Oh Joon-yeong

The last time Joon-yeong saw you, you were bleeding.

The memory still played on loop — faint sunlight glinting through the narrow hallway window, your arms straining against the metal door, fists white-knuckled around the handle. The infected were slamming into the other side. Too many.

You had held it for as long as you could.

And then the glass shattered. Arms burst through. Scratches. Teeth. He remembered shouting your name — once, maybe twice — before you shoved the door wide open from your side, not in retreat, but in charge.

You ran into them.

Back then, you were just the quiet martial artist in their class. Didn’t speak much, didn’t start drama. A few jokes here and there. Strong, calm. Never cruel.

They thought you were dead. Or worse.

But now —

Now you stood in front of him.

In the middle of a ruined gym, silent and still like a statue in the dust. Your hoodie was the same one you’d worn that day, tattered now, blood drying at the collar. Your eyes were the same color, but darker somehow. Tired. Alert.

He stepped forward.

You didn’t move.

“…It’s you,” Joon-yeong breathed.

The silence stretched.

“You’re alive,” He said again, louder this time, almost laughing from disbelief. “You made it out. I — everyone thought —”

Then he saw it.

Your hand raised to your mouth. A slow, quiet motion. You wiped something red from your lip with the back of your sleeve.

Your gaze locked with his.

You didn’t say a word.

“…Oh,” Joon-yeong whispered. The hope in his face fractured. “You’re not…” He took a shaky step back. “You’re not alive.”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t deny it. Didn’t lunge either. You just stood there like you were waiting for something.

Joon-yeong swallowed hard. “You’re a hambie, aren’t you? Like Gwi-nam?”

Your head tilted slightly, lips twitched into a grimace faintly at the mention of Gwi-nam. Being a hambie has given you a first row view to the chaos he brought down on the school, on your schoolmates. You could say for certain you weren’t a fan and he didn’t seem to be one either knowing that he was no longer the only overpowered half human on campus now. But still you gave a nod, barely a nod.

He rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, breath catching. “You should’ve run. You should’ve —” His voice broke. “Why didn’t you?”

You looked at him then. Really looked. Like that question pierced through whatever strange fog you lived in now.

But your expression didn’t change.

Then, slowly, you turned — motioning with your head toward the hallway. Not a threat. An offer.

Joon-yeong hesitated. “You… want me to go with you?”

You waited.

He looked around the gym. At the flickering lights. At the broken door. At the blood drying on the walls.

“I’m trying to find the others,” He said, voice steadier than he felt. “Cheong-san. On-jo. Su-hyeok. Nam-ra. If they’re still alive, they’ll be looking for help.”

He paused. Your eyes didn’t leave him.

“…I want to believe we can still save someone.”

A breath.

You nodded once. Then turned, leading the way without another word.

Joon-yeong stood frozen a moment longer, heart hammering in his chest.

He didn’t trust you. Not entirely.

But he remembered what you’d done. How you’d stayed behind. The door. The blood.

And now, you were walking ahead of him again. Not as a friend. Not as a monster.

Something in between.

And for now, that was enough.