Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shadows

The scene shifted to show young Dokja arriving home as the sun fully set. He climbed the stairs to his apartment quietly, the key under his doormat ready in his hand.

When he opened the door, the apartment was a pocket of gloom. His appa wasn't home yet. His eomma was in the kitchen. Taking advantage of the darkness, he quickly shoved his shoes into his bag, hiding the "LOSER" scrawled across them.

[She can't see this. She already has enough to worry about]

It really is starting off the exact same way huh? Gilyoung thought. His eyes locked onto the shoe. The word "LOSER" seemed to burn on the screen, and his teeth ground together.

Those bastards, if I ever get a hold of them...

His hands tightened around Dokja's arm—the unconscious man's limp wrist still cradled between his palms.

Don't worry, Hyung," he whispered, "I'm never letting go of you. Ever again."

"Dokja-ya," she said when she saw him, relief evident in her voice. "You're finally home. Well done for remembering to ring me. Did you come straight home from the library?"

"Yes, Eomma. Mrs. Cha even walked me to the corner this time."

"...Did she?"

A faint, weary smile touched her lips.

"That's very kind of her. Next time you see her, tell her I said thank you."

Yoo Sangah sat with her knees drawn up, her hands clasped loosely around them. At the mention of Mrs. Cha, her eyes softened

Mrs. Cha. She was probably the only ray of light Dokja-ssi had in his childhood. The only adult who saw him and didn't look away....And she was also the one who gave him Yoosung's sweet. That sweet....that shouldn't have been possible.

Her gaze flickered sideways to where Yoosung sat beside Gilyoung. Yoosung had given Dokja that candy when he was five, in a memory that should have been sealed away forever. And yet Mrs. Cha had handed it to him a year later, as if it had always been waiting for him.

How on earth did that happen? Had Han Sooyung or Yoo Joonghyuk figured it out yet?

Her eyes drifted to the front row, towards Kim Dokja's sleeping form.

Would you even remember this, Dokja-ssi? Would you remember Mrs. Cha? Would you remember the candy? Would you remember all of these memories of yours? Or has the Fourth Wall buried it all behind layers of protection and performance?

Yoo Sangah had seen some of his memories before—glimpses, fragments, when the Fourth Wall had absorbed her. Little bits and pieces she had caught before she was forced out by this scenario. It was enough to know Kim Dokja had had a terrible childhood. But the time she spent in that library was not nearly enough to know how bad it truly was.

Her hands curled into fists against her knees.

I won't be that weak little office girl anymore, Dokja-ssi, she promised silently. I won't freeze up whilst you have to suffer. I won't just stand by and watch. I promise...I'll become someone worthy of standing by your side. Someone...you can share your burdens with.

She looked back at the screen.

"I promise."

Her eyes however were searching his face. "...How was school baby?"

".....It was fine. As always."

The atmosphere quickly turned awkward, and Lee Sookyung clearly wanted to press, to mother, but exhaustion weighed her down. She had dinner to finish, an apartment to clean and a husband who would be home soon expecting everything to be perfect.

She couldn't handle one more burden right now.

"Go wash up for dinner," she said softly, turning back to wash the vegetables. "It'll be ready soon."

Young Dokja nodded and escaped to his room, closing the door behind him. He finally allowed his shoulders to slump. He pulled the library book from his bag and clutched it to his chest before pressing its cool cover to his forehead.

[...Tomorrow I'll go back to the library. And the day after that. And the next. Every day...I can survive anything as long as I have that]

He grinned before rapidly changing into his warm home clothes.

He was about to go wash his hands when he heard it.

The front door opening.

Aileen's eyes focused. This was where the memory had stopped previously. This was the beginning of Lee Sookyungs breakdown. The catalyst of the near death of Kim Dokja.

Heavy familiar footsteps thudding in the entryway.

His appa was home.

Young Dokja froze, his hand on his doorknob, listening for the signs. The footsteps were uneven, slightly stumbling.

...

He'd been drinking.

"I'm home," his appa's voice called out, rough and slightly slurred, as he kicked his shoes off against the wall.

Lee Sookyung was already standing at the doorway, her posture straight. "Welcome home dear. Thank you for your hard work today. Sit down, dinner is almost ready."

"Good. I'm starving." He shuffled further in, his bleary eyes scanning the room.

More footsteps.

Then, unexpectedly, Dokja heard his appa's voice again.

Darker now.

"...The apartment is a mess."

"I-i know. I'll clean it up after dinner—"

"And it stinks," his appa cut her off, one hand pressed against his nose. "It should already be clean. What do you do all day while I'm working Sookyung?"

"I aired it out this morning—"

"Then you didn't do it right."

Lee Hyunsung's eyes flared. 

He's just starting arguments for the sake of it, he thought, his chest heating with a rare anger. How can a father act like that? How can anyone speak to someone they love like that?

Unconsciously, his right arm moved—pulling Yoo Mia, who sat beside him, closer against his side.

She raised an eyebrow up at him.

Hyunsung blinked.

"Ah—sorry, Mia-ya, I didn't mean to—"

But before he could finish, she nudged closer, letting her shoulder press even further against his arm.

".... it's okay. I don't mind, ahjussi. You're kinda big...and warm"

Hyunsung hesitated. Was this really the same Yoo Mia he knew? The one who acted like a spoilt kid and constantly threatened him with her older brother? But slowly, he let his arm wrap around her. Mia rested her head on his shoulder without another word.

Hyunsung smiled.

Behind them, Yoo Joonghyuk shifted. His gaze lingered on the pair for a moment. Something flashed across his face. Then he turned his gaze back to the screen.

Han Sooyung's lips twitched.

Overprotective much? she cackled internally. What's there to be so protective against? Hyunsung? Really? Of all people? She shook her head slightly, then directed her attention back to the screen.

After rewatching the beginning scenes of the memory, another question had quickly sprouted

The purpose of this scenario was to understand Kim Dokja by watching and experiencing his memories. Therefore, the memories had always been played from his point of view....So why had Lee Sookyung been the one to break? Why had her trauma surfaced in his memory? And...why had Kim Dokja slept soundfully through all of it.

Was Lee Sookyung able to experience the memory from a different angle because she played a direct part within the making of them? Did that mean the company would also experience the memory from different perspectives?

Her mind quickly replayed the events that had led up to this moment.

Ahjumma was seeing something. Something linked to Dokja.

Her final words echoed in Han Sooyung's memory

....She was protecting someone. But who? And from what?

She was still missing pieces, yet the questions were constantly piling up. But the clues were coming. She could feel it. She just had to be ready to grasp them.

Her gaze drifted back to the screen where the blurred shape of the man was towering over young Dokja. His face was still indistinct, a smudge of features that refused to resolve.

Still blurred, she thought, inwardly sighing. Even now. Even after everything...

Then she paused.

Han Sooyung slowly sat up straight

....No way.

His face is blurred...

Could it be?!

Her face whipped around to look behind her. Her eyes locked onto the constellation's pale, sleeping features.

The reason Ahjumma attacked Dokja... does Dokja look like his father?!

Did Ahjumma think Dokja was her husband?!

The idea struck her, and suddenly everything that hadn't made sense seemed to click into place. The way Lee Sookyung's eyes had locked onto Dokja's sleeping face during her rampage. The way she'd screamed about needing to destroy and protect someone. The way she'd wept even as she swung the sword.

Han Sooyung's breath caught.

Sweat beaded on her temples. Her chest heaved. Each breath was a wet, ragged gasp. Was she really still suffering from her injuries? No. That wasn't it.

This-

A hand quickly grasped her forearm. Yoo Joonghyuk was looking at her with the slightest hint of concern in his eyes.

She shoved him away. "D-don't."

Her hands clutched her throbbing temple, trying to hold herself together. This time, she refused to let the clue slip away.

It can't just be him sharing a little bit of similarity with him... Her thoughts raced. The more she thought the more certain Han Sooyung became. No. It can only make sense if he...he has to look exactly like his father. Exactly.

She stared at the blurred face on the screen, at the smudge where features should have been.

Why is it blurred? If the memories are from Dokja's perspective...Is he really unable to remember his Appa's face?

But that wasn't the question that destroyed her. That wasn't the knife that was ruthlessly twisting deep in her gut.

Her mind reeled, because suddenly Han Sooyung had understood something. She had finally come to terms with the full, horrific truth of it.

How cruel, she shuddered slightly. How stupidly cruel.

Kim Dokja looked too much like his father.

To Lee Sookyung, this was a cruelty beyond measure. The face of the man she despised more than anyone—the man who had broken her, abused her, who would later no doubt do unspeakable things—wore the same face as the person she loved most: her son.

Her Kim Dokja.

Every glance at Kim Dokja became an act of torment. Whenever she looked at him, she saw traces of that monster. Whenever she reached for love, that monster seemed to stare back at her through her child's eyes, mocking her.

The more she tried to embrace her son, the more she felt his presence standing between them, smiling with cruel amusement.

Until he boundary between them gradually eroded and the man who had ruined her life and the boy for whom she had sacrificed everything became impossible to separate.

How could she not break beneath such a burden?

How could she not collapse?

Lee Sookyung had never been trying to murder her son. She was only trying to murder the ghost that wore his skin.

And for Kim Dokja...

A choked sound escaped Han Sooyung's throat

Every time he looks in a mirror...he sees the man who hurt her. He sees the face that haunted her nightmares. He sees the monster that lived in his own home, and that fool probably wonders... is it in him too? Is he already becoming that?....Will he wake up one day and see nothing but his appa staring back?

She pressed her face deep into her knees.

Cursed, she bit her slightly trembling lip in frustration. They're both cursed. They're bo-

A hand gripped her arm again.

Harder.

Yoo Joonghyuk leaned closer, his golden eyes narrowed. "What is it Han Sooyung?" he whispered "What did you figure out?"

She looked at him. Her mouth opened. 

But then she glanced around. 

The theatre was silent. Everyone was watching. Every single member of the company was quietly paying attention to the nightmare unfolding on the screen. Jihye's annoyed face. Hyunsung's steady hands. Sangah's pressed‑together fingers. Aileen's tension filled eyes. The brats still incessantly clutching him. Not a single person was talking or commenting.

Part of it was because of Han Sooyoung's own outburst only minutes earlier. But more than that, they were simply exhausted. No one wanted to linger on this memory any longer than necessary.

They just wanted it to end.

She swallowed dryly. "....Later."

His grip tightened, digging in. "Han Sooyung."

"I said later," she hissed, wrenching her arm free. "Not now. When this memory ends...."

His jaw clenched. For a long moment, he simply stared at her. Then, with visible reluctance, he looked away and let his hand fall back to his side.

He didn't say another word.

Han Sooyung looked forward and tried her best to don a calm face. But it was pointless. Her stomach heaved and nausea rolled through her in waves, She was gonna be sick.

I...can't hide this for long. Sooner or later someone's gonna figure it out. And if not....I'll be forced to tell them anyway.

It was selfish of her. Han Sooyung knew that better than anyone. In this scenario that resolved around their star, she was doing something she would despise anyone else for. She was a hypocrite. The most disgusting kind. But if she could just bear this burden for a while... at least until this memory was over...

She looked at the screen again. The blurred face stared back at her, and despite herself, Han Sooyoung found her thoughts wandering down the same path once again.

....Maybe it's better this way.

Images flashed through her mind. The company's horrified expressions if they saw the truth. Their reactions if they saw their Dokja, wearing the face of that monster. If they were forced to watch this memory without the blur.

If every cruel word, every raised hand, every moment of terror came from a face identical to the beloved one that sat beside them during meals. The one that smiled and laughed at them. The one that abandoned them, over and over again.

How long would it take before they started seeing it too?

Before the resemblance became impossible to ignore?

And then she saw Kim Dokja's face.

The moment he noticed their reactions. The moment he caught that small flicker of discomfort, that involuntary hesitation, that brief confusion in their eyes.

The moment he realised what they were thinking.

If he saw how we would react....even if it was only because we were caught off guard...even if only for a second...

Would we ever be able to justify it?

Her hands trembled further. She tightened them forcefully around her knees.

....Would we......lose that idiot forever?

...

She sat with that thought for a long, heavy moment. Then she sighed and forced herself to keep watching.

But even as her eyes stayed on the screen, her mind refused to stay still. The question kept circling back like a scab she couldn’t stop picking at.

Is that really the only reason the face was blurred?  

She didn’t want to think about it too deeply. Not for long.

Because there was a much scarier, much more despairing answer. One that if it was true... it would mean Kim Dokja was doing something... far far worse than just forgetting.

...

Han Sooyung forcefully swallowed again.

A briefcase slammed against the floor, the bang making Dokja flinch. "Look at this. Dust on the shelf. The floors are sticky. What a mess. What do you even do? Sit and feel sorry for yourself?!"

From his crack in the doorway, Dokja frowned as his hand tightened against the doorknob. The floorboards weren't sticky at all.

Why was he lying?

"What are you talking about?" Lee Sookyung's voice held a thin thread of frustration, worn by a thousand of these conversations. "I clean, I—"

"You exist and leach. That's all you do." he snarled.

Then suddenly his voice dropped, becoming dangerously intimate. "Hah, that reminds me. Where's my son?"

"Dokja? He's in his room, he just—"

"Call him. Now."

Dokja froze, his heart stopping. Why was his appa calling for him? Did he do something wrong? Had he made his Appa angry for some reason?

But nothing immediately came to mind.

The silence stretched for close to ten long seconds until his eomma finally spoke.

"Dokja-ya," she called, her voice strained extremely tight. "Come here and greet your Appa. He's home."

This was bad. He didn't want to go. He really didn't want to go. But he had to go. Not going would be worse. Who knew how his Appa would react. Young Dokja took a deep breath, clutching his sore arm and opened the door before limping out into the living area. His appa stood looming in the centre, a dark column of resentment.

His eyes locked onto him.

"There you are." A smile that didn't touch his lips. "Did you have a good day at school today?"

What?

[Appa's asking about school?]

Why would he do that? He'd never been interested in it enough to ask about it before.

"Y-yes, Appa."

"Yesh, Appa," his appa mimicked what he said in a high, whining tone. "Yesh, Appa." He took a step closer, the smell of stale alcohol and bitter sweat rolling off him. "Was it really a good day for you? Because it wasn't for me. Your teacher. He called my work today and said there was an incident. That your drawing got ruined. That you’re causing problems."

Young Dokja’s heart plummeted.

Mr Choi Min-ho had called his Appa? Why would he do that?! Why wouldn't he call Junho's Appa? He didn't do anything wrong!

Dokja looked down at the bare floorboards his voice quivering. He knew it. They really weren't sticky.

"I... I just fell and spilled some water, Appa. It was an accident."

"An accident? Accidents are for the clumsy. For the stupid." Another step. His shadow engulfed Dokja's entire tiny shivering frame. "Now tell me Dokja....are you stupid?"

"N-no, Appa." He whimpered still not daring to look up.

"Then you’re lying." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Why are you causing trouble huh? Is that how i raised you?! Huh? You’re making me look bad. You and your eomma, sitting here together, plotting how to embarrass me."

"I’m not—"

"Quiet!"

He wheeled his burning gaze on Lee Sookyung, who stood rigid by the stove where the food was now burning.

"This is all your doing! Your weakness!" he spat, his finger jabbing at her. "It’s leaching into him. Turning him into a snivelling, lying little rat!"

"Please," Lee Sookyung breathed, taking a half-step forward, putting herself between the man and her son. "You're drunk. He’s just a boy. He’s had a hard day. Let him go to his room. Let’s just have dinner—"

"Dinner?!" he roared, spittle flying. "How can I have dinner in peace when this place looks and smells like a gutter?!"

"I'm sorry—"

"Shut up! I'm out there providing for this family and you can't even keep the apartment clean? You never do anything better! You're useless!"

"I'll do better," she said, the placating tone returning. "I promise. Let me just finish dinner—"

"Forget your stupid fucking dinner!"

His hand shot out at the pot simmering on the stove, grabbing the handle and flinging it with all his might. It shattered it against the far wall, liquid, vegetables and broken shards spraying everywhere.

One fragment flew high and wide, and struck the ceiling light directly. The glass bulb burst apart, the overhead light dying instantly, leaving only the ruined socket hanging by a thread.

Lee Sookyung stumbled back, her hands flying up as shards fell around her. Pure horror was reflected in her eyes.

"You want to feed me dinner?" he growled, advancing on her. "You want to serve me? Then clean it up Sookyung. Clean up your mess."

But Sookyung's eyes were still fixed on the wall, where the boiling liquid had already begun to blister and blacken the cheap wallpaper into grotesque, distorted shapes.

A gust of wind shouldered through the curtains and the broken bulb swayed. Shadows lurched across the walls—twisting, bending into deformed shapes that had no right to exist.

[Eomma—]

His Appa closed the distance in two strides, and grabbed her arm, yanking her towards him. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, woman!"

Young Dokja stood frozen, a scream trapped in his throat. He was already crying.

He hadn't noticed when it started. Somewhere between the pot hitting the wall and his appa's hand closing around his eomma's arm, the tears had arrived on their own, cutting straight down his face. His chin shook.

He noticed his eomma’s face. The man infront of her bore no resemblance to the man he knew. The man gripping her was a stranger, a monster wearing his Appa's skin.

[Why's Appa so angry?...M-make him stop. Please. Someone make him stop—]

[Eomma—eomma—]

"Not now," Sookyung pleaded, her voice breaking as she tried to pull back, eyes darting to Dokja. "Not in front of him, please—"

[Stop. Stop. Please stop—]

"In front of him?" His grip tightened, twisting her arm. A pained gasp escaped her. "I don't care! Why should I care?! He should see! Let him see exactly what type of useless woman his mother is!"

[N-no, Eomma isn't useless, Eomma is..]

[What am i doing...if i don't do something appa is going to...]

Young Dokja didn’t understand everything that was happening. It was moving too fast for him to make sense of. But one thing was painfully clear.

His eomma was hurting.

His Appa was hurting her.

He had to protect her.

Tears spilled over but his legs went forward.

One step.

Then two.

Three.

With his hands balled at his sides, everything in him was hurling towards her. He didn’t know what he could do. He didn’t know how to stop his Appa.

But he couldn't just stand there.

He had already been that boy once—the one who stood frozen while his eomma lay lifeless on the floor after his Appa slapped her. He was only six, but he could never forget the guilt that had consumed him. He couldn't be that boy again.

He wouldn't let her be alone ever again.

Yoosung watched the small boy on the screen, her ahjussi, trying so desperately to save his mother from a monster he couldn't possibly defeat.

It bore a striking resemblance to the man she knew now.

A sad smile touched her lips. 

You've always been a good person, Ahjussi. No matter how much other people blame you, or how much you blame yourself... no matter what kind of pain you put yourself through... you will always be a good person, Ahjussi.

The tears continued, but he was finally close enough.

Young Dokja had finally forced himself up to this point. He was close enough to scream at his Appa to stop, to pull him \way, to do somet-

"Dokja!"

Lee Sookyung tore her gaze away from the man holding her arm and stared directly at her son.

Her face.

Young Dokja was drawn to her face.

What was reflected in that moment was not just fear.

It was Anger.

At him.

"Dokja. Go to your room. Now!"

He froze.

[Eomma's....shouting at me?]

[...What?....Why?]

The tears spilled over. Faster and hotter, running straight down his face. His Eomma had never shouted at him before. Never. No matter what happened she'd always just laugh or tease or pull his cheeks.

So why...why was she screaming at him like that?

He hadn't done anything. He was only trying to—he was right there—he just needed to get to her—

[W-why is she yelling at me?]

[I was just trying to help...]

[D-does eomma hate me?]

[Does eomma hate me. Is that why? Did I do this. I-is this all my fault?]

Something punctured inside his chest.

His eyes widened as his legs began to tremble beneath him.

Of course.

Of course it was.

It had always been like this—from the very beginning.

His appa's voice came echoing back from somewhere in his memory: you and your eomma, making me look bad.

Mr Choi-min Ho calling. The drawing.

The painful reality snapped into place.

The reason his Appa was hurting his Eomma....was because of him.

[I-it's my fault. This is my fault. It's all my fault]

"Dokja, please!"

But Dokja couldn't move. His legs were roots. The strength he had forced into them moments ago collapsed all at once. The sudden realisation was like a hand closing around his heart, squeezing tighter with every breath.

This was his fault.

If he had ju-

"LISTEN TO ME DOKJA! GO! NOW!"

The words finally pierced through. He stumbled backwards, one step, two, three—his shoulder hitting the wall at the end of the hallway. He kept backing up until the doorframe met his spine. He didn't go inside. He just stood there, gripping the wood, watching.

"E-eomma, i'i-m sorry, I-I"

The broken light bulb swayed above him. Another gust of wind pushed through the curtains again, and the cracked glass spun wildly, casting the room in a strobe of flickering shadows.

The walls came alive.

Devilish figures stretched across the plaster.

"W-wha-"

At that exact moment, Kim Dokja's sleeping body began to writhe.

His hand flew to his heart, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt. Gilyoung, still holding onto his other hand, felt it clamp down violently in his grip. He looked up.

The reader's face was pale, beaded with sweat. His lips moved soundlessly, his breathing getting faster and faster.

"H-hey! Something's wrong with Hyung!" Gilyoung screamed.

Everyone snapped around.

"What—" Heewon started.

"Move!" Seolhwa was already shoving through, Yoo Joonghyuk a step behind her. She pressed two fingers to Dokja's throat, and another to his forehead. "His pulse is spiking. It must be because of the memory again. its negative effects are spilling over."

"So he's having another nightmare." Aileen said, her voice tight.

Yoosung dropped to her knees beside him. "Ahjussi, please wake up—no, don't wake up, just... just kno-"

Before she could finish, the theatre shook.

A deep, guttural tremor ran through the floor, rattling the broken chairs and cracked pillars. The lights flickered, dimmed, then went out entirely—leaving only the dim glow of the screen.

In an instant, the incarnations were thrust into darkness.

"What's happening?" Jihye shouted, stumbling.

"Form a circle!" Han Sooyung barked. "Around both of them—now!"

The company quickly surrounded the unconscious mother and son. Chairs were kicked aside, shards of wood crunching underfoot. Gilyoung and Yoosung snatched up broken pieces of armrest, holding them like knives, back to back.

"W-what the hell is going on now?!" Pildu demanded, gripping a chair.

Then they saw them.

On the walls. On the ceiling. On the cracked pillars and the debris-strewn floor. Dark figures were rapidly forming. They looked demonic...and wrong. Grins that stretched too wide. Silhouettes with too many hands. Limbs that bent backwards.

"These... these are from the memory," Aileen realised, her eyes wide. "Is Dokja-ssi's memory solidifying itself in this theatre? But these aren't even real—"

"Bastards!" Heewon snatched her sword from the floor and lunged. Her blade slashed through a shadow clinging to a pillar.  She stabbed at two more on the floor.

But it was futile.

They split, dissolved, then quickly reformed sneering even wider.

"They won't die!" she snarled.

Pildu swung his broken chair catching a shadow that had crept close to Sookyung's feet. The chair shattered and the shadow's upper body dissolved—then knitted itself back together.

"Damn it! Y-you've got to be kidding me," Pildu hesitantly stepped back.

"They're not real!" Yoo Joonghyuk barked. "Stop wasting your strength!"

"Then what the fuck do we do?!" Heewon shouted back, teeth bared. She slashed again at another shadow. "I won't just stand here and watch!"

"They're not real," Yoo Sangah repeated. "You can't hurt them because they're coming from the memory—that's why Dokja-ssi's reacting like this. His fear from his past is manifesting itself in real life!"

"So we just stand here?!" Jihye cried, her sword shaking with rage in her grip.

Heewon stopped slashing, her chest heaving. The shadow she'd been attacking hovered just out of reach. It had an even wider grin on it's face. She lowered her sword slightly.

"...Fuck."

"Then why are they even here?" Hayoung asked, her voice cracking. "Why are they in the memory in the first place?"

Han Sooyung stared at the writhing, laughing shadows, then at young Dokja on the screen—still frozen, staring at the window.

Is....this all his imagination? she thought. This couldn't have happened from just a broken light bulb...Just what is happening to his mind?

The screen continued

They were everywhere now. Crawling up from the baseboards, oozing out of the cracks in the wallpaper. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Their eyes were stretched open—far wider than any human eyes should go, with pupils that swivelled to track his every breath.

Their mouths were split into grins that never stopped growing, wider and wider until their faces looked like they might tear apart. And they were laughing. They pointed at him. Some of them had too many fingers. Some of them had fingers that twisted backwards. They leaned in from every wall, every corner, every shadow.

"W-who are you? S-stop it," he whispered, but his voice came out crushed. "Stop looking at me. Stop—"

Then he turned his head just enough to see the dark window glass beside him. It was the window he looked at everyday before school to make sure he was dressed properly.

His own reflection stared back.

But this time it wasn't him.

The face in the glass was coarse black, as if all light had been drained from beneath its skin. There were no features left—only the shape of a child pressed against the glass. Hollow pits dotted with blood opened where its eyes should be. And something looked back from inside them.

Hungry.

They roved across his small body, and he felt them peel back his layers as they fixated on his his wet cheeks and trembling hands.

This reflection didn't look like him. But Young Dokja instinctively knew.

It was him. It was a monster.

He was a monster.

Then the reflection raised its hands.

It touched its face.

And began to scratch.

They dragged down—slowly at first, but faster and faster and harder, drawing red lines across the black, rough cheeks. The scratches welled up and beads of dark scarlet blood slid down the window pane. The hands rose again. Dragged down again. 

Again.

Again.

Again.

Young Dokja couldn't look away. He watched the nails dig deeper, as its mouth split open with a ragged, vertical tear that ran from chin to forehead. Though no sound came out, it whispered words that reverberated over and over in his head.

Words that were unmistakable to Kim Dokja

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

It's your fault.

[No—]

No, no, no—

The floor suddenly began to turn black.

It started at the edges of the screen, a spreading, viscous darkness that crept outward, swallowing the broken rubble, the shattered chairs, the dust. It oozed forward like tar, crawling towards the company’s feet.

"W-what now?" Yoosung whispered.

Then, from the blackness, a figure began to rise.

It wasn't one of the laughing shadows—it was smaller.

More defined.

It had the shape of a child, roughly six years old.

But its skin was black, and its eyes were empty sockets.

Small black maggots squirmed deep inside them.

Gilyoung's whispered in disbelief. "H-hyung? Is that you?"

Its hands lifted to its face.

Yoosung stared, tears already forming. "A-ahjussi? W-why-"

"...No." Yoo Joonghyuk's voice was quiet. "It's not him."

But none of them could look away from it. Because it was.

Then it began to scratch.

Slowly and clearly..

Red lines carved themselves into its cheeks.

This Young Dokja was far away, at the edge of the black floor. But it started walking. Slowly. Its mouth split open—a ragged, vertical tear from chin to forehead—and though no sound came from its mouth, a small whisper began to fill the theatre.

Your fault.

Then another identical figure rose on the opposite side. Then another. Then dozens. Hundreds. All were the same—black skin, hollow eyes, scratching cheeks. All whispering.

All Kim Dokja

Your fault. Your fault. It's your fault.

The whispers grew louder and louder, layering on itself, until it was a chorus.

Heewon stepped forward.

Her boots crunched on the broken floor. Her grip on her sword had gone slick with sweat.

"D-dokja-ya? Is that you?" 

Then her knees gave out.

What—

Heewon collapsed before she could even finish the thought, one palm hitting the cold floor as her sword clattered away.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her vision blurred at the edges, bleeding into red.

W-what's happening to me?

She tried to stand but her legs wouldn't hold. They shook, buckled, and she stayed where she was. She couldn't stop it. Her hands, her shoulders, her legs—everything was trembling.

Around her, the company was going down. Hayoung dropped to one knee, blood slipping from her nose. Aileen pressed a hand to her eyes, coming away red.

"W-what is this?" she gasped.

Heewon looked up.

The figure was nearly directly in front of her now. It was small. Its hands dragged deeper, carving red trails through black skin as blood ran down like tears. It dropped and fell, creating a small trail of despair behind it. That was when Heewon realised.

Ah....This feeling...it's his fear isn't it?

Heewon began to cry.

Tears spilled down her face before she could stop them.

She didn’t know where they came from anymore—whether they were Young Dokja’s fear bleeding into her, or her own despair finally taking shape. Helplessness. The unbearable, unchangeable truth that she could never reach this child standing right in front of her, no matter how much she wanted to.

Its eyes found hers. Hollow. Endless. Two pits of black abyss that seemed to swallow what little light remained in the theatre.

Is this... is this really him? Is this the same Dokja we just played with? The one who laughed at Sooyoung's stupid stories?

Her heart was hammering—no, not her heart. Young Dokja's heart. His fear was flooding through her, drowning her own. Tears continued flowing without her permission. She couldn't breathe.

She remembered him smiling.

That small, shy smile when Gilyoung taught him the clapping game. The way his face had lit up when he finally got the rhythm right. She remembered him bowing to Yoo Joonghyuk, calling him "Sir Head Knight" with stars in his eyes. She remembered him curling into his mother's lap, safe and warm, believing for one perfect dream that he was loved.

But why was he here?

No.

That didn't matter.

What mattered was..

I...I have to cut him...it down?

Her hand found her sword on the floor. She gripped it. But her fingers were shaking so badly she nearly dropped it again.

Heewon...you can't hesitate...you have to sever its head...If you don't...the real Kim Dokja will suffer...

But the memories wouldn't stop coming.

Young Dokja melting into his eomma's arms.

Young Dokja, eyes wide as he saw the golden constellation messages for the first time.

Young Dokja's head whipping back and forth in wonder between Kyrgios and Minyoung, as they squabbled over who was strongest.

Young Dokja's excitement as he told them all about his favourite story.

Young Dokja playing hide and seek for the first time with Han Sooyung, Biyoo, and the kids. His breathless excitement and innocent giggles as Han Sooyung sweeped him up into the air. 

Young Dokja drinking in every tale they told him as if he had been thirsty all his life.

Young Dokja with the strawberry-flavoured candy in his hand, and the way he'd placed it into a sleeping stranger's palm without hesitation.

Young Dokja's face crumbling when they told him he had to leave. 

"Already? But we were having so much fun..."   

Small fingers twisting into his eomma's clothes. 

"...Will I see you again?" 

His final beautiful smile. Golden light rising around him, tears still wet on his cheeks.

"Thank you for making me so happy."

Then the older memories followed — the ones already carved into her heart.

Kim Dokja on the stairs of the Demon King's throne, blood pooling beneath him, as his eyes slowly dimmed.

Kim Dokja collapsing after another reckless plan, his body breaking like it had always been meant to break.

Kim Dokja lying still in a coffin. Kim Dokja dying, over and over, always alone, always sacrificing, always smiling, always leaving them behind.

And always that same calm voice through it all.

It's okay. I'll come back. Just do it. Believe in me

Tears spilled over her cheeks. Hot. Fast. Her whole body shook. For the first time in a long time Heewon could feel the weight of the sword in her hand.

It was heavy.

Far too heavy to be meant for something so small.

Just...how much longer do I have to be tortured like this?.....How much longer do i have to be humiliated?

How much longer did she have to feel this helpless?

She hadn’t been able to do a single thing right in this entire scenario. Failure after failure after failure after failure. That's all it ever was. Just constant failure.  Even now, she couldn't even fight or hurt the manifestations of Dokja's fear

...

Heewon was exhausted.

She wanted to drop the sword. She wanted to close her eyes and curl up and make it all go away.

But she couldn't.

Because she was Kim Dokja's sworn sword. That was her name. That was her purpose. That was the only thing she was even slightly good for.

And if she didn't stop him now...

It would reach him.

It would grasp him.

It would whisper those words into his ear while he suffered and writhed beyond her reach. And they would root themselves there, becoming chains no one could see.

So she had to swing. Even if she didn't want to. Even if it killed her. Even if it tore her apart.

Young Dokja took another step closer. His hollow eyes never left hers. His mouth moved soundlessly, but she knew what it was saying. 

Your fault.

Your fault.

Your fault.

Heewon stared at him one last time.

The messy black hair. The small frame. The face of the boy who had trusted them without knowing any better. A boy who had believed their promises, who had smiled and laughed and played games like a normal child for the first time in his life.

"I'm s-sorry." 

Her voice broke. She looked up at him through tears, still somehow taller than the small figure before her.

"I'm sorry Dokja-ya. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She couldn't say anything else. She couldn't even bring herself to ask for forgiveness. She wasn't worthy. Those same words just spilled out, over and over.

She looked at it one last time.

Then closed her eyes.

She couldn't bear to look.

Heewon swung.

The blade cut cleanly through Young Dokja’s neck. His head separated, falling backwards.

Heewon thought she heard the sound of it dropping to the floor and rolling away.

It stood there, headless, hands still raised to the now empty place where it's face had been.

Heewon opened her eyes.

...Is it over?

Please.

Just let it be over.

But the head reformed.

The severed edges pulled themselves back together as if nothing had happened. Blood still dripped from his scratches, darker and thicker. And the whispers resounded once again.

Louder.

YOUR FAULT. YOUR FAULT.

"Ah..." 

Heewon's ears fell faster, mixing with the blood, dripping from her chin. Her sword hung limp in her hand.

He's right. It's my fault....I couldn't protect him. The him of the past and the him in the present. I couldn't stop it....I....couldn't do anything....

I...I can never do anything.

Her whole body shook so violently it felt like she was falling apart from the inside. She couldn't stop. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn’t even remember what “fight” was supposed to mean anymore.

And Young Dokja walked through her.

Cold.

Empty.

She felt him pass through her chest. Her heart. Her very bones.

And she didn't try to stop it.

"Ah... it's my fault," she choked out.

Her hand came up, covering her mouth as if that could hold everything in. As if it could stop the world from collapsing even further.

“Heewon!”

Hyunsung’s voice rang out, but even he was frozen in place, Young Dokja's fear locking his limbs. Mia clutched at his side, both of them trembling

The chorus grew louder.

Your fault.

Your fault.

The figures were closer now, hundreds of them, all converging towards the centre of the circle—toward Kim Dokja's unconscious body.

The reader was writhing violently now, his coat falling off, his hands clawing at the makeshift bed. It almost looked as though he were trying to escape, run, even like this. Seolhwa and Aileen despite the intense fear coursing through them, threw themselves across him, holding him down.

His lips moved, forming the same words: "No... no... please..."

"Dokja-ssi, please—" Seolhwa begged.

"Ahjussi, we're here!" Yoosung cried, reaching for him. "We're right here!"

Gilyoung was pleading, gripping Dokja's hand. "Hyung, please, we're not leaving, please—"

The figures kept coming. The company surrounded Dokja and Sookyung, yet the shadows passed through them like smoke, leaving small droplets of blood on the black floor

"They're not real!" Minyoung said wincing. One of the figures passed through her leg. "They cannot hurt him. They are manifestations of his guilt, nothing more."

"But t-they're getting closer to Dokja!" Hayoung cried, still on her knees. "What are we supposed to do?!"

Your fault. Your fault.

The figures were almost at the bed now. Scratched faces streaked with red. Hollow eyes fixed on the unconscious man

Hyunsung closed his eyes, Mia's face buried in his chest. Heewon knelt, head bowed. Jihye's sword hung limp at her side. Pildu had backed against a pillar, his eyes looking both shocked and anxious.

The figures gathered around Kim Dokja.

.....

Then they paused.

The scratching stopped. 

And the chorus shifted.

....

...fault

....my fault 

It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

They surrounded Dokja's sleeping form, a ring of black children with tears of blood. They didn't touch or harm him. They just stood there. Scratching. Whispering.

Yoo Sangah stared at the scene, her hands pressed to her mouth. Oh, Dokja-ssi...How much more do you have to make yourself suffer?

It's my fault. It's my fault.

Gilyoung couldn't take it anymore.

He pulled his hand from Dokja's grip and rushed forward, ignoring the shouts to stop. He fell to his knees, face-to-face with one of the figures—so close he could see the tears in it's skin, the hollow eyes that weren't really eyes.

"It's not your fault, Hyung!" he sobbed, throwing his arms around the figure.

His hands passed straight through.

And he hit the floor hard.

but Gilyoung scrambled back up and tried again. And again. And again. Each time, he passed through.

"It's not your fault!" he screamed. "It's not! You hear me? It's not!"

Behind him, Yoosung was crying openly. Lee Hyunsung's shoulders shook. Even Seolhwa, still holding the constellation down, had tears trailing down her cheeks.

Yoo Joonghyuk refused to turn away, his jaw grinding so hard it looked like it might crack. 

Kyrgios watched, his azure eyes blazing with fury. Veins stood out on his neck.

The figures did not respond. They only whispered on.

It's my fault. It's my fault.

And with every repetition, the scratches on their faces deepened, red spilling onto the black floor beneath them.

Han Sooyung stood slightly apart, watching Gilyoung's futile attempts, the figures of Young Dokja, Dokja's thrashing form.

There was nothing she could do.

Nothing any of them could do.

She turned back to the screen.

Young Dokja was still screaming, as he watched his own face rip open.

Her throat tightened.

Young Dokja screamed.

"GET AWAY!"

He lurched back, collapsing through the bedroom door, scrambling back on hands and knees, until his spine hit the leg of his bed.

"Get away—get away—get away—"

He was still screaming when he screwed his eyes shut. Still shaking when the scream dissolved into sobs, and he pressed both arms over his eyes.

"P-please g-go away—"

He couldn't open his eyes again. He didn't want to. But his eomma's pleading voice pulled at him from the hallway. He couldn't leave her alone.

So his lids peeled back without permission, full of fear.

But this time, the window glass showed only his own pale, terrified face.

There was no reflection.

No monster.

Around the theatre, the shadows of young Dokja began to fade. One by one, they dissolved, their whispers growing fainter.

My fault... My... fault...

Gilyoung was still clinging to one, his arms wrapped around its small black form. "No—no, Hyung don't go—"

The figure sank into the black floor like water seeping into sand. Gilyoung's hands grasped at its shoulders, its arms, but they passed through. He fell forward, and the shadow was gone.

The blood on the floor vanished. The weeping faces disappeared. The scratching stopped.

On the makeshift bed, Kim Dokja's writhing began to gradually slow. His hands uncurled from his chest. His breathing evened, still ragged but no longer as desperate. Seolhwa and Aileen loosened their grips slightly, watching him settle.

Yoo Joonghyuk stood at the edge. The black floor was gone. Only broken chairs and cracked pillars remained.

His eyes landed on Heewon. She was still kneeling, staring at nothing. Her sword hung limp at her side Blood and tears had already begun to dry along her face.

It looks like...

He caught sight of his eomma again. His Appa began dragging her towards the bedroom, completely oblivious to why his son has just shrieked.

Him eomma stumbled, her free hand scrambling for the doorframe and the swinging half-light threw more shadows across the walls in lurching waves

"Stop, you're hurting me—!"

"Shut up! Since you want to be so helpful, I know exactly how you can help me."

But Sookyung caught the edge and held on.

[A-ppa's hurting Eomma?]

[No, t-that can-]

Young Dokja pressed himself against his bed, knees to chest, hands over his ears. The tears continued to drip onto his once warm clothes.

"This isn't real."

He sank back down and pressed his hands hard against his skull.

"This isn't real. T-this is a nightmare. A-appa wouldn't hurt eomma." The tears were still falling. "E-eomma wouldn't hate me. This isn't real. This isn't—"

"Let go Sookyung"

Her fingers curled around the wood.

"P-please wait, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, not in fro-"

Dokja couldn’t see either of his parents’ faces at all. He could only watch his eomma's fingers curl around the corner of the doorway. White knuckled.

"LET GO!"

His Appa yanked once, twice.

Sookyung refused to let go.

"P-please, i'm begging yo-"

"Fine. If that's what you want."

He slammed the door.

The edge came down across the middle of her sender finger, completely shattering it into two.

"AHHHHHH, it's broken—!" she screamed. "It's BROKEN—!"

"That motherfucker," Hayoung snarled, her voice low and shaking. "How could he do something like that?"

Aileen had gone pale. "In front of Dokja?" she whispered. "Did he see that?"

"I told you to let go didn't I? Useless and stupid till the end" he snarled

Then he grabbed her hand and pried her broken finger off the frame, one slow pull that made her scream again, before shoving her inside.

"No—" The word came out of Dokja in pieces. "No—no—eomma—no—no—"

What was broken?

E-eomma was broken?

No..

He folded forward until his forehead met the cold floorboards

"Th-is, this isn't r-real- "

The bedroom door slammed shut, cutting off Sookyung's voice mid-plea.

Silence.

The screen went black.

........

The company waited in tense silence for it to start up again. They wouldn't be caught off guard this time. But it didn't.

10 minutes passed and yet the screen remained black.

Slowly, a collective, shuddering exhale rippled through the company. Several people slumped where they sat, the sudden absence of the empathic link leaving them gasping.

"I-is it over?" Jihye asked, slumped down.

"Don't jinx it," Yoo Mia muttered, but her shoulders had loosened. Sweat drenched her back

On the row of seats, Kim Dokja's breathing had finally evened out. His face was still pale, but the violent trembling had stopped. Yoosung stroked his hair gently.

"Ahjussi's face looks a lot better now," she mumbled

The others crowded around. Hayoung peered over Aileen's shoulder. "...His colour's coming back."

"Thank god," Gilyoung whispered, his small hand wrapping around Dokja's wrist.

Biyoo nuzzled the reader's cheek, chirping softly. "Baat..."

Kyrgios hovered nearby, his azure eyes fixed on his disciple's face.

Pildu let out a breath. Normally he might have made a stupid remark to try and break this suffocating atmosphere. But after what he'd just seen, even he was shaken.

Hyunsung turned hesitantly towards Heewon. She was still lying where she'd fallen, her sword beside her. He took a step towards her, unsure.

Yoo Joonghyuk stood in the middle of the circle, his gaze sweeping the room. 

He looked at Dokja. Steady breathing. Then at Han Sooyung.

She was sitting further away, her face ashen. Sweat beaded on her temples, and her lower lip trembled. She wasn't looking at the screen. She was staring at nothing, her eyes completely unfocused.

Yoo Joonghyuk's eyes narrowed.

He crossed the short distance and crouched beside her, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

"Han Sooyung. Spit it out. What did you realise earlier?"

She didn't answer.

Her gaze drifted to Dokja's sleeping face, then to the black screen, then back to nothing.

"...Sooyung."

Her breath hitched. She pressed a hand to her bandaged temple, as if trying to hold herself together.

This is it? she thought. It just....ends like this?

She looked at Dokja again. His breathing was definitely steady. His face had relaxed. The shadows were gone. The whispers had stopped. This memory was more extreme than anything they'd seen before. By all means that should mean that the memory had ended. But...

No... this can't be it.

The regressors jaw tightened. His hand shot out to grab Han Sooyung by the collar, bringing her face close to his.

"Han Sooyung," he growled. "Does it look like i'm messing around. Spit it out. Now. What did you figure out?"

A few heads turned at the commotion. Seolhwa looked up from Dokja, frowning.

"Joonghyuk-ah, what are you—"

"Stay out of this," Yoo Joonghyuk snapped without looking away.

Yoo Sangah's hands hovered uncertainly. "Joonghyuk-ssi—"

He ignored them, his grip tightening further. "Don't make me repeat myself. Talk."

"...No."

He stiffened. A vein throbbed at his temple. "No? You're going to keep it to yourself? After everything—"

"No," she said again, louder. Her eyes snapped to his, and there was something that didn't look like the normal cocky Han Sooyung in them.

It looked more like....helplessness.

"No—that's not—the memory isn't over."

He froze. "What?"

The company heard her this time. Heads turned.

Han Sooyung's face grew paler. "It's not over—all of you, be on your—"

Something struck before she could finish.

Yoo Joonghyuk's body locked.

His knees slammed into the floor as if an invisible hand had pressed him into the ground. 

Wha-

He couldn't move. 

Beside him, Han Sooyung also tried to cry out. Her lips parted, but her face was smashed into the ground.

All around them, the company collapsed. Heewon, already on the floor, was pinned in place. 

Even Kyrgios, floating in the air, was slammed violently to the ground. Within seconds, the company had been brought to their knees.

Then, the floor split open.

From the darkness below, jagged teeth emerged—rows and rows of them, lining the edges of the fissure like the maw of some buried creature. The crack widened, the teeth grinding against each other as the floor tore apart.

The theatre crumbled. Pillars cracked and shattered, their marble shards raining down into the growing abyss. Chairs splintered. Dust and darkness swallowed the light.

Bony fingers rose from the blackness, clutching at the incarnations ankles, wrists, shoulders. They wrapped around their limbs and began to pull. One seized Yoo Joonghyuk's arm. Another clamped onto his leg.

He struggled, but the grip was absolute.

He looked down.

He could barely make out what was below him.

The hand around his wrist was attached to a skeleton, its jaw hanging open in a silent scream.

And it's face....it was familiar.

It almost looked like-

Lee Sookyung—

The thought barely formed before he was yanked downward.

Minyoung drove her hands against the invisible force, but jagged hands gripped her arms, her shoulders, her neck, and she was pulled down helplessly with the rest.

The jaw closed over them.

Darkness swallowed everything. Only the screen remained, a distant rectangle of pale light that neither grew closer nor farther away.

A black void, Han Sooyung thought quickly, even as her body refused to move. Is this the void Dokja was taken to?

"What's happening?!" Jihye's panicked voice came out slurred.

"I can't move—" Hyunsung's words dragged.

"Ahjussi—" Yoosung tried to turn her head, but couldn't.

"Baat!" 

"Everyone stay calm—" Yoo Sangah's voice cut off.

"Where's Dokja?! Where's Ahjumma?!" Hayoung's words tumbled out, barely intelligible.

"They're n-near me," Seolhwa managed, her speech thick. "They're—they're fine."

The screen flickered.

"Is the memory still carrying on?"

On the screen, shadows resolved into shapes. They were indistinct and blurry, yet unmistakable.

Two figures in a dark room.

...

A bedroom.

...

One large, one smaller.

Yoo Sangah's blood ran cold.

Oh no.

And then the same skeletal hands rose again—this time not to grab, but to silence. Bony fingers clamped over their mouths and lips.

She tried to scream. She tried to reach over and cover the children's eyes. But the fingers pressed harder, ripping into her lips. Her body was complete frozen.

Yoo Sangah could only barely move her eyes.

She looked around.

Everyone else had come to the same realisation. Their faces were covered with those same pale bony fingers. Gilyoung's face twisted with panic. Yoosung's eyes were wide, tears already forming. Mia stared at the screen, almost in disbelief.

They're trapped.....No we're all trapped. They're forcing us to watch in silence?!

Even the constellations....

Her eyes darted to Han Sooyung. The writer's face was deathly pale. She already knew. She'd already figured out what was coming. Yoo Joonghyuk's jaw was clenched. Every muscle in his body strained against the bone claws restraining him, even as their jagged edges carved deep bloody lines.

But it was futile.

The harder he fought, the deeper they dug in.

Hyunsung's gaze slid sideways to Heewon, who lay just a metre away. Just one metre.

He tried to reach her but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything.

Rage welled up in his chest, hot and useless.

The screen brightened.

The indistinct shadows sharpened further into the details of the room. A bed. A man. A woman.

And the memory continued.

.........

A heavy thud, as if a body had been shoved against furniture. The headboard maybe. Something wooden cracked.

A choked, gasping inhale.

Please—" Sookyung's voice, small and begging. "Please, i'm begging, just stop—"

"I said shut up." His voice, low and grinding. "You don't get to talk to me anymore. This is your punishment."

Yoo Joonghyuk's eyes blazed. He strained against the skeletal hands frantically, but they held steadfast. He tried to shout at Mia but the hands were like chains around his neck, ripping even into his flesh. He never should've let her leave his side. He should-

Another thud. Furniture scraping the floor.

"Get on the bed."

"No—please, I can't—not again—"

"Get on the bed Sookyung. Don't make me repeat myself"

Lee Hyunsung's whole body trembled with rage. His gaze fixed on Heewon's back—just a small single metre away, but no matter how he struggled, he couldn't reach her. He couldn't see her face. He didn't know if she was crying or unconscious or worse.

Useless.

Useless.

I can't let her be by herself, not after what we just-

The creak of the bed and the groan of the bedsprings

"Stay still. Don’t fucking move."

Her voice, splintered into a terrified sob, repeating "No, please, no—"

"You think I don't hear you?" he said, his voice dropping much lower. "Pestering me about the drinking. Nagging, nagging, nagging. That's all you ever do. 'You drink too much.' 'Come home earlier.' 'Think about your son.'" He mocked her voice, making it small and whining. "You think I don't know what you say when I'm not there?"

"I never—"

"Shut up. You wanted my attention? You wanted me to notice you? Well, you have it now. I don't want dinner anymore. I want you. And this is what you deserve."

Han Sooyung gritted her teeth so hard she tasted blood. 

"H-hic—P-lease, you would never do this— sob—It's the alcohol."

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking with tears but somehow finding a thread of something softer. "P-please, you're not this person. I know you're not. I know you. I married you. The man who used to hold my hand. Who used to make me laugh."

He didn't move.

Yoo Sangah's tears fell silently. They dripped pathetically onto her clothes. 

"R-remember?" She swallowed, a sob catching in her throat. "When we first got married? You'd come home and just... hold me. We'd talk and we'd go for walks and we'd" a thick, wet sniffle "We'd go on those dates you liked. Before all this. Before the drinking. Before the anger." Her voice trembled, tears audible in every word, but she kept going. "You're still in there. I know you are. Please. Let me help you. Let us help you. We can fix this....together."

For a moment, the only sound was her ragged breathing, and the soft, wet hitch of another sob she couldn't swallow. His shadow stopped moving on the wall.

"Please," she whimpered again, softer. "...Come back to me."

The silence stretched. His shadow seemed to shrink, just a little.

"Sookyung..."

"I..."

Then he shook his head.

"I can't." The words came out rough, almost pained. "You don't understand. This is necessary. If I don't do this, I lose control. And if I lose control, I lose everything. The job. The house. You." He took a shaky breath. "You made me this way. You and your nagging and all your disappointment. But....I can still fix it. I can still fix us."

"That's not—"

"I have to do this." His voice hardened again, the softness vanishing. "You'll thank me later. When things are better. When you learn to behave."

Then he grabbed her face and used his thumb to wipe away her tears, but they kept coming.

"Look at you," he said, and his voice had shifted, softened into something almost like pity. "Look at the state of you. And you were so beautiful once. Do you remember that Sookyung? When we first married? When you actually tried?"

"I'm sorry—" she managed.

"I know you're sorry." His voice was gentle now. "But sorry doesn't fix what you've become. It doesn't fix this apartment. It doesn't fix my son—your son. Look at what you made me do today. Do you think I want to do this? Do you think I want to punish you like this? But you make me. You keep forcing my hand after your constant repetitive failures. You're raising him to be weak, just like you."

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"

The words tumbled out of her in a frantic, desperate chant, each one thinner than the last.

"Sorry doesn't fix anything," and then there was a slap. Sharp and wet.

Lee Sookyung cried out.

"Shut up Sookyung."

Another slap, harder this time, and she whimpered instead of screamed.

"Shut that disgusting mouth of yours."

She stopped crying out. The sobs turned muffled, pressed into bedding or a hand.

Hayoung's face was soaked. She couldn't close her ears even if she wanted to. Every word, every sound, carved itself into her skull.

"That's better," he said. Almost gentle now. "That's so much better, isn't it? See? You can be good when you try."

The bedsprings groaned again, slowly and deliberately, and Lee Sookyung's breathing came in ragged gasps

"You're still beautiful, you know," he said, and there was something terrible in his voice—something that sounded almost like tenderness. "Even like this. Even after everything you've done. Do you know that? Do you know I still look at you and see the woman I married?"

Seolhwa's vision blurred. She blinked, and more tears fell. Was she feeling Sooyung's emotions now?

That bastard, how can he-

Lee Sookyung didn't answer. She just kept breathing in those small, broken gasps.

"I asked you a question." His voice hardened. "Do you know?"

"Y-yes—" she whispered. "Yes, I know—"

"Then why do you make me do this? Why do you make me hurt something so beautiful?"

The bedsprings creaked faster. Lee Sookyung whimpered.

"Does it hurt?" He asked.

A pause. A long, terrible pause.

"Does it hurt, Sookyung?"

"I asked you a question. Does it hurt?"

"Y-yes—" The word came out strangled, like she was choking on it.

"Good girl." He almost sounded proud. "Remember this for next time. Remember that this is what happens when you make me angry. This is what happens when you challenge my authority in my house."

There was a sharp scrape of wood on the floor—something being pushed, or knocked over, or dragged.

Then a sharp, wet, sickening slap. Different from the others.

His eomma made a sound. Not a scream or a cry. It was something worse. Something that sounded like she had given up.

Then silence.

The screen turned black

....