Chapter 4
The atmosphere was awkward—thick, like fog that refused to lift. I wanted to say something, anything, to cut through the silence, but my body felt like lead. My tongue was heavy, my limbs stiff.
Then it hit me.
A sharp throb behind my eyes. My head pounded, and my heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. Warmth trickled down my lip—blood. A deep, dark red, glaring against my pale skin.
I clutched my chest. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
What was this feeling?
He turned to look at me, his babyish face now twisted with worry. His lips moved—saying something, maybe calling my name—but the words were distant, muffled, like they were underwater.
The room spun. My legs buckled.
Then, silence.
A thick, heavy silence.
Everything went black.
When I opened my eyes again, it was night. The moon peeked through the window, casting a soft glow across the unfamiliar room. It was peaceful… too peaceful. Then it hit me—this wasn't my room.
I sat up slowly, taking in my surroundings. A cluttered desk, warm lighting, a faint smell of fabric softener… and him. He sat in front of a computer, completely absorbed, the light from the screen dancing on his face.
Guilt crept in like an unwanted guest. I'd barged into his quiet world with my chaos.
"Thanks again," I mumbled, unsure if he'd even respond.
To my surprise, he turned.
"Are you okay now?" he asked.
His voice was soft—like a baby bird learning to chirp—gentle, careful, and strangely soothing. Almost like he was afraid it might shatter the air if it got any louder.
I froze. He could speak?!! Since when?
"I guess," I replied, trying to act cool, though my voice cracked like a teenager in choir rehearsal. I swung my legs off the bed and tried to make a grand, dramatic exit.
But then—I felt it. A warm hand wrapped gently around mine.
"If you go out there," he said, calm as if discussing the weather, "you have no chance of survival."
No big deal, just casually dropping a life-or-death bomb like we were in a slice-of-life drama instead of a horror prequel.
"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious now.
He tilted his head slightly, brows furrowing as if even he couldn't make sense of his own thoughts. His lips parted like he was about to say something profound—but instead, he let go of my hand.
"I don't understand it myself," he muttered, eyes drifting back to his computer screen like I wasn't even there.
Weird.
My hand trembled as it found the door knob. I twisted it, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. I paused. I wanted to leave—but curiosity got the better of me.
I turned back toward him.
"Do you know what's outside?" I asked, walking toward him slowly.
He shook his head, gently, like it was a question he'd stopped trying to answer. The screen in front of him flashed *Game Over*. Fitting.
"At least tell me your name?" My voice cracked with frustration.
Maybe... this is what people felt like when talking to me.
He finally turned, looked up into my pale grey eyes, his own gaze soft but unreadable.
"Kim Seong-ryeong," he said, almost like it was a secret.