Chapter Text
The Jade Typhoon groaned as the Kaiju’s fist connected with its chest plate, the impact jarring Daeyoung's teeth. Through the whipping blizzard, the creature. a hulking brute of muscle and rage, pressed its advantage.
“Ice on the right regulator,” Daeyoung grunted, feeling their jaeger’s leg lock up.
He didn’t need to explain further. In the Drift, Yushi’s calm focus was already redirecting their balance, a subtle shift that felt as natural as his own breathing. Their jaeger pivoted, avoiding a deadly swipe.
"It favors the left after a lunge," Yushi’s thought came, clean and sharp. "The leg joint."
Daeyoung was already moving. He trusted his instinct more than his own eyes. He drove them forward, their plasma sword slicing down its leg in a precise, searing arc. It wasn’t a killing blow but it was a brutal, efficient strike to the thigh.
The creature roared and stumbled back, its charge broken. They stood heaving, the immediate threat neutralized. Hard and messy but controlled. As the Kaiju recovered and geared to charge again, Daeyoung and Yushi braced themselves.
Just another day on the job.
FROM THE KOREA TIMES - JULY 14TH
"...witnesses describe living mountains that rose from the oceans, crushing harbor districts and later major cities. The official death toll is unknown, but authorities concede it is 'catastrophic.'"
FROM THE CHOSUN DAILY- AUGUST 30TH
"...confirmed that the creatures all emerged from the same apparent point of origin as the first attacks in Manila, Korea, Alaska, Japan, and Australia. This confirms our worst fears: this was not a singular anomaly, but the first wave of an ongoing assault."
FROM ATLANTIC DEFENSE - JANUARY 15TH
"...with the twelfth attack in as many months, the data is irrefutable. The time between emergence events has decreased by a significant number. Projections indicate there are no sign of ceasing."
FROM THE NEW YORK TIMES - JULY 10TH
"...funding has been approved for 'Jaeger Mark-1,' a 280-foot humanoid combat unit, a hail Mary solution. The controversial 'Drift' neural interface, which requires two pilots to share consciousness, is cited as the only way to manage the crushing psychic load."
PUBLIC NOTICE - DISTRIBUTED NATIONALLY
"...all citizens must register with their residential sector warden. Bunker assignments are final. When you hear the sirens, you have minutes, not hours. Do not panic. Avoid stampedes."
The kaiju first came when Daeyoung was eleven.
The Godzilla movies weren’t fiction, they were foreshadowings.
The first city fell not in a day but in a matter of minutes. Earth had been keeping secrets from them, and it was finally waking up.
The world didn't end with a loud bang, but with a slow grind to a halt. He remembered the taste of the air that day, a metallic, bloody tang mixed with something rotten, like a battery left to rust and rot out in the open.
His father had ruffled his hair before leaving for the docks on the day of the first series of attacks.
He never came back.
He remembered watching the news reports with disbelieving eyes, his eldest brother's arms around him in the survivors' disaster camp. The lump of hope in their chest, that they would find their father had slowly turned into dread.
The only thing they recovered was his twisted work id.
Daeyoung would never ever forget his mother's wails throughout that entire night.
The Jaeger Program when it was announced months later, felt like an answer, a fist to hit back against the monsters.
But his mother, her face already changed with grief, forbade him from signing up. His two older brothers had already tried. They came back from the preliminary screenings hollow eyed and silent, deemed ‘unsuitable’ for the neural load.
"No," she'd said to Daeyoung when he asked to try out, her voice thin and final. "You are my youngest, Daeyoung. You will not do this to your mother."
So life became a series of small, desperate steps. After school, when other, more privileged kids might have been studying or causing trouble. As soon as he entered highschool, Daeyoung joined his brothers in hauling reinforced concrete for The Wall. The pay was shit, but it was cold hard cash all the same. They told their mother it was from a mechanic's shop, a lie that felt flimsy on their tongues.
The truth was, The Wall was a soul crushing. You could feel the futility in the vibrations of the drills, see it in the cynical eyes of the foreman. Everyone knew it was a politician's dream, a big show of something being done that would never truly work.
Some nights, tired from studying fruitlessly and holding a hammer, he’d slip into an old bar down the road. The owner, an ahjusshi man with a missing leg who never gave his name, let him play the weathered piano in the corner. He used to have piano lessons before the world ended, and it surprised him how much he missed it, feeling the keys under his fingers and pouring out his emotions through music.
The customers, their faces etched with the same permanent exhaustion Daeyoung saw in the mirror, would sometimes still their conversations to listen to him play. A memory of life before the kaiju resurfacing in their minds, nostalgia and memories reflecting in their eyes. The coins they left were for the music, not for pity. Not that the distinction mattered much.
For years, he was almost content to go on like that. He still had his brothers, his mother, a purpose, however small. He was luckier than most.
He was eighteen when the siren went off again. It was a Category II, codename 'Bone-Sniffer'. It didn't make it far inland, but it didn't have to. A column that was knocked down by the kajiu's elbow fell right where his second brother was running away, caught in the frantic crowd. They pulled him out alive, but his left leg was a ruined mess of splintered bone and torn ligament.
The sounds of his brother’s screams echoed in his nightmares for months. And the sight of him in the hospital bed made him feeling a deep bitterness rising from within him. The doctors said he would walk again, but with a crutch, and with constant nerve pain.
“It could have been worse Daeyoung-ah,” His brother said through teeth gritted against the agony, trying to smile. “I could have died.”
Standing in that white, antiseptic hospital room, watching his strong, laughing brother learn how to balance on aluminum and plastic, something in Daeyoung finally broke. It wasn't a dramatic break, but a quiet crack.
The patience for just surviving was gone, this wasn't living, this was a slow march to eventual death. A week later, he forged his mother's signature on the Jaeger Academy application forms.
The fight that followed was worse than he’d imagined. His mother’s anger was a storm of tears and shouted words, each one a lash on his admittedly soft heart. "Selfish! Foolish boy! You want to die out there in a stupid robot? Have I not lost enough?" Daeyoung had listened, taking it all in, tears running down his face.
But Daeyoung’s eldest brother, just watched with sad, knowing eyes. When Daeyoung put his mind towards something, it was as good as done, stubborn as a mule. As Daeyoung zipped his hoodie shut,his eyes still red. His brother just pressed an envelope of worn bills into Daeyoung’s hand and pulled him into a fierce, tight hug. "Go," he whispered, "Eomma’s anger will subside. I will talk to her. Take care Daeyoung-ah. And please for the love of...don't die."
The Busan training centre was a humbling ordeal. Among the fourteen and fifteen year old cadets, he was considered an old man at the ripe age of eighteen. The first few months were a special kind of hell. The other cadets called him 'Samchon' behind his back. But Daeyoung didn't care, he kept his head down and worked hard, harder than any trainee. And at the end of every week, he wrote letters home every Sunday, lies about how well he was doing, how kind his instructors were.
But Daeyoung had something they didn't, a lifetime of lifting concrete, doing things he didn't want to and swallowing his pride. Where others relied only on talent, he relied on relentless endurance and refusal to give up. He trained until his hands bled and knuckles turned raw, until the neural load from the basic simulator made him vomit. He learned to take a punch, and more importantly, to get back up. He learned to analyze a kaiju’s movements, looking for the weak point in the structure, the flaw in the design.
The instructors started noticing. His physical scores were off the charts. "You've got a construction worker's body," his combat instructor grunted, not unkindly. "Good. A Jaeger is just the biggest piece of construction there is."
He was soon moved up to the senior cadets, men and women his own age or older. He learned the intricacy of piloting a Jaeger, the terrifying vulnerability of the Drift, the cold science of kaiju biology. He learned to channel all the frustration, the grief, the love for his family, into a single, focused point of purpose.
He graduated in one year and seven months, top of his class, a record for the Busan training centre.
At twenty, he was told he was being assigned to the Incheon dome. He was ecstatic, Incheon dome was famously hailed for their remarkable pilots that had successfully protected Korea for years. Among them were legends like Park Chanyeol and Byun Baekhyun, Lee Minhyung and Lee Donghyuck and Lee Jeno, Na Jaemin and Huang Renjun.
He later learned that he was to be a reserve pilot. A backup. Forever waiting for someone to be incapacitated, a necessary step in. When he found out, he felt the old frustration rising, the sense of waiting and helplessness unbearable. Then his Commander, a veteran with an eye patch, called him into his office.
"Incheon has a full roster," the man said, not looking up from his datapad. "But there's an opening. Tokyo Shatterdome."
Daeyoung froze. Tokyo was the front line. They had plenty of pilots, why would they need...?
"Your choice, ranger. Incheon and wait, or Tokyo and fight."
"Take it or leave it."
Daeyoung didn't hesitate. He took it.
-
Yushi was haunted by the same dream. Always the same.
Not a nightmare of screams and blood, but something worse.
It always starts the same too. Yushi is on the rehearsal stage, the rough fabric of his school dance costume itching his neck. The music is swelling, the rhythm thumping through the floorboards into the soles of his feet. He moved, his body knowing the steps better than his mind did, a series of sharp, precise turns and stomps.
Then, the light changed.
It wasn't a just a cloud passing over the sun. It was a swallowing, a sudden darkness, blotting out all of the sunlight like a thief. The warm stage lights were drowned in a vast, cold blue. The shadow that was cast over him was so immense it felt like the sky itself was falling down. The music cut out, with a painful spike.
Yushi’s head turned. It wasn't a conscious choice. It was a slow, inevitable rotation, like the hand of a clock reaching the hour.
He looked in horror, at the commercial building across from the road, opposite the stage, the one where his parents, his little brother were waiting to see him perform later that day.
A foot comes down.
It wasn't like anything he had ever seen. It was a mountain of living, pulsating flesh, armored in ridges of bone that gleamed with a vile, organic moisture. It did not slam down. It descended with an awful destruction.
Yushi screams until his ears ring.
The building doesn't explode. It crumbles. It flattens like a folded origami instead of concrete and splintered steel, collapsing into a pile of rubble.
One blink and it is gone.
And Yushi is just standing there.
Standing.
Standing.
Yushi’s eyes open. It was a slow surfacing from one reality into another. Other days he woke up with an abrupt jolt or a gasp, he was too exhausted even for that today he guesses. He stared into the darkness of the bunk bed above him. A weary sigh escaped him, barely a whisper.
The room was empty, the sounds of his two roommates absent.
He didn't move. Moving would mean accepting that this was the real world, that the day had to begin.
He shared this room with two other cadets who hated him. Their dislike wasn't loud or violent, it was a quiet, constant thing. It was in the way Ito would stop talking when Yushi entered the room, in the way they would ‘accidentally’ kick their boots under Yushi's bunk.
Yushi couldn't blame them. He’d hate him too.
He was a waste of space, a ghost occupying a bunk that should have gone to someone with a future. He was the proof that talent and training meant nothing if your own mind betrayed you.
For some reason, the Marshal, a man of granite and stern efficiency, wouldn't let him go. Even though Yushi hadn't taken a single successful step inside a Jaeger's Conn-Pod in three years.
The Marshal’s stubbornness was a mystery. Why wouldn't he let Yushi go? He was the pilot who couldn't pilot. That was the reputation, and it was earned. It wasn't that the Drift was unstable, it was that it never began. The moment the neural handshake was initiated, Yushi’s mind not only resisted, it slammed shut with gates of pure, deep rooted panic that no one could breach.
The scientists and technicians were baffled. They’d run every test, scanned his brain until the images were burned into their screens, and found nothing. They called it an unprecedented psychosomatic defense mechanism, a firewall his own mind had erected so powerful it defied their technology. A brain totally clamming up.
There was a time, though, when things had been different.
Since Yushi was fifteen, he’d been unofficially paired with Sion. Oh Sion, who was two years older, who never treated his quiet nature as weakness. Sion hyung had found him, a quiet, intense boy sparring alone long after everyone else had left. He never tried to force him to talk, never mocked his silence. He just started training alongside him.
Sion understood that the Yushi who was shy and slow to speak in the mess hall became a different creature in the Conn-Pod, focused, fierce, a perfect mirror. Sion never underestimated him, was patient with the moments when Yushi would retreat into himself, and was always there when Yushi sought him out.
When they both graduated, Yushi at eighteen and Sion at twenty, the Marshal had immediately slated them for a Jaeger. It was meant to be a formality. All their practice drift drills had been flawless, their synchronization near-perfect and they worked together so well, everyone could see that. They were given their chance to initiate a neural handshake in a real, newly commissioned Jaeger, the Violet Saber.
Till this day, Yushi still didn’t understand what happened that day. He had replayed that day almost ten thousand times in his head, and the memory was always a fractured, confusing thing. The inside of the Conn-Pod was larger than he’d imagined, colder. The smell of coolant and fresh plastic was overwhelming. The machines flickered to life. He remembers the pressure of the helmet, the cool gel of the probes against his scalp. He remembers Sion hyung’s voice, calm and steady through the comms. "Ready, Yushi?"
Then… a flicker. A memory that wasn't fully his, the smell of dust, the sound of silence after a collapse. Perhaps it was nerves, or anxiety, or a fear so deep he hadn't even known it was there. He didn't know the exact reason, and the not knowing was a constant, gnawing pain.
He chased the rabbit.
Sion hyung’s voice that was frantic in his head, trying to pull him back, was the last thing he remembered before the neural link severed itself. Later he learned that he’d nearly caused Violet Saber to open fire on a Jaeger positioned in front of them in the hangar bay. It was a complete, humiliating disaster.
The Marshal, to his credit, had fought for him. But the officials saw only a catastrophic liability. They pulled Sion from the partnership immediately.
They had Sion try with other cadets, and then he found Riku. Maeda Riku. Ninety five percent compatible. A steady, reliable handshake.
And that was that.
Sion hyung and Riku had been partners ever since. Three years ago. Yushi had lost count of how many kaijus they’d killed. Was it ten or eleven?
Three years later and Yushi was still stuck here, half forgotten in the Shatterdome. The Marshal’s refusal to release him went beyond reason. He claimed that Yushi was the most brilliant tactical mind he’d ever seen.
Yushi didn't believe it.
But the Marshal wasn't a man of pity, he was a man of stone and pragmatism. His faith made Yushi confused.
So Yushi made himself useful in the only ways he could. He was often pulled into the LOCCENT control room by the Marshal during kaiju fights, a silent observer made to speak. "Its secondary brain is recessed, lower than the models suggest. Aim for the base of the spine," he'd say, his voice flat.
The technicians would stare, their glances a mix of curiosity and contempt. Even when his advice was sound, when it led to a killing blow, the stares remained. He was a specimen. A paradox. The only reason he still had a roof over his head here was the Marshal's inexplicable favor.
His days were a blur. He practiced in the practice floor, his staff whistling through the empty air. He trained on the simulation rigs alone, running through piloting sequences that he would never get to execute for real. He read, he researched, he consumed every piece of data on kaiju biology and Jaeger engineering until his eyes burned.
The sparring mats were his second home. Occasionally, some new cadet, or an older one looking to vent their frustrations, would decide that a public match against "the pilot who can't pilot" would be a good way to boost their standing.
Yushi never shied away from the duels. It was practice, all the same.
And it usually ensured they left him alone for a good, long time afterward.
He was still in his bunk, still staring at the bottom of the upper mattress, at the pattern of the springs. He waited. He waited for the feeling of the stage boards under his feet to fade. He waited for the phantom scent of dust to be replaced by the real smells of the dormitory. He just lay there, waiting for the dream to release its grip on his mind. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the faint construction noises of jaegers being repaired.
Then the heavy metal door of his room creaked open with a familiar, groaning sound. And Yushi already knew who it was. It wasn’t the hurried, indifferent slam of his roommates. This was a softer, more deliberate sound, followed by the familiar scuff of two pairs of boots he knew as well as his own.
The thin, worn mattress dipped sharply on either side of him as two bodies flopped onto his tiny bunk with practiced synchrony. The scent of clean sweat, the faint, sharp smell of the hangar bay coolant, and their unique, warm scents filled Yushi’s space.
“Yuu-chan, did you sleep well? Come eat breakfast with us.” Riku’s voice was a warm, steady murmur on his right, close to his ear. It was never demanding. It was an invitation, a tether thrown to him.
“Yeah, come on, Ushi-ya. You can’t hibernate forever.” Sion’s deeper tone, laced with a familiar, gentle coaxing that held the barest hint of a plea, came from his left. A heavy, warm arm draped across his chest.
For a split second after Sion and Riku had been officially partnered, Yushi had braced himself for a jealousy that never came. He thought he would naturally resent Riku. He had mentally prepared for the bitterness of watching this bright, capable stranger step into the Conn-Pod that was meant to be his, to share the most intimate connection imaginable with the person who was his only tether to a normal life.
But he couldn’t. It was impossible. Partly because no one in their right mind could hate Maeda Riku, literal sweetheart, all genuine smiles, unwavering kindness and a steady strength that complemented Sion’s high energy perfectly. They had quickly became firm best friends, he was Riku’s first ever dongsaeng.
But also because Sion hyung went so perfectly with him. Their partnership was right in a way that felt inevitable and seeing Sion so settled, so balanced, quieted any potential bitterness in Yushi’s heart.
They were the only ones who cared about Yushi in this entire echoing, metal cavern of a dome, aside from the stubborn Marshal and the two pesky, brilliant young cadets who had recently decided Yushi was their new collective pet project.
Their care wasn’t born from pity or a twisted sense of obligation. They didn’t seek him out because they felt bad for him. They did it because they genuinely liked him and Yushi liked them too. He even found himself looking forward to their intrusions.
Even though he never got to be Jaeger partners with Sion, the bond they had forged in those early, desperate trainee years remained, a sturdy backbone to his life. Sion hyung was still the one person whom Yushi’s mind had let in, the one whose presence didn’t make his mental defenses snap into place with panic.
Theirs was a connection that existed outside the Drift, a comfortable, worn in understanding, a shared language of glances and silences that would never go away. And that was a greatly comforting thought to Yushi, that Sion hyung would never leave his side.
But a year ago, the weight of it all had become too much for Yushi to bear. The low grade, perpetual humiliation of being a spectacle, the sidelong glances in the corridors, the agony of being surrounded by the towering weapons of war he could not pilot, of being unable to exact his revenge for his family, of watching the kaiju emerge every week and being able to do nothing but offer quiet, clinical advice from the shadows like a ghost whispering strategies to the living.
He woke up one day and typed up a formal resignation letter on a cracked communal desktop and placed it on the Marshal’s desk. The Marshal had taken it, read it with his impassive face and chucked it in his side trashbin, citing "investment of resources."
But Yushi didn’t care. He was done. He was sick of the dome’s stuffy air, sick of the hope that curdled into a familiar, acidic disappointment every time a new, hopeful cadet was brought in for a compatibility test that was doomed to fail.
He had packed his belongings into a single duffle bag and walked toward the landing pad, the vast doors open to a grey, uncertain sky that promised nothing but was at least different.
It was Sion who stopped him. He came running, his boots echoing a frantic rhythm on the stained concrete and wrapped his arms around Yushi from behind, holding him so tightly it felt like his ribs might fuse together.
Yushi had turned, ready to reason with him, to apologize for his weakness, to explain that he was going mad in this gilded cage, that he couldn’t stay and slowly suffocate on his own uselessness. But all the carefully prepared words caught in his throat, sharp and painful.
Because his hyung was crying. Silent, earnest tears that made his frame shake.
Sion hyung, who was the strongest person he knew, who had so much pride, who only ever allowed himself to cry deep inside his room despite his pain, muffling the sounds with his palm, was now crying out in the open, where anyone could see.
“You can’t go, Yushi. Please don’t go, hmm? What will hyung do without you?” His voice was thick, cracking with an emotion so deep it shook his entire frame.
“What will you do without me? I’m all you have.”
It sounded so arrogant out loud, but it was just the plain truth. Sion was all Yushi had left.
Yushi had entered the Jaeger program in its first, experimental draft, a child soldier in a war against nightmares. He was twelve, one of the youngest they’d ever accepted, a scrawny, hollow eyed boy who had lost his entire family, his entire world, in a single, silent afternoon the same day the kaiju first surfaced. They don't accept trainees that young anymore, but back then the government's desperation knew no bounds.
The program was the only home, the only structure, he had ever known. Sion had later joined the Tokyo training program when Yushi was fifteen, and never left his side since.
Sion hyung was his roommate, his training partner, his best friend and family all in one. He made sure Yushi ate properly, he made sure Yushi was never overlooked by their trainers, he listened to Yushi's words, never pressing him for more knowing how to guide him to not give up. to not get lost in the training, the grief, the revenge.
He made sure Yushi never went too long without a smile, making stupid jokes or tickling him until he relented. He was the reason Yushi’s korean never faded from disuse, conversing with him in the language of a home that no longer existed. For a long time, Sion hyung was the only one Yushi could truly be himself with, could breathe easy and let down his shields.
Yushi had never been without Sion. The thought of a world without him was more terrifying than facing any kaiju.
“You’re my family, Ushi-ya. You’ll break hyung’s heart if you go.”
“But it’s so suffocating here, hyung.” Yushi had said, his own voice wet and small, the confession leaving him deflated. “I’m so tired.”
Sion had pulled him close, cradling his head to rest against the familiar, strong line of his shoulder. “I know, I know. I’m so sorry, Yushi-ya. Hyung is selfish. But please stay. Stay for me, hmm?" His words were a desperate plea.
"You’ll find a partner soon, I promise. Hyung can feel it.”
Yushi had let out a disbelieving chuckle, the sound swallowed by Sion’s jacket.
“I can’t go on without you. I’ll be sick with worry and I’ll lose focus in the Jaeger and I’ll die. Is that what you want, Ushi?”
Yushi had let out a wet, hiccupping giggle at the dramatic, yet utterly sincere question, and felt the will to leave drain out of him completely. He let Sion pull him back from the edge, back from the vast, open sky, into the cavernous, noisy, familiar interior of the Shatterdome. Riku had been waiting just inside the heavy interior door, his face soft with a concern that held no judgment, and he had taken Yushi’s other hand without a word, his grip firm and sure.
“Yuu-chan,” Riku had said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “You’re stuck with us forever, ne?”
Yushi had sighed, a sound of surrender and a strange, reluctant relief, and let them lead him back together, the duffle bag feeling lighter than it had on the way out.
So now, Yushi let Sion hyung pull him out of bed, his body moving on autopilot, his limbs still heavy with the residue of the dream. They all headed to the main cafeteria together, a unit of three moving through the cold, industrial corridors. Riku took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and playfully used his shoulder to push Sion away from Yushi’s other side. “Yuu-chan is mine this morning, hyung. You can’t have him.”
Sion mimed being stabbed in the heart, staggering dramatically against a wall and drawing a few curious glances from passing mechanics. “You wound me so, my love. Betrayed by my own partner! For this… this silent cat!” He pointed a tragic finger at Yushi.
Riku giggled, a bright, clear sound that cut through the morning gloom, and Yushi just sighed, long suffering but fond, utterly used to being the prize in their well established dramatics.
The cafeteria was a roar of overlapping conversations, clattering trays, and the hum of heating. They lined up, got their trays of food and settled at their usual table, Sion on his left and Riku on his right. As usual, Sion slid a tonkatsu slice from his own tray onto Yushi’s, while Riku donated his extra portion of cabbage. “You need the nutrients,Yushi,” he’d say every time. Yushi felt like he was stuck between a married couple that had adopted him entirely against his will.
Though he wouldn't say it out loud, it warmed a hidden, fragile part of him, their unshakeable, protective presence. They weren’t always around, of course, as active Jaeger pilots, their lives were a brutal cycle of intense training, system maintenance, and deadly combat that could call them away at any second. But they carved out time for him with a fierce intentionality, ensuring he was never truly alone for long, that he always had a place at their table, both literally and figuratively.
Yushi didn’t exactly get bullied. People in the Shatterdome were generally too preoccupied with the world ending and their own survival to orchestrate proper, schoolyard harassment. And he was far from helpless, he was objectively the best pure fighter among the cadets. But he was extremely non-confrontational to a fault, letting muttered remarks and mocking whispers roll off him like water. It probably offended Sion and Riku more than it did him, he’d watch Sion’s jaw tighten and Riku’s smile drop, a response to a disrespectful whisper, which he found privately, very amusing.
They had only just picked up their chopsticks when two trays landed on the table with a definitive, simultaneous plonk, directly across from the three of them.
Hirose Ryo and Fujinaga Sakuya.
They were a recent addition to the Tokyo dome, having arrived about three months prior, and they were, in the words of the technicians and scientists, a literal walking miracle.
One hundred percent drift compatible.
Those numbers were unheard of. Not even 99.99% but a hundred. It was a statistical anomaly, a number thrown around in theoretical models, not in real, living, breathing pilots.
A Jaeger, a sleek Mark-6, was already being halfway refitted specifically for them. They had just graduated from the training Academy, Sakuya was still seventeen, all sharp elbows and intensity, soon to be eighteen, and Ryo was just a few months older, with a grin that could power a small star.
They had already, astoundingly, killed a kaiju. It was a desperate, audacious move by the officials when another pilot pair was injured mid-deployment. They’d been thrown into a waiting Jaeger with only simulator time as preparation, and they had not only survived but had performed with a terrifying, instinctual grace. What they lacked in experience and age, they made up for with complete, seamless teamwork that was breathtaking to watch. The Jaeger didn’t just move, it flowed, like a single consciousness controlling a giant body, with no resistance, no lag, no friction at all.
For some reason, they had imprinted on Sion, Riku, and Yushi like ducklings. And, despite his initial reservations, Yushi and the hyungs had taken a liking to them in return. It was hard not to.
They possessed a bright, almost blinding energy that was rare and precious in the glum, pressurized atmosphere of the dome. They were adorable in a way that was entirely unselfconscious, fun, and endlessly entertaining. Their constant, harmless bickering was a language of its own, a stream of conscious, overlapping thoughts that was more endearing than argumentative.
They were always attached at the hip too, Ryo with an arm perpetually slung around Sakuya’s shoulder, neck, waist, or arm, a constant point of physical contact, and Sakuya was content to let him, a small, smile always playing on his lips. They finished each other’s sentences, a habit that was both cool and slightly eerie, a product of both the unity of their Drift and their own innate, closeness.
Sion hyung especially had taken to them like a fish to water, effortlessly slipping into a faintly fatherly role. He was constantly teaching them Korean phrases, buying them snacks from the commissary with a conspiratorial wink, and, like now, sneaking an extra tonkatsu from his own tray onto Sakuya’s already full plate.
Riku, too, had taken them under his wing, his calm, steady nature providing a perfect counterbalance to Sion’s extraness and the boys’ youthful energy. He offered quiet advice about handling pressure, about the mental toll of the Drift, and gave them space to talk about their fears without judgment.
All three of them had, at various times, helped Ryo and Sakuya in training, offering sparring tips, tactical insights, and piloting tricks, and the two boys soaked up their advice with wide excitement and solemn responsibility, treating their words with reverence.
But it made Yushi a little sad, a dull ache beneath his ribs, seeing such young boys carrying the colossal weight of the world on their shoulders. He had been that young once, shoved into a war he didn’t ask for, but he couldn’t fathom the specific, intense pressure they were under now, being hailed as prodigy pilots, as miracles. He was glad they had each other, and now they had them, too.
For all their bright freshness and seemingly unshakeable bond, Yushi knew they carried their own scars, their own gallery of lost loved ones that fueled their determination. Everyone in the dome did, it was what fueled them all to keep fighting each day.
Sakuya, in particular, often sought Yushi out late at night, long after the official lights out, a deck of doggy eared cards or a worn out board game under his arm. He’d appear at the door of Yushi’s room or find him in the deserted sparring hall, his expression a silent question. And Yushi, who cherished his solitude, never minded indulging him.
They would play for hours, sometimes joined by a yawning Ryo, who would rest his head on Sakuya’s shoulder and offer terrible, sleep addled advice. They didn’t talk that much, chatting about random topics but often just sharing a comfortable silence punctuated by the soft rustle of cards, the click of game pieces, or Sakuya’s soft, sudden laughs at Yushi’s dry comments and weird humour.
He found Yushi funnier than anyone else ever had, and it brought Yushi a quiet, treasured comfort to know he could, in his own quiet way, bring someone uncomplicated joy. It was bittersweet, Sakuya’s focused intensity, the way he would chew his lip in concentration, the way he cheered when he rarely won, reminded him so much of the younger brother he had lost that it sometimes stole his breath. Yushi, with his calm and analytical mind, won almost every game, and Sakuya would pretend it was the end of the world, groaning dramatically and accusing him of being a robot, though he never truly minded losing.
For some inexplicable reason, both Ryo and Sakuya seemed to think Yushi was cool and admirable. They obviously thought Sion and Riku were cool too, Sion with his easy strength and loud laugh, Riku with his passion and gentle heart, but that was a given.
Their admiration for him however was a mystery he couldn’t solve. He wasn’t a hero, he was a cautionary tale. Yet, when they sparred they would ask him to watch, and he would occasionally offer a quiet pointer "You're dropping your left guard when you pivot," or "Use his momentum, don't oppose it directly" and they would listen with rapt attention, their usual playful bickering dissolving into a focused silence that would then, inevitably, melt back again into a mess of giggles and playful teasing once the lesson was over.
So, for now, surrounded by the buzz of the cafeteria, with Sion’s teasing and Ryo and Sakuya's comical debate about the best way to tackle the day’s simulation drill, Yushi was glad. He existed in this little bubble, this makeshift family he had somehow accumulated against all odds. But the question always lingered at then back of his mind, a cold constant warning to the warmth around him, how long could the Marshal’s patience last? How long could the higher ups justify housing, feeding, and training a pilot who could not pilot? Surely, he couldn’t stay here forever, a permanent resident of a place he couldn't truly belong to.
But until the day his time here comes to an end, he would treasure this fragile, warm constellation of people while he had it, hoarding the moments of laughter and shared silence like a squirrel preparing for a long winter, not knowing when the moment would come that he would finally, inevitably, have to leave.
-
The helicopter ride was a choppy affair, the thrum of the rotors syncing with the anxious pulse in Daeyoung's temples. He watched through the window as the sprawling, scarred landscape of Tokyo gave way to the immense, geometric structure of the Shatterdome, a fortress built with madness in mind. It was larger than it had any right to be, a city in its own right, and as they descended, the sheer scale of it made Daeyoung feel like a spec of dust. The landing was a jarring thud that traveled up his spine.
The wind from the rotors was a nuisance, whipping his hair and uniform into a frenzy. He ducked under the still spinning blades, the whump-whump-whump deafening, and straightened up to find a man waiting for him.
The Marshal. He was exactly as Daeyoung had imagined from the briefings, a figure carved from marble and tough history, his posture so rigid it seemed the wind bent around him. He had the eyes of a man who had stared into the Breach for too long, and they assessed Daeyoung in a single, sweeping glance that felt more invasive than any scanner.
Daeyoung bowed deeply from the waist, the gesture feeling both necessary and inadequate. A display of respect for the man behind one of the largest jaeger domes in the world. A strong, calloused hand, the skin rough and knuckles scarred, gripped his, shaking it once with a force that was absolute. "Kim Daeyoung. Walk with me."
So Daeyoung followed. They moved through corridors that were less hallways and more like arterial pathways of a giant machine. The air hummed with a low-frequency vibration he could feel in his teeth. Alarms chirped, distant voices echoed over intercoms, and beneath it all was the constant, groaning strain of metal and the hiss of pressurized hydraulics. It was the sound of perpetual war.
"I'll be frank with you," the Marshal said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the noise without effort. He didn't look at Daeyoung as he walked, his eyes fixed on some point far ahead. "You were requested for only one reason. I heard that you have a flawless drift record."
"Yes, sir." Daeyoung's voice sounded too young in his own ears.
"What was your lowest drift compatibility percentage?" the Marshal asked, the question tossed out like a challenge.
"Seventy percent, sir."
That made the Marshal pause. He stopped mid stride and turned, his full attention on Daeyoung for the first time. He raised a thick, skeptical eyebrow. "For your entire training period?"
"Yes, sir." Daeyoung met his gaze, willing his own not to waver. "The lowest was seventy. The highest was eighty five"
A grunt was the only acknowledgment, a sound that could have meant anything. "Well then. We'll see. I want you to try and drift with one of our… potential pilots. Tokuno Yushi."
The way he said "potential" was laden with unspoken meaning.
"Yes, sir."
"I'll bring you to meet him now. Tomorrow, you will try drifting together." It was not a suggestion.
They descended several floors in a massive cargo lift, the floor vibrating violently under their feet. The doors clanged open, revealing a vast, echoing space, the main practice floor. The air here was different, it smelled of hard work, human exertion, of sweat and effort, overpowering the ever present scents of oil and kaiju blood. And there, in the center of a large sparring mat, was the young man.
The Marshal didn't need to point. He merely lifted his chin a fraction, a minimal gesture that conveyed everything.
Tokuno Yushi. He was dressed in a simple, form-fitting black long-sleeved shirt and black pants, a stark, solitary figure against the red of the mats. He was surrounded by three shirtless cadets, their bodies glistening with sweat, their faces contorted with a mix of scorn and a desperate need to prove themselves.
All of them held wooden staffs, placeholders for real weapons. But Yushi's face was a calm, unnerving mask. His eyes… they were the most striking thing. They weren't just focused, they were empty, a flat, distant darkness that reflected the harsh overhead lights but gave nothing back. They were the eyes of someone who had retreated so far inside himself that the outside world was just a dull echo.
The four of them bowed in unison, a sharp, formal dip of the torso. Then, they exploded into motion.
Daeyoung was utterly taken aback. He had seen good fighters, but Yushi moved with a fluid, almost terrifying grace that was less like combat and more like a deadly dance. He was a whirlwind of controlled, elegant deflection, his staff a blur that seemed to be an extension of his own body. He never wasted a single ounce of energy, his feet shifting with minimal, precise steps, his body flowing around attacks rather than meeting them head on. He was a master of redirection. He defended more than he attacked, a serene center in the storm of their aggression, but when he did strike, it was with the sudden, shocking accuracy of an arrow. A sharp crack of wood on a rib, a deft sweep of a foot, a precise tap to a wrist that forced a staff to clatter to the floor. In barely over a minute, it was over.
The three men were on the ground, groaning, clutching their injuries. Yushi stood in the center, his chest rising and falling in a calm, steady rhythm. He wasn't even sweating. He lifted a hand, wiping a non-existent bead of sweat from his eyelid with a graceful, almost delicate motion, then tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind his ear. He bowed again, his face neutral, respectfully acknowledging his opponents. There was no smugness, no pride in the easy victory. Just a slight weary resignation, as if this, too, was just another chore to be completed. He walked off the mat and his gaze swept the room before it landed briefly on Daeyoung.
Crap. Daeyoung's thought was immediate, unbidden, and utterly inappropriate. He was even more beautiful up close. Long, soot-black eyelashes framing pretty, almond-shaped eyes that held a deep, unsettling depth. Fair, flawless skin that seemed almost porcelain under the harsh lights, and soft, perfectly shaped pink lips. What on earth was a prince doing in a Jaeger dome?
The Marshal called him over. "Tokuno."
Yushi stopped before them, his eyes immediately dropping to the floor between the Marshal's boots. He said nothing. He seemed to shrink into himself, the formidable fighter from moments ago replaced by a statue of quiet tension.
“This is cadet Kim Daeyoung. I want you to try drifting with him tomorrow."
Yushi's eyebrows furrowed. He looked up at the Marshal, and for a fleeting second, Daeyoung saw a flash of raw frustration and confusion in those dark eyes. His mouth opened, a silent protest forming on his lips. But the Marshal gave him a look that could have cut through steel, a silent command that brooked no argument. Yushi closed his mouth, the protest dying unspoken. He let out a soft, defeated sigh, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of disappointment, and his gaze returned to the safety of the concrete floor.
The Marshal patted Yushi once on the back, a gesture that seemed both stern and oddly affectionate, then pressed a key card into Daeyoung's hand. "Your room." And with that, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving Daeyoung slightly floundering in the sudden, awkward vacuum of his departure.
"Hello," Daeyoung tried, his voice sounding too loud in the sudden quiet.
Yushi just sighed again, a sound of exhaustion, and turned, walking away without a word, without a glance.
Daeyoung had the feeling that his sigh wasn't exactly directed at him, and having no other direction, Daeyoung followed at a respectful distance. Yushi led him out of the practice hall and into a quieter, dimly lit service corridor, lined with pipes. He finally stopped to lean against a cold concrete wall, his head bowed, his eyes once again locked on the floor as if searching for answers in the cracks. Daeyoung came to a stop a few feet away, giving him space.
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, punctuated only by the distant, whirring and thumping from the hangar bay.
Daeyoung cleared his throat, sounding awkward. "Erm, hello, Tokuno-san. It's nice to meet you. I'm Kim Daeyoung." He stepped forward and offered his hand.
Yushi looked up from the floor, blinking slowly as if emerging from a deep, troubling dream and really seeing Daeyoung this time. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and took Daeyoung's hand. His grip was surprisingly soft, his skin cool, almost tentative, as if he wasn't sure what to do with the contact. Daeyoung shook his hand gently.
Then, Daeyoung bowed, a proper, respectful bow from the waist. "I look forward to working with you, Tokuno-san!"
The action seemed to startle Yushi very much. He pressed himself back further against the wall as if trying to merge with it, his hands coming up to his chest in a defensive, almost flustered gesture. "You… you don't have to bow," he stammered, his voice soft and melodic. "It-It's okay."
Daeyoung straightened up and offered a warm, sincere smile, hoping to put him at ease. "Ah, I'm sorry for surprising you."
After a beat of silence, he held up the key card the Marshal gave to him. "Do you know where my room might be? Could you tell me the directions please?"
"I can bring you there," Yushi said, his voice barely above a murmur, already pushing off from the wall.
"Ahh- thank you, Tokuno-san."
Daeyoung followed as Yushi set off, not at a hurried pace, but with such sure, silent steps that Daeyoung still had to consciously keep up. They moved through the nerve center of the dome, and Daeyoung tried to take it all in. They passed the yawning doors of a maintenance bay where crews, tiny as ants, swarmed over the massive, scarred leg of a Mark-4 Jaeger, the air sharp with the tang of welding torches and the sizzle of hot metal.
They crossed a high bridge, and Daeyoung couldn't help but pause, his breath catching in his throat. Below, in the main hangar, stood the Jaegers. They weren't just machines, they were sleeping titans, their armored hulls scarred and painted with kill marks, their silent, helmeted heads looming in the shadows. The scale was incomprehensible. Yushi waited for him without a word, his own gaze not even flickering towards the giants, as if they were as commonplace as lockers.
Eventually, they moved into more quieter areas, residential floors, the noise fading to a dull hum. The pilot quarters were a labyrinth of identical steel doors. Yushi stopped at one and nodded toward the number that matched Daeyoung's key card.
Daeyoung gave a shallow bow. "Thank you, Tokuno-san."
Yushi bowed back, a quick, sharp, almost reflexive motion, and turned to leave.
"Ah! Wait, Tokuno-san!"
Yushi stopped and spun around slowly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Daeyoung was already near him, having dropped his duffel bag to the floor near his feet with a soft thud. He unzipped the main compartment and began rummaging inside, pushing past folded uniforms. Yushi just watched, blinking, his gaze slightly curious and fixed on the bag.
"Ah, here it is!" Daeyoung pulled out a small, knotted plastic bag. He untied the tight knot and carefully extracted what looked like a square, slightly sticky, white blob in cling wrap. "This is for you, Tokuno-san. It's tteok. Fresh tteok. Rice cakes. I bought it this morning before I left Korea."
Yushi stared at the offering, his expression unreadable, making no move to take it. So Daeyoung, his movements gentle and deliberate as if not to spook Yushi, reached for Yushi's hand, turned it palm up, and placed the soft, cool package into it. He then carefully closed Yushi's slender fingers around it.
"I brought some to give to new friends I make," Daeyoung explained, his smile returning, soft and genuine.
Yushi looked from the treat in his hand then back to Daeyoung's face, his dark eyes wide. "…Thank you, Daeyoung-sshi."
"Woah! You speak Korean? You're really good!" Daeyoung exclaimed, his surprise real.
"Your Japanese is… good too," Yushi replied, the faintest hint of nervousness coloring his voice.
"I learned it in school and my brothers speak it too. Thank God, right? Where did you learn Korean?"
"I lived in Korea for a while before…" Yushi trailed off, the unspoken 'before the kaiju,' 'before everything ended,' hanging heavy in the air between them.
"Ah…" Daeyoung's expression softened with a deep, shared understanding. He didn't need the details.
"That's really amazing, Tokuno-san."
"You don't have to call me that…Yushi is fine."
Daeyoung cocked his head, considering. "You're older than me, right? Hm, well then, can I call you Yushi hyung?"
Yushi gave a slow, single nod, a barely perceptible movement.
"Okay, Yushi hyung. See you tomorrow." Daeyoung's smile was bright and earnest, a beacon of hope in the grim corridor.
Daeyoung didn't know what moved him but he said it anyway, despite the slight worry that it may scare Yushi away. "I look forward to drifting with you Yushi hyung! I hope we can be pilots together. You're really great! What you did back there… it was really incredible."
Yushi looked up sharply. A faint, fleeting blush colored his fair cheeks, a splash of pink against the porcelain skin. He seemed at a loss for words.
"….see you too," he managed to whisper, before turning and walking away, his steps even quicker than before, almost fleeing, the hand clutching the simple white tteok pressed tightly, to his chest.
-
Daeyoung pushed the metal door shut with a loud bump. The room was exactly what he’d expected, a concrete cell barely large enough for a narrow bunk, a small desk, and a wall locker. But it was a single and Daeyoung was not about to kick a gift horse in the mouth. He dropped his duffel bag on the bed, deciding unpacking could wait. He wanted to get a lay of the land.
He hadn't made it more than ten steps down the corridor when a cadet sidled up to him, falling into step a little too closely. He was slightly shorter than Daeyoung, but he carried himself with a puffed-up swagger that tried to compensate for it.
"So, you're Tokuno's new prospective partner, huh?" the cadet said, his tone slick with false camaraderie. "Get ready to get sucker punched in the brain, rookie."
Daeyoung slowed his pace, side eyeing the man. "What?"
"Oh, you don't know?" A nasty grin spread across the cadet's face. "Tokuno's broken. Incapable of drifting. His brain just… rejects it. He's still here taking up space because he's the Marshal's favourite. A pity project."
"No one is incapable of drifting," Daeyoung said, his voice flat. The statement felt true, a fundamental article of his faith in the program.
"Well, Tokuno is." The cadet's smirk widened. "You'll be gone soon. Don't get your hopes up. I don't know what the Marshal sees in him, really. The guy mumbles, he's barely there, and he's-"
At the same moment Daeyoung started to say, "Please don't talk about him in that way-" a voice cut through the air from behind them.
"Hey!"
The voice was sharp, cutting through the corridor's noise like a knife. Daeyoung turned. Two boys had rounded the corner. One was taller, with pale skin and a watchful intensity. The other, slightly shorter but had an arm slung coolly around the other's neck. He wore a sly, challenging smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was the one who had spoken.
He kept his eyes locked on the cadet. "Hey, Sakamoto-kun. Are you still nursing your bruised ego from last week? What was it, half a second on the mat before Yushi put you on your back?"
Sakamoto’s face flushed a deep red. "Why, you little-"
"Why don't you go actually practice instead of lurking around here spreading garbage?" the boy finished, his grin unwavering.
Sakamoto took a threatening step forward, but the two boys didn't flinch at all. They just looked back at him with identical, bored expressions. Despite their youth, they radiated a cool, unshakeable confidence. Nonetheless, Daeyoung found himself stepping in front of them, squaring his shoulders and rising to his full height.
He and Sakamoto had a brief, silent staredown before Daeyoung spoke, his voice low. "I think it's better if you go now, Sakamoto-san."
Sakamoto huffed, his eyes darting between the three of them before he finally turned on his heel and stalked off, not without a final, venomous glare at the two boys.
Once he was gone, Daeyoung let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He turned around and the more vocal of the two boys stepped forward and thrust out a hand. "Hi. I'm Hirose Ryo. This is Sakuya, my partner. You didn't have to do that, by the way. Sakamoto’s a total wuss. But… thanks."
Daeyoung shook his hand, a bit bemused. "Hi, I'm Kim Daeyoung. It's not right what he did, he's a full adult and you're…" He paused, the word finally registering. "Wait, did you say partners?"
Ryo popped the 'p'. "Yep. Partners. We pilot the Rebel Heart together."
"But you're…" Daeyoung started, gesturing at their undeniably young faces.
"Kids?" Sakuya said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deeper than Ryo's, but just as steady.
"I mean, you're so young…" Daeyoung trailed off, seeing them bristle slightly. He quickly finished his sentence "...that's amazing!"
They relaxed at that, their defensive postures softening almost imperceptibly.
"That's really incredible." Daeyoung added, genuine admiration in his voice.
They seemed to shrink a little at the direct praise, as if no one had ever put it so bluntly.
"It's not that big a deal," Ryo mumbled, uncharacteristically looking at the floor.
"You guys must be really special," Daeyoung pressed, his admiration genuine.
"You're new here, right, Daeyoung-sshi?" Sakuya asked, steering the conversation.
"Yeah, I just arrived like an hour ago."
"You're here to drift with Yushi?" Ryo asked, his sharp eyes back on Daeyoung.
"Yes. The Marshal thought that we may be a good match."
The pair looked him up and down again, and Daeyoung felt like he was being assessed by a pair of unnervingly synchronized scanners.
"Hmm," Sakuya said after a moment. "The Marshal might be onto something."
"Don't pay attention to what Sakamoto or any others say about Yushi," Ryo said, his tone turning serious. "Yushi is great."
"Yeah, I know!" Daeyoung agreed, enthusiasm returning. "I saw him spar just a while ago. Man, he's really cool!"
"Right?!" they said in unison, then Ryo added quickly, "But don't tell him we told you that."
Daeyoung laughed but agreed. Then his expression grew more somber. "But what did he mean by not being able to drift?"
Ryo and Sakuya shared a glance. It was more than a look, it was a full, silent conversation that passed between them in a heartbeat. It was uncanny, and a stark example of what a true drift partnership could be.
Ryo reached out and pulled Daeyoung by the arm into a more secluded alcove away from the main corridor.
"Look, we're telling you this because we like you, and we want Yushi to have a partner, okay?" Ryo said, his voice low and earnest. "Don't screw this up."
Daeyoung nodded solemnly. "I won't."
"Do you know Sion and Riku?
"The ones who pilot Violet Saber? Of course," Daeyoung said. "Everyone knows them."
"Well," Ryo said, leaning in slightly. "Sion hyung was originally supposed to be partners with Yushi."
Daeyoung's eyes widened. "What? Woah."
"I know, right?" Ryo continued. "Well, long story short… on their official drift test in a real Jaeger, Yushi chased the rabbit. Hard."
Daeyoung winced.
"Yeah," Sakuya picked up, his voice soft. "It was bad."
Ryo continued "It was a total systems failure. The officials scrapped the partnership immediately. No retests. And then Sion… he just clicked with Riku. The compatibility was off the charts. So, they became partners."
"And ever since," Ryo finished, "Yushi's brain has put up a wall.The neural handshake can't even initiate. It's like his mind just slams the door shut before you can even knock."
"But that was years ago," Daeyoung said, trying to process the timeline. "Oh Sion and Maeda Riku have been a team for a long time."
"Yeah," Ryo said with a sigh. "But Marshal refuses to let Yushi go. He sees something in him.
"I wouldn't let Yushi go either," Sakuya added, a flicker of fierce loyalty in his calm eyes. "He's the best cadet here. If humans could pilot a Jaeger alone, the Marshal would have put him out there a long time ago. The way he fights, the way he breaks down a kaiju's weak spot in seconds… it's scary."
Ryo adds, "When we're out there, he sometimes comes over the comms, talks to us through our earpiece, tells us what to notice, where to strike. And it always, always works."
Daeyoung absorbed this, the image of the silent, beautiful boy in the sparring ring sharpening into something far more complex and formidable. "I'm going to be drifting with him tomorrow."
Ryo clapped him on the shoulder. "All the best, Daeyoung-sshi. Don't be scared. Just… support him."
"For some reason," he glanced at Sakuya, who gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, "I have a good feeling. I think this time will be different."
Daeyoung nodded, a strange mix of anxiety and determination settling in his chest. He had a good feeling too, but he wasn't sure- not sure of anything except that he was now part of something far more complicated than a test run.
-
The next day, drift test run day arrived with a grey finality. The room they were led to wasn't a Conn-Pod, but a simulation chamber, a sterile, circular space with two pilot rigs positioned in the center, facing a massive viewscreen that currently showed only a neutral, grey test pattern. They didn’t trust Yushi with a real jaeger anymore.
Yushi was already there, a lonely figure in the corner struggling into the lower half of his drive suit. He was ghostly pale, his fingers fumbling with the straps, his knuckles white. His helmet was on a bench, half forgotten.
Against every instinct that told him to leave the older boy to his tense preparation, Daeyoung crossed the room. "Hey," he said, his voice softer than he intended.
Yushi flinched, his head snapping up. His eyes were wide, dark pools of controlled terror and dread.
"Hi," Daeyoung tried again, offering a small, hopefully reassuring smile. He tried to strike up some small talk, thinking that conversation may take away some of Yushi’s nerves. "Did you, uh, like the tteok, Yushi hyung?"
Yushi just stared at him, uncomprehending for a moment. "What?"
"The rice cakes I gave you yesterday. Did you manage to try them?"
A flicker of recognition. "Oh… yes. They were… very chewy," Yushi said slowly, his voice thin. "And light. Thank you." It was as polite response, his mind clearly a million miles away.
Daeyoung took a breath. "I'm excited to drift with you, hyung."
The statement was so out of place with the atmosphere of dread, so absurdly positive, that Yushi’s eyes widened further, a flicker of confusion cutting through the panic. He looked at Daeyoung as if he'd just declared he was excited to jump into a volcano. “Daeyoung,” he breathed, his voice trembling so badly it was almost a whisper. “I… I have to tell you. I might… I might shut you out. So if it doesn’t work, if I can’t-”
Daeyoung didn't let him finish. He reached out and took Yushi's hand, the one not clutching his helmet now. His grip was firm and warm. Yushi’s skin was icy cold and trembling, like a captured bird. "Don't think about that," Daeyoung said gently but firmly.
"You're not alone in there. I'll be right there with you. Let's do this together, okay? You've been waiting long time, haven't you hyung?"
Yushi’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. He seemed to be studying the point of contact, the warmth seeping from Daeyoung’s skin into his own. The tremors in his hand slowly began to still. He didn’t speak, but after a moment that felt like forever, he gave a single, shaky nod. He didn't pull away. Instead, he allowed himself to be gently pulled, step by step, towards the waiting rigs.
The process of suiting up was a silent, formal affair. The heavy drive suits locked into place with a series of solid, definitive clunks. The techs moved with efficient grace, applying the neural interface gel. To Daeyoung, it was a familiar, cool feeling. To Yushi, it was a sensation he dreaded. As they settled into the rigs and lifted their helmets, Daeyoung turned his head.
"See you on the other side, hyung!” he called out, his voice booming with a confidence he hoped was contagious.
Then the world fell away into the luminous, electric blue of the Drift.
The neural connection sparked to life. For a heart-stopping moment, there was nothing but resistance- a solid, impenetrable wall of pure fear. Daeyoung pushed against it, not with force, but with presence. I'm here.
And then, the wall didn't shatter, but a hairline crack appeared, and just like that, Daeyoung was through.
In the observation room above, Sion and Riku had appeared, Ryo and Sakuya had told them about the test run. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their faces tight with anxiety.
The initial data stream was chaotic, a jagged line on the main monitor.
"They're in," a technician murmured, "but the connection is unstable. He's fighting it."
No one needed clarification on who was the one fighting.
Inside the Drift, Daeyoung found the stream of shared memories melting away into a single nightmare. He was on a stage. It stretched out before him, and on it, a boy of twelve stood frozen, his small body rigid with a terror so profound he had become a frozen statue, cursed to be rooted there forever to replay his worst memory again and again. The world outside the stage lights was a lightless shadow, and a monstrous foot was descending, slow and inevitable, upon a building he knew held Yushi’s home. The silence was absolute, a physical weight crushing the sound from the world.
Standing.
Standing. Just standing.
"Oh God," Sion whispered from the observation room, his hand gripping the railing. "He's chasing the rabbit. He's right back in there again."
The neural graphs spiked erratically, red warning lights painting the room in pulses of alarm.
Daeyoung began to walk. He didn’t run. He didn’t shout. He moved through the empty stage, his steps sure on the now familiar boards. He didn’t look at the kaiju, didn’t try to stop the unstoppable. He walked directly to the tiny twelve year old Yushi and gently, so gently, took his hand.
In the physical rig, Yushi’s body gave a violent jerk.
Daeyoung turned the boy away from the collapsing building. He didn’t yank or pull, it was a quiet, firm redirection. He turned him until all he could see was Daeyoung, until the terrible spectacle was at his back. And then he was Yushi again, grown up. Daeyoung began to lead him away, off the stage, his grip a constant, warm anchor in the cold nightmare. As they walked, the silent, crushing horror began to recede.
The chaotic lines on the monitors in the observation room stabilized, they melted into one another, two distinct streams of consciousness weaving together into a single, strong, harmonious wave. The robotic voice that filled the chamber was calm and definitive.
“Neural handshake is steady and holding. Drift compatibility is established at ninety percent.”
In the rigs, both their eyes snapped open. They gasped in unison, pulling air into lungs that felt like they hadn't breathed in years. And then, they were both smiling at each other, wide, disbelieving, euphoric grins that stretched faces unused to the expression.
In the observation room, Sion let out a shuddering breath and leaned back heavily against the wall, his eyes closed in profound relief. Riku turned and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Sion's shoulder for a moment before looking back at the screen with a brilliant, proud smile.
And from Yushi’s rig, a sound escaped that Daeyoung would remember for the rest of his life. It was a giggle. A very soft, breathy giggle that escaped through Yushi’s smile that took over his entire face. A light, unburdened, and astonished sound that seemed to shake loose the dust of three long years
It was, without a doubt, Daeyoung thought with a heart so full it might burst, the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.