WEEE-OOO! WEEE-OOO!
An alarm blared throughout the entire ship, a sound sharp enough to send the hearts of every resident—many of whom had been peacefully asleep in their homes—plummeting into chaos.
Panicked, people scrambled out of bed, rushing to the windows to assess the situation outside or stepping out onto the streets to look around in confusion. The lights, normally steady and bright, flickered ominously, plunging the ship into a strobe of darkness and light.
—Attention. All residents, please remain indoors until further notice. If you are currently outside, seek shelter in the nearest building immediately. I repeat, all residents—
An emergency broadcast echoed from every speaker aboard the ship. Min Yugeon stared out the window as the announcement played on repeat.
“What the hell is going on all of a sudden?”
Lee Minha, who had come out into the living room with Min Yugeon, tapped anxiously at her watch, her face pale with confusion. She hadn’t heard from Min Sanghan, who hadn’t come home. She tried reaching out to others she was close to, hoping someone had news. Min Yugeon turned toward her.
“What about Suho’s parents?”
The image of Seo Suho’s back as he walked away after staying with him late into the night flashed across Min Yugeon’s mind. Right now, the only way to confirm whether Suho was safe was through Lee Minha’s watch.
Lee Minha tried calling Suho’s parents one by one. After several attempts, her voice dropped into a whisper, thick with unease and anxiety.
“They’re not picking up… Neither of them.”
“……”
Min Yugeon’s expression hardened.
His mouth clenched shut, barely able to contain the nervous energy. He glanced toward the front door. He knew full well that Seo Suho’s home—also a research facility—was in a restricted zone. Even if he ran there now, he wouldn’t be allowed in. Worse, it was guarded by soldiers. In an emergency, breaking protocol could easily lead to detainment.
And yet, the irrational urge to run to Seo Suho and confirm his safety surged uncontrollably within him.
They had no idea what kind of emergency had broken out on the ship—whether it had anything to do with Seo Suho or not.
…So why did this dread feel so overwhelming?
His fists clenched so tightly that his neatly trimmed nails dug into his palms, leaving behind shallow wounds.
And not long after, Min Yugeon realized that his gut feeling had not been wrong.
“Oh my god… Yugeon-ah, what are we going to do…”
It felt like his vision turned white. Like the floor had vanished beneath him.
That moment of devastation—the instant he heard the news—was something he knew he would never forget for the rest of his life.
A monster raised in Seo Suho’s home, which doubled as a research facility, had escaped. In the process, the entire building had collapsed.
Min Yugeon forgot how to breathe.
It wasn’t until he heard that both of Suho’s parents had died and that Seo Suho had miraculously survived that his breath finally returned to him. That too was a secret he would never dare confess to Suho.
He stared blankly at Seo Suho, who sat in a wheelchair, frail and pale, wrapped in a hospital gown, held gently in Lee Minha’s tearful embrace.
They hadn’t been allowed to visit until his surgery and initial recovery were complete. Now, finally facing him, the sight was devastating.
His legs, still immobile from the recent operation. His head, wrapped in bandages. His fingernails, all either crushed or completely torn off. His face, carved with deep cuts and gashes, was evidence of the hell he must have endured just to come back alive.
And yet, Seo Suho showed no emotion—no pain, no sorrow, no anger. Nothing that reflected the gravity of his loss.
Just… silence. An eerie, terrifying stillness.
“How could something like this happen? How…?”
Min Sanghan, who had helped place the ashes in the family’s urn, sobbed as he stood beside Suho. He must have considered Suho’s parents dear friends.
“……”
Min Yugeon stood frozen to the floor. His eyes met Seo Suho’s.
Those empty eyes—so hollow, so foreign—they made his throat seize up.
Lee Minha and Min Sanghan, both dabbing at their faces with tissues, quietly stepped away, saying they needed a moment to collect themselves.
Left behind, Min Yugeon finally managed to take a step forward.
“Suho…”
The name came out in a trembling voice, barely more than a breath.
Seo Suho simply stared at him, his expression unreadable.
The lack of any reaction sent a jolt of fear through Min Yugeon.
He knelt down in front of Suho and slowly reached out a hand. Like touching something so fractured it might shatter at the slightest pressure, his touch was painfully cautious.
He avoided the worst of the wounds and let his hand rest against Suho’s gaunt face. It was cold—devoid of warmth.
“You…”
He couldn’t think of what to say. Even if something came to mind, he wasn’t sure he could say it.
It felt like someone had poured boiling water down his throat.
He opened his mouth, closed it, repeated the motion, helpless.
His vision blurred with tears.
While he had been lying in bed that night, feeling comforted by the words he’d received… Seo Suho had been living a nightmare.
Standing at the edge of death, seeing things too horrific to imagine, suffering unbearable pain.
To lose one’s entire family, right before your eyes—family you loved, admired, and followed in every way… How could anyone possibly understand what that felt like?
Min Yugeon couldn’t forgive himself for not knowing.
He looked over Seo Suho’s broken body, his face contorted with grief.
The tears fell hard. His heart clenched with a pain so intense it was almost physical.
Seo Suho looked down at Min Yugeon, who trembled as he buried his head in Suho’s lap.
As if grieving in his place. As if crying all the tears Suho couldn’t.
A faint tremor flickered across Suho’s darkened eyes.
“…Don’t.”
Suho murmured as he placed a hand on Min Yugeon’s head.
“Don’t do that.”
The agony was his alone to bear.
No matter how painful it became, Seo Suho didn’t want to burden Min Yugeon with his darkness.
Especially not something like this—a monstrous, overwhelming grief so massive it felt unreal.
“Please…”
But Min Yugeon shook his head, his voice thick with tears.
“Then let me be the one you hold on to.”
His trembling hand hovered above Seo Suho’s broken body, unable to bring himself to touch him. Instead, he clutched at the armrest of the wheelchair, fumbling as though he were the one desperately hanging on, not the other way around.
Min Yugeon was afraid.
Though many had come to pay their respects, Seo Suho hadn’t leaned on a single one of them.
He sat in silence, accepting condolences, sending people off, staying rooted in place like a statue.
At first glance, it looked like strength—but in truth, he resembled someone who had simply given up.
As the one who had lived through the disaster firsthand, he couldn’t even pretend to deny reality. Seo Suho’s mind was clearly not intact, yet he was being forced to accept this nightmare for what it was.
“Hmm? I’m right here, aren’t I?”
Min Yugeon gently lifted Suho’s hand and pressed it against his own cheek. As if to remind him that he was real, to share his warmth, he rubbed his face against that battered palm.
A trace of warmth—tears—began to soak Seo Suho’s skin.
His eyes, already bloodshot, blinked slowly at the sensation of his dampening fingertips.
His operated leg had come out of anesthesia, yet he hadn’t felt any pain. He’d had no sensation at all, even from the touch of others. But the moment Min Yugeon touched him, something shifted.
Against his will, his body—numb, frozen in refusal—began to wake.
A world that had been drained of color now returned in dizzying, disorienting bursts of life.
The sharp sting of reality felt like it was stabbing him from all sides.
Ah— A faint, stifled groan slipped from his colorless lips.
“…Suho?”
At first, it was the sensation in his injured leg—as though it were being torn apart with blades. Then came the pounding, hammer-like pain in his skull.
His hands and feet trembled uncontrollably, his stomach twisting as nausea surged up his throat.
Min Yugeon’s eyes widened in horror as Suho’s already fragile complexion turned deathly pale.
“Wait, I—”
Seo Suho, recognizing the changes in his body, lifted a hand to his mouth before he could even finish his sentence.
He tried to turn the wheelchair around quickly, but the agony in his gut hit first.
Gasping, he doubled over reflexively.
Min Yugeon lunged forward to catch him as he collapsed.
“Seo Suho!”
Grabbing hold of him, Min Yugeon quickly checked his face—and froze.
Thick, bright-red blood was dripping from Suho’s nose, staining the porcelain skin of his face.
Not thinking twice, Min Yugeon ripped off his jacket and pushed Suho forward, bracing underneath his face to catch the blood.
Even with the fabric bunched thickly, it soaked through within seconds.
And that wasn’t the worst of it.
Suho’s shivering intensified, every tremor passing directly into Min Yugeon’s arms.
Cold sweat streamed down through his black hair, trailing along his pale cheeks and mixing with the nosebleed as it dripped to the floor.
His condition was clearly deteriorating on multiple fronts, not just one—and Min Yugeon bit down on his lip to stop himself from panicking.
“Yugeon!”
“Suho—Suho, what’s happening?!”
Lee Minha and Min Sanghan, returning just in time to see the chaos unfold, ran forward in a panic, completely forgetting where they were or how solemn the space was supposed to be.
With their help, Min Yugeon quickly contacted the hospital. He steadied Suho’s body and began pushing the wheelchair.
The nosebleed didn’t stop. The convulsions didn’t stop.
And damn it all, Suho’s body temperature was still dropping.
It was the beginning of a waking nightmare.
