted uncomfortably, his wrist still held hostage in Yoo Joonghyuk’s death grip, and he wanted to try and get away again.

But he knew it’d only embarrass himself.

He was no match for Yoo Joonghyuk in this state, and Yoo Joonghyuk had always been a stubborn bastard. He seemed to have decided that Dokja’s wrist was the perfect place for his fingers and Dokja could only ignore him and pretend he didn’t exist.

It was the best he could do.

“Are you alright, Kim Dokja-ssi?” Yoo Sangah asked with her usual politeness, her hands clasped in front of her, and there was concern marring her features, hesitation written in how she didn’t take a single step toward him; she kept her distance.

Dokja wanted to say of course.

He was always alright but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth.

“We’re so sorry,” Hyunsung said, his head hung low, and next to him, Gilyoung and Yoosung looked equally dejected. They were staring at the ground, refusing to meet his gaze. Only Huiwon and Sooyoung continued to stare at him, Huiwon with a conflicted expression, and Sooyoung scowling with her arms crossed, and it would’ve been easy.

It would’ve been easy to hate them.

They’d put him in this situation; they’d spiked his drink; they’d betrayed his trust, and Dokja had never been a forgiving person. He rarely gave people one chance, let alone two, but these were his companions. They’d only wanted the truth and he could understand that.

He understood them.

That’s why he couldn’t hate them, even now. He could tell that they were all truly sorry, and aside from Huiwon and Sooyoung, they all looked so pitifully dejected. He couldn’t tell them that it was fine—because it wasn’t fine, not yet—but he also couldn’t abandon them.

Not if there was even the chance they’d choose him.

He shook his head. “We all make mistakes.” It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was acceptance, and for most of his companions, that was enough. Even Huiwon looked relieved, but just like Yoo Joonghyuk, Han Sooyoung was stubborn until the end.

She scoffed.

“Who said this was a mistake?” Dokja’s stomach dropped. He could only watch as she strolled toward him, her steps sure, confident. There was a lollipop hanging lazily from the corner of her mouth, and she crunched it between her teeth once she reached him. “You’ve always been a lying scumbag, so it was only a matter of time before it came to bite you in the ass.” Her smile curved into a smirk and her gaze lifted to the rest of them. “Isn’t this what we wanted?” she challenged. “Now isn’t the time to apologize, to second-guess, now is the time to get the truth.”

Her eyes flashed, and Dokja shuddered.

He’d known that this wasn’t going to be pleasant, that any situation where he had to tell the truth would never end well, but Han Sooyoung wasn’t messing around. She probably knew that this was the only chance she’d get to hear the truth from him, and Dokja understood.

But that didn’t mean he had to let it happen.

He searched for something he could use as a distraction, something to derail this conversation, and it occurred to him that Yoo Joonghyuk had arrived here, calling his name. He’d originally chalked it up to Yoo Joonghyuk wanting to kill him, but other than slapping him, Yoo Joonghyuk had been surprisingly peaceful. He would’ve asked what was up with him, but he was currently ignoring Yoo Joonghyuk and the fingers around his wrist, so he looked at Yoo Sangah instead.

“You were looking for me.”

Yoo Sangah nodded with a wince. “We have some bad news.” That was never a good thing to hear, and Dokja wanted to reassure her that whatever it was, he could handle it, but once again, the words refused to leave his lips. Sangah opened her mouth but Yoo Joonghyuk beat her to it.

“You’ve been given a fate.”

Kim Dokja’s heart stopped.

For a moment, there was silence. There was silence and then he was cussing and cursing so loudly, he was surprised all of Paradise couldn’t hear it. His friends took a few hasty steps back and Jihye covered the kids’ ears, her eyes wide.

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, urges you to use more creative curse words.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, says her ears are bleeding.]

[Constellation, Queen of the Darkest Spring, is expressing her concern.]

Dokja didn’t give a damn about the constellations right now; he continued to curse this world and everyone in it, and he wondered why the story hated him so much. Stuff like this was only supposed to happen to the main character and those words echoed in his head.

You’ve been given a fate.

It didn't necessarily mean something bad, but Dokja wasn’t enough of a fool to believe it would be something good. Those words rattled around and buried under his skin and if the Fourth Wall was here, he would’ve brushed them off. He would’ve insisted he’d find a way to deal with it.

That he’d be the first to cheat fate.

But he didn’t have the Fourth Wall and there was nothing to nullify the emotional shock, nothing to protect him from everything running through his head. He could only guess at what his fate could be and he knew that he should ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Some part of him felt like asking made it real.

And he so desperately wanted this to not be real. He wanted to run from this room, from those words, but Yoo Joonghyuk was still holding his wrist, keeping him from fleeing, and everyone was staring at him and it was all too much for Kim Dokja.

He needed to be out of this room.

To be somewhere, anywhere, else, and he tried to yank his arm away, but Yoo Joonghyuk had strangled grown men to death. He knew how to hold on and hold on tight and Dokja couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. He was gasping for breath, gasping to not lose complete control, and when it became clear that he wasn’t strong enough to pull away, he did the opposite.

He threw himself at Yoo Joonghyuk.

“Let go of me, you damn sunfish—” Yoo Joonghyuk released Dokja’s wrist as abruptly as he’d grabbed it. He jumped back nearly ten feet, scrambling to get away from Dokja, and Dokja would’ve normally been able to stop his momentum.

He would’ve normally flashed a smile at Yoo Joonghyuk and asked what he was scared of.

But this situation wasn’t normal, and Dokja wasn’t able to stop himself now that he’d started. He was barrelling forward and before he knew it, he’d crashed onto the table. Food splattered everywhere and plates broke beneath his weight and he still didn’t stop.

He was left a trembling heap on the opposite side of the room; he’d been so caught up in trying to get away that he’d thrown himself over the goddamn table. There was now glass littered across the floor and it cut him as he scrambled to his feet amid the chaos.

Everyone was shouting.

“What the hell—”

“Hyung, are you okay—”

“Why did you throw yourself over the table—”

Dokja tried to block out their voices but the constellations weren't any better. Their messages kept popping up and Dokja was too busy holding his ears to cover his eyes, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts, wishing he could be anywhere but here.

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, laments the loss of the table.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, fell out of her seat in shock.]

[Constellation, Secretive Plotter, is watching you.]

Dokja wanted to tell them to stop; he didn’t ask for this. He didn’t ask for them to watch him, to question him, but that’s the thing. He did ask for this. He’d wanted their channel to grow; he’d wanted to have constellations watch them from far and wide.

This was the consequence.

Everything he did would be heavily scrutinized, every moment of his life turned into a production, and Dokja swayed on his feet. He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take how badly the world was spinning, and he slumped against the wall, a hand to his mouth.

It was all he could do to hold back the bile in his throat.

He didn’t want to face them. He wanted to curl up in a ball and pass out, or bang his head against the wall until he was freed from this situation, but he knew that wasn’t a solution. If he ran now, if he tried to escape this, it would only raise more questions.

No innocent person ran.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Yoo Sangah was the first person he saw. She was nibbling on her bottom lip, obviously worried, and Lee Hyunsung was in front of her. He’d taken a step toward Dokja, through the broken glass, but whatever he saw on Dokja’s face made him hesitate to help Dokja to his feet. He stood there instead, his eyes wide.

Huiwon was much the same.

Her face was conflicted, torn between her need to help him, to return everything he’d done for her, and to find the truth, no matter the cost. It made her do neither, and like Hyunsung, she stood there, unmoving. Her hands were curled into fists at her sides.

Shin Yoosung was staring too.

There was something sad about her eyes as she gazed at him, something knowing, and next to her, Lee Gilyoung was frowning. Jihye didn’t seem to know what to say either; for once, she was speechless, and Han Sooyoung lifted a brow at the mess he’d made.

She looked like she might berate him for it.

But somehow, she managed to hold herself back. He appreciated that she was at least making an effort to let him recover first, to hold back her comments until she was sure it wouldn’t shatter him to hear them. Unfortunately, Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t so considerate.

He was glaring at Dokja.

His eyes were dark, and Dokja remembered with a wince how he’d thrown himself at Yoo Joonghyuk, nearly barreling him over in the process. He hadn’t been thinking; he’d just wanted to escape but now, he was regretting it. He withered under Yoo Joonghyuk’s glare.

He wanted to disappear.

But if he wanted to have any hope at salvaging this situation, he had to at least pretend that everything was normal, that he was fine, and that it was a fluke that had caused him to react so poorly to the Truth finder. A fluke that had caused him to become a trembling, heaving mess, and a fluke that had prompted him to throw himself halfway across the room.

Dokja let out a tiny breath.

He forced one of his usual taunting smiles, his mouth curling at the corners, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t reach his eyes and he had to practically string it up by sheer force of will. “What?” he asked. “Surely the great Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t scared of little old me?” He cocked his head, his smile stretching, and everything about it was wrong.

It was wrong, this look on his face.

This smile.

It wasn’t natural, wasn’t his, and Dokja hated it. He hated that this was what he’d been reduced to: taunting and faking a smile so they wouldn’t see that his fingers were still trembling, that he was sitting in a pile of broken glass and had yet to rise to his feet because he knew they wouldn’t hold him. He knew that his legs lacked the strength to bear his weight.

Yoo Joonghyuk was silent.

But his glare was sharp, brittle. The kind of look that said he wanted to slap Dokja again, and Dokja almost wished he would, even though he was certain it would kill him. At least if he was dead he wouldn’t have to answer their questions, and it wasn’t like he’d stay dead.

By the time he was revived, the Truth finder would have worn off.

But Dokja would never be that lucky, so he turned his grin on his other companions. “You all wanted this, right?” His smile stretched even further, baring his teeth to the world, and unease flickered through the room. No one here knew this side of him. No one here could know this side of himself—not when he’d kept it so carefully hidden—but now they would know him.

They’d know the truth.

That he’d always been seconds away from crumbling, that everything he’d accomplished had been because of sheer luck and a book he’d read because he had nothing else in his pathetic life. They’d see him for the desperate creature that he was, someone who struck the hardest when he was cornered, and he hadn’t felt like this since the scenarios started.

It reminded him of a man he’d rather forget.

He forged ahead, ignoring the memories. “You wanted to bring down my walls, to leave me too weak to run away, so you could what? Feast on my secrets? Create a big dinner out of my suffering?” He scoffed, and his companions shifted on their feet, his words burying uncomfortably beneath their skin all while their eyes widened; they hadn’t expected this.

They hadn’t expected this anger.

This bitterness.

Dokja wasn’t truly upset at them, but his anger was all he had right now. It was all he had to smooth over his cracks, hiding the parts of himself that made him feel weak, that he’d rather forget along with the memories of a long dead man, and he knew it wasn’t fair.

He’d pushed them to this point.

He was the one who’d told lies.

But they were the ones who’d wanted the truth and this was his truth, or at least, a version of it. The truth was that he was angry—at himself, at them, at the world; he’d always been angry, and the funny thing was now that his companions had the true, unfiltered version of Dokja, none of them knew what to do with him. They all just stared—even Han Sooyoung.

Her expression was hard to read.

It was Yoo Sangah who spoke. “Dokja-ssi,” she said. “I’m sure that wasn’t their intention—” He shot her a look, one that silenced any protests. She hadn’t been here for their plan; she hadn’t known it was happening, and he wondered if she would’ve stopped it if she had.

Or would she, too, have wanted the truth.

It didn’t matter anymore.

“Fine,” he said, his voice tight, and his smile looking like it might explode any minute. “You wanted to feast—then let’s feast.” He lifted his arms as if to invite them to the metaphorical table, only to realize that his hands were trembling too hard to stay in the air.

He tucked them behind his back instead, a grin on his lips.

“What are you all waiting for?” he asked. “You went through all this effort, so you might as well ask whatever the fuck you did this for.” He gave a bitter laugh, and it tainted the air, polluted it with emotions he was determined to ignore. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

The silence stretched.

He could tell that they wanted to apologize again. He could see it in their eyes, in their frozen faces, but something on his own face stopped them. Maybe they could tell that he wouldn’t hear any apologies, that he was this close to snapping and that if they wanted answers out of him, they better ask now because they’d never get another chance like this.

Huiwon stepped forward.

She was always the first to jump into enemy fire, and now was no different. She didn’t falter under his baleful gaze, didn’t even flinch. Her own gaze was deceivingly calm, her every movement careful and deliberate, as if she feared startling a sleeping bear.

And he hated it.

He hated how she looked like she was walking onto a battlefield, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was nothing he could do because this was a battlefield now. They’d turned it into one the second they’d decided to slip the Truth finder into his drink.

Huiwon lifted her chin.

“Why do you want to leave Paradise so badly?”

Dokja winced. He’d known this question was coming but he still had no idea how to answer it. He could just tell her the truth and end this whole thing before it’d truly begin, and that option was looking more and more appealing because the truth was that Dokja was tired.

He was tired of the lying.

But he also didn’t want to be the one to tell them the truth. It left him in an awkward position and he could only shake his head, giving them a small kernel of truth. “We can’t stay here.”

“It’s safe here though,” Huiwon protested. “We wouldn’t have to fight to survive; we could live happy, normal lives—” Dokja didn't realize he’d laughed until he realized Huiwon had stopped. Her fingernails were digging into her palms and her jaw was set, and his heart ached.

She wanted so badly to believe in this fantasy, in Paradise.

“There is no such thing, Huiwon.” He started picking up the broken pieces of dinner with his fingers, wanting to at least try and fix this mess, and he was surprised when Shin Yoosung started helping him. She didn’t say a word as she picked up dishes, the glass embedding itself in her tiny fingers. “Yoosung-ah,” he scolded. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shifted over to her, intending to pry the glass pieces out, but she caught his hands. “You’re hurting yourself too, ahjussi.” Her gaze was bright, worried, and he glanced down at his own hands; she was right. He hadn’t noticed the tiny glass shards embedding themselves in his fingers; he’d been too focused on trying to get at least one thing back under control.

He eyed the shards ruefully. “I didn’t realize,” he said.

At least his hands had stopped trembling.

“How can you say that?” Huiwon’s voice startled him and for a moment, he thought she was asking him how he hadn’t realized. “How can you say that such a thing doesn’t exist?” Her fingernails were drawing blood now, and she seemed close to tears.

He hated seeing her like this.

He hated seeing her in pain; it’s why he hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell her, and he averted his gaze. “Not everyone was blessed with a happy life before this.” He knew first-hand that there was no such thing, and even if he could somehow find that in Paradise, it wouldn’t be real.

It would be built on a lie.

Huiwon shook her head. “Even if your life wasn’t happy before, that doesn’t mean it can’t be happy now.” Her eyes implored him to reconsider, practically begged him to say that he understood, that he’d give it a chance, and he did understand.

He understood that she was tired.

She didn’t want to fight anymore, and Paradise was here, waiting, at her fingertips. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay here, and he squeezed Yoosung’s tiny hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I can’t accept that.” They had to move onto the next scenario. There was no future for him here, for any of them here. Any happiness they did find would be paid for with blood.

It would come at a heavy cost, and it was Huiwon who didn’t understand. She saw his words as him rejecting the possibility of a life without bloodshed, a life without loss, and her hands were curled so tightly that they’d started trembling. Trembling with her frustration, her anger.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “Instead of living a happy life, you’d rather condemn yourself to the scenarios? There’s no telling if we’ll be able to find the next one, and even if we do, we could die. Any one of us could die and I’m starting to wonder if you even care.”

Her words hit him hard.

Struck him where it hurt and made him flinch. He knew that she was just upset, that she likely didn’t mean what she said, but it hurt to know that after everything he'd done for them, after everything he’d done to get them here, she still doubted him.

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, is pleased with this turn of events.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, wishes her incarnation would take that back.]

Huiwon glared at the sky. “I won’t take it back! Not until Dokja tells us why he’s so dead set on trying to get everyone killed—”

“Everything I’ve done—” Dokja cut in, lifting his chin— “has been to help us.” To help them reach the end, although he couldn’t say that. Not with so many eyes watching. He shook his head at Huiwon, squeezing Yoosung’s hand. “There’s so much you don’t understand.”

There’s so much all of them didn’t understand.

“And whose fault is that?” Huiwon snapped. “You’re the one who won’t tell us shit.”

Dokja’s head was starting to hurt, a dull throbbing ache that he wondered if Yoo Joonghyuk had given him. The man in question was watching silently from the shadows, and he wasn’t the only one. Everyone who wasn’t Huiwon or him seemed to be holding their breath.

Waiting for his response.

Dokja pretended he didn’t feel their eyes on him; he slowly, carefully, began to pick the glass shards from Yoosung’s hands, ignoring the ones in his own skin. It was familiar, something he’d done for his mother and himself a hundred times before, and he let the action soothe him.

If he was doing anything else, Huiwon would’ve protested. She would’ve insisted that he answer her now, that he stopped stalling, but she wasn’t going to stop him from helping a child. She waited, every one of her muscles coiled, ready for the fight she anticipated.

In front of Huiwon, Gilyoung hovered.

He looked like he might offer to help Dokja but he made a face when he saw how much blood there was; apparently, he could kill a man but drew the line at pottery, and Dokja suppressed a smile. He finished wrapping Yoosung’s wounds and said, “Be more careful, Yoosung-ah.”

She looked at his hands.

At the shards still embedded there, and Dokja quickly tucked them behind his back. He offered her a strained smile, but she wasn’t convinced. “I’ll be more careful if you promise the same,” she said, and she stared at him expectantly. Like she truly thought he could make such a promise, and Dokja averted his gaze. He looked back at Huiwon.

“You’re right,” he said.

She frowned. “I am?”

“It’s my fault for not telling you sooner.” He rose to his feet, his hands still clasped out of sight.

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, urges you to fight to settle this.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, wishes to see your hands.]

Dokja ignored them and gazed at Huiwon. “You deserve to know the truth.” They all deserved to know the truth and even though he couldn’t tell them all of it, not the parts about him, he could at least give them some of it. Huiwon crossed her arms, waiting, and everyone else waited too.

He could feel their anticipation.

Their curiosity at what he’d say next.

[Many constellations are holding their breath.]

Dokja sighed. “You asked why I’d rather condemn us to the scenarios, where at any moment, one of us could die, but if we stay here—” he shook his head. “We will all die.” Huiwon startled, instantly stiffening, her hand reaching for the sword he’d given her like she could single-handedly fend off their deaths, and she wasn’t the only one.

Hyunsung tensed.

His body turned to metal at the mere idea that there was a threat out there, and Gilyoung and Yoosung both glanced around the room like they expected something to leap out at them. Jihye shifted closer to Yoo Joonghyuk and Yoo Joonghyuk was expressionless as always.

He’d already known the truth about Paradise.

“How—” Huiwon struggled to find the words. “How do you know?” Her earlier anger was gone and in its place, she was tense, uncertain. Out of every answer he could’ve given, she hadn’t expected this one, and she couldn’t even deny it because she knew he was telling the truth.

Her gaze kept darting around the room.

Like she, too, thought something would attack them, and he wanted to reassure her that they were safe for now—but he never knew what might happen. Reinheit might decide that he was done letting them dally in his city, that he was done trying to convert them and decide to sacrifice them instead. That was no doubt his true goal with Huiwon, with all of them, but Dokja couldn’t explain how he knew that. He couldn’t explain how he knew about Reinehit at all.

The only one who knew was Han Sooyoung.

And she’d gone strangely quiet. Before, she’d seemed determined to expose him, but now that he actually had to speak the truth, she hadn’t asked him a single question. It made him nervous, made him wary, and he was thankful when Yoo Sangah broke the silence.

“Dokja-ssi,” she said. “You always seem to know things, but you never explain how you know them and if you just told us, we’d be able to help. You’re not alone anymore.” Her face was earnest, guileless, and that’s what he loved about Sangah.

She genuinely cared about the people in her life.

Even someone as wretched as him. She was probably the only one here who had a remotely close idea at how much those words meant to him, how much his heart throbbed in response to her simple declaration: You’re not alone anymore.

The truth was that he’d been alone for a very long time.

He wasn’t used to having to share his secrets; he wasn’t used to having anyone who’d even want to listen to them. The best he hoped for as a child was indifference, tolerance, a blank glass wall that he could talk at, never expecting it to actually be listening.

And now that he had people who did care, who did want to listen, to hear his truths, he couldn’t bear to tell them for fear that they’d leave him. That he’d be back to that wall, back to that loneliness, and Dokja would do whatever it took to keep them by his side.

Even if it meant lying to them.

He started to tell them that he couldn’t tell the truth, but he choked on the words and a brutal coughing fit seized him instead. His companions were alarmed and tried to ask if he was okay, but he was too busy coughing to answer. It scraped his throat, made him curl in on himself.

The truth was that he could tell them the truth.

He just wouldn't.

For once, he was going to be selfish. Once he’d stopped coughing, he straightened and forced himself to meet their eyes. “The fewer people who know how I know these things,” he said, his voice firm. “The better for the rest of us.” It was already bad enough that Han Sooyoung knew and although Dokja didn’t mention her, Yoo Sangah was smart and she caught on fast. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she stared at him.

“So one of us already knows.”

Dokja startled. He hadn’t said that but he couldn’t very well tell her no, and when he didn’t say anything, it became clear that what she’d said was the truth.

[Constellation, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, says they should fight to figure out who it is.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, glares at Constellation, The Abyssal Black Flame Dragon.]

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, encourages whoever it is to come forward.]

Dokja intentionally didn’t look at Han Sooyoung, but out of the corner of his eye, he watched her scowl, and he knew that she was probably yelling at her constellation for suggesting they fight to determine who it is. He kept his gaze on Yoo Sangah, and she frowned at him.

She didn’t like the idea that one of them knew the truth.

He could tell that she wanted to ask who it was, but she held herself back, probably finding the question inappropriate. Unfortunately, most of their companions weren’t so tactful, and he watched as her words hit them, a mix of surprise and suspicion on their faces.

“Why am I always the last to know things?” Jihye complained. “I’m very trustworthy—”

[Constellation, The Maritime War God, side-eyes their incarnation.]

Jihye instantly shushed, her face going bright red, and Dokja mostly ignored her. He was too busy watching the rest of their party, and although no one else outwardly complained that he hadn’t told them, he could tell that they were thinking about it.

If he’d told one person, why hadn’t he told them?

Were they not good enough—not important enough—to know the truth? Hyunsung was staring at the ground, and Huiwon’s eyes were darting from person to person, carefully searching for anyone who looked guilty or like they were hiding something.

“You’re too calm.” Gilyoung poked Yoosung, scowling. “Did hyung tell you?” His eyes were full of suspicion, and Yoosung shook her head.

“No—” she looked away. “He didn’t.”

He wanted to tell them all that it was nothing personal, and he was preparing to step in, to try and do damage control, but Han Sooyoung beat him to it, which was never a good sign. “Guys,” she said. “It doesn’t matter who knows why he knows what he does. They’re obviously not going to share and Kim Dokja is currently the one forced to tell the truth, so wouldn’t it be better to just ask him?” Her eyes were glittering, gleaming, and her arms were crossed over her chest.

It looked like she just wanted to see him suffer.

And Dokja wished she’d stayed silent. Her words had drawn attention to herself and Huiwon was currently eyeing Han Sooyoung. “If I didn’t know any better,” Huiwon said. “I’d say that you sound like someone who knows something.”

Han Sooyoung rolled her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re not the one who knows something?” Her gaze was steady, smirking, and as the two women faced off against each other, Dokja realized that he had to do something. He couldn’t let this continue because if it did, it’d end with someone getting hurt.

Most likely him in the crossfire.

“I won’t tell you how I know,” he cut in. “But I can answer other things. Surely Huiwon isn’t the only one with a question here?” It was an open invitation, a dangerous thing, and he kept his face carefully blank, pleasant even, like he didn’t care either way.

Inside, however, he was wilting.

He was wilting under their gazes and he was thankful when Hyunsung stepped forward, even though his hands were fidgeting and there was a slight frown on his face, the look of a soldier who was about to do something their commander wouldn’t approve of.

“If we can’t stay here,” he said. “Where are we supposed to go?”

Dokja blinked. He figured it was obvious. “We move onto the next scenario.” That’s what Huiwon had already said, but he felt like he was missing something when Hyunsung winced.

“So we keep fighting.” He didn’t seem too fond of the idea, and Dokja could understand Huiwon faltering, but Hyunsung too? Hyunsung must’ve seen the betrayal on his face because he was quick to clarify. “Don’t get me wrong, Dokja-nim, I’m happy to fight by your side but—” he hesitated and Dokja didn’t like where this was going— “When will it end?”

He obviously hated asking it but felt like he had to, and Dokja realized that even soldiers got tired of fighting. He sighed. “I’m tired too, Hyunsung-ssi.” The admission was quiet but it stretched in the silence and Hyunsung’s eyes widened.

Yoo Sangah didn’t know what to say either.

“I wish I could bring us to the end now,” he said. “I wish I could promise that we’re all going to be there once we reach it, but I can’t.” He’d do whatever he could to make sure all of them reached the end, but especially with a fate looming over his head, there was a high likelihood that the end didn’t include him, and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Even after everything, it wasn’t enough.

He wished he was strong enough to reach the end on his own; he wished he could leave them here to live a happy life in Paradise and carry the whole world on his shoulders. If he could’ve done it on his own, he would’ve left already, but he couldn’t do it without them.

He needed them to reach the end.

To give them the happy ending they deserved.

And that meant he wasn’t good enough. He shouldn’t need them to shoulder the weight with him; he should be strong enough to carry it all but he wasn’t, and he couldn’t change that.

He hung his head.

A shadow fell across the ground and he had a split-second to realize that someone was barrelling toward him before he was being crushed. Strong arms engulfed him, pressing against his ribs, and Dokja stood awkwardly in the hug, not knowing what to do with his hands.

Hyunsung didn’t seem to care.

“Don’t apologize." His voice was firm. “No one is all-powerful, and you’ve done more than enough keeping us alive this long.” Dokja didn’t feel like he’d done enough, but Hyunsung gave him no space to wiggle free, and he wondered if this was what hugs were supposed to feel like.

He was being crushed—but it wasn’t unpleasant.

He patted Hyunsung’s back and winced when his blood stained Hyunsung’s shirt. He’d forgotten there were still glass shards embedded in his skin, but Hyunsung didn’t seem to care. His expression was determined, fierce, as he pulled away from Dokja.

“If you say we have to go to the next scenario, then that’s what we’ll do.”

He moved to stand behind Dokja, his arms crossed, and he faced the rest of their group as if daring any of them to argue. Dokja had never been more grateful for Lee Hyunsung.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is moved by Incarnation Lee Hyunsung’s camaraderie.]

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Huiwon’s face was torn again. After Hyunsung’s display, she was all the more aware of the thin line she was walking. He’d always considered her his sword and Hyunsung his shield, and although he was happy to have Hyunsung’s support, he wouldn't survive without his sword.

She knew that too.

She knew that if he continued on, he would die without her. The problem was that now she’d caught a glimpse of Paradise, she wasn’t willing to give it up. “There has to be another way,” she insisted. “You’ve always found another way and I know it’s not fair of me to ask more of you because Hyunsung's right. You’ve done so much for us already—” Dokja winced. “But I can’t help it.” Her gaze was bright, desperate. “Please, I need to know why.”

It made sense.

If she was going to keep fighting, if she was going to keep participating in the scenarios, she needed to know why they were doing all of this, and it couldn’t be because they’d die if they stayed in Paradise because they could just as likely die anywhere else.

Death was always a possibility for them.

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, is curious at what your reply will be.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is sitting on the edge of her seat.]

[Many constellations are awaiting your response.]

Dokja sighed. Everyone—both constellations and incarnations alike—wanted to know his why. It was hard to trust him when they didn’t know why he did everything he did, why he wanted to keep fighting, and he knew that a vague answer of to reach the end would only inspire more questions, more confusion, so he said nothing.

His silence spoke for itself.

“You said to ask questions,” Jihye said. “But I’m starting to think you’re just stalling—”

“I have a question,” Yoosung said softly. She approached him and Dokja waited. He watched her tiny feet walk on broken glass and he wished she wouldn’t look at him like this. Like he was some wild beast that she was still trying to figure out. Her eyes searched his face. “When you chose me over Seoul, you said it was because there was an ending you wanted to see.”

Damn it.

He’d hoped she didn’t remember that.

“Ahjussi,” she said. “Why was I in that ending?” Her head was tilted innocently to look at him, her question genuine, and Dokja knew what she was asking. She was asking why he’d cared so much when he hadn’t even known her, when she’d been a stranger to him.

It didn’t make sense unless she knew his why.

“You deserved to be saved, Yoosung-ah,” he said.

Once again, it was the truth. Just not the one that she’d wanted to hear, and it didn’t surprise him that Yoosung wasn’t satisfied with that answer. She was frowning at him.

“Did I deserve to be your incarnation too?”

“Of course.”

That question was easy.

“But all I did at the start was cause problems.”

“You may have caused problems back then,” he admitted. “But none of those problems were your fault, and you’ve more than made up for it since then.”

Yoosung blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’m proud of you.”

Much to his horror, Yoosung started to cry. Silent tears slipped down her face and he was worried that he’d said the wrong thing, but then she smiled at him. It was a smile so bright, so blinding, it was impossible to mistake for anything other than happiness.

“I’ll keep making you proud,” she promised. “You won’t regret choosing me.”

Dokja shook his head with a slight smile of his own. “Yoosung-ah,” he chided. “I’ve never regretted choosing any of you.” Even when they did shit like this, even when they spiked his drink and backed him into a corner, he’d never regret saving them.

They were his companions.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is moved to tears by your words.]

[Many constellations are impressed by your camaraderie.]

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Shin Yoosung gave him a light side hug before she went to stand behind him, joining Hyunsung, and her eyes were practically shining. It made him realize that he’d been neglecting her lately and he resolved to pay more attention to her in the future.

Gilyoung glared at Yoosung.

He was looking at her like she’d stolen his favorite insect from him, and his face was dark. “Hyung,” he said, scowling. “Did you really choose her over Seoul?” Dokja blinked. He didn’t understand what the problem was until Gilyoung pouted. “You’ve never chosen me over a city.”

Oh.

Dokja cracked a tired smile. “Gilyoung-ah,” he said. “If it was you in that situation and not Yoosung-ah, I would’ve made the same choice.” It didn’t matter which of them he chose over Seoul; he would make the same choice for all of them.

Gilyoung perked up a little. “Really?”

“I’m proud of you too,” Dokja said, and Gilyoung beamed. He stuck out his tongue at Yoosung and went to stand next to her. The two of them began arguing about who he was more proud of, and Dokja didn’t bother interfering; he let them argue.

It was familiar.

Nice, even.

Of course that peace couldn’t last forever. “Dokja-ssi,” Sangah said. “I have a question too.” He’d been expecting her to ask one but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it. A part of him wondered if she’d ask why he’d helped her back on the subway, why he’d thrown the bugs in her direction, or maybe she’d ask about their days at Minosoft together.

He’d been very private back then.

Even more so than he was now, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she was curious about his life before the apocalypse. He was trying to figure out how to answer with the least amount of truth possible when she asked something else entirely, making his heart stop.

“Who do you love the most?” she asked.

He nearly slipped and fell face-first on the ground. He thought he’d misheard her but when he whipped his head up to stare at her, she met his gaze. There was a fire there, a determination that he was familiar with; she didn’t even acknowledge everyone else’s reactions.

She acted like she hadn’t heard Huiwon choke, Hyunsung dissolve into a flustered mess, or Yoosung make a tiny little oh sound at her bold question. No one seemed to know what to do now, and Gilyoung was frowning, while Han Sooyoung was trying—and—failing to hold back her laughter. Jihye’s eyes shot from Dokja to Yoo Joonghyuk.

Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t react.

He was watching Dokja as intently as Sangah was, and Dokja wondered when they’d all become so invested in his love life; it seemed oddly specific.

“Please,” Sangah said. “It’s important.”

How could this possibly be important?

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, urges you to answer the question.]

[Constellation, Queen of the Darkest Spring, is remembering a certain dress.]

[Many constellations are excited to hear your answer.]

Dokja was speechless. He’d known that the constellations who followed him were nosy as hell, but he figured that there were lines even they wouldn’t cross; he’d thought his love life was one of them, and it was frankly none of their business whom he loved.

He intentionally didn’t look at the wall.

He kept his gaze straight ahead, even as his face burned. “I’m sure that can’t possibly be relevant right now.” There was no excuse for asking such a question.

“Aw, look at how he’s blushing,” Huison said. “He obviously likes someone here.” He wondered if this was her way of getting revenge on him for not giving her a straight-forward answer, and for a judge of evil, she was awfully vindictive. “It’s probably you, Sangah-ssi.”

Sangah startled. “What?”

“You’ve known him the longest and—”

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, looks betrayed by her incarnation.]

“No, no,” Sangah said, rather hastily. She even looked panicked by the suggestion. “There’s no way Dokja-ssi loves me the most.” He didn’t know if he should be offended by how fast she’d rejected the idea; she was acting like being loved by him was a death sentence. “It’s probably you, Huiwon-ssi, who he loves the most. He always looks so happy around you—”

“Dokja probably loves me the most!” Jihye said. “I’m a teenage girl and—”

“What if it’s not romantic love? It could be me Dokja loves the most. He said that he’d give up Seoul for me—”

“But he actually gave it up for me.”

Gilsyoung cut Yoosung a dark look and the two of them started fighting again. Hyunsung had to interrupt them. “What if it’s actually about camaraderie?” As soon as he said that, everyone looked at Yoo Joonghyuk and Dokja wanted to die of embarrassment.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, encourages this train of thought.]

Dokja glared at the sky, but thankfully, Yoo Joonghyuk was unbothered. He looked just as much like he wanted to kill Dokja as he had moments before, and everyone else got bored of staring at him and returned to staring at Dokja. “Dokja-ssi?” Sangah prompted.

She was strangely adamant about this.

He wondered if she’d made a deal with the constellations. He was sure Uriel would pay good money for his answer, and she was the one who’d given them the Truth finder, which meant this could’ve been her goal the whole time. Had she been after this from the beginning?

Han Sooyoung scoffed. “He’s not going to answer,” she said. “Just because he can only tell the truth doesn’t mean he has to tell the truth.” For once, she’d said something intelligent. Dokja figured that everyone would see reason, that they’d listen and realize they had no right to be asking such a question—let alone actually expecting him to answer it—but if anyone had the audacity, it was Yoo Joonghyuk. His glare was strong enough to peel the skin from Dokja’s bones and once again, Dokja had the distinct feeling that he should run away.

Especially when Yoo Joonghyuk stalked toward him.

“You will answer,” he said.

His voice was steady, commanding, and it made Dokja shiver. He wanted to respond that he wouldn’t, that there was nothing that could make him answer this particular question, but Yoo Joonghyuk was still stalking closer. Close enough for Dokja to see each individual hair on his eyelashes, and this time, it wasn’t the Truth finder that stopped words from forming.

It was Yoo Joonghyuk.

He was too goddamn pretty for his own good.

“You will answer me.” Yoo Joonghyuk glared down at Kim Dokja, his teeth gritted, and Dokja knew he was walking a dangerous line again. He was always walking a dangerous line with Yoo Joonghyuk, but that was never more apparent than it was now.

He didn’t have the Fourth Wall.

He was skilless, defenseless, and without his abilities, it was abundantly more clear how big Yoo Joonghyuk really was. He towered over Dokja, a whole head taller, and there was nowhere for Dokja to run, no way for him to escape as Yoo Joongyuk pinned him to the wall.

His breath was hot on Dokja’s face.

“Bastard.” Dokja hated how he was breathless. “I don’t know why you care. It’s not like this concerns—” he choked on his next words, the lie refusing to leave his lips.

“Kim Dokja.”

His name made him shudder, and he tried to squirm away from Yoo Joonghyuk, but Yoo Joonghyuk only pressed closer, completely boxing Dokja in. Dokja’s heart beat faster against his will, and he hated to admit it but Yoo Joonghyuk actually smelled good.

Damn those protagonist genes.

Yoo Joonghyuk lifted his chin, and Dokja froze. He didn’t dare move, especially when Yoo Joonghyuk leaned in even closer, his mouth touching the shell of Dokja’s ear. “Deny me again—” his fingers tightened— “and I’ll have to resort to other methods of finding out the truth.”

Dokja’s stomach dropped.

He could only stare up at Yoo Joonghyuk, wondering if he knew. Did he know how fast Dokja’s heart was beating? Did he know that the truth was so obvious, it was almost painful? Anyone with half-a-brain could see how red his face had gotten, how his pulse hammered in his throat.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is trying to stop her nose from bleeding.]

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, wonders what Incarnation Yoo Joonghyuk is saying.]

[Constellation, Secretive Plotter, is frowning.]

This was his chance; it was his chance to save himself and tell them the truth, but if he did that, he’d just be digging his grave deeper. He’d die from the embarrassment and if Yoo Joonghyuk wanted the truth, he’d have to pry it from Dokja’s lips himself.

Dokja wouldn’t go down without a fight.

He lifted his chin and grinned. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s see it then—” he didn’t even have the chance to finish. Pain exploded in his abdomen and he doubled over, gasping, wondering why the fuck he’d expected something different. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t know any other method; all he knew how to do was punch his problems into submission, and it hurt like fucking hell.

Worse than it ever had before.

He no longer had the Fourth Wall to protect him, and he could have sworn that all his organs had been crushed to a pulp, that at least five of his ribs were broken, and that at any moment now, his heart would simply cease to beat, but it was a stubborn bastard.

It refused to stop for Yoo Joonghyuk of all people.

It kept beating and curses kept falling from his lips, becoming increasingly deranged the longer he stewed in his injury, finding every word he could think of to describe Yoo Joonghyuk in that moment, and of course, even injured, even collapsed on the ground, he couldn’t find peace.

“Hey,” a tiny voice piped up. "That's no way to speak about my brother.”

His eyes watered and he gazed up on his back at Yoo Mia’s blurry face. She was scowling, looking so much like her brother it was almost painful, and Dokja had forgotten she was even here. “You asked for this,” she continued. “If anything, you should be grateful to him.”

Grateful?

To Yoo Joonghyuk?

He wanted to shout that he’d never be grateful to the same man who’d punched him in the face, the same man who’d resorted to violence when he’d refused to answer a simple question, but even collapsed on the ground, his ribs broken, his body bruised, he couldn’t lie.

He’d always be grateful to Yoo Joonghyuk.

It was his story that had brought Dokja through the worst years of his life, and no matter what Yoo Joonghyuk did, Dokja would always be grateful for that. He struggled to his feet, spitting out blood as he did so; it hit Yoo Joonghyuk right in the jaw, and Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed.

“Kim Dokja—”

“Don’t fucking speak to me.”

“Answer the question—”

“No, I hope you fucking—” Die.

He choked on the words; of course he choked on them. It didn’t matter though because a moment later, Yoo Joonghyuk hit him again. It wasn’t as hard as the first time—and Dokja knew that if Yoo Joonghyuk was hitting him with his full strength, he’d be dead already—but it wasn’t anywhere near gentle. It was harsh, cold, and Dokja’s strength bled away with the light.

Darkness swallowed him.

For a moment, he was back in his old apartment. He was curled in on himself on the floor and his father was there, shouting, as he normally did. There was a bottle in his hand and he threw it at the floor, at Dokja, and Dokja flinched as the glass shattered next to him.

The shards cut him, and the alcohol burned.

It seeped into his cuts and set his world on fire and he knew he wasn’t there; he hadn’t been that kid for a long time. But there was something about being beaten, curled up on the floor, surrounded by broken glass that brought him back to that horrible time in his life.

He was shaking.

His whole body was trembling and there was no hiding it now. No hiding how weak he was as tears streamed down his face, mixing with his blood. He didn’t have the strength to lift his head, to struggle to his feet, or even to spit out the blood threatening to drown him.

And this was how he’d die.

Too weak, too useless, to be saved. Killed by the protagonist of his favorite novel. Surrounded by the people he’d considered his companions, the people he’d have given his life for again and again, knowing that they’d never do the same in return, but that was okay.

He always had more lives to spare.

More to give—except, he was tired. He’d always been tired; it’s just the Fourth Wall had been good at hiding it, at making it seem like he was a normal functioning human being, but the truth was that he’d never had a normal, happy life, so why would he be a normal, functioning person?

His eyes shuttered closed.

Maybe this time would be it.

Maybe this time he’d be lucky enough to stay dead.

“Get away from him—”

“What the fuck did you do—”

He was suddenly being torn from Yoo Joonghyuk, from the hands holding him, and Dokja didn’t bother to open his eyes. His body was limp, unresponsive, and through the fog of his thoughts, he heard his companions beating Yoo Joonghyuk back.

It took all of them to do it.

And even then, it was probably only because Yoo Joonghyuk let them. There were new hands on his body—the kids clinging to him—and someone was shoving potions down his throat. Maybe it would’ve been wise to protest, especially considering that the last thing they’d given him had been poison, but Kim Dokja had already accepted his death.

It didn’t matter how it happened.

He refused to open his eyes, even as the pain died down and his body slowly returned to him. He could feel his fingers again, could hear his heart beating against his ribs—which miraculously weren’t broken, even though he could’ve sworn that they were.

Someone poked his side.

He groaned and squinted at the offending person. He wanted to ask what the fuck they wanted, but Han Sooyoung didn’t give him the chance. “You’re one lucky bastard,” she said. “I thought he’d kill you for sure.” She sounded almost disappointed that Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t, and Dokja was with her there. It would’ve been easier for everyone if Yoo Joonghyuk had finished the job.

Slowly, Dokja took in the room.

He realized that Huiwon and Hyunsung had stepped in front of him, and that Sangah was at their side. They must’ve dragged Yoo Joonghyuk away from him, and Yoo Joonghyuk glowered at Dokja from across the room, his expression murderous.

Dokaj wilted under that glare.

He wanted to sink back into the floor but two tiny bodies held him up. They’d grabbed onto his arms, one on either side, and they refused to let go. They refused to let him disappear again, and Dokja didn’t have the heart to shake Gilyoung and Yoosung off him.

Not when they clung to him so fiercely.

Not when they were glaring at Yoo Joonghyuk like they wanted him to simultaneously combust.

It would’ve been sweet under different circumstances—it was sweet—it was just that Dokja didn’t have the capacity to process anything right now. This whole situation was so absolutely absurd, and he had to fight the urge to laugh. To cry until he passed out from exhaustion.

Or maybe died.

That would be even better.

Everything in him wanted to hide, to escape this, but there was no escape, and he was sick and tired of letting Yoo Joonghyuk have the last word, so he lifted his head. He painted on a sickly sweet smile. “I’m flattered, sunfish,” he said, his smile stretching. “I didn't know you were so invested in my love life; to think you’d be willing to kill me over it, it’s truly—something.”

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, gapes openly.]

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is watching with wide eyes.]

[Many constellations are questioning your sanity.]

He struggled to his feet, doing what he did best: hiding behind his smile. He grinned at Yoo Joonghyk. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a personal stake in the matter.” His heart beat faster in his chest at the truth he was willingly walking toward, the burning flames he was treading over, and maybe he was just too tired to think straight, or maybe he was insane.

It didn’t really matter.

“Kim Dokja—” Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw twitched, and his hands curled into fists. He no doubt wanted to hit Dokja again, but with their other companions standing in the way, it was more trouble than it was worth. Why hit Kim Dokja when Yoo Joonghyuk could destroy him without laying a finger on him? Yoo Joonghyuk’s face hardened. “Kim Dokja,” he said. “You will die.”

“Then kill me already, bastard.”

Yoo Joonghyuk scowled. “I can’t.”

“Why not? It’s easy—just hit me again."

“I will not be the one to kill you.”

Dokja didn’t know why Yoo Joonghyuk was being so stubborn about this. Even if he thought fighting through the others was too much work, he could easily slip around them and kill Dokja before any of them had the chance to react; it wouldn’t be that difficult.

“Why the fuck not?” Dokja glared at Yoo Joonghyuk. “I know there’s a long line of people who want to kill me but when have you ever cared about waiting in line like a good little—”

“Stop talking.”

“I’m not going to fucking stop talking, I can do whatever the fuck I want—”

“Kim Dokja.”

“You think you’re so special, Yoo Joonghyuk? Well, I think—”

“Kim Dokja.” It was sharper this time; Dokja ignored it.

“I think that you’re scared.” His gaze met Yoo Joonghyuk’s. “Some small part of you—” an incredibly small, nearly nonexistent part— “knows that you need me. That without me, life will go back to normal, this attempt will fail, and you’ll have to regress again.”

It was the reason Yoo Joonghyuk hadn’t killed him already.

He grinned. “Admit it. You don’t want me dead—”

“It’s not about what I want,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped. “It’s never been about what I want.” He took a step toward Dokja, and Huiwon blocked his path. She was gripping her sword tightly, and next to her, Hyunsung was doing the same. Yoo Joonghyuk ignored both of them.

“Kim Dokja,” he said. “You’ve been fated to die.”

Everything stopped.

Silence fell.

It was filled only by the faint ringing in Dokja’s ears, and Dokja had known that he had a fate. He’d known that it was nothing good, that it would throw a wrench in his plans, and maybe his companions were valid for drugging him into telling the truth because his first instinct, after hearing he was going to die, was to lie. It was to reassure everyone that he’d figure it out.

It’d be fine.

He died all the time; what was one more?

But fates were rarely literal, and he knew not to get his hopes up.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is not surprised by this news.]

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, is stunned into silence.]

[Constellation, Secretive Plotter, is watching you.]

“How am I going to die?” he asked. Surely there had to be some details, something so he could try and avoid his fate, even if he knew it was pointless; fates were near impossible to subvert.

Yoo Joonghyuk was silent.

For a moment, Dokja thought he would ignore the question. It would be on brand for Yoo Joonghyuk to decide not to answer, simply out of spite, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s scowl twitched. His mouth opened and he began. He recited the fate like it had burned its way into his brain, watching Dokja’s reaction carefully as he spoke it into existence.

“Incarnation Kim Dokja will be killed by the person he loves the most.”

Oh.

Everything suddenly made sense. It made sense why Yoo Sangah had been so adamant about figuring out who he loved the most, why she'd been so certain it wasn’t her; it was because she didn’t want to kill him. As he scanned his companions, it was easy to see who’d known.

It was easy to tell who’d known about his fate.

Yoo Sangah and Yoo Joonghyuk were the only ones with their mouths closed, not a hint of surprise on their faces. Everyone else looked like they’d been sucker-punched, and Dokja knew he should look just as shocked, just as alarmed, if not more so, but he was strangely calm.

Not even numb.

Just too tired to worry about this right now. He was unlikely to die unless Yoo Joonghyuk started punching him again. For whatever reason, Yoo Joonghyuk was convinced that he wouldn’t be the one to kill Kim Dokja, and Kim Dokja was happy to let him believe that lie.

No one seemed to know what to say.

A tense silence had fallen—even the constellations were silent, but Dokja wasn’t concerned. He was so past the point of concern. He just sighed. “Well, that’s inconvenient.” It would make it harder for him to reach the end of the scenarios if he had a fate looming over his head and although he didn’t really care if he reached the end, it’d be impossible for him to help the others reach the end if he was dead, hence, this whole situation was terribly inconvenient for him.

The room erupted into chaos.

“How can you say that so flippantly—”

“This is your life we’re talking about—”

“Don’t worry, ahjussi, we won’t let you die.” Gilyoung approached him, his face determined, and next to him, Yoosung nodded. “It’s our turn to keep you safe.”

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is trying not to cry.]

[Constellation, Queen of the Darkest Spring, looks at you gravely.]

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, is wondering what you’re thinking.]

Only Yoo Joonghyuk was silent.

His eyes were heavy, his face unreadable, even for Dokja who’d made it practically his life to be able to read every minute detail on Yoo Joonghyuk’s face; it was unnerving.

“Now you see why I asked that question, Dokja-ssi,” Sangha said. “I didn't mean any disrespect.” She shifted on her feet, her hand holding her arm, like she thought he would admonish her for trying to keep him safe. For trying to prevent his death.

He shook his head. “I’m not upset.” He was never upset at her. It wasn’t her fault that Yoo Joonghyuk had decided to take her question so far, that he’d decided to use it as an excuse to beat Dokja up, and Dokja knew he should leave it alone. He knew he shouldn’t provoke Yoo Joonghyuk, but a part of him couldn’t help it.

“You know,” he said, his lips curving at the corners. “If you wanted to figure out who was going to kill me, nearly killing me in the process kinda defeats the purpose.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s brows twitched, the only sign that he was inwardly seething, and Dokja lifted a brow, his grin impossible to hide. “What if you’d made fate come true?”

A teasing, dangerous remark.

Something that could easily backfire, but Dokja said it anyway. It was practically the highlight of his day to fuck with Yoo Joonghyuk at this point, and he figured that he deserved something good after all the shit he’d had to put up with in the last hour.

Yoo Joonghyuk gave a stiff shake of his head. “It wouldn’t have come true.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t love me.”

Right.

Of course not.

It would take a special kind of idiot to fall in love with someone as stupid as Yoo Joonghyuk. Dokja sighed. “You can be a real ass sometimes, Yoo Joonghyuk.” Yoo Joonghyuk glared at him, and Dokha continued, “Even if I did tell you who I love the most, there’s nothing you can do to change fate.” He wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes narrowed. “There’s always something to be done.”

“Not this time.”

“The solution is simple.”

Dokja scoffed. “Fine,” he said. “If it’s really that simple, let’s hear your grand plan to save me from certain death—“

“Just kill whoever’s going to kill you first.”

Dokja was dumbfounded. He stared at Yoo Joonghyuk and wondered if he was joking.

According to fate, the person that was going to kill him was also the person he loved the most. Surely, if he really loved them, he wouldn’t be able to kill them and the fate would be about someone else. “I’m not going to kill anyone,” Dokja snapped, and his companions looked relieved, especially after they’d just argued about why they were the person he loved the most.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes twitched. “Of course you’re not going to kill anyone.” He looked at Dokja like Dokja was getting stupider by the minute, like he couldn’t believe that he had such an idiot for a companion. “I’m going to kill them.”

The audacity of this man.

He thought that he had it all figured out, that he alone could find a way to cheat fate, and Dokja had to bite back a laugh. There was one fatal flaw in Yoo Joonghyuk’s plan to kill the one Dokja loved the most, and Dokja shook his head, incredulous. “You really plan to kill them?”

“Of course.”

This time, Dokja did laugh. He laughed like Yoo Joonghyuk was joking, like he was the ridiculous one here. “You can’t just kill anyone you want.”

“They’re going to kill you.”

Dokja grinned. “Exactly, they’re going to kill me, meaning they haven’t yet. Why would I blame them for a crime they haven’t yet committed?”

It was the same logic he’d used with Shin Yoosung.

She was not at fault for her future sins, and nor was the hypothetical person that would someday murder him. Besides, there was no timeline.

He could have years before his fate came true.

“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “Tell me who it is.”

“No.”

This was just another secret he’d take to his grave; it would only make things worse if he told them because truth be told, there was someone he loved the most.

Someone who would absolutely not reciprocate.

“Maybe it’s none of us,” Han Sooyoung said. “Maybe the person Kim Dokja loves the most is himself. He’s always doing stupid shit, so why wouldn’t the fate be about himself?”

Normally, Dokja would’ve rolled his eyes.

He would’ve told her to not speak about things she had no knowledge of, but if everyone believed the fate was about himself, that he was a self-centered, egotistical bastard, it’d make his life easier. It’d spare him the questions.

Unfortunately, his companions would never believe such a negative picture of him. For some reason, they thought he was a hero.

“That’s nonsense!” Gilyoung cried. “Hyung loves all of us.” He was a stubborn kid, glaring at Han Sooyoung like she committed some grave sin, and Shin Yoosoung nodded sagely.

“Since ahjussi loves us, he must love one of us the most.”

She was stubborn too.

The two of them turned to Dokja, staring expectantly at him, and Dokja shook his head.

“You really won’t tell us?” Huiwon asked. Her brows were drawn and her mouth pulled into a frown; she wasn’t the only one.

He said nothing.

He’d already made it clear that he wouldn’t.

Disappointment rippled through the crowd, and although Yoo Joonghyuk was glaring at him, he didn’t try to beat the truth out of Kim Dokja again.

He probably knew it wouldn’t work.

[Constellation, Demonic Judge of Fire, is disappointed by your lack of response.]

[Constellation, Prisoner of the Golden Headband, is burning with curiosity.]

[Constellation, Secretive Plotter, is frowning at you.]

Thankfully, Hyunsung took pity on him. “It’s okay, Dokja-nim. You don’t have to tell us who it is—we’ll find a way to save you no matter what.”

He offered Dokja a smile.

It wasn’t anything big but after the frowns and scowls he’d been receiving, it was blinding. Hyunsung had fought by his side again and again; he’d been their steady rock, their unbreakable shield, but never had Dokja been more grateful for him than he was now.

“Okay,” Huiwon said. She ran a hand through her hair, and it was strange to watch her face turn sheepish. “Hyunsung’s right, I don’t like it but everyone has a right to their secrets and even if they frustrate the crap out of me—“ she shook her head, an exasperated smile on her face— “I know you have your reasons.”

She offered him a hand.

“I trust you, Dokja-sii.”

He took her hand and allowed her to haul him to his feet. He was still a little unsteady after Yoo Joonghyuk almost sent him to an early grave, but Huiwon was happy to offer him her shoulder.

She had her doubts; she knew he was keeping secrets, but she was deciding to support him anyway. “Whereever you go,” she said. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Those words made everything worth it.

They melted something inside him.

He’d feared that she’d stay in Paradise, that his vague truths wouldn’t be enough for her, but in the end, she’d chosen him.

“Thank you,” he said.

She gave him a light punch on the arm—and goddammit why did even that hurt—and a grin. “Don’t mention it,” she said. “Just promise me that one day, you’ll tell me the truth.” Her gaze met his. “All of it.”

One day, he would tell them about Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse. He’d tell them why he was so determined to move into the next scenario, why he always seemed to know more than he should, and someday, they’d even know the truth about whom he loved the most.

Not because he’d tell them, but because when his fate came true, they’d see who killed him.

There’d be no hiding it then.

His only consolation was that he wouldn’t be around to see their reactions, but such morbid thoughts had no place here. They were still looking at him expectantly—Huiwon, Hyunsung, the two kids, Sangah, Jihye, and even Han Sooyoung—so he smiled.

A real one this time.

“I promise that one day, you will all know the truth.”

At his declaration, the kids ran up and tackled him in a hug. He had to rely on Huiwon to stay standing, and when the kids started fighting over who hugged him first, Yoo Sangah approached.

She tried to pry the children off but she wasn’t very successful and eventually gave up with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Dokja-sii.” Somehow, he knew she wasn’t just apologizing for not succeeding in freeing him from the children; this was about more than that. It was an apology for cornering him with the love question to begin with.

For putting him through this.

His smile didn’t falter. “It’s fine.”

And for once, that was the truth. She’d had good intentions and although the last thirty minutes had been extraordinarily uncomfortable for him, the question itself was borne of love.

“Hey, wait—“ Han Sooyoung crossed the room. “I never got the chance to ask you any questions.” She had an evil grin on her face, her arms crossed over her chest, and Dokja groaned.

He thought he’d escaped her wrath.

“Kim Dokja,” she said. “What’s this I’m hearing about a Chinese dress with a garter belt?”

Dokja nearly fell over, even with the kids clinging to him, and he tried to deny it at the same moment he tried to breathe, resulting in a coughing fit that really didn’t help his case.

Han Sooyoung was laughing and his face was hot under the questioning stares of his companions.

[Constellation, Queen of the Darkest Spring, is pleased with this question.]

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That damn goddess.

She’d probably told Han Sooyoung to ask about the dress, and his companions frowned at him.

“Hyung,” Gilyoung said. “What’s she talking about?”

Dokja wanted to pass away from embarrassment and he gave an awkward chuckle. He tried to say that it was nothing, but he choked on the words.

Of course he choked on them.

Han Sooyoung just laughed harder, and there wasn’t anything he could do but buckle in for the ride, keenly aware that Yoo Joonghyuk was watching him from the far wall.

His gaze was dark, his mouth a harsh line, but he seemed to have accepted that he wasn’t going to get answers out of Dokja right now, although this peace wouldn’t last for long.

Yoo Joonghyuk was determined to find out who he loved the most, but Dokja wondered if he’d even want to speak to Dokja after his fate came true. He wouldn’t be surprised if Yoo Joonghyuk killed him a second time after learning the truth, but that was a future-Dokja problem.

For now, he was content to have one last dinner with his companions, his family, in Paradise and then at first light tomorrow, they’d leave.