Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kim Dokja hadn’t planned to die in the stairwell on the first day of high school, but with one flight down and nine more to go, he was seriously considering it.

His legs ached, his lungs burned, and his throat was drier than his sense of humor.

Why had he subjected himself to this cruel torture? Was this what hell was like? Why couldn’t he make a pair of wings sprout out of his back when he needed it? These were the questions he asked himself as he dragged himself up the stairs, one painstaking step after the other.

At long last, Kim Dokja exited the stairwell and began wandering through the hallways in search of his classroom.

The time it took for him to reach one end of the corridor was equivalent to the amount of time it took for him to realize that he was on the wrong floor. It seemed like the stairs had massacred his brain cells. Then again, it could also be said that he had none to begin with.

As he belatedly turned around, he caught a glimpse of a student slipping into what seemed to be a janitor’s closet. He ignored it. After all, it had nothing to do with him and he currently had no energy to spare.

Eventually, and with the help of the occasional break, Kim Dokja completed his arduous journey to the fifth floor and exited the stairwell.

—

Kim Dokja entered the classroom and sat in the seat at the very back, next to the window. After settling in, he began zoning out...

“Kim Dokja!” He flinched as his daydream ended abruptly only moments later. Realizing that the teacher was only called attendance, he released a small sigh of relief.

“Here!”

Soon after the teacher finished attendance, they began going over course description and what to expect for the rest of the year.

As the teacher concluded their soporific lecture, they asked, “Any questions?” Silence. “Alright then, why don’t you guys introduce yourselves to each other? I’ll give you guys the rest of the period.”

With that, the classroom filled with lively chatter, something Kim Dokja had never wished to be a part of. So, instead, he stared lazily out the window, head propped up by his arm.

Kim Dokja found himself particularly annoyed only moments later. He wasn’t actively eavesdropping on the people around him. It was simply impossible to ignore the exponentially growing crowd surrounding him and the noise that came with it.

It wasn’t him they were actually surrounding, though. It was the student next to him. Kim Dokja hadn’t really been paying much attention, but nearly everyone seemed to be obsessed. Kim Dokja was mildly curious, but in the end he was just upset that whatever semblance of peace he had found had been disturbed.

A few more teachers came in after that. Each relayed a brief speech and then left, only to be succeeded by another. Suffice to say, the first day of school was unremarkably boring.

In fact, that day could be summarized into four main takeaways:

First of all, Kim Dokja could push his alarm back by thirty minutes.

Second, Kim Dokja was in dire need of some muscle before the stairs killed him.

The third was that he needed more bags. Just one would not fit all of the textbooks that the teachers dutifully planned to give them. Also, his back needed some help from his other limbs.

Lastly, he needed to find somewhere to spend lunch. The cafeteria and classroom were far too noisy.

The last three could be resolved at a later date. At the moment, Kim Dokja was in dire need of some sleep. Actually, sleep ended up coming quite a bit later. After all, Kim Dokja wasn’t Kim Dokja unless he read web novels until at least midnight.

—

On the second day of school, Kim Dokja was faced with a terrible realization: he had to learn. And not just learn, but also do work and take tests. Seriously, students deserved to be paid.

Kim Dokja paid some attention. It was enough to understand all of the information, but not enough to actively participate in class discussions. Not that he wanted to, anyway.

The student next to Kim Dokja, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He constantly contributed to the class discussion, providing meaningful insights and solutions to complex problems.

Nearly every teacher and student loved this guy. Damn, even Kim Dokja had to admit that he was really cool. That guy would certainly be the protagonist in any story.

And Kim Dokja would always be a reader.

—

Hours later, it was time for lunch.

Kim Dokja’s footsteps echoed gently through the empty halls. His once steady cadence was gradually increasing, growing more and more frantic as he retraced his steps.

He checked the school website once again. Kim Dokja was sure that the library was supposed to have a noticeable double door entrance located somewhere on the third floor. It was not supposed to be this difficult to find.

Dokja lapped the third floor for the thousandth time before stopping at a particularly dull door that looked strikingly familiar. It was the door he had seen his classmate enter before class started the other day, the one he had assumed was a janitor's closet. He eyed it suspiciously before reaching a perfectly logical conclusion:

If another student was presumably allowed to enter, why couldn’t he?

Thus, Dokja found himself cautiously turning the handle and very, very slowly pushing the door open. Then, as if the universe was actively trying to spite him, the hinges squeaked. No, it didn’t just squeak, it practically screamed bloody murder so as to alert everyone in the school–or maybe the whole world– that it had been disturbed.

Kim Dokja realized that, at this point, his life would probably be better if the apocalypse began.

As he silently regretted every choice he had made that day, he figured he was in too deep now and invited himself into the room.

He was greeted by a poorly maintained array of shelves, each messily lined with instruments. He couldn’t identify which instruments were stored in the room due to his inexperience. However, the layers of dust coating them made it obvious that they hadn’t been used in a while.

The room seemed quite lonely. Or maybe he was reading into it too much. After all, what kind of person empathized with storage rooms?

A large structure caught his eye at the back of the room, behind the rows of shelves. It was a grand piano with a plain paper folder sitting on the music stand.

To his surprise, the piano cover wasn’t nearly as dusty as the rest of the room was. In fact, it seemed like it had been touched rather recently.

Letting his curiosity get the best of him, he lifted the cover to reveal a line of black and white keys. He prepared to perform an experimental C scale using what little knowledge he had retained from his kindergarten music class.

Less than a second later, Kim Dokja nearly keeled over and died, taking down every shelf with him. He was no musician, but it didn’t take a genius to recognize an out of tune piano, especially when it was off by more than an octave. (Out of tune instruments are physically painful to listen to, by the way.)

Kim Dokja pulled the cover back down and sat on the piano bench. Even if this wasn’t the library, it was far more peaceful than the cafeteria. The room seemed abandoned enough, he might as well keep it company.

He pulled his phone out of his bag and began to read a web novel, ignoring the gargantuan mountain of homework stuffed between his folders. He could do that another time, preferably in a decade or two.

Kim Dokja found the room’s silence and emptiness pleasant–

–up until he heard the door being thrown open. Damn it, he never thought that he would ever direct this much murderous intent towards a door.

A low, ominous voice resounded through the room, demanding attention. “What are you doing here?”

Kim Dokja’s heart rate reached new heights. He never actually turned on the lights, instead opting to rely on the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Only the back of the room where he was sitting was properly illuminated. So, it was impossible for him to see who came in. However, he could make out a colossal, dark figure stalking towards him.

Thankfully, Kim Dokja remembered that he had been asked a question and that he needed to say something.

Don’t say anything stupid, he thought. But then he opened his mouth.

“Just breathing.”

Kim Dokja chastised his tongue. He began considering getting rid of it, it was a useless appendage anyway.

The intruder grunted. Kim Dokja fervently prayed. Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me…

“Get. Out.”

The soon-to-be-murderer was hovering over him domineeringly. He was the Supreme King scrutinizing a lowly, misbehaving peasant (or maybe an annoying squid) who had just trespassed private property.

Meanwhile, Kim Dokja, who was now able to actually see him, was genuinely pissed.

How is this fair? Isn’t this the genius that sits next to me in class? I can’t remember his name… I hope it’s something stupid but it probably sounds really cool. Wait, why is he so ridiculously good looking? How does he make carrying that textbook in one hand look so easy? What’s with the emo lone wolf vibes? What kind of stupid god-tier protagonist genes did this guy inherit?

The guy scowled at Kim Dokja, who was lost in his thoughts. “I told you to get out.”

Kim Dokja flinched very slightly as his train of thought was derailed. “Right, sorry, I’ll leave.” Kim Dokja grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. But as he passed the guy, he caught a glimpse of the history worksheet in his hand.

Written in obnoxiously immaculate handwriting, was an incorrect answer, staring Kim Dokja in the eye. It seemed to be calling to him, begging for salvation.

Kim Dokja waited until he was just in front of the exit to speak.

“The third question is wrong.” He slipped out of the room, successfully maneuvering the door in silence.

The period was almost over, which wasn’t surprising given the amount of time Kim Dokja wasted looking for the library. As he headed back to his classroom, he thanked the gods (that he didn’t believe in, for if they did exist they would surely try to kill him) that he had survived that encounter in one piece.

—

When Kim Dokja arrived at his seat, he belatedly recalled that his seat was located less than two feet away from that scary guy.

And said “scary guy’s” eyes were drilling holes into Kim Dokja’s skull.

Well, it was safe to say that Kim Dokja was screwed.