It may sound obvious, but South Korea was a wealthy country.

A lot of the budget was spent wastefully, but you couldn’t say that all of it was misused—some of it was used appropriately.

After I lost my family to a monster, I spent nearly a month completing a government-run psychological treatment program for monster victims.

The location was somewhere in Gyeonggi Province, though I don’t quite recall the exact place anymore.

I remember there was a small lake, a university, and next to it, an old, large tourist hotel—and a golf course sprouting up like a poisonous mushroom in that scenic spot.

I think it was often foggy in the mornings.

One dedicated therapist was assigned to each family, and schedules were run so thoroughly separately that there was no chance of running into other victim families.

Conspiracy theorists hurled crude accusations, claiming the government had designed the system to prevent victims from uniting and generating negative public sentiment as a result of their own incompetence—but that’s something only someone who hasn’t lived through it would say.

Sympathy—shared suffering—is only possible when you still have the emotional space to empathize with others.

At least for the boy who had ignited a flame of hatred in his chest that would never go out, no emotional exchange or connection was ever needed.

From within those hazy, jumbled memories—where reality and illusion blurred, like now, as if I were still surrounded by a dream—there is one scene that suddenly rises to the surface.

“In the afternoon, we’ll have a mini-golf experience. A former pro will be guiding the session, so he’ll explain everything from grip to rules step-by-step. Nothing to be nervous about—just have fun.”

That was during one of those mechanical routines, following the therapist as we walked the reservoir trail.

In the distance, I saw another group of participants—people clearly undergoing the same program.

I’d seen that group a few times before, from far away at the cafeteria or elsewhere on campus, so it wasn’t anything new or surprising.

But as children, we’re more drawn to others our own age.

And when even a therapist—someone trained and paid not to show irritation—walks quickly with a clearly crumpled face, it’s obvious to anyone that something had happened between that therapist and their charge.

The boy who had angered the therapist seemed to be about my age.

Unlike me, with my ragged clothes, he stood upright in neatly ironed shorts and a shirt. And more than his clothes, even a kid could sense the sheer stubbornness emanating from his back.

The therapist let out exasperated sighs in contrast, so it seemed like there had been a clash of opinions.

But at the time, I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to care about someone else’s situation, and since my own therapist was rushing our schedule, that brief encounter simply became one of many buried memories—nothing more.

And yet now, in this bleak and hollow gray world, why does that particular memory suddenly resurface with such vivid clarity?

Is it possible that someone else’s will, not mine, is bringing it up?

I got up from my seat.

4:05 a.m. in Seoul Standard Time.

My mind was still foggy, but compared to five hours ago—when I’d mistaken people for dragons—I was significantly better. Aside from some muscle soreness that felt like post-battle fatigue, there were no particular injuries.

Across from me sat a familiar face, watching me quietly.

It was Woo Min-hee—no, Na Hye-in.

“You came to see Kang Han-min, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

But why was she saying this?

Hadn’t Na Hye-in gone into the Rift to find Kang Han-min?

She was now in the same place as Kang Han-min.

The radio had never gone off.

To prevent malfunction, it had been set to receive only using a unique identification code—no transmissions, no pings. And yet, Na Hye-in had never once used that code to contact me.

Wouldn’t it have made sense to?

If she had arrived at his location?

Questions swirled in my mind like a school of fish, shifting direction in perfect unison with each new thought, when Na Hye-in spoke first.

“I don’t think you should meet Kang Han-min.”

There was a firm will behind her eyes and expression.

But—

“No. I have to meet him.”

My will was stronger.

For just a moment, the image of that boy standing with his back turned by the reservoir flashed through my mind—shorts, rigid posture, arms at his sides.

“I can at least see his face, can’t I?”

I had a lot I wanted to ask, but I wouldn’t.

There’s no point in taking a detour when the truth is right in front of you.

I’ve had more than enough of journeys—and besides,

I’m wearing red underwear today.

Looking at her, I said,

“Please, Na Hye-in.”

“You could die. This place—only Awakened can endure it. Even I feel pressure here. For a non-Awakened like you, it’ll be too much.”

She answered firmly.

I was about to say something when she cut me off.

“Do you remember Kyle Doss?”

“Kyle Doss?”

Right.

There was a guy like that.

One of the cheerful old-schoolers from the Viva! Apocalypse! Korean boards. A name only the purebred veterans still remember.

The Corruption took him.

He’d been missing for years, and no one had found a trace of him.

“The Rift might seem familiar to humans, but it’s also deeply alien—and hostile. You of all people should know this. The environment that looks human-friendly might actually be an artificial construct.”

“......”

“But this place—closer to the Rift’s core—is different. It wears no mask. It reveals its true nature. Only those of us who’ve aligned with the Rift, the Awakened, can barely endure it. You must’ve felt it too, coming in here. That this isn’t an environment suited for you.”

“......”

Frustrating as it was, I had to admit it.

It’s an incredibly hostile place.

Simply enduring and pushing through won’t cut it.

Na Hye-in’s continued words confirmed my thoughts.

“Kyle Doss didn’t disappear because of willpower alone. His vessel—his mind—must’ve shattered.”

She nodded and muttered,

“Yeah. He lost it.”

She stepped outside the prefab.

As we exited the Styrofoam-and-panel building, the gray scenery overwhelmed me again just by looking at it.

It’s embarrassing to say, but even as a Professor, a Skeleton, a seasoned survivalist—just seeing that landscape sparked a primal fear deep within me.

The moment I stepped out and forced myself forward, that fear intensified—visibly.

My breathing grew ragged. Cold sweat dripped down.

Na Hye-in turned around and stared at me.

“You okay?”

I hesitated briefly.

Gripping the doorframe, I straightened my posture and took a deep breath.

“I can endure it.”

She glanced sideways, then began walking ahead.

In front of us stretched a series of fissures in the earth, so deep their bottom could not be seen.

It was as if the horizon itself had been cracked open.

Shifting shadows flickered at the edge of my vision. Indecipherable murmurs, chills, anxiety—they swept over me just as they had when I arrived.

But this time was different.

I’d had proper rest. Replenished nutrients. And most importantly, by my side walked an old comrade from school days.

I moved forward.

One question was answered.

Above us, a massive steel girder floated in midair.

Thunk!

A Regular Awakened was moving it with telekinesis.

The modular-looking beam slowly descended into one of the Rift’s fissures, connecting with an already completed structure—part of an endless steel framework plunging downward.

We made our way toward the spiral staircase built into that framework.

With every step, the pressure grew stronger. But more than the pressure, it was the changing environment that gripped me.

The gray tones remained.

But I could feel it.

The cliffs surrounding us—those immeasurable walls—were subtly twitching, shifting.

That’s right.

The earth was alive.

Or rather, it felt alive.

The way the cliffs twitched wasn’t consistent—it shifted erratically, like an image skipping between broken video frames, then returned to normal.

These disconnected scenes reminded me of how monsters used to appear out of nowhere.

I chose not to think too deeply.

Just as I made that decision, Na Hye-in spoke while walking.

“......Sorry.”

I stayed quiet.

She continued.

“For not contacting you—even after finding Kang Han-min.”

Na Hye-in thinks like I do.

Rational over emotional.

If she hadn’t contacted me, it must’ve been for a reason more important than keeping a promise.

“What happened?”

I asked her.

Na Hye-in’s steps halted.

A deep, ever-shifting void opened between the walls of this pulsating cliff.

The chronic hum in my head intensified the moment I saw it—like it was shaking my brain itself.

Yeah.

That must be the nerve of the Rift.

Unlike the external suffering—the headaches and mental instability caused by external stimuli—something within me surged with curiosity, enough to momentarily forget the pain.

“Finding him wasn’t easy. Everyone here listens only to him. I had no choice but to wander aimlessly for a long time.”

It couldn’t have been an easy journey.

Even I, with the strongest mind according to Jang Gi-young, struggled to stay upright in this place.

Even as an Awakened, she must’ve suffered from the sheer strain of being here.

So I didn’t resent her. Didn’t feel disappointed.

“In the end, when I found him, his most loyal people stood in my way. I barely resolved it after contacting Yoo Yang-seo. But in hindsight, I think I should’ve called you back then, right there.”

Her lashes trembled faintly.

Even someone who normally showed no emotion in the face of fear—if she reacted like that, something truly difficult must’ve happened.

“Kang Han-min. No, Han-min.”

Na Hye-in let out a long, deep sigh.

“I don’t know why I used to hate him so much, but... there was something I didn’t see properly.”

We were now standing before a pitch-black cave mouth.

The humming grew stronger, vibrating through ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) my brain until I couldn’t even hear her voice clearly. My vision blurred, like a humidifier was turned on—clouding sight and mind alike.

There’s no day or night here, but the Rift, ever bright and fair, illuminated even the cave.

It was bright.

Everything inside could be seen.

Like the endless cliff walls, the interior was gray, and its surface constantly shifted in disjointed patterns.

This bizarre environment made it hard to fully focus on her words—but I tried my best to hold onto them.

So when she fell silent, I asked the next question first.

“What didn’t you see?”

I think I already knew.

Maybe it was—

“That he genuinely hates monsters.”

Yeah, that must be it.

It finally showed—even to Na Hye-in.

That Kang Han-min carries the same flame of hatred I do.

That, despite all his suspicious and inhumane acts—beyond cruelty—this is the one thing that lets me trust him.

She stopped walking.

Was she about to say something?

No.

We’d reached a wide clearing.

It was empty, but something ominous suddenly flickered into existence—then vanished.

It looked human, yet not. Like something vaguely similar but altogether different.

Na Hye-in moved on.

Beyond that space was another small cave entrance.

From this point forward, the things we’d heard about—the grotesque creations—began to appear.

Black cords.

Flexible, gray-white tendrils ranging from 2 to 10 meters, growing from ceiling to floor and wall to wall in one direction, constantly writhing.

They fused with identical cords from the opposite side, forming singular connections across the cave walls.

Thousands of these were moving at once.

Suddenly, a horrifying memory of some past nightmare involving uncanny coherence hit me—and before I knew it, I dropped to one knee.

Na Hye-in didn’t turn around.

Even knowing my condition, she kept her eyes on the void and said quietly,

“Han-min told me. He said the only one who could ever understand him... was you, Park Gyu.”

“......”

Clenching my jaw, I steadied myself and rose to my feet.

She let out a sigh.

“I’m not sure that’s still true anymore.”

Na Hye-in turned to face me.

Her expression, unlike before, held countless emotions.

For some reason, I felt confused.

“Do you remember that day, at the hospital? The one by the broken railroad, where cosmos flowers were blooming?”

I nodded.

“I was... a little happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yeah. I saw you all the time at school, but we never really talked. And even in China, we barely got the chance.”

I understood how she felt.

I’d felt the same.

When two people in their prime feel drawn to each other, it’s only natural.

“Can’t we go back together?”

“?”

I stared at her, confused. Na Hye-in didn’t hide her emotions as she continued.

“I mean, just the two of us... living together quietly in some peaceful place?”

If this had been the past—or even the time when I lived in the bunker—maybe we would’ve become one, like those cords in the cave.

It’s not that I dislike her.

She’s still the most compatible, attractive woman I know.

But time dulls everything—and even perfect fits eventually drift apart.

For example, Woo Min-hee.

And more than anything, what I saw in her eyes wasn’t just the past.

I saw fear. And resignation.

The same avoidance that clings to her like a shadow.

So I asked her,

“Without meeting Kang Han-min?”

The moment I said it, the cords in the cave fused into one.

Na Hye-in nodded.

Then slowly shook her head.

“...Sorry.”

She smiled.

A beautiful, heartbreaking smile—so radiant it made my chest ache—but I just stood there, blank-faced, even to myself.

She walked ahead.

The nerves of the Rift unraveled as we passed, opening the path.

And beyond that cave—an immense hollow filled with countless Rift nerves performing perfect coherence that could drive a person mad.

There was something there.

Standing atop the near-infinite nerves—it was absurdly massive.

Its gray-white silhouette was one I could never forget.

A Nemesis-type.

My nemesis.

Na Hye-in stared at the monster with empty, listless eyes and said,

“...That’s our savior.”