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Chapter Text

Kim Dokja sat up in his bed, and wondered when he’d woken from the dream. It had been a peaceful thing, something that lingered on the edges of his mind and shook him to a deeper sleep. It was the same dream he’d had many times before, leaning against the windows of a subway and letting the motion lull him to sleep. 

It was the same dream, but Kim Dokja never remembered it. It had something to do with books, he thought, but most things had to do with books. 

It was over now. No point in lingering on it, or in the vague peace it left behind. No point in chasing something that didn’t exist. 

No point at all. 

Kim Dokja rolled out of bed, and went to face work that left him numb. The hints of that dream clung to the edges of his mind, but they weren’t strong enough to upset him. 

His guide senses were too weak for that. He was too weak for that, in general. Better this way, he thought. Strong guides attracted attention and prestige and everything that sounded like too much work. 

Kim Dokja had always been a weak guide, but that wasn’t really of a surprise. He hadn’t been much of anything, for all his life. A failure in exams, a failure in the army, and a failure in the workforce. That was the sum of his existence.  

Well, it didn’t really matter, and it wasn’t something he cared to linger on. The world would move on, and he’d move on with it. As long as there were still books to read, he’d be alright. Kim Dokja was a reader before a man, and a man before a guide. Protecting others was an afterthought, in a life that took too much from him already. 

He pressed his fingers to the curve of his phone, felt each nick and groove of the cool metal. 

As long as he had books, he’d be alright. 

It’s not like his guide senses mattered, anyway. No sentinel had ever felt right, and he didn’t think any ever would. If there was ever a guide to live without a partner, it was him— Kim Dokja was a solitary man, with a solitary life, with a solitary mind. 

He didn’t need to open his walls for anyone.

So he sat on the subway, to and from work, and thought about the last hints of the dream he could never remember. Maybe he’d see more of it tonight. Maybe it would linger more. 

It was a vain hope, but he let it fester. 

Even when the subway stopped, and the killings began, he couldn’t really feel anyone’s panic. It pressed against his mind but slid off, slick as water running down the windows of a train car. The kid’s shone a little brighter, slipped a little closer to him, but that was understandable. Lee Gilyoung’s fear wasn’t anything new, not considering the long years of his solitary life. But that was the only message to leak through his wall, even when the world around him was screaming with emotion. 

Kim Dokja wasn’t surprised. He had always been a weak guide with a strong shield, and even in the chaos of this new world, that hadn’t changed.

Something had changed though. Something had shifted, until a crack had formed in his shields and he couldn’t breathe through a grim smile. 

He hadn’t expected this. 

The fingers on his throat tightened, warm and damningly strong. Even as his feet dangled out across open air, and all his weight settled on a single, perfect, grip, Kim Dokja couldn’t be truly afraid. 

The eyes that were staring back at him, gold and powerful, were a sentinel’s. They were his sentinel’s, drawing him in like the final chapters of a book. 

Kim Dokja wanted to curse. 

“Will I let go of this hand or won’t I?”

The question echoed in his mind, longer than the words should have lasted. Emotions were leaking in through the fingers across his skin, through shields that should have stopped them and the walls he’d spent a lifetime putting around himself.

Kim Dokja wasn’t surprised. A reader wasn’t safe from the stories they’d let in, and Yoo Jonghyuk’s path had always been closest to his heart. 

He wasn’t surprised at all when a wave of emotion leaked through his skin. Shock, fury, the bitter taste of hope after a life that had burned it away in the fires of regression— Kim Dokja could feel it all, beating delicate wings against his throat. 

So much for a wall, he thought, and almost laughed. 

“Yoo Jonghyuk, don’t treat me like your subordinate. Get your hand off me and get lost, you damn jerk,” he said, and felt each word change the emotions beating towards him. 

There was a pause, and another flutter caught on his pulse and leapt free. It seemed to sink into his skin and burn him, hungry and desperate. Kim Dokja had to resist the urge to sink his mind into Yoo Jonghyuk’s, to feel everything the man felt. There was no guarantee he’d discover what he needed if he fell in, and every risk that he wouldn’t be able to pull away. 

But that emotion almost felt like surprise. 

“Even though you are my guide?” The man asked, eyes sharp and words sharper. The arm holding Kim Dokja up didn’t shift or move, and the man’s body was steady as stone. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had always been an immovable man. 

Kim Dokja smiled, and felt it creep up his lips and ink into his skin. He knew the answer even without his new skill, even without his guide abilities. It was as clear as if he’d read it from the pages of a book.

He might know the answer better than anyone else in the world. 

“You’ll do it because I am your guide.”

This time the surprise was bitter, and it came with a wash of sensation that felt painfully strong. Yoo Jonghyuk’s hand wasn’t shaking, but his jaw was clenched. 

Maybe he was feeling the draw too, the need to crawl inside each other’s skin and never let go. Maybe he wanted to reach forward and wrap around Kim Dokja the way Kim Dokja wanted to wrap around him. 

If he was, it didn’t matter. Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t going to save him, not now. 

“I believe you. You really are a prophet,” the protagonist of the novel said, and those fingers slipped free. 

Kim Dokja fell.  

He wasn’t surprised. He was angry, a dull ache that he’d grown used to. The wind tore at his back, pulling the pieces of his suit up and into the air. It would be destroyed soon enough, but that didn’t matter— it was cheap anyway, and the scenarios didn’t care about looking good. 

He could still feel the phantom traces of fingers, pressed to his throat and holding him up in the air. He could still see Yoo Jonghyuk too, and the man’s eyes were dark. 

The protagonist was smiling. This son of a bitch was smiling like Kim Dokja had brought him the best sword in the star stream, and cut down constellations with it. 

The man was smiling like he might not be alone, but Kim Dokja could still sense Yoo Jonghyuk’s emotions, even as the maws of a beast closed around him and water rushed under his suit. 

The man felt tired. So did Kim Dokja. That didn’t mean the bastard had to throw him off a bridge. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Yoo Jonghyuk had always been a strong sentinel, but that was no surprise.

In the hazy days of before, when he hadn’t been a regressor but a man, and hadn’t wielded a sword but a keyboard, that strength had helped him become the best. It kept his reflexes sharp, kept him winning. It gave him an edge above other competitors, an edge he used well. 

Before was a long time ago. 

In the now, in the life of survival, it kept his senses sharp and viciously fierce. He could hear enemies coming, and trace their heartbeats until they stopped cold at the end of his blade. He could smell explosives, and taste the sparks of fire before the smoke ever showed. 

Yoo Jonghyuk could see far enough that the whole of Seoul stretched out before him, a canvas of death and destruction. 

On the good days, that mattered. On the good days, that kept him moving forward. On the bad days, he could see every place that held a memory, and every place for his senses to catch and hold and zone. He hadn’t died from that yet, but he’d been marked with scars for it. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had always been a strong sentinel, and it was no different now. The only difference was the guide. 

There was a heartbeat, digging sharp fingers into his hearing. It was beating quickly, a staccato rhythm Yoo Jonghyuk couldn’t help but follow with every breath. It was strong, and he knew who it belonged too. 

He didn’t like it. 

It was the first time his sense had latched on to another person so quickly, the first time they’d clung to someone who hadn’t been a companion in another regression. Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t like surprise attachments, and he didn’t like this heartbeat. 

He focused on Yoo Mia’s heartbeat instead, soft and quick as a rabbit. It was clear, even though it was far away now, halfway across Seoul and stuck in the depths of the scenarios. In every life, he started with only Yoo Mia’s heartbeat ringing in his ears.

He usually finished with no heartbeats at all.  

But now there were two heartbeats where there should have been one, and the feel of warm skin burned into his palm. 

Something in him was howling. 

Even as the body fell from his fingers, Yoo Jonghyuk couldn’t look away. His sight was fixed on the flicker of his guide’s pulse, on the hint of skin at Kim Dokja’s collar. He could have counted the stranger’s eyelashes as they were splashed with water, could have breathed with him as he fell, could have fallen with him. Yoo Jonghyuk could have taken him, and protected him, and not been alone. 

He looked away, and it took every piece of control he’d ever won.

This wasn’t a journey to share with others. He knew that, had known that for decades. It wasn’t a journey to share with someone who had more information than they shared, let alone with a prophet. 

Kim Dokja looked annoyed as he fell. He didn’t look surprised. 

That was the most dangerous thing of all. 

Yoo Jonghyuk stepped away, and ash lingered on his tongue. His guide had appeared, after all these years. His guide had appeared, and was a prophet, just like Anna Croft. How many times would he be set up for betrayal? How many leashes would be placed on his neck by people who didn’t have the right? How many times would he need to break his teeth fighting the stars? 

Yoo Jonghyuk turned away, and the thoughts stormed through the world with him. But it was the quietest thought, insidious and dark, that made his fingers clench.  

Had he let his guide die three times, alone on that subway?

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t have time to consider that. He couldn’t care. Either his guide— Kim Dokja, don’t call him guide, it was pointless to call anyone guide when no one had worth beyond survival— would live, or he wouldn’t. 

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t care. 

Still, as he walked away, he listened to two heartbeats, one pounding quick and brutal from under the water, and another rabbit-soft and comfortingly familiar. They both lingered with him, as he collected the survivors and took them to the next station. 

Yoo Jonghyuk, despite everything, couldn’t stop listening to that new heart. 

Maybe that was what made him linger in the station for a day longer than he’d planned, senses tuned in to a faraway body. The scum of the scenario appeared around him, but he didn’t care, and didn’t listen to their words. 

They would attempt to manipulate him, he was sure. He’d killed them before. He would again. It didn’t really matter, when he had a future to change. 

It was the heartbeat that was the problem. That damned heartbeat, and how it made Yoo Jonghyuk stay for a day longer than he needed to. 

He really hated that heartbeat.

On the second day after he’d left the bridge, his sense of smell dialed up beyond his control. Every scent was too strong and every breath a miserable reminder of the scenarios. The stench of old blood dug into his nose until it was all he could focus on, the acrid touch of explosives he hadn’t stopped layering with the hint of perfume that clung to Yoo Sangah’s clothes. 

It was too much. 

Yoo Jonghyuk gripped the bridge of his nose and slammed his hand into a wall. It shook and cracked, dust scattering across his hair to stain it an ashy grey. The people in the station glanced his way, and Kim Dokja’s posse shot him glares ranging from nervous to concerned. 

He didn’t care. 

Lee Hyunsung approached after a moment, hands held up as a peace offering. Yoo Jonghyuk shot him a look and dug his fist deeper into the wall. A piece of metal caught on his skin and bent under the pressure. 

It was so easy to adapt to the scenarios. 

“Jonghyuk-ssi, it’s not good to cause instability. The walls could collapse.”

“I know,” he said, and turned away. He didn’t feel better, not really, not when the heartbeat echoed in his ears. The pain was grounding though, let him focus on touch instead of smell. Slowly, slowly, he brought himself back under control, until the scents had vanished and he couldn’t see beyond the dark end of the tunnels. 

The world was carefully bland, like he’d ripped away all the senses that marked him as something more cursed than human. He’d die faster like this, but live better. Right now, the quality of life didn’t matter.  

He’d almost zoned. 

This was too dangerous. Yoo Jonghyuk lived as a solitary sentinel, and had for the regressions beyond this life. He didn’t lose control, not anymore. He didn’t slip and fall into a zone, not until a heartbeat had snaked its way into his hearing along with a single, damning, name. 

Kim Dokja. It was that man’s fault. Maybe Yoo Jonghyuk should have eliminated him after all, ripped his body in half and cut out a threat. He would have, if he’d known that damn sound would distract him like this. 

It was too easy to latch on to the heartbeats of old companions, too easy for him to remember them alive instead of dead. Even now, it took a conscious effort to keep himself from following the rhythm of Lee Hyunsung’s heart, as it beat a steady march a few steps away. He ignored it, because he had to. 

But he couldn’t ignore the beat of Kim Dokja’s heart. 

It was still there, and still strong. For four days it had been muted, as if heard through water and bone and muscle. Yoo Jonghyuk knew where it had been. He was grimly amazed he could still hear it through the belly of a Sea Commander. 

But he’d always been a strong sentinel, and his brittle senses had latched on to the first promise of a guide. Hearing the heartbeat was no surprise, even if he wished it hadn’t happened. 

Even if he’d ignore it, as he ignored everything that didn’t meet his goal. 

It fluttered in and out for the next few days, until one morning it went slow from sleep. It was less quiet now, not muffled by water but bright and proud. 

It was on land, and getting closer. 

Yoo Jonghyuk stood at the entrance to the tunnels, and wondered why he hadn’t left yet. His hand was aching, and he didn’t bother to heal it. It was barely bruised, and the lingering ache was grounding. That feeling was useful now.  

The man had survived. The man had shown his worth and his skill, killing a Sea Commander and escaping from a difficult hidden scenario. The man had done everything Yoo Jonghyuk could have, in the same place. 

Kim Dokja was worthy, objectively. But could Yoo Jonghyuk risk it? Could he risk accepting the man as a companion and keeping him close? Could he afford the cost of hearing that heartbeat so near everyday?

Could he cut out the sentinel, and keep the iron?

Yoo Jonghyuk thought he could. He thought that even if he couldn’t, he would cut Kim Dokja down before it was a problem. That heartbeat walked closer, nearer and nearer with every breath. 

Yoo Jonghyuk would ensure it. 

Finally, the heartbeat came to the gate of the tunnels, close enough that Yoo Jonghyuk could reach it in a few quick steps. 

It was stronger than it had been the first time. 

He stood there, among the desperate and quiet survivors. He waited, even when he heard the scum of this scenario try to attack that steady heartbeat, even when his hearing scaled up too high and he could hear every grunt and snarl of the fight. 

He waited, even though every sentinel instinct in his body wanted him to rip the attackers to pieces. 

And when the heartbeat finally stepped into the main area of the tunnels, Yoo Jonghyuk was watching. 

He was watching too closely. 

Kim Dokja looked tired. That was the first thing Yoo Jonghyuk noticed, eyes flicking up lean legs and ill fitting clothes. From a glance Yoo Jonghyuk could tell the clothes weren’t Kim Dokja’s. They smelled like death and the beginnings of rot, a lingering hint of poison curling up to sting his nose. 

Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t surprised; little survived the Sea Commander’s stomach, and less survived the swim through an ocean of monsters. 

Little except him and this man. This was too dangerous. 

Kim Dokja glanced towards him now, looking almost surprised. Yoo Jonghyuk felt an itch crawl up his spine, a need to move closer. 

He didn’t. 

There was a woman slung across Kim Dokja’s shoulder, her breathing shallow but her glare sharp. There was a hint of something glassy in her eyes, and Yoo Jonghyuk spared a moment to look her over more carefully. 

Ripped skirt, shaking hands, cold glare that matched the bruises across her thighs. A victim of the scum of the scenario, like so many others.

He should have cleaned this place up earlier.  

“Jonghyuk, I’m surprised you are still here,” Kim Dokja said, like they were friends, like they had a right to speak to each other. It felt like a challenge, and the polite smile made that reality. 

Yoo Jonghyuk stared him down, even as the man shifted and put the woman against the ground. He didn’t listen to the steady beat of that heart.  

“You lived.”

“No thanks to you.” The smile looked sharp for a second, before it faded into something tired. Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes caught on the lingering drops of water in Kim Dokja’s hair, on the signs of stress and fighting that clung to the man’s smile. There was a drop of blood drying across his jaw, staining pale skin an ugly red. 

Yoo Jonghyuk wanted to wipe it off. 

“…”

The others Yoo Jonghyuk led here gathered quickly, relief on all their faces. The boy especially looked happy, hands going still and steady for the first time since Kim Dokja fell. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had looked at him with the Great Sage’s Eye, and knew his worth. The woman, Yoo Sangah, had a strong sponsor too, and of course he’d watched Lee Hyunsung since the beginning. They could all survive and become useful, could have helped him reach the end scenarios. 

But they’d all waited for Kim Dokja instead. So had Yoo Jonghyuk. 

He didn’t want to think about that. 

“Dokja-ssi! You’re alright!”

“Ah, Jonghyuk-ssi said you were alive.”

“Hyung!”

The voices echoed out, and Yoo Jonghyuk moved away and tuned them out.  There wasn’t time to waste in this place, not when the Kings’ Game waited ahead of him. He walked down, towards the tunnels and the rest of the scenarios. 

But no footsteps followed him. 

He turned around, but his guide wasn’t following. The man was kneeling next to the woman he’d saved instead, exchanging food for coins. The others were gathered around him, bodies turned towards Kim Dokja like the man was a sun. 

But he wasn’t following Yoo Jonghyuk. Suddenly, Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t sure why he’d expected that. 

He shouldn’t have expected it, he thought, as he left without looking back. 

So began a restless cycle. Yoo Jonghyuk paced a circle around the tunnels, impatience eating at his skin. He went into the depths of the rat dens, and took a stove and enough to give him an edge in the next scenario. He tore enemies to pieces and walked alone. He did everything except leave. 

He should leave. 

On the second day, Kim Dokja took the others out into the entrance of the tunnels, and Yoo Jonghyuk—

He wouldn’t follow. The man wouldn’t die, or he wasn’t as useful as claimed. There was no need to waste time, saving a man who wasn’t useful. 

Yoo Jonghyuk leaned against the stairs leading down into the deeper tunnels, and did not go after his guide. 

He waited instead, and wondered why he was waiting at all. 

“Kim Dokja,” he said, when the man emerged from the shadows of the ground rat dens. Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t been listening to that heartbeat, hadn’t traced it as it moved under the earth and broken concrete.

But he had been waiting.  

“Come with me,” he said, and hated how important the words sounded. The man was a prophet, and had proved he could survive the teeth of the scenario. He was useful. That was all this was. 

That was all it could be. 

“Okay,” Kim Dokja said, meeting his eyes with a stare that looked too knowing to be comfortable. “But only under one condition. You have to bring them too.” 

The man pointed at the people standing behind him, hand steady and a new sword hanging at his waist. He looked confident, and strong, but Yoo Jonghyuk could hear his heartbeat skip a beat.

Not that he was listening to it, or to Kim Dokja.  

He looked at the group anyway, and met the sharp glare of the woman from before. She was strong willed but useless. Lee Hyunsung would be useful, and the boy too. But the rest? Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t regressed to save the weak, when he needed to tear down the stars. 

“I won’t carry dead weight.”

“So, you can’t keep all of us safe then?” Kim Dokja said, with a steady look. Yoo Jonghyuk knew he was being baited. 

He— he wasn’t angry. 

His smell had steadied, latching onto the hint of old sweat, the grease of the subway, and something quiet that Yoo Jonghyuk thought was uniquely Kim Dokja. 

It smelled good. Yoo Jonghyuk hated that. He hated that the smell had already dug claws into his nose and stayed there, hot with the sense of comfort. He didn’t need a guide. He didn’t need this, or to be shackled to protecting useless people. 

He should never have waited. 

There wasn’t a sound as he turned to walk away, not even a heartbeat. He shut off his hearing viciously, slamming down the strongest walls he had to keep the heartbeat from trickling in. 

Yoo Jonghyuk was beginning to realize there was such a thing as too much of Kim Dokja.  

“Wait for a moment, Yoo Jonghyuk.” 

He didn’t stop, but he didn’t start running, and that was even more damning. When had a voice worked its way back into his hearing? Yoo Jonghyuk was certain he’d shut it off, certain as he always was. 

That left only one option. He shouldn’t be surprised his guide was strong enough for this— they matched in strength as they matched in half-formed bond. 

Yoo Jonghyuk wanted to break something. He kept walking. Kim Dokja kept talking too, directly into his mind like a parasite. 

“Don’t you want to break through the 46^th scenario?”

He stopped. There was still no heartbeat. 

“I can help you. But I’m not going to be your follower. If you want my information, you have to work with my conditions too.”

A companion. The man wanted to be a companion. Or maybe the man wanted Yoo Jonghyuk to be the companion, and Kim Dokja the one to lead the way. 

The urge to turn around was growing stronger. 

It took a long and slow moment for his hearing to fade back in, and the first thing he heard was that heartbeat. 

Maybe it would be better to just not hear at all.

“You are responsible for their survival,” he said at last, and the words tasted like ash and dust. It was a rational decision, a reasonable one. He was going to settle things in this regression, and he needed as much information as possible. That was the only reason. 

He could kill Kim Dokja if the man proved troublesome. He would. 

“But my survival is up to you, isn’t it Yoo Jonghyuk?”

To that, he refused to reply. 

Chapter Text

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t leave. 

He spent long minutes standing beside Kim Dokja, listening to the rhythm of a single heartbeat. He stood, a silent sentinel, as Kim Dokja guided his group back to the other survivors.

Yoo Jonghyuk did nothing but protect. He hated that it felt right. 

Restless, he stepped around, glared out at the frantic heartbeats ringing through the tunnels. None of these people were really survivors. They weren’t victims, and they didn’t deserve his sympathy. 

Everyone who made it out now was a killer, and Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t here to protect them. 

“We will leave in the morning,” he said, turning to the heartbeat that never left him. Kim Dokja didn’t nod, something in his eyes flashing with a quiet knowledge. The man was standing close, close enough to reach out and touch and claim. 

Yoo Jonghyuk kept his hands at his sides. 

“Answer me, Kim Dokja,” he said, after the man only watched and didn’t speak. The heartbeat didn’t change, and Kim Dokja didn’t shift away. 

He was still too close. 

“We can leave tomorrow,” the man answered, and focused eyes moved to the scum around them. They looked thoughtful but not strained, like Kim Dokja was planning for a fight that he knew he could win. And that was true— with Yoo Jonghyuk here, he could win any fight of the lower scenarios. 

Yoo Jonghyuk took a step away, and wanted to punch the walls around them into dust. 

He remembered the food Kim Dokja had sold, and what he’d told them all to eat, and wondered how much Kim Dokja knew. How much had the man planned? How much information did he have? 

Yoo Jonghyuk listened to a heartbeat, and didn’t know. He couldn’t care. The cost of survival was about to begin, and there were more important things to consider than Kim Dokja. 

Even if that seemed to be all Yoo Jonghyuk could do. 

[There are 20 minutes left until the paid settlement.]

[Prepare the survival fee.]

“Wait. We can’t leave that scum here, they’ll abuse everyone.” The voice was bright, sharp. It was filled with an anger that Yoo Jonghyuk knew like an old companion, had worn on his skin and used to fight through three deaths.

It was familiar. He turned to face the group around Kim Dokja, watched each face shift and change under stale lights. 

It was the woman from before, the one Kim Dokja had saved. She was staring at him, eyes hard. He didn’t know her name, not yet. It had barely been worth checking before, just like the rest of them. It was barely worth checking now, but he did it anyway. Gold flashed from his eye for a heartbeat, and information streamed in like a tide. 

Jung Heewon, no sponsor. A sentinel. Not valuable, and not worth the risk. 

But her heartbeat was angry enough to start killing.  

“Abusers will show up everywhere, Heewon-ssi. Will you kill them? Will you spare them? There is nowhere to confine them to if you do,” said Kim Dokja, and the words were quiet. So were the rumbling plans of Cheon Inho he could hear, building in the background. The man had not tried to manipulate them immediately, but he would have to if he wanted to keep power over this station. 

The weak had to prove their strength to control the weak. Pitiful.  

Yoo Jonghyuk had faced this choice before. He’d faced this place before, and killed this man before. 

He was tired of wasting time. 

“Come on.” He turned to Jung Heewon, and she met his glare head on. Her skirt was torn, ripped across the bottom. She was a sentinel, and a reasonably strong one. She would have felt every sensation. She wouldn’t ever be able to forget it, and looking at her stare, Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t think she wanted to. “If you want your revenge, move faster than me.”

And then he started killing. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Kim Dokja hadn’t really expected Yoo Jonghyuk to stay. Sure, on the original third regression, the man had stayed a full four days before leaving. He’d done exactly what he had this round too, and killed the people belonging to the main group of survivors. 

But this round wasn’t like any round before. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had never left a guide alive before, let alone one who wanted to control him. He’d never even been compatible with a guide, not like this, not in the way that made Kim Dokja’s skin ache for touch whenever they stood too close. 

This round was strange. 

There had to be a glitch in the system, or something broken by the addition of people who weren’t characters. Maybe there was a constellation changing the scope of the scenario, or maybe it was Yoo Jonghyuk’s sponsor bending the rules. Either was more feasible than this fake reality. 

There was no way Kim Dokja was Yoo Jonghyuk’s guide. He’d need to find the cause of this before it got him killed, or worse— distracted. 

He was surprised it hadn’t already, actually. Kim Dokja had expected Yoo Jonghyuk to stab him as soon as he stepped foot in the station. He’d even planned on the right words to stop it, and force Yoo Jonghyuk to consider him too valuable to kill. 

Kim Dokja had planned for a sword to the gut, a hand on his neck. He’d planned for what he’d read, under the dreaming lights of the subway for all those years. 

It never came. 

Instead, Yoo Jonghyuk had just stared with an angry intensity, like Kim Dokja was a scenario to be understood and beaten. 

He was still staring now, damn it. Kim Dokja had known that he wouldn’t be able to fly under the radar, and he hadn’t wanted to— survival depended on attracting attention, and telling compelling stories. At least, it did for now. Someday it wouldn’t. Someday, Kim Dokja thought he might change that.

He’d force the <Star Stream> to give him a story unlike any other, someday.

But he hadn’t expected the protagonist would stare at him so hungrily. This would throw a wrench in his plans, especially if he wanted to operate as a separate king. Maybe he should reconsider them, he thought, taking a step further into the tunnels. 

Maybe he should adjust to fit this new problem. 

It could benefit them to have only one king, but he wasn’t sure he trusted Yoo Jonghyuk to be that person. Or rather, he trusted Yoo Jonghyuk to be the Supreme King, and rule over others like a god, to fight and defend and kill in the name of survival. 

Kim Dokja just didn’t trust him to rule over Kim Dokja. 

Yoo Jonghyuk of the third round didn’t know what he needed to get to the end. Kim Dokja did. He had plans of his own, and they wouldn’t write themselves. No, it was bad enough the man was his sentinel. At least Kim Dokja could use that if he was careful, keep the protagonist sane and stable through the scenarios. 

But Yoo Jonghyuk couldn’t be his king.

They continued on the path to Chungmuro quickly the next morning. Kim Dokja killed the specter before it could touch Yoo Jonghyuk, cutting it down with the edge of his new sword and quick motions. 

The man stared at him as he did, silent for a long moment. Yoo Jonghyuk always seemed to be staring at him. 

Kim Dokja shot him a level look and walked away. 

The rest of the scenario passed quickly, with the protagonist’s strength at their back. Kim Dokja’s plans went smoother, and enemies died faster, when Yoo Jonghyuk raised a weapon. 

Really, an unfair person, Kim Dokja thought, watching harsh lights catch on the curve of Yoo Jonghyuk’s jaw and paint it beautiful. 

No one should have so many advantages. 

The man disappeared for a few hours, and returned to them with Lee Jihye in tow. Her eyes were already filled with the first hints of hero worship, and she already looked at Yoo Jonghyuk and called him Master. 

Kim Dokja wished he could have gotten to her first but well, it wouldn’t be horrible as long as Yoo Jonghyuk stayed nearby. It would be double the strength, for now, and a path cut by swords that gleamed in moonlight. And the protagonist didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. 

That was the strangest thing of all. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Chungmuro was exactly as Kim Dokja had read it— filled with fear and the corruption of the Landlord’s Alliance. It was filled with people too, scared voices and emotions squirming across the edge of his shield. 

Thankfully, he felt nothing. 

Kim Dokja put out a hand without thinking as they stepped in, fingers brushing the edge of a firm chest. Yoo Jonghyuk froze. So did Kim Dokja. 

Touch was such a dangerous thing. So was his sentinel’s emotion, clinging to the edge of Kim Dokja’s skin like the last memories of a great story fading away. 

Yoo Jonghyuk felt unsettled. So was Kim Dokja.

This couldn’t be real. 

“Don’t kill them yet, Yoo Jonghyuk. Wait a day,” he said, taking a step back. The others moved closer, bunching together against the strangers filling old tunnels. 

Yoo Jonghyuk just stood apart, and watched him. 

“You do not command me, Kim Dokja,” the man said, and his voice was cold. That was to be expected— Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t take commands well, let alone from a stranger who tried to control him. But Kim Dokja had good reasons not to move, and for all that Yoo Jonghyuk killed as easily as breathing, he kept his promises. 

Kim Dokja would survive under Yoo Jonghyuk’s protection. Now he just had to drag them both to the end of the world.

And he’d do that whether Yoo Jonghyuk wanted it or not, Kim Dokja thought, smiling at the protagonist. The man looked like he wanted to haul Kim Dokja up and threaten him, but he didn’t move. Kim Dokja knew why. 

Touch was so dangerous.  

“Don’t you want me to prove I can keep them alive?” He asked, quiet enough only a sentinel would be able to hear. To the side, Jung Heewon shifted. 

Kim Dokja knew why that happened too. 

“Why would I care if they are alive?”

Kim Dokja looked at Lee Hyunsung, and Yoo Jonghyuk followed his gaze. “Don’t you?” 

There was a pause, long enough that Kim Dokja knew he’d spoken well. Yoo Jonghyuk stayed still as a predator, until Lee Hyunsung started to shift awkwardly and an uncomfortable flush crawled up soldier-skin. Finally, the protagonist looked away. 

It was a shame Kim Dokja was too weak to feel his emotions, but he could read them clear in the air. 

「  If things go this way, I can raise Lee Hyunsung’s level too. He’ll be useful. 」

“You have a day. And you will survive, if you want to be called my companion,” Yoo Jonghyuk said, and he was too far away to reach out and touch. Kim Dokja’s fingers twitched, once. That was all, and that was manageable. 

He smiled. “I thought I was looking at my protector.”

「 Being cheeky isn’t good, but I can’t kill him now. 」

Yoo Jonghyuk shot him a glare and walked away, moving like a snake through clear water. The protagonist was probably ready to strangle him, but Kim Dokja knew it wouldn’t happen immediately. He knew how Yoo Jonghyuk thought better than anyone, and if the man hadn’t killed him yet, Kim Dokja had a good chance at staying alive. 

He had a good chance at dragging the stubborn bastard along with him, too. That would be useful. It would help with the urge to walk closure, and the weak flutter of his shields every time Yoo Jonghyuk drew near. 

It would help with what Kim Dokja couldn’t control. 

He was just glad he’d always been a weak guide, and that his walls seemed to leave him mostly immune to the pull. It kept him from aching for the bond the way he’d heard was normal. 

The twinge in his chest was manageable, all things considered. 

So Kim Dokja stood up and followed, without worrying too much about being gutted by a trigger-happy protagonist. 

Now, being choked was probably still on the table. But at least if Yoo Jonghyuk grabbed his neck, the man would have to touch his skin. That was probably enough to send him into a zone if he didn’t use Kim Dokja as a baseline. 

For any other sentinel, that would be a deterrent. For the protagonist? It was entirely possible he’d be fine. Kim Dokja shook his head, felt his walls shake with him. Damn Yoo Jonghyuk, the bastard got too many perks. 

But he washed those thoughts away quickly, let then fade like the lights flickering out in a subway. He looked down at the green squares lighting up the ground. 

There were more important things to worry about now. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Yoo Jonghyuk waited for a day, because of Kim Dokja’s request. He stayed, prowling the tunnels and wasting time killing weak monsters, for a full day. Objectively, this was a pathetic thing. Yoo Jonghyuk was only doing this to see what Kim Dokja would do, only doing this because his guide had requested it. 

Yoo Jonghyuk was being weak, as he’d sworn to never be. 

But his choices were clear, and they’d be determined by this scenario. If Kim Dokja failed here, Yoo Jonghyuk would kill him and move on. If Kim Dokja succeeded, Yoo Jonghyuk would use him as he needed to reach the end. 

So for a day, he watched Kim Dokja’s group. Mostly, he watched the other sentinel around Kim Dokja. 

Yoo Jonghyuk observed her carefully, how her breathing had grown steadier, how she met his gaze and didn’t flinch. He watched her, and stood a little closer to Kim Dokja. 

Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t a fool. He knew the man was his, from sharp eyes to unexpectedly clever mind. He also knew that sentinels could use guides that weren’t theirs. 

He wasn’t going to claim Kim Dokja, but that didn’t mean he’d sit back and let—

He stopped, unclenching his hands from his pants. He hadn’t bought better equipment yet, so they were a plain cotton. They couldn’t handle angry fingers, and besides, he wasn’t angry. It was just a bad idea to let the man bond to a sentinel. It would distract all three of them. 

In the middle of these scenarios, they couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

So he watched, as Kim Dokja planned, as the others shifted with nerves and the fresh smell of fear. 

The first night would be difficult to survive for most, but the calm Kim Dokja walked with said it wouldn’t be a problem. 

It wasn’t. 

Yoo Jonghyuk leaned against a wall and watched him work, during those last few hours of the first day. He trained Lee Jihye, and watched Kim Dokja, and watched the other sentinel, and listened to a heartbeat. 

Yoo Jonghyuk really was weak. 

He didn’t kill, as promised, even when there were too few safe zones, and too many useless companions. 

Kim Dokja had a plan anyway. Yoo Jonghyuk was beginning to suspect Kim Dokja always had a plan. He was beginning to suspect those plans would kill him. 

“We survived the night, Yoo Jonghyuk,” Kim Dokja said in the morning, hands shaking and body rough with exhaustion. Yoo Jonghyuk tried not to remember how he’d almost thrown himself out of the safe zone to protect Kim Dokja, tried not to remember how quickly the man had pulled out the Specter’s Stone.

He tried not to remember how light and ghostly that heartbeat had gotten, but it was difficult. 

Yoo Jonghyuk thought his hands might be shaking, if he were any less a warrior. It was a good thing then that he wasn’t. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t cleared them out yet,” the man said, nodding towards the Landlord Alliance. Yoo Jonghyuk turned to fully face him, motions quicker than he wanted. 

He felt angry, but he couldn’t stop himself from standing close. 

“I’m not charitable,” Yoo Jonghyuk replied, instead of saying you asked me not to. The heartbeat sounded louder, for a quiet second, as if it skipped a beat. Kim Dokja was still pale, a sleepless night cutting bags under his eyes. 

Yoo Jonghyuk noticed them, because he noticed everything about Kim Dokja. 

“It’s not charity. They are a nuisance, aren’t they? It seems unlike you to leave a nuisance alive, even if I asked.”

Kim Dokja wasn’t wrong. In the last regression, Yoo Jonghyuk had wiped out the Landlords’ Association, dug his sword into the rotten roots of this place and cut the infection free. 

This time, he’d been too focused to care. 

That was a problem, he realized, watching Kim Dokja watch him. Kim Dokja was a problem, with eyes that were far too calm and an understanding that ran far too deep. 

Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t stopped listening to that heartbeat in days. It had grown loud enough to wash everything else out, a steady anchor for his hearing and his senses. It had grown into a comfort, and that was the most dangerous thing of all. 

He should have killed Kim Dokja on the bridge. 

“Your day is almost up,” he said, and watched Kim Dokja’s eyes go thoughtful. 

Without pausing, he turned away, and walked the opposite direction. He still had a few hours left before the end of their deal, a few hours before his promise was up. Then, Yoo Jonghyuk would destroy this place. Now, he forced himself to leave. 

He needed to break something before he broke and reached for Kim Dokja. 

There was a vague memory pulling at his mind, a hint of rewards and equipment that could prove useful. Was it— ah yes, the hidden theater dungeon was nearby. It was a little strange he didn’t remember the details of the battles involved, but Yoo Jonghyuk kept walking. It would be difficult, but clearing it would give him some of the strength and weaponry he needed to push past the future scenarios. 

Clearing it would keep his senses better focused too, force him to rely on sight and smell and everything but hearing.

“Lee Jihye,” he said, and heard a quiet twitch from beside him. She’d become his shadow, tracing his steps like blood traced the path of his blade. But she’d grow into a warrior in her own right soon enough. 

Yoo Jonghyuk was already starting to listen to her heartbeat. 

“Master?”

“Stay here. Don’t let them die.”

That was all that needed to be said. 

Yoo Jonghyuk walked into the shadows of the tunnels, and did not listen to the loudest heartbeat behind him. It was steady and strong, but it jumped once, as he stepped away. 

He didn’t listen. 

Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have listened more closely to everything, because the sway of old memories wasn’t something he could escape. 

The eighth floor caught Yoo Jonghyuk like a riptide wrapping around his ankles, fast and perilously soothing. He sank down, as the heartbeat faded into something far away and quiet, and memories swelled to wash everything away. 

The happy laugh of Lee Seolhwa at their children’s questions, the way Yoo Mia’s eyes had sparkled when the dome broke over Seoul and the light streamed in to wash broken streets in gold and sunshine, Lee Jihye’s sharp smile before a fight—

These things came for him, and he fell deeper.  

These memories were so loud. They pooled over his skin, a gentle tide made of smiles and touch and the last heartbeats of a dozen companions. 

Yoo Jonghyuk felt that tide, and fell. 

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but the hints of happiness clung to him and dragged him down. He didn’t mind. Wasn’t it better to remember the happiness, than to open his eyes to the bleak realities of the world?

Wasn’t this just… easier?

“Wake up, you bastard!”

There was a heartbeat, curling against his neck. It felt like it was pulling him up, gentle threads wrapping around him and keeping the tide at bay. The memories were still there, and they were still warm and quietly happy. 

But the threads were stronger, made of stardust and a light that Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t seen. Whoever owned those threads was powerful, and had crept under the cold steel of his walls and wrapped around his thoughts. 

It was a mind that felt familiar, like it had always been there, like it was always there, too vast to know but too strong to look away from. The heartbeat was louder too, louder than any laughter or smile. It sounded stressed, beating a quick tempo that was faster than Yoo Jonghyuk had heard it before. 

And he’d heard it many times before, he realized. This heartbeat was one that had settled into his memories and grounded his senses. 

Kim Dokja was stressed. 

“You idiot! Don’t you give up so early! Don’t you give up yet!

Slowly, Yoo Jonghyuk blinked. The world came into focus, like he was dragging himself up from a zone, and in the fading light he saw only Kim Dokja, with pale skin and eyes that hadn’t wavered. Kim Dokja, who’s mind felt soothing and vast.  

Kim Dokja, who’s sword was burning against his. 

“Kim Dokja,” he said, and it felt like a quiet revelation. All the other things the man had said, moments of the lives Yoo Jonghyuk had lived and the places he’d fought, trickled through his mind. He felt like he’d been cracked open, and in the open space of his ribcage, Kim Dokja had cradled his heart and known it. 

It was an unpleasant feeling. 

He looked closer, but all he saw was pale skin and tired eyes. “Who are you?”

“You woke up,” the man replied instead of an answer, staring at Yoo Jonghyuk like he was surprised. “Let’s finish the enemy, Yoo Jonghyuk.”

Yoo Jonghyuk listened to a heartbeat, and watched Kim Dokja fight, and raised his sword, and couldn’t stop thinking about the threads of that mind. 

The theater master died. Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t defeated him. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had hardly done anything at all. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

[The fourth main scenario will start in 5 minutes!]

Kim Dokja had erased the scenario while Yoo Jonghyuk was in the dungeon. Kim Dokja had recruited one of the Ten Evils, and forced him to obey his commands. Kim Dokja had ensured almost everyone would survive, and destroyed every monster left in the scenario. 

Kim Dokja had done everything Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t been able to. 

Yoo Jonghyuk thought of the heartbeat that had pulled him free, and wondered if Kim Dokja was the more valuable one after all. He took a step forward, followed Kim Dokja’s path. He moved, as if through a cold and comforting dream. 

They had reached the Way of Kings. 

[The sub scenario has arrived!]

+

[Sub Scenario – Elect a Representative]

Category: Sub

Difficulty: C

Clear Conditions: Take the ‘white flag’ installed in the centre of the platform.

Time Limit: 30 minutes

Compensation: 1,000 coins, Chungmuro’s representative.

Failure: ―

* The representative of the station can exercise strong control over the members.

+

Kim Dokja reached for the flag, and shifted the white fabric through his fingers. He looked up, meeting Yoo Jonghyuk’s eyes with a carefully sculpted confidence. It looked bright, and Yoo Jonghyuk thought he could feel it shift against his mind. 

He thought he could still feel Kim Dokja. 

“I think you can get your own flag,” the man said, and it sounded like a challenge. 

[‘Kim Dokja’ has occupied the white flag.]

[If the white flag doesn’t change owners in the next five minutes, Chungmuro will be under his control.]

[If the flag is snatched in the next five minutes, the timer will reset.]

A timer appeared in the air.

[5:00]

Yoo Jonghyuk reached forward to grab the edge of Kim Dokja’s collar. The other sentinel tried to stop him, as did Lee Hyunsung, as did the boy, as did every one of the companions that Kim Dokja had forged. Yoo Jonghyuk glared them down, but it was Kim Dokja’s nod that had them moving away. 

They listened to Kim Dokja before they ran from Yoo Jonghyuk’s threat. This was the power of not just a guide, but one who knew people. 

This was Kim Dokja, and Yoo Jonghyuk was still listening to his heartbeat.

“You think I wouldn’t kill them?” He asked, and carefully didn’t let his fingers brush Kim Dokja’s skin. Cheap fabric caught on his callouses, but he didn’t pay attention to it. 

If he wasn’t careful, he would get lost in the smell of the subway, and old blood. 

Kim Dokja stayed still, but his heartbeat picked up. “I think you don’t need to. You can become the Supreme King by conquering other stations.”

“I could become a king by taking the flag from you now,” Yoo Jonghyuk said, and ignored how warm Kim Dokja’s lips looked. If he pulled him any closer, he could touch them. 

He wouldn’t. 

“You won’t,” the man said, and his eyes were steady. No one else dared move, not with Yoo Jonghyuk standing before them, not with the companions spread out to guard the platform. They were alone in this decision, and Yoo Jonghyuk was listening to a single heartbeat. 

“Why? Why are you so sure?”

“You can’t break through the 46^th scenario alone.”

It was true, but it wasn’t important. Yoo Jonghyuk stared at the man in front of him, and listened to the sound of his heartbeat. It was steady, and more importantly, it was familiar. 

He let go. 

[The sub scenario has ended.]

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

There was a fight as soon as the walls protecting them came down, but Yoo Jonghyuk had been expecting it. He took care of the strangers quickly, and Kim Dokja’s eyes glinted with plans. 

Yoo Jonghyuk would need to leave soon, he thought, listening to a steady heartbeat. He would need a flag of his own, to claim the throne and the perks of the role.

He’d need to leave.  

“Master,” Lee Jihye began, and her voice was quiet. “You asked me to watch over Kim Dokja. Can I ask why?”

“It is a mistake,” he said, and listened to the steady rhythm of Kim Dokja’s heartbeat. It was slower than Yoo Mia’s ever was, but that wasn’t a surprise. Children’s hearts beat faster. 

They died faster too. 

He leaned back against a wall so he didn’t shift closer, closed his eyes so his sight didn’t slide over smooth skin and warm lips. Yoo Jonghyuk did everything he had to, to stay away from Kim Dokja. 

But he didn’t leave. He’d go soon, to get another flag and conquer a few nearby stations. He’d leave, and leave Kim Dokja to survive alone. 

The guide would be fine. 

The other sentinel, the one with the useful trait and strong arm, was here anyway. She was sitting beside Kim Dokja, a silent guard and guardian. Yoo Jonghyuk could hear her heartbeat too, but it was quiet. All the others were quiet and manageable, under the hypnotic rhythm of Kim Dokja’s pulse. 

Still. She was sitting closer to his guide than he was. If she was a half decent sentinel, she would be able to hear him from here. Maybe she’d be listening too. She should be listening, for threats and problems. She had better be, since she was guarding Kim Dokja. 

Yoo Jonghyuk’s hearing spiraled closer to that steady heartbeat, and clung to it like it was precious. 

He’d brushed off Lee Jihye’s question, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe he should say more before he left. Yoo Jonghyuk opened his mouth into the quiet echo of the scenario, and spoke. 

“He’s my guide.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. The sentinel’s fingers twitched around her sword handle, and Yoo Jonghyuk opened his eyes and didn’t look away from that stare. Her eyes were sharp, but they weren’t angry. Protective, maybe, in a way that reminded Yoo Jonghyuk of his first regression, and the companions he’d made there. 

But these weren’t his companions, were they? They were Kim Dokja’s. 

And Kim Dokja was his. 

It was later, when the others had curled up in different corners and caught the pieces of rest they could, that Kim Dokja approached him. 

Yoo Jonghyuk sat still and watched him walk closer. His sword was slung over his lap, and he let his fingers rest on the sheath and linger. It grounded his touch, to feel the cold silver and smooth leather. 

It was better than reaching for Kim Dokja. 

“You always have to sit apart, don’t you?” It was a question, but it was said with the same wry knowing that Kim Dokja always wore around him. 

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t bother to respond. 

The man sat down after a moment, leaning against the wall beside him. He was so close. “Have you zoned since the hidden dungeon?”

Yoo Jonghyuk pressed down harder on his sword, and looked sideways enough to glare. His sight caught on Kim Dokja’s skin for a heartbeat, long enough to be distracting, long enough to make his fingers ache. He wanted to reach out. 

He should leave. 

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it? Our fight in the theater dungeon woke you up, but I don’t want to put our survival at risk because you zone.”

“It wasn’t the fight,” he snapped, and each word felt like it was cut out of his throat. They tasted bitter, and like ash and dust on his tongue. 

Was Kim Dokja a fool? 

There was no point in explaining that a heartbeat had pulled him free. There was no reason to think about how Kim Dokja’s voice had curled over his skin and held him steady. There was nothing he could do to explain how deeply the questions had cut into him. 

There was a beat of silence then, sharp and tense. 

“Did the words work?” The man asked, and Yoo Jonghyuk could only glare. 

His guide really was such a fool. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“You won’t.”

“I will,” Kim Dokja responded, picking up another piece of equipment. This wouldn’t do for Lee Hyunsung in the long run, but for now it was acceptable. He’d need to find better equipment for the others as they kept fighting. Jung Heewon needed a good sword to use her skills to the fullest, but the one from the theater dungeon would work for now. 

There was a beat of silence, and it echoed over his skin and across the station. It felt quiet, but Kim Dokja could feel the raging emotions of Yoo Jonghyuk’s mind cutting into his skin, boiling to the surface in a tide he couldn’t help but feel. The theater dungeon had put a crack in his shield, and it was wide enough for the force of Yoo Jonghyuk too break through. 

Really, the protagonist was too strong. It was hard to name just one emotion when there were so many, but he thought he felt fury. He thought he felt worry too, but that couldn’t be right. It wasn’t surprising to mistake that thought— concern wasn’t something he’d felt often, not even before he’d built his shields. 

There were perks to being a weak guide. 

“You could die,” Yoo Jonghyuk said, and Kim Dokja did look up at that. This Yoo Jonghyuk, of the third regression, shouldn’t care about the death of a stranger. 

Maybe, he thought, catching the man’s stare, it was the sentinel in him. 

“I know,” he responded.

“And you are still going to go?”

Kim Dokja nodded. 

Yoo Jonghyuk shot him a dark look, lingered for a moment. He’d been strange since the dungeon, following too close and sitting too far away. 

“Don’t die like a fool, Kim Dokja,” the protagonist said, and Kim Dokja could feel a new emotion surge to the front. 

It wasn’t anything he recognized. 

Yoo Jonghyuk left quickly after that, walking down the hall towards another station. Lee Jihye cast one look back and then followed, stepping fast to catch up to her master’s heels. 

Kim Dokja didn’t move. He knew what Yoo Jonghyuk was planning, and how many flags he needed to get to achieve that goal. The man’s path would cross Kim Dokja’s again in less than a few days. 

He would run into Yoo Jonghyuk soon, so why was his heart aching?

Well. It didn’t matter, not now. 

“Dokja-ssi, what do we do now?” 

He turned to the others, and smiled. There was calm echoing across his shield, and something in his walls must have slipped because he thought he could feel them all relax. 

“We go find the prophets.”

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Later, as dragon fire licked at his skin and turned his bones to ash, Kim Dokja thought about the conversation they’d had all those days ago, on a bridge above the rapids of a hungry river. 

Yoo Jonghyuk better count this as surviving. 

Chapter Text

Yoo Jonghyuk heard a heartbeat speed up, and didn’t think about it. He heard it race, and didn’t care. That scheming heart would live, and the scheming man would live with it, through this fight and the next. Of that, he had no doubt. Yoo Jonghyuk had other goals to work towards now, and other paths through the scenario to carve. His sword was light and deadly, and his feet never stopped moving and hadn’t in two regressions. There were always new hearts to stop, and there were always new fights to win and lose. 

The scenarios never changed. 

He was cutting his way through the last of a large group now, Lee Jihye quick and lethal at his side. She’d grow even faster soon enough, able to take down all but the strongest enemies without flinching. Yoo Jonghyuk would help her get there, and at the end of this path she would be unstoppable. She would be his admiral, in the end, and that’s why he’d taken her with him. 

Lee Jihye might have been able to match him, if she had been a regressor too. He was glad she wasn’t. 

This was a lonely path. 

She was still deadly now, if, perhaps, too sloppy. The muscles in her arm didn’t react quickly enough, and she didn’t know to look for the blows coming from below. She’d learn that too, in time, or she’d die. 

And Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t about to let her die. He blocked a blow coming for her side, catching a makeshift spear before it could slice across her ribs. He didn’t bother dodging the brass knuckles coming from the other side, not when they were so weak. 

They could bend on his skin for all he cared. 

“Thank you, master,” she said, sword lifting up again. It was shaking enough that they’d need to break soon, he thought, idly grabbing the fist driving into his side. He pulled the enemy in, fast, and snapped his neck. It was as painless as it was efficient. 

It was nothing, and there was no heartbeat. 

Lee Jihye was slowing down. It would be hard to learn like this for the current her— more death wouldn’t drive her growth until she knew enough to stand on her own. Yoo Jonghyuk could handle the rest, and send her to sit at the side. She’d be of no use to him if she collapsed now. 

“Guard your left more,” he answered, and gutted the next man that came for them. His movements were routine, his sword moving from memories this body never had, and his mind running through the scenario and its pitfalls. He had limited time to collect enough flags, but even with a break, it wouldn’t be undoable. They wouldn’t need to rush past Lee Jihye’s limits, but they’d need to keep moving. 

Yoo Jonghyuk killed another man, and looked down the long stretch of tunnel before him. 

This was all doable. He wasn’t listening for every flicker of that heartbeat, didn’t care that it sounded too far away. He didn’t notice when it sped up more, frantic. He didn’t speed up his sword to match it, or glance back into the darkness that would lead him to Kim Dokja. 

He didn’t do anything but win a flag, and so, at last, when the heartbeat went too fast, Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared for it to catch and hold, and his breath to catch with it. 

Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t ready for that heartbeat to stop, and his to stop with it. 

Everything was quiet.

For a moment, it seemed like there was nothing to hear. His sword made no sound, when it cut a man open. His boots didn’t hit the ground, and his coat didn’t rustle with each step. The tunnel was silent, and the heartbeats were gone, and Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t know how to move. 

There was nothing. There was nothing until, suddenly, Yoo Jonghyuk heard everything. If he just stretched his senses out more, that heartbeat would come back. If he reached further, if he pressed harder, it would beat back into his hearing. 

He just had to go further. 

He just had to—

He just—

It wasn’t far enough. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had always been a strong sentinel, but that was no surprise. He had trained for three lifetimes to control his senses, fighting alone and living alone and dying alone. He had gone to the harshest places for a sentinel to stand, and cut out a new place to train. Yoo Jonghyuk had spent centuries in a void with no senses at all, and trained to live through that pain. 

He was a strong sentinel. He had control that most could only dream of. He was screaming. It filtered into his hearing slowly, through the crackle of flames flickering far away, and the quiet groans of the people around him, and the sound of his own footsteps. 

Yoo Jonghyuk was running, and he didn’t know when he started. 

He didn’t know when he’d stopped either, except it was long after the hall around him had grown quiet. It was long after there was no hall at all, and licks of dying dragon fire curled across his ankles. 

It was too quiet. 

There was a dead dragon lying on the ground, slashed to pieces by sword marks that looked like his. Yoo Jonghyuk only spared it a single glance, blood licking down the length of his blade and pooling on the floor. The sound was loud, everything was loud, but it wasn’t important. It was nothing. 

It was nothing, under the silence of an empty hall. It was nothing, and would always be nothing. Yoo Jonghyuk felt his fingers clench, around the smooth metal of his hilt. The texture didn’t ground him, and the feeling didn’t calm him. 

There was nothing, without—

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

Without that heartbeat. 

It started up slowly, fading into his hearing and thundering through his skin. It was steady, healthy, loud in a way that he had grown used to. The sound was hypnotizing, and he followed its melody to the source, a sword cutting through wind. 

Kim Dokja’s body was warm, under his fingers. Yoo Jonghyuk’s fingers pressed into soft skin, into the dips of unmarked hips, and felt calm. Kim Dokja was alive, bare and clean on the ground, bare and clean in Yoo Jonghyuk’s arms. He was alive. 

Kim Dokja was alive, and trying to sit up. A foolish idea. Yoo Jonghyuk pressed Kim Dokja down again, firm. That heartbeat couldn’t fade again. 

The clinical part of him, the regressor that had been through too much to care about the death of his guide, stared at the man’s eyes. A temporary death, he thought, and watched Kim Dokja’s expression move from surprise to a careful calculation. 

Kim Dokja had planned this. 

The rest of him was wrapped into the echo of a single sound. Yoo Jonghyuk moved closer, until he could feel Kim Dokja’s pulse under his fingers. There were other people in the room too, but Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t look at them. His hearing was focused on that heartbeat, his sight was watching Kim Dokja’s breathing, cataloguing every hitch and twitch of bare skin. 

Kim Dokja was alive. 

He pressed his palm down, over Kim Dokja’s chest. The heartbeat sped up. He pressed harder, until the man fell back flat on the ground. 

“Yoo Jonghyuk,” Kim Dokja said, and it sounded steadier than it should have. The guide didn’t fear the sentinel’s death, after all. 

The guide didn’t hear it. 

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t respond. Part of him was filtering back in, a regressor’s mind beginning to turn. But enough was focused on Kim Dokja’s skin, and Kim Dokja’s heart, and Kim Dokja’s face, to not pay any attention to words. Even the part of him that was aware, that was calculating and careful in the background, wouldn’t have listened. 

There was a heartbeat under his fingers, and Kim Dokja was alive. Yoo Jonghyuk really didn’t give a damn what the man said, or if there were other people beside them. 

He wasn’t going to let go. 

Kim Dokja hadn’t realized that. The man was still a fool. “Yoo Jonghyuk, you can let go. We need to move.”

“Shut up, Kim Dokja,” he said, and pulled the man into his arms. He understood the benefit of survival, and the need to keep moving even in the roughest of scenarios. He’d walked away from the bodies of companions before, and he’d do it again. 

That didn’t mean he was going to let go. 

“You can put me down.”

Yoo Jonghyuk listened to that heartbeat, and resisted the urge to sink to the ground and cover Kim Dokja with his body. He ignored the words, and the people around them, and the blood dripping down his sword. 

If he hadn’t left, would this have happened? 

Yoo Jonghyuk had known death was a possibility. He didn’t think it would matter. He didn’t think he’d care. He should have known better— there was a traitorous part of him that always grew attached too quickly. It was logical that Kim Dokja, his eerie and quick thinking guide, would grow on him faster than usual. 

He should have known. Yoo Jonghyuk had tried to cut that piece out of his heart, and he’d failed this time, like he’d failed so many other times. Would he keep failing, when regressions came for him again?

He didn’t know, but nothing in him could give up.

“No,” he said, and shifted the man closer. Bare skin was warm beneath his fingers, and he pressed his fingers down harder. Kim Dokja’s body was unmarked, newly born and unscarred. Yoo Jonghyuk was going to take the time to know its every plane— 100% completion, as befitting a former gamer. 

The heartbeat sped up. So did footsteps, running towards them. Yoo Jonghyuk heard them, in the same way he’d heard the dying gasps of a dragon. He ignored them in the same way too. 

“Dokja-ssi! You are alright!”

“Dokaj-ssi!” 

Yoo Jonghyuk growled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He felt it shake out through his bones, echoing through skin and up through his throat. The fingers holding Kim Dokja twitched for a sword, deadly. 

Another sentinel was standing too close. 

“Back off,” he snapped, and the footsteps slowed. The heartbeat didn’t, speeding up under Yoo Jonghyuk’s hands. 

It was so loud. 

“Dokja-ssi…”

“It’s alright. Jonghyuk-ah, we need to head back to the base.” 

It was Kim Dokja speaking, and Kim Dokja’s heartbeat under his fingers, and so he listened. 

It was a logical request. There was no reason to not go towards their camp. The sooner he had a place away from the other heartbeats, the sooner he could stop pushing down the urge to taste every piece of Kim Dokja’s skin.  Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t say anything, stepping forward until the rest of them moved. 

“Yoo Jonghyuk, are you zoned? Feral?”

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t dignify that with a response. A hand came up to press against his forehead, and for a single, painful, heartbeat, Yoo Jonghyuk could feel Kim Dokja’s mind curl around his. 

It was vast, powerful in a way he’d never felt before. It was like standing under the light of a star, and watching its thoughts swirl around his. 

Yoo Jonghyuk’s fingers felt too warm. 

The hand fell away after a moment, and the mind pulled out with it. Kim Dokja’s eyes were staring at him, caught between confusion and the calm knowledge that always seemed to shield him. 

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t feel calm at all. 

“There are ways to suppress the need for a guide,” Kim Dokja said next, like it was something simple, like it was something Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t already considered. It didn’t matter if the man was a prophet or a god— he hadn’t lived the years Yoo Jonghyuk had. 

He had walked the world as a sentinel alone for centuries. He had kept himself sane through the angry teeth of the scenarios, had mastered how to pull himself out of zones without the help of a grounding touch or a guiding mind. 

He didn’t need a guide. 

Yoo Jonghyuk had trained to stand alone, fight alone, and live alone. Of course there were ways to avoid guides. He knew them all. But Kim Dokja hadn’t called himself a guide, when they’d stared each other down over a cracking bridge. 

He’d claimed to be his companion. 

“I know,” he said, and didn’t put Kim Dokja down. 

“If you know, then you know how to avoid the inconvenience. Why did you come back?”

Yoo Jonghyuk ignored him. He ignored the question too. Quick steps took him into a tent, away from the fading voices and sharp requests. 

Yoo Jonghyuk would ignore everything, until they were alone.

He pressed Kim Dokja down into blankets, and gave in to the urge to cover him, shifting until he could bury his face in a smooth throat and breathe in deep. The smell of a fighter bloomed across his senses, harsh metal mixing with old sweat and older blood. Kim Dokja smelled like a survivor of the scenarios, and for once the smell didn’t make Yoo Jonghyuk angry. 

That heartbeat was pounding faster again. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Yoo Jonghyuk?”

Yoo Jonghyuk ignored that too. He moved further down, shifting so he could press his chest to Kim Dokja’s skin. There were still too many layers between them, but he could still feel the heat of Kim Dokja’s body drifting up to cling to his clothes. He could still feel the heartbeat, fast and dangerously rooted in Yoo Jonghyuk’s hearing. 

He’d anchored that sense long ago, even if he’d never admitted it. That left only two, and he could do those at once. 

“Do you understand yet?” He asked, and bit down on the throat below him. A new taste spread over his tongue, made from sweat and stars and dust. Blood and the hint of fire grew stronger with each lick, a flavor that would linger on his tongue long after Yoo Jonghyuk stopped tasting Kim Dokja’s skin. He wasn’t going to allow it to fade. 

Kim Dokja shifted below him, half in sly escape and half pain. “There are other ways to anchor taste— ah!”

“Be quiet, Kim Dokja,” he said, and followed the lines of muscle down from throat to stomach and lower. 

The man shut up after that, going quiet and tense above him. Yoo Jonghyuk would have smirked if his mouth wasn’t full. He would smirk afterwards, he thought, and did his best to make Kim Dokja lose that careful calm. 

He succeeded, but Yoo Jonghyuk had never been content with just a single success. 

At the last, when Kim Dokja was panting and breathless below him, Yoo Jonghyuk pulled off his clothes. Kim Dokja reached out and pressed a hand to his face, holding him while he stripped.

Yoo Jonghyuk didn’t think about how much it meant the man could read him. He didn’t think about how grateful he was for the contact, and how weak that made him feel. But he did take the wrist in his fingers, and kiss the delicate skin there. 

Like this, he could feel Kim Dokja’s heartbeat. It jumped a little with each brush of his lips, gentle leaps that Yoo Jonghyuk was going to win more of. He had always been a conqueror, and here and now, there was a battle with the highest stakes to win. 

Slowly, he kissed soft skin again. 

“You haven’t anchored on me,” he said, and it was an invitation and anger and all the cold desperation of tying himself down to one person. He’d done this because he wanted to. He had done this, because when Kim Dokja’s heart had stopped so had his. 

Why had he done this?

“I’m a weak guide,” Kim Dokja said, with a half smile and shrug. “It can wait.”

Yoo Jonghyuk narrowed his eyes, turning to press his ear to Kim Dokja’s wrist. The heartbeat was even louder like this, though with Yoo Jonghyuk’s senses he could have heard it from across the world. 

It felt steady. 

“You aren’t weak,” he said, and remembered the scope of a vast mind pressing against his. Was this going to be like the last time he trusted? Was this bond going to be for Yoo Jonghyuk’s only? Was it going to be his weakness, and not Kim Dokja’s? 

That left a sour taste in his mouth, even over the lingering flavor of Kim Dokja. All five of his senses were tied down now. Kim Dokja was his anchor, and Yoo Jonghyuk had chosen this. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Months later, he’d walked beside his guide and counted every heartbeat. He’d counted every death too, each pause in the beats of his own heart. 

The second time Kim Dokja died, Yoo Jonghyuk held his body as the heart slowed and stopped. He knew Kim Dokja would return. He had to. 

That didn’t stop his hands from shaking, or the edge of his vision from zooming in on Shin Yoosung, standing before him. Yoo Jonghyuk hadn’t lost a guide or companion, in the end. But he’d lost that heart beat, for a few minutes. 

It was so much. 

Only the training of three lifetimes kept him from going feral when Kim Dokja died the third time. Nothing could have stopped it this last time, not now, not then, not ever. 

Yoo Jonghyuk wondered. If he died, would Kim Dokja be waiting for him on the train? Would he see the man again, in a new regression, in fresh scenarios? Would that be easier to bear than this death?

Yoo Jonghyuk wanted to find out, but he’d sworn to treat this round as more than failure. 

He’d promised to try. 

But really, he should have known his guide would die as much as he did. It was fitting, that Kim Dokja knew death like Yoo Jonghyuk did. It was fitting, like nothing Yoo Jonghyuk had ever wanted. 

Later, when whispers of his story began to spread in the demon realm, when Yoo Jonghyuk walked through dust and broken stories and heard a new heart beating, he’d remember that. He’d watch a man in a white coat step through the factories, and know his face better than any face had ever been known. He’d remember that he chose Kim Dokja, in all his terrible, plotting glory. 

He’d choose him again, every time. 

⊱ ━━━━.⋅❈⋅.━━━━ ⊰

“I’ll get to the end of the scenarios,” the man said, with wings flaring out behind him and Kim Dokja’s company around them. The Demon King selection wasn’t finished, but they all knew the game was rigged. Yoo Jonghyuk wasn’t surprised. 

Constellations would always be trash. 

 “And I will tear you down from there.”

Yoo Jonghyuk heard the words, sharp as the edge of his sword. He heard every breath Kim Dokja took, and every heartbeat through the man’s clever bones, heard the shifting sound of the man’s hair, the slide of his finger across a phone when he was nervous. 

Yoo Jonghyuk heard it all, watched the words echo up into the stars. Kim Dokja was speaking to constellations, to the night sky that he was declaring their enemy, but it was Yoo Jonghyuk who listened the closest. He listened to the beat of Kim Dokja’s heart, and believed his words. 

As long as Kim Dokja was here, Yoo Jonghyuk would commit to this life.