The Weight She Never Chose

Won-gyeong observed Go Doya as someone who wanted to be selfish, yet never actually was.

Go Doya was never cold when she needed to be.

Before returning to reality, Go Doya neglected her own body to save a child.

Saving a child alone was something he could still understand.

Embracing the helpless was one of humanity’s admirable traits.

But when Won-gyeong recalled what Go Doya did after that, a chill crept through his chest.

Even with her leg ruined and her arm broken, Go Doya thought only of the child she had saved.

Not once did she concern herself with her own condition.

Never before had something he considered a “good human trait” frightened him so deeply.

Why did humans throw themselves into danger to save others?

Why could they disregard their own safety without fear?

Even after becoming unable to move on her own legs, Go Doya never once showed resentment toward the child.

She could have blamed the child, even subconsciously, but Go Doya truly seemed incapable of harboring that kind of resentment at all.

That realization struck Won-gyeong with a sharp, cold pain.

Go Doya, who could not act selfishly, would throw herself into danger again if the same situation arose.

And she would never regret doing so.

‘Even though she’s too weak to protect herself.’

Go Doya was weak enough that Won-gyeong could restrain her with one hand.

Compared to the average physical strength of a hunter, her body was impossibly fragile.

Soft, like an overripe peach.

That terrified him.

That Go Doya was weak.

That Go Doya could not be selfish.

That Go Doya did not resent others.

He was terrified to the point that he couldn’t even understand why.

Affection for Go Doya came bundled with fear.

Won-gyeong had only wanted to see her smile.

To see her go through good things, right before his eyes.

Without getting hurt by others.

Without stepping into danger as if it were only natural.

And yet, without realizing it herself, Go Doya carried a burden of salvation as heavy as the name she despised.

The golden eyes reflected in the shattered mirror shone brightly without emotion, and their owner threw herself into danger for others as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if it were only natural—the very thing Won-gyeong feared most.

“When Go Doya arrives, what are we supposed to do?”

“Prepare to send her off.”

“Send who?”

“Who else but Go Doya?”

“Then what about us?”

“We’ll be left behind.”

“Again?”

“Again. Forever.”

(They tremble in fear.)

“Weren’t you curious about what happened in the village?”

Won-gyeong, who had been leaning toward me, straightened his posture, looking a little sheepish.

Sitting upright, he gave a silent signal that I could start talking.

How much should I explain?

That the space around me reverted to the past?
That I found a house I’d lived in as a child?

If I explained it, I felt like I’d have to say everything.

I hesitated briefly, but considering the affection Won-gyeong held for me, I judged that telling him everything wouldn’t put me at risk.

“When I entered the village, the area around me changed into the past.”

Won-gyeong nodded, his expression thoughtful. It was a sign for me to continue.

“It didn’t seem dangerous, so I was looking around with Jaeyul.

That’s when we found a house that stood out. Ah—when Jaeyul tried to open the front door, the siren went off.”

“If your surroundings reverted to the past, then that village must’ve been created to draw you in.

Hyeon Jaeyul didn’t have the right to enter, so the warning sounded.”

“That’s what I thought too. When Jaeyul went to deal with the sound, I stayed behind and opened the door alone.

Nothing happened then.”

Listening carefully, Won-gyeong shared his conclusion.

“Then the reason this mission was assigned to us was because you were on the team, Doya.”

I agreed.

I’d been thinking the same—that the place existed solely for me.

When I nodded, Won-gyeong asked,

“What happened after you went inside?”

“I found a room I remembered. A place I lived before I turned nine.

The house I lived in before I lost my guardians. I don’t remember anything else, but that room was vivid.”

“A place from before you were nine…”

“When I entered the room, more memories surfaced.”

“What kind?”

“Something someone who was probably my mother said to me. It didn’t seem especially important, but…”

“May I ask what she said?”

Won-gyeong asked carefully.

I had already decided to tell him everything, including the mirror shard.

So I nodded and answered.

“She said that someday, when I came to understand beauty, I’d think it was worth offering everything for it.

That I was living only for that moment.”

Won-gyeong frowned.

“That was something your mother said?”

“Probably.”

It was a strange thing for a mother to say.

Won-gyeong tapped the table with his index finger, brows furrowed, deep in thought.

The Association staff member with the strange attitude.

The supernatural phenomenon that seemed to want me there.

Me being dispatched on that mission.

And the mission we learned of when we woke up.

All of it converged on a single point.

‘Go Doya.’

Me.

The reason we awakened at the Association wasn’t because Jeong Iheon recovered his memories.

The timing didn’t match.

The apocalypse simulation wanted me to remember my childhood here.

Won-gyeong seemed to reach the same conclusion. His tapping finger stopped.

He hesitated, so I spoke first.

“There’s something I have to do here.”

“…If that’s how we look at it, then we’re still in the middle of the apocalypse simulation.”

Won-gyeong spoke grimly and let out a long sigh.

He was smart.

There was no way he didn’t understand what the “thing I had to do” meant.

What I was meant to do was probably sacrifice.

No matter the method, my parents likely wanted me to do that in the end.

Seeing Won-gyeong struggle to speak despite all the hints, I smiled faintly.

“I’ve told you this much. You know the answer. What this simulation wants from me is sacrifice.”

“You’ve only recovered fragments of your memory. Not the whole thing. It’s too early to jump to conclusions.”

Won-gyeong said sharply.

Still smiling, I replied,

“Even if it is sacrifice, I don’t have to do it. I don’t plan to.

My life is precious. That’s why I told you—I want you to help me think of another way.”

Only then did Won-gyeong relax his shoulders.

Rubbing the mug with chilled fingers, he spoke.

“Thank you for telling me. And… it’d be better not to tell the others.”

“I won’t. But Ju Noeul already knows we’re still in the simulation.”

“Ju Noeul?”

Won-gyeong sounded genuinely surprised.

If Ju Noeul were here, he’d definitely snap at that reaction.

“How?”

After pondering for a long moment, Won-gyeong asked as if he truly couldn’t understand.

It seemed unbelievable to him that Ju Noeul—who acted recklessly and never thought things through—had grasped the situation before he did.

“Ju Noeul interferes with my ability. That’s probably how he realized this place differs from reality.”

I avoided mentioning the system directly.

Won-gyeong didn’t seem fully convinced, but he didn’t press further.

“Anything else?”

“I brought something back from the house. A shard of a broken mirror. That’s it.”

“Do you have it now?”

“It’s a bit large, so I left it in my room. Want to see it? Though I haven’t checked whether my room’s been bugged.”

Won-gyeong smiled awkwardly at the suggestion.

Ah.

Inviting him to my room hadn’t been very considerate.

I corrected myself immediately.

“I’ll bring it here next time.”

“Yeah. That’d be better.”

Only then did Won-gyeong answer with a dry sigh.

We set the mirror shard aside for later and put our heads together to think.

There was something that had bothered me ever since we woke up.

“The kid who was with us disappeared.”

“Oh. The boy we brought from the hotel.”

“Yeah. I don’t think he was just there to open a rift. I think he exists in reality, just like us.”

As he listened, Won-gyeong tapped his mug lightly.

It seemed to be a habit when he was thinking.

After a brief pause, he nodded.

“I’ve heard of a child with rift-related abilities. That was a few months ago, so there wouldn’t have been enough time for his power to mature, but it’s a very likely ability for simulation participation.”

“He said he couldn’t control his ability. If he couldn’t control it in reality, it probably went the same way in the simulation.”

I spoke as Won-gyeong nodded in agreement.

“So…”

I paused deliberately.

Won-gyeong stared straight at me, waiting.

“I want to find him.”