Chapter Text
“Could you, like, put that sword down?”
The question came out of nowhere. As he brushed past a bleary-eyed Han Sooyoung in the living room, he suddenly heard those words. Yoo Joonghyuk crossed his arms and spun around to face Han Sooyoung. “What are you trying to say?”
Han Sooyoung yawned, not bothering to answer right away. Instead, she shuffled over to the coffee machine. After a few beeps and taps, the sharp, tangy aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filled the room. Only then did she glance back at him.
“Kim Dokja’s back,” she said. “We did it.”
“I’m not senile,” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped, patience already thinning. “Stop beating around the bush. What’s your point?”
“We’ve done everything we could. That guy’s still got some mental issues, but I’m pretty sure he’s settled down.” Han Sooyoung crossed her arms, mirroring him. “Yoo Joonghyuk, don’t you think you being all paranoid and jumpy is making everyone else uneasy?”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, glaring at her with clear disapproval.
“You lot are too relaxed,” he shot back. “Do you really believe—”
Before he could finish, the villa’s fire alarm let out a shrill, ear-piercing wail.
They caught the culprit in the kitchen, trying to cover up the evidence. The scene was way milder than Yoo Joonghyuk had braced for. No dust explosions, no raging flames. Just a ventilation fan, a pot of charred… something, a lingering burnt stench, and a frantic Kim Dokja and three kids, spinning in circles, clueless about how to shut off the smoke alarm.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood before the criminal gang, face dark as a storm cloud. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We were trying to make a dish we saw on that drama, but we kinda forgot about it after tossing it in the pot…” Kim Dokja explained sincerely, raising his hands in surrender. “We’ll clean the pot, I promise. But… maybe put down the sword first?”
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced at the TV. He’d overheard rounds of chatter about this drama at the dining table, a cheesy “I got reborn and climbed to the top with my cooking skills” story. Apparently, the plot was cliché, the acting awkward, but the cooking scenes were filmed so exquisitely that it became the hottest mealtime binge. Kim Dokja and the kids were currently obsessed with it, much to Yoo Joonghyuk’s irritation.
“What were you even trying to make?” he asked, squinting at the pot’s remains. All he could make out were some clam corpses.
“Uh, Clam…” Kim Dokja faltered, turning to the three...kids, or some who were practically adults but still acting like babies around him. “What was it called again?”
“Clam chowder bread bowl!” Biyoo piped up, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
Yoo Joonghyuk took a deep breath.
“Get out,” he growled.
“Just to clarify,” Kim Dokja said, “do you mean out of the kitchen, out of the house, or far enough away that you’ll stop being mad—hey!”
Yoo Joonghyuk kicked Kim Dokja and his three so-called “kids” out of the kitchen without mercy.
That night’s dinner was sirloin steak, paired with asparagus and French Vichy carrots—blanched briefly, then seared in butter for a crisp, sweet bite with a hint of char. Each plate came with a round, specially baked bread bowl. Lifting off the crusty lid revealed a rich, creamy clam chowder inside.
By now, Yoo Joonghyuk knew Kim Dokja’s pattern: only one disaster per day. After sorting out the kitchen fiasco, he let his guard down and went to stream some games. When he logged off, it was already midnight.
On his way to his room, he passed Kim Dokja’s door. Amid the steady rhythm of his own footsteps, Yoo Joonghyuk caught odd noises from inside—rustling, mixed with what sounded like stifled sobs or sharp, ragged breaths. His hand flew to his sword hilt, and he shoved the door open, charging in—
Only to find Kim Dokja, curled up under his blanket, reading a novel on his phone in the middle of the night, holding in his laughter so hard that it gave him a leg cramp and he was gasping through the pain.
“Hand over the phone,” Yoo Joonghyuk ordered.
“I just ate too much and couldn’t sleep…” Kim Dokja tried to argue.
Ignoring the protests, Yoo Joonghyuk snatched the phone, marched back to his room, and tossed it onto his nightstand. Before bed, his mind drifted back to the unfinished conversation with Han Sooyoung.
Could they really trust that Kim Dokja wouldn’t disappear again?
1.
Maybe it was that dumb TV show’s fault, Yoo Joonghyuk had a dream.
It was a long, unadorned dream.
No constellations, no scenarios. In it, Yoo Joonghyuk was a pro esports player who retired after fame and fortune, rich but suddenly directionless. Egged on by Mia, he rented a tiny shop next to his house and opened a restaurant with just six four-person tables. At first, the patrons were his old fans, but soon, their passionate praise drew in skeptical food critics. Eventually, moved by the food, a wave of diners began to pour in.
Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t sure if he actually liked this life, but time zoomed by anyway. The restaurant’s walls peeled and were repainted a dozen times, hundreds of cutting boards split, and even Mia’s hair started streaking with white. One day, a radiant old woman brought in a lively little girl, saying she was her granddaughter. The last time she’d been here, she said, she was a shy student pushed in by friends to meet her esports idol. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t remember her, of course. But the little girl’s pigtails reminded him of young Mia, so he gave her a bowl of milk pudding.
That night, after closing, his apprentice left first. Yoo Joonghyuk locked the door, suddenly feeling a bit tired. He leaned on the handle, sank onto the steps outside, and gazed at Seoul’s nightscape. His hand brushed a candy in his pocket—the one the little girl had insisted on giving him. He unwrapped it slowly and popped it into his mouth. It was mint-flavored, cool and sweet, but it couldn’t fend off drowsiness. So Yoo Joonghyuk closed his eyes, intending to nap for a bit. He was eighty-one. He had the right to be tired.
In a haze, he heard wings flapping. Opening his eyes, he saw a figure with black wings descend from the sky—maybe a grim reaper, but dressed in an oddly out-of-place white trench coat. The figure asked, “Yoo Joonghyuk, did you like this story?”
Then Yoo Joonghyuk jolted awake.
This wasn’t a normal dream. He’d never experienced such a complete, cradle-to-grave life in one. Eighty years of memories, forcibly crammed into his brain.
And every bit of this weirdness had to do with that bastard Kim Dokja.
He grabbed Kim Dokja’s phone from the nightstand and stormed out, ready to barge into the guy’s room. But Kim Dokja’s door was ajar, the room empty. Yoo Joonghyuk’s heart skipped a beat. He turned, heading for the living room, and halfway down the stairs, he caught the familiar voice.
“…He didn’t have to take my phone, though,” Kim Dokja grumbled. “Does that jerk ever think about my dignity as an adult?”
“Oh?” Yoo Sangah replied, her smile practically audible. “I’d suggest Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi confiscate your phone every night.”
“What, you’re siding with him now?”
“It’s just rare to see you waking and sleeping at normal hours,” she said. “Or… there’s another way, you know.”
“What?”
“You could sneak into his room at night and steal your phone back.”
“I’m not trying to die,” Kim Dokja replied.
“I doubt you’d die from it, but it’s good to hear you say that, Dokja-ssi.” She paused. “Ah, Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi is here.”
“You’re up?” Kim Dokja spun around, glaring as he stuck out his hand. “Give me my phone.”
Yoo Joonghyuk studied him. Kim Dokja seemed normal—his irritation looked genuine, no signs of guilt or deceit. Still, Yoo Joonghyuk pocketed the phone and asked, “Have you done your rehab training?”
“What are you, some control-freak middle school teacher?” Kim Dokja huffed.
“Go. Now.”
Kim Dokja glared, but miraculously swallowed whatever snark he was about to spit out and trudged off to the gym. Yoo Sangah propped her chin in her hand, watching him go with a thoughtful look.
“I’m glad Dokja-ssi’s been behaving lately,” she said. “But I don’t want him acting this way just out of guilt.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t respond.
“I think the phone confiscation’s a great idea,” Yoo Sangah added, switching gears when he stayed silent.
“Agreed,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
2.
The next night, Yoo Joonghyuk was dragged into a dream again.
But this time, the content was a bit weird.
He dreamed that he had become a middle school teacher.
He’d never liked kids, let alone a whole classroom full of rebellious, hormonal brats. But in the dream, it was like he’d been possessed, hell-bent on devoting himself to education. And just as he’d expected, the first month on the job was like being hurled into a tornado while the ground buckled beneath an earthquake. Gales howled outside inside, the walls quaked within. In this vast world, not a single inch of peace could be found.
First week: Two kids got into a fistfight and tumbled down the stairs. Miraculously, neither was hurt, but the poor PE teacher, who got caught underneath them as their human cushion, had a massive patch of skin scraped off his knee. When Yoo Joonghyuk grilled them about the fight, he learned it started because one kid thought praying mantises were the cutest things ever, while the other swore lions were the softest, cuddliest creatures in the universe. They’d argued until punches flew.
Second week: He confiscated four kids’ phones. These punks had each claimed a corner of the classroom, playing online mahjong during their class. Their game IDs were cringeworthy—something like Black Flame Dragon, Prisoner, Plotter, and Demonic Judge. Yoo Joonghyuk made them write their IDs on paper, stick the papers on their foreheads, and stand in the hallway during break as punishment.
Third week: One kid had a blowout fight with his family. After school, he didn’t come home by eight p.m. Yoo Joonghyuk braved a thunderstorm, searching all night, and finally found him at one a.m. in an alley next to a barbecue stall. He was furious, ready to drag the kid home by his collar, but then he noticed the boy staring at sizzling pork belly, drooling like a starved dog. Sighing, Yoo Joonghyuk bought him some food first, then carried the sobbing kid home on his back.
And so, days passed in a blur of chaos. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t think he was a teacher students liked. He’d overheard their nickname for him: Deathface. But oddly, every graduation season, his desk overflowed with cards and bouquets, each card scrawled with wild, heartfelt messages: Deathface, we love you!
By the time he retired, photos with his students covered an entire wall in the principal’s office. Workers helped him take down the frames and hang them in his home. On the first day of retirement, with nothing to do, he stared at that wall and noticed one frame was crooked. He dragged a ladder over, climbed up, and fixed it. As he went to wipe his sweat, a wave of dizziness hit. His knees buckled, and he fell backward with a thud. No pain, just the world spinning.
And in the whirl of vertigo, he saw that reaper in a white trench coat again, crouching beside him.
“Did you like this ending?” the reaper asked, scratching his head before pointing at the wall. “I’m not sure, but this… It’s kinda romantic, right?”
Yoo Joonghyuk followed his gaze to the wall of photos, every student grinning brightly at him, memories of vibrant school days flooding back. But then he shifted his eyes to the reaper beside him.
“Kim…” He couldn’t get the words out. “You—”
And then Yoo Joonghyuk woke up again.
“You really think I look like a middle school teacher?” he asked as he handed the phone back to Kim Dokja, watching his expression closely.
“…” Kim Dokja blinked, taking the phone. It seemed to take him a moment to recall his comment from yesterday. “Is that the part you’re hung up on. The point is you’re a control freak. Don’t go traumatizing real children, okay?”
3.
The third day, Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t dream.
“I had the wildest dream last night,” Jung Heewon said at breakfast.
“What’d you dream about?” Lee Hyunsung asked.
“A super long one,” Jung Heewon said. “Let me think… how do I sum it up... Basically, I was in a Chinese wuxia novel. You know, the kind Kim Dokja’s been reading lately. I was a swordmaster. And, well, you know the trope: I found a secret martial arts manual, revealed my skills in front of a crowd while saving a child. Then I was hunted down while unraveling the mystery of my origins, only to discover I was the emperor’s long-lost daughter…”
Jung Heewon took a sip of water, and Lee Jihye jumped in eagerly. “So? Did you become the empress?”
“Of course not. Who wants to be stuck in a palace playing politics?” Jung Heewon said breezily. “I wrapped things up and went off to roam the world!”
Everyone responded with theatrical gasps and applause.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced thoughtfully at Kim Dokja, but the guy showed no hint of anything suspicious, just eagerly prying for more details about Jung Heewon’s dream.
That night, Yoo Joonghyuk dreamed of that wuxia world too. But his timeline clearly didn’t overlap with Jung Heewon’s. He was born in a chaotic era, with a demonic cult ruling the land. Raised in the cult, he found a letter from his master in a warehouse on the day he came of age, revealing he was the child of a righteous sect leader whose faction had been wiped out. What followed was a classic tale: he uncovered his true identity, rallied the people oppressed by the cult, and finally toppled its reign.
This time, he lived the longest yet—ninety-nine years, passing away in his sleep.
When he woke, Yoo Joonghyuk rolled out of bed and nearly stumbled on his first step. He’d grown used to the weightless grace of dream-world qinggong, and gravity felt oppressively heavy. Gritting his teeth, he stormed to Han Sooyoung’s door and pounded on it twice.
“Who’s going nuts this early?!” Han Sooyoung yelled from inside. She flung the door open, squinting against the bright morning sun, and eyed Yoo Joonghyuk suspiciously. “What’s your deal? Wait, did something happen to Kim Dokja?”
“He’s tampering with my dreams.”
“…” Han Sooyoung’s eyes narrowed to slits. “He’s tampering… with your dreams?”
“Let me be clear,” Han Sooyoung said. “If you just dreamed he was seducing you or trying to get all lovey-dovey, that’s just you being pent-up and losing it. It’s got nothing to do with that innocent idiot… well, okay, not entirely unrelated. He kinda brings it on himself—”
Yoo Joonghyuk clenched his fists.
“Kidding,” Han Sooyoung said. “Spill the details. How’s he messing with your dreams?”
4.
On the fourth morning, Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t woken by a dream of death but by a knock at the door. He pushed it open to find Han Sooyoung, her hair a bird’s nest and her fingers furiously scratching at her scalp.
“I believe you now,” Han Sooyoung said. "I had a dream too."
Han Sooyoung gave a rough rundown of her dream—in short, how she became a world-renowned literary giant whose works remained immortal for thousands of years after her death.
“Why are we starting to dream this stuff?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.
“How the hell should I know?” Han Sooyoung snapped. “But this is definitely Kim Dokja’s doing. That bastard’s absolutely behind it. Damn it, what kind of nonsense is that guy up to now?”
That day, they spent the entire time watching Kim Dokja.
But he didn’t seem the least bit off.
His daytime schedule was packed to the brim as usual: physical therapy, rehab training, helping Han Sooyoung proofread, dealing with government workers and reporters, getting dragged off by Lee Sookyung to tend the villa’s backyard, walking with the kids, and chatting with everyone. It wasn’t until ten p.m., when everyone headed to their rooms to rest, that he finally had a moment to himself. He genuinely didn’t seem to have the time or opportunity to cook up any sneaky schemes.
The only change, which was barely worth noting, was that when Yoo Joonghyuk tried to take his phone, Kim Dokja gripped it tightly, refusing to let go.
“Don’t you think it’s weird to micromanage a thirty-year-old adult like this?” Kim Dokja said, exasperated. “My health’s way better now, and I’m just reading novels before bed. I swear, not past midnight.”
“No.”
“Phones track screen time,” Kim Dokja pressed, trying to negotiate. “You can check it tomorrow morning to see if I’m lying, right?”
“Give it to me.”
“Control freak,” Kim Dokja muttered, hesitating for a long moment before finally letting go.
That night, Yoo Joonghyuk dreamed he officially earned the title of “Control Freak.”
This time, he was the captain of a starship, saving his entire crew from the fires of war countless times with his decisive commands. The crew openly griped about hating him, but every time someone retired or was transferred, they bawled their eyes out.
This death was one he chose himself. At forty-one, doctors diagnosed him with an incurable disease caused by prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation. He had about a month left. Two weeks later, Yoo Joonghyuk bought a cheap single-person spacecraft and, on a quiet, unnoticed night, slipped out of the spaceport, heading straight for a black hole.
No one knew what lay beyond a black hole, maybe a blissful paradise, maybe a desolate hell.
As he sailed, Yoo Joonghyuk glanced back. The planet he’d saved countless times floated gently in the barren vacuum. He turned forward again, unable to see the black hole itself, only knowing it was there from the eerie blank spot on the signal detector, a vortex that devoured everything. He was pulled toward it uncontrollably, just as he’d once been drawn by an invisible force, resolutely venturing alone into space to chase that faint possibility, to find—
To find who?
Yoo Joonghyuk snapped alert, yanking the lever with all his might. The thrusters roared, the tiny ship creaking in protest as it barely escaped the black hole’s pull at the last second.
“Kim Dokja!” Yoo Joonghyuk roared, furious. “Get out now!”
After a long silence, no one answered. Yoo Joonghyuk gritted his teeth, slamming a fist against the ship window. “I’ll say it again,” he commanded. “Get out.”
A faintly glowing hand pressed against the outer window. The white-cloaked reaper floated in the void, his face obscured by a misty haze, impossible to make out.
“Don’t you like this story?” Kim Dokja asked.
“I don’t need your made-up nonsense,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, each word deliberate. “Kim Dokja, what dumb shit are you planning this tim?”
Kim Dokja didn’t answer. Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed his helmet, pulling it on, ready to open the hatch and charge out. But just then, the ship’s alarm blared in panic. He glanced at the screen. It showed a comet was hurtling straight toward him.
Getting smashed by a comet might be quick and clean, but it was definitely not a pleasant experience. When Yoo Joonghyuk woke, his temper was especially foul. On his way out, he grabbed a random vase, half-tempted to shove Kim Dokja’s head into it. He kicked open Kim Dokja’s door, only to see the guy jolt upright in bed, bleary-eyed and staring at him. Heaven knows who bought him that pajama set. The loose, short sleep pants rode up as Kim Dokja half-curled his legs, his thighs bare and blindingly pale.
“…What… the hell’s your problem?” Kim Dokja mumbled, rubbing his eyes groggily. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Why… why are you holding a vase?”
“What are you doing?” Yoo Joonghyuk struggled to keep his eyes off Kim Dokja, forcing himself to stare at the vase in his hands.
“…?” Kim Dokja looked utterly confused. He followed Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze to the poor, innocent vase. “I was sleeping just fine until you scared me awake. What could I be doing?”
5.
The next day, it was Yoo Sangah’s turn to dream.
She said she dreamed she became a world-traveling adventurer and gourmet. She joined a scientific expedition to Antarctica, challenged herself to eat raw, blood-soaked dishes with a troop in South Africa, and even spent over two years as a warzone journalist. When she talked about the dream at breakfast, she cupped her face, smiling so widely her eyes turned to crescents, as if sparkling soap bubbles floated around her. It seemed that Yoo Sangah, lately bogged down by the government’s petty nonsense, thoroughly enjoyed this grand adventure. It was the first time Yoo Joonghyuk had seen her so enraptured.
After breakfast, Han Sooyoung discreetly pulled her into the [Squid’s Up to Something Again] group chat.
“So, you all think this is Dokja-ssi… crafting dreams for us?” Yoo Sangah said, her radiant morning smile dimming slightly.
“Yoo Joonghyuk’s first dream happened after he took Kim Dokja’s phone,” Han Sooyoung analyzed. “My guess is, that idiot had no novels to read, got bored, and started daydreaming. He probably didn’t even realize it himself.”
“You’re saying it’s his subconscious or something?” Yoo Sangah said.
Yoo Joonghyuk found this conversation pointless. He stood up.
“Where are you going?” Han Sooyoung grabbed him.
“I’m going to talk to him and get things straight.”
“Joonghyuk-ssi.” Yoo Sangah stood too, blocking his path. “I don’t think we need to rush into this.”
“After everything that’s happened, Dokja-ssi might need some… fantasies to ease his guilt,.” Seeing Yoo Joonghyuk pause reluctantly, she hurried on. “I’m guessing that’s why he’s weaving these sweet dreams for us. Instead of calling him out right away, maybe we should give him some time.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t speak. He just stared at Yoo Sangah in silence for a long while before asking, “Did you like the dream he gave you?”
“…Hm?” Yoo Sangah blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Honestly, I really like it. If I could, I’d even thank him for crafting such a romantic life for me.”
“Did you meet anyone familiar in your dream?” Yoo Joonghyuk pressed.
“Familiar… you mean everyone from the company?” Yoo Sangah propped her chin. “The dream was so long, but I vaguely recall… oh, now that you mention it, I didn’t get to ask names, but I saw everyone in different countries. Heewon was a bartender on a ship, Hyunsung-ssi was a bodyguard in the Middle East… and some others I can’t quite remember.”
“What are you getting at?” Han Sooyoung asked impatiently. “Spit it out, no buildup.”
“Kim Dokja never shows up.” Or rather, he never shows up properly. He always appears high above, like some arrogant director, forcing audiences' heads down to watch the ending before hypocritically asking for their feedback. “Why does he never show up himself?”
Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah fell silent for a moment. Suddenly, Han Sooyoung let out a pfft and burst into laughter. At first, she tried to cover her mouth, but she couldn’t hold it in, slapping her thigh and cackling like she was about to double over. Yoo Joonghyuk stared at her wordlessly, unsure what was so funny but tempted to splash the coffee on the table in her face.
She laughed for nearly two minutes, tears streaming down her face, before finally clutching her stomach with one hand and pinching her arm with the other to stop. Yoo Joonghyuk, at his limit, raised the coffee. “What the hell are you laughing at?”
“I just think… pfft. Sorry,” Han Sooyoung struggled to speak, letting out a few more giggles. “I thought you, you jerk, were mad because Kim Dokja was messing with your dreams. But… ha. It’s because he doesn’t show up in them… HAHAHAHA!”
In the end, Yoo Joonghyuk stole her freshly brewed coffee and drank it himself.
“Okay, stop fighting,” Yoo Sangah said, struggling to hold the two back. “I think Joonghyuk-ssi’s concern is valid. Dokja-ssi acting this way shows he’s still instinctively excluding himself from the happy endings he’s crafting for us.”
“I’m not concerned.”
Han Sooyoung gave him a pitying look. Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand instinctively reached for another coffee cup on the table.
“Please don't. That's mine.” Yoo Sangah sighed.
6
The next person to dream was Shin Yoosung.
She was always a good student, never sleeping in, unlike Lee Jihye, who needed a tug-of-war-level effort to be dragged out of bed. But today, Shin Yoosung was extra hyped, sitting at the breakfast table before anyone else. Once everyone was seated, she couldn’t wait to share her dream.
She dreamed she became a “specimen revivalist.”
It was an era a hundred years in the future, where biotech had skyrocketed. Cloning and synthetic lifeforms were old news, and she was working to revive extinct species. She brought back the dodo, the crested shelduck, the Formosan clouded leopard, and countless other creatures. Those names spilled from her mouth. Yoo Joonghyuk kept his face blank, but the others grew increasingly awestruck yet baffled, like middle schoolers accidentally stuck in a quantum physics lecture.
Finally, when she got to secretly revive a Tyrannosaurus rex behind her lab’s back, everyone could follow along. But by then, the romantic sci-fi story had turned into an apocalyptic alien-invasion flick, with Shin Yoosung as the villain. Under siege, she led her revived creatures to escape into the wilderness, where they settled. In the end, surrounded by her creatures, she closed her eyes peacefully.
“Wait a sec,” Jung Heewon said, too caught up to notice Shin Yoosung was still lingering in the dream’s bittersweet mood. Her brows furrowed instantly. “Why have we all been having these dreams lately?”
No words were needed. Everyone’s eyes snapped to Kim Dokja. He was busy handing tissues to a teary-eyed Shin Yoosung while patting her head, caught off guard by the table’s collective death stares. Before he could defend himself, Jung Heewon slammed the table and stood. “Who else had dreams like this?”
Yoo Joonghyuk raised his hand, glaring at Han Sooyoung. She grimaced, reluctantly raising hers. Jung Heewon’s eyes widened, and in the next second, she was rolling up her sleeves.
“Kim Dokja,” Jung Heewon said, each word dripping with menace as she stormed over to him. “What are you up to? Don’t tell me this is some kind of farewell gift, that you’re planning to—”
“Wait a second!” Kim Dokja threw up his hands, but it was far too late. A familiar scene played out before the company members: Jung Heewon knocked him out with a single hand chop. As the company’s leader was about to faceplant into his cereal bowl, Yoo Joonghyuk caught him by the collar just in time.
“Do you really think this is just your subconscious?” Jung Heewon sat across from Kim Dokja, gripping a water bottle like a ruler, smacking it against her palm. “You saw these stories, thought they suited us, and gave us these dreams, and that’s it? Nothing else?”
Kim Dokja nodded.
“Anyone still buying this guy’s nonsense?” Jung Heewon snapped, turning to lock eyes with the row of people behind her before glaring back at Kim Dokja. “Who knows what you’re planning? Are you trying to mess with our memories so you can disappear again?”
“Hee… Heewon,” Lee Hyunsung said timidly, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. “I think we should give Dokja-ssi a chance…”
“We’ve given him enough chances!” Jung Heewon roared.
“Heewon,” Yoo Sangah stepped in. “We can’t—”
“Please stop arguing.”
It was Kim Dokja’s voice that halted the brewing war—or rather, the embarrassment and unease in his tone. He sat upright in the chair facing everyone, hands clasped on his lap, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve vaguely sensed something, but I can’t control it,” he said, briefly lowering his gaze before forcing himself to meet everyone’s eyes. “I also can’t provide any solid proof. If this is making you uneasy, you can restrict my actions however you want. But please don’t fight because of me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk heard Yoo Sangah gasp behind him. Even the out-of-control Jung Heewon calmed down. Yoo Joonghyuk looked at Kim Dokja. Despite his words dripping with conciliatory surrender, that infuriating arrogance—using vulnerability to subtly control the situation—and his deliberately distant tone still grated.
“I’ll keep watch over you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“…You don’t need to waste your time…” Kim Dokja started, almost reflexively protesting, but under everyone’s stares, he gave a wry smile and relented. “Alright, if that’ll put everyone at ease—”
“I’m moving into your room tonight,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
Kim Dokja’s head shot up, eyes wide as saucers. The circle of people around them whipped their heads toward Yoo Joonghyuk in unison.
“That’s how you’re gonna supervise?” Jung Heewon muttered.
“Then I wanna move in too—” Lee Gilyoung raised his hand, only for Biyoo to lunge at him, clamping his mouth shut.
7
“You could handcuff me to the bed,” Kim Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk ignored him, neatly setting up his pillow, blanket, charger, bedside lamp, and, as usual, the phone he’d confiscated from Kim Dokja’s hands.
“You could tie me up or something,” Kim Dokja added.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat down, leaned against the headboard, and pulled out a book on rehabilitation therapy, flipping to the bookmarked page.
“…Or maybe drug me?” Kim Dokja said helplessly, standing by the bed.
Yoo Joonghyuk held back for a long moment before lowering the book to look at Kim Dokja. This idiot clearly had no idea how horrifying his suggestions sounded. Swallowing his irritation, he said, “Get up here.”
“Obviously, if you’re trying to stop me from sneaking off at night, my ideas are… are way more…” Kim Dokja faltered, a rare stumble. “Way more effective than us sleeping in the same bed.”
“I’ll say it again. Get up here.”
Kim Dokja crawled into the covers slowly, moving as sluggishly as if a grizzly bear had ordered him into its cave. It was a massive king-size bed, but Kim Dokja clung to the edge, lying stiff as a board, eyes squeezed shut.
At least the guy was behaving. Yoo Joonghyuk dimmed the bedside lamp and settled in to finish the chapter before sleeping. After ten minutes, he tucked the bookmark back in and closed the book. As he did, he heard a voice beside him.
“Can’t you give me my phone back?” Kim Dokja asked. “If I could read a bit, I probably wouldn’t think about all that random nonsense.”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “Do you think that would fix your problem?”
Yoo Joonghyuk set the book on the nightstand, turned the lamp to its lowest setting, leaving just enough dim light to handle any midnight chaos Kim Dokja might stir up. Kim Dokja didn’t respond, so Yoo Joonghyuk closed his eyes. He heard rustling as Kim Dokja shifted, and felt a gaze on his face. Yoo Joonghyuk had a sinking feeling tonight’s dream would be infuriating.
Yoo Joonghyuk was right. When he woke, he was so pissed off that he almost laughed. Kim Dokja had turned to face him in his sleep, curled on his side with a vast chasm of space between them. Yoo Joonghyuk raised his hand and flicked Kim Dokja’s forehead with a sharp thwack. Kim Dokja’s eyes shot open, bleary and confused, staring at Yoo Joonghyuk.
He was clearly still groggy, mumbling vaguely for a while before finally coming to, staring at Yoo Joonghyuk in a daze. After a moment, he rubbed his temples, muttering to himself, “Right, this jerk insisted on sleeping here last night...”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, patience wearing thin.
“What?” Kim Dokja asked.
“What the hell were you thinking about before you fell asleep??”
In the dream, there was no context, no explanation, just that Yoo Joonghyuk had inexplicably been crowned the world’s most beautiful man. It was a disaster. He felt like a black hole—step outside, and every eye in the world glued itself to him. Even in livestreams, just turning on the camera and reading a random book sent money flooding into his account. Worse, the spaceship sent to explore the universe’s edge carried a full-body portrait of him, supposedly to generously share his otherworldly beauty with alien civilizations.
How had Kim Dokja’s brain conjured up such an embarrassing story? Yoo Joonghyuk, for once, was on the verge of losing it.
Kim Dokja blinked again, and in a split second, it was like someone had swiped a brush dipped in red paint across his face, his entire face flushed crimson.
“…” But he forced a calm tone. “Why’s it gotta be me? Can’t it be that you’re too narcissistic, so you had that kind of dream?”
“How do you know the dream was about narcissism?” Yoo Joonghyuk shot back.
Kim Dokja’s act crumbled. He squirmed under the covers, twisting to face away from Yoo Joonghyuk, his movements so frantic he looked like a fish flopping on a dried-up riverbed.
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at Kim Dokja’s beet-red nape, his anger dissipating as amusement took over. He’d thought Han Sooyoung’s descriptions of him from Kim Dokja’s perspective in her stories were just her teasing nonsense. Who knew this guy actually had those thoughts rattling around in his head?
“I told you to give me my phone back!” Kim Dokja wailed despairingly under the blanket.
8
Later, everyone in Kim Dokja’s company received their own custom-made dreams.
Lee Gilyoung dreamed he awakened a superpower, controlling all insect-like creatures. He joined a special ops team, using insects for reconnaissance, containment, and ambushing criminal targets. After countless standout achievements, the mayor commissioned an artist to create a sculpture of him surrounded by lively insects. Every insect encyclopedia published sought his foreword and recommendation.
Lee Hyunsung was in the same setting, but he was the ultimate defensive superpower holder. He shielded panicked citizens under a collapsing skyscraper, took bullets for a child, and once nearly burned out his entire mental energy to envelop a city in a protective barrier, holding back a tidal wave. His solitary stand against nature was etched into history.
Then there were Jang Hayoung, Lee Seolhwa, and even Uriel, all receiving their tailored gifts. Uriel’s dream was of a thriving Eden, and the next day, during an interview, her heavy makeup couldn’t hide her swollen, tear-streaked eyes. When the host asked what was wrong, she said she’d received a beautiful gift.
“…Looks like it’s really over?” Jung Heewon ventured. After everyone had their dream, the chaos seemed to settle. “So, that guy just read too many novels and wanted to give us some thrilling adventures in our dreams?”
“It seems so,” Yoo Sangah said.
“So we really did jump the gun?” Jung Heewon scratched her head, a bit sheepish about her earlier outburst. She glanced at Yoo Joonghyuk with a mischievous grin. “Then why are you still crashing in his room? Come on, can’t you just admit you want to live with him?”
Yoo Joonghyuk crossed his arms. His scrutinizing gaze swept over everyone. No one seemed to be lying. No one else was having those strange dreams anymore.
“My dreams haven’t stopped,” he said.
“Huh?” Jung Heewon craned her neck. “You’re still having those dreams? How many times now?”
“Twenty-four so far.”
Everyone stared at him in disbelief.
“Why are you getting so many?” Jung Heewon asked, then seemed to answer herself. “Well… makes sense. If he feels he owes anyone the most, it’s definitely you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t need Kim Dokja’s guilt, he thought. He wanted something else. But when he spoke, he said, “Until it stops, I’m not moving out.”
“You could just say you’re never moving out,” Han Sooyoung mumbled around a piece of candy. “Looks like you’re enjoying it.”
If Han Sooyoung could claim she enjoyed that pasta with as much pepper as cheese, then Yoo Joonghyuk could say he enjoyed the dreams Kim Dokja shoved his way.
It had become a routine. Before bed, Yoo Joonghyuk took Kim Dokja’s phone. Kim Dokja wove dreams from his chaotic imagination, and Yoo Joonghyuk was forced to live through his ridiculous scenarios.
Yoo Joonghyuk had given up tracking the absurd settings he’d been through. He’d entered a magical world, competed in an elven cooking contest, worked as a hacker navigating the dark web, and just last night, he’d even dreamed he was a black cat ruling a wasteland. Kim Dokja’s inspirations were usually traceable—like yesterday, when they saw a stray black cat in the park. Its front paw was injured, and it limped along, hopping awkwardly. Kim Dokja wanted to help, but the cat arched its back, lowered its head, and bared its fangs menacingly.
With Shin Yoosung’s help, they set up a simple trap to catch it and took it to the vet. As the doctor reached into the cage, the cat seized its chance, slipping through their grasp and parkouring around the room like a black whirlwind. Yoo Joonghyuk sacrificed an arm to pin it back down, earning two fresh, bleeding puncture wounds on his right forearm.
As Kim Dokja bandaged him, Yoo Joonghyuk kept a dark expression but stayed silent. Kim Dokja worked quietly too, but at one point, he glanced up, his eyes darting over Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. His mouth opened slightly, as if to say something, but he closed it sheepishly without a sound.
So now, the only upside to these dreams was that Kim Dokja’s idiotic thoughts had nowhere to hide. Yoo Joonghyuk guessed this fool must’ve thought that the black cat was a lot like him.
He didn’t enjoy the dreams, but he could tolerate them and was slowly getting used to these absurd adventures. At least, every night, Kim Dokja stayed obediently by his side.
9.
It was a gloomy, rainy day.
Kim Dokja’s mood was a little down. He tried to force some cheer to interact with the kids, but it fell flat. Lee Seolhwa comforted him, saying it was just normal hormonal fluctuations. His recovering body was more susceptible to environmental and chemical shifts. So, in the end, everyone gave him some quiet space. He curled up on the sofa, reading novels all day. According to Lee Jihye’s sneaky intel, they were Cthulhu-themed.
Yoo Joonghyuk heard this and felt a headache coming on. He braced for an absurd dream.
But he hadn’t expected the dream to take him back to the past. He stood on that subway again, a blue screen glowing before him, asking him to choose his sponsoring constellation. Three constellations offered him their patronage, but Yoo Joonghyuk had no interest in their names. He kept swiping the screen, feeling like he was searching for something—a name that should be on the panel but wasn’t. That eerie absence made him miss the selection. The dokkaebi yelled, demanding his choice, but he didn’t have time for it.
What was missing?
Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t figure it out. The scenario’s tasks swept him along, forcing him to set aside his confusion and move forward. The scenes that followed were brutal and cold, but some miracle always kept Yoo Joonghyuk and his companions sailing through each hurdle with luck and coincidence, safely passing every trial. When he came to, they’d reached the story’s end. The dokkaebi safely delivered them to a peaceful world.
The adventure’s heroes settled in a remote village, living quiet, uneventful lives. Time gnawed away like silent ants, nibbling a flatbread until, by the time they noticed, only crumbs remained. Yoo Joonghyuk left the village one night, heading into the mountains. He looked up, driven by some vague faith, searching the night sky. But it was a full moon that night, and the bright moonlight drowned out the stars. He couldn’t find what he was looking for.
What was he searching for?
He couldn’t understand. He tried to review his life, feeling it was like an absurd story. No resolved mysteries, no conflict, all suffering neatly erased by coincidences and accidents. An editor wouldn’t glance twice at such a tale. It wasn’t a good story; good stories needed pain as their fuel. But clearly, someone had wiped the source of his pain from the world.
But to the protagonist of the story, it was a gentle, peaceful, happy life.
When Yoo Joonghyuk opened his eyes, he met Kim Dokja’s gaze as he leaned over him. In the dim, flickering light, Kim Dokja looked unusually panicked, his hands frantically rubbing and wiping at Yoo Joonghyuk’s face and eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk reached out, grabbed Kim Dokja’s waist with both hands, and pulled him down, crushing him into his arms. He even heard Kim Dokja’s bones creak faintly under the pressure. The wretched dream-weaver gasped in pain, but Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t care. He buried his face in Kim Dokja’s chest, listening to the rapid, frantic heartbeat, breathing in the warm scent of him. Kim Dokja was alive. [The Demon King of Salvation] still existed. Everything just now was another dream spun by [The Oldest Dream]—
Damn it. The more Yoo Joonghyuk thought, the angrier he got. He shifted his grip slightly and sank his teeth into the shoulder in front of him.
“—!”
Kim Dokja’s pained yelp, paired with his obedient stillness in Yoo Joonghyuk’s arms, finally eased some of Yoo Joonghyuk’s rage. He loosened his hold. Flipping over, he lay forehead-to-forehead with Kim Dokja on the bed. A stray lock of overgrown bangs fell over Kim Dokja’s flushed eyes. Yoo Joonghyuk pinched the strand and tucked it aside.
“Do you think this is what I wanted?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked.
“Joonghyuk,” Kim Dokja said slowly. Even without hair poking into his eyes, the whites of them were streaked with red, “You regressed 1865 times because of that stupid stigma.”
“I don’t need you to remind me.”
“…You shouldn’t have gone through that,” Kim Dokja said, taking a deep breath and looking away. “This is all I can do. I don’t have anything else to give you.”
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. “I crossed hundreds of worlds to bring you back. Do you really think those dreams, where you don’t exist, are good dreams for me?”
Kim Dokja was silent for a long time. Yoo Joonghyuk knew he was brewing an answer infuriating enough to strangle him..
“So,” Kim Dokja said hoarsely, his voice slow. “I thought… maybe you need a [0] round without my interference. If you never met me from the start... maybe you’d change your mind.””
Oddly, Yoo Joonghyuk thought, he’d expected to be so furious at such nonsense that he’d flip Kim Dokja off the bed along with the mattress. But the anger only flickered lightly in his chest. Maybe, through endless reading, he’d come to understand that Kim Dokja was just this kind of person.
“But I only exist because of you,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. He’d once hated the idea, rejected being a puppet in someone’s hands, refused to be an actor for others’ amusement. But there was someone who should’ve despised it more, yet freely strode toward his own ██. “To deny yourself, are you going to deny me too?”
Kim Dokja froze.
“You can’t say that,” Kim Dokja rasped. He cursed, then gritted his teeth and swore again. He grabbed Yoo Joonghyuk’s collar, teetering on the edge of a breakdown. “You can’t… You—You’re Yoo Joonghyuk…!”
“Shut up,” Yoo Joonghyuk said. He pulled the self-destructive man back into his arms, letting him kick and thrash and even bite — and sure enough, Kim Dokja sank his teeth right into his upper arm. The commotion reminded Yoo Joonghyuk of that hissing black cat. Kim Dokja was the one who resembled that posturing little thing the most. The chaos lasted five minutes, ending when the recovering patient ran out of strength. Kim Dokja collapsed in his arms, panting heavily.
“Go back to sleep,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, glancing at the time. It wasn’t even six a.m. He grabbed the back of Kim Dokja’s head, the soft hair feeling nice under his fingers.
“You just wait,” Kim Dokja muttered, exhausted but still furious. “I’m going to beat you up in your dreams later.”
10.
When Yoo Joonghyuk opened his eyes in the dream, he saw the boundless cosmos again.
It was like he’d returned to that earlier sci-fi dream. He sat in the captain’s chair, alarms screaming as alien cannons locked onto them. But Yoo Joonghyuk just rubbed his temples irritably. He didn’t expect Kim Dokja to get it overnight, but seriously? Tossing him back into this dream? Was this idiot obsessed with having him smashed by a comet in space?
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t move, even letting go of the controls. Rather than spend another half-lifetime drifting in this universe, he’d rather wake up sooner. At least in reality, he had Kim Dokja in his arms—
“Yoo Joonghyuk!!”
A heavy blow slammed the back of his head, hard enough to nearly send him crashing into the console. Before he could erupt, a man in white shoved him aside, scrambling frantically toward the controls. The ship lurched into a steep climb, a massive energy wave grazing the hull, rocking the vessel violently. Yoo Joonghyuk gripped the chair to steady himself, simultaneously grabbing the assailant who’d whacked him. The offender wore a deputy captain’s badge on his chest.
Kim Dokja looked at him, flashing a sly grin. “Told you I’d punch you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t speak, just stared. Around them, crew members were flung about by the blast’s impact, screaming as alarms wailed again. In their long, locked gaze, Kim Dokja’s smug smile faded. He fidgeted, trying to wriggle free from Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip, his form flickering like a glitching signal, as if questioning his own existence.
Before this idiot could doubt himself out of the dream, Yoo Joonghyuk flicked him hard on the forehead.
“Get back to your station,” Yoo Joonghyuk ordered. “We’re counterattacking.”
It was a long battle, humanity’s final gamble against the aliens.
Maybe, per Kim Dokja’s script, their ship was meant to hold out until reinforcements arrived, at the cost of someone sacrificing themselves to take down the alien mothership. When Yoo Joonghyuk found Kim Dokja, he’d already stuffed the escape pod with all the ship’s remaining explosives, leaving just enough room for one person. Furious, Yoo Joonghyuk yanked Kim Dokja out as he tried to climb in.
“Let go!” Kim Dokja struggled. “It’s just a dream!”
“That's not the point!” Yoo Joonghyuk snapped.
In the scuffle, a damaged alien ship slammed into theirs, tearing a gaping hole. In the critical moment, Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed Kim Dokja, and the massive pressure difference sucked them both into space. The battle raged on as they floated. They clung to each other, drifting through flames and debris, awaiting the arrival of death.
“Can’t you just follow the script?” Kim Dokja grumbled. “Now the story’s got no ending. Guess I’ll just have a comet crash in.”
Yoo Joonghyuk half-suspected he’d die of exasperation before any comet hit. What was this idiot’s obsession with comets?
“If you can make a comet crash, can’t you just imagine a good ending instead?” Yoo Joonghyuk demanded.
Through the helmet, Yoo Joonghyuk saw Kim Dokja’s mouth open, then close sheepishly. Yoo Joonghyuk sighed. Forcing Kim Dokja to include himself in a happy ending was still a tall order. Yoo Joonghyuk lifted his hand and removed his own helmet, watching Kim Dokja’s eyes widen.
“Per physics, can a human body survive direct exposure to a vacuum…?” Kim Dokja muttered to himself. “Wait, sound doesn’t travel in a vacuum...right?”
Before this guy could nerd out over physics in a dream, Yoo Joonghyuk removed Kim Dokja’s helmet too. He cupped Kim Dokja’s face with his right hand. The universe, suddenly obeying physical laws, fell silent—no more crackling explosions. Kim Dokja’s mouth moved. Maybe something stupid, maybe something he only dared say in the silence.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t bother figuring it out. He leaned in and kissed him.