"You remember the third turn?" she asked, voice casual.
His brows drew together. "You mean the third regression turn?"
She hummed. "Yoo Joonghyuk threw a picnic, remember? Just like this one. Everyone brought their favorite food. Even Gong Pildu showed up."
Kim Dokja stared at her.
There was a beat.
"...You're full of shit," he said.
She didn't react.
"There wasn't a picnic in the third turn," he added, narrowing his eyes at her.
"No?" she asked sweetly, with a hint of relief in his eyes.
"No," he said firmly. "In the third turn, Joonghyuk was in a constant state of paranoia and depression. He stabbed Kim Nawoon with a chopstick just to see if it would bleed."
"Very on brand."
"You wanted to test me right? My dear author."
She finally snorted. "Gotcha, my dear reader"
Kim Dokja blinked. "Why?"
Han Sooyoung turned her full gaze on him now, and there was something sharp behind the usual mischief. A glint of glass just before it cuts.
"Of course I have to do this. You think I wouldn't? After everything?" Her voice didn't waver, but it wasn't teasing anymore. "You disappear for what feels like eternity, and then you just—walk back into our lives like a scene change? I had to be sure."
"I'm me," he said quietly.
"Yeah? Prove it again."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he leaned back on his hands and looked out over the river. The wind was softer now, curling around their legs like a cat.
"In the 38th turn," he said, "Yoo Joonghyuk didn't sleep for eleven days. Yoo Mia fed him chocolate bars from a vending machine until he passed out on a bench."
Han Sooyoung blinked.
"In the 22nd, Lee Jiyhe lost her voice from screaming too much and tried to stab Kim Nawoon for laughing."
"That tracks," she muttered.
"And in the 1863nd," he continued, quieter now, "I put some sense into your head"
The silence stretched.
"I remember that," she said, voice small.
He glanced at her. "Then you know it's really me."
Her expression twisted, not quite a smile, not quite tears. "I thought that maybe you were another avatar"
"Nope, 100% me" he said, lips quirking. "But I understand why you did it."
Han Sooyoung exhaled. The wind ruffled her hair, her coat. The group below was passing around watermelon slices now. Uriel had taken it upon herself to be the "Fruit Angel," complete with overzealous dramatic poses. Jang Hayoung faceplanted into a bowl of salad trying to escape.
The world was moving on.
Kim Dokja nudged her shoulder lightly with his. "Still doubting?"
She didn't answer directly. Just leaned her head slightly toward him, not resting it—never that vulnerable—but enough to feel the warmth of his presence.
After a while, she said, "I will start write again, are you ready?"
"I am."
"Even if its over 3000 chapters?"
"That's exactly my range."
"Hmph."
The quiet sat between them again, this time not heavy, but steady.
Then, from the base of the hill, came the unmistakable thundering of small feet.
"Ahjussi!"
Shin Yoosung and Gilyoung ran up the hill, arms flailing with urgency. Wukong jogged behind them, already holding a stick like a sword.
"Come on! We're picking teams for tag!"
"And Uriel says you can't be on her team again because it's cheating!"
"You promised you'd play!"
Kim Dokja looked at them, then at Han Sooyoung.
She rolled her eyes. "Go. They'll riot if you don't."
"You sure?"
"I'm not the one in demand, Reader-nim."
He hesitated a second longer, then stood up with a groan, brushing grass from his pants.
"I'll come back," he said.
She didn't look at him. "You better."
The kids dragged him away, their laughter rising like flares in the wind. Han Sooyoung watched him go, expression unreadable.
She waited until the hilltop was quiet again before lying back on the grass, hands behind her head.
The sky overhead was spilling over with stars.
"You really came back, huh?" she murmured to no one.
The breeze whispered against her cheek.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel the urge to run from the silence.
Not when it carried his voice.
Not when it carried him.
.
.
By the time Kim Dokja was pulled back into the fray, the picnic was in its chaotic final stages.
Uriel had convinced half the group to reenact scenes from a drama no one had ever heard of. Sun Wukong was juggling watermelon rinds while Shin Yoosung shouted about forming a hero guild. Gilyoung sat cross-legged beside the tiny chimera dragon, softly narrating the epic saga of "The Great Picnic War." Even Gong Pildu, after three passive-aggressive complaints about ants, had somehow ended up playing cards with Serena and Lee Seolhwa.
The moment felt suspended in time.
It wasn't the world they had fought for, not exactly.
But it was something they had made from the pieces. Something bright.
"Reader-nim!" Jung Heewon shouted across the grass, balancing two soda cans and looking suspiciously smug. "Drink this. It's not poisoned. Probably."
Dokja took one, eyeing it with mild distrust. "You've gotten weirder."
"You've gotten softer."
"I'm still traumatized, thanks."
"Good. You'd be insufferable otherwise."
She clinked her can against his, then tossed herself down on the blanket with practiced recklessness. Lee Jihye was already passed out beside her, muttering something about murim dumplings and betrayal in her sleep.
Dokja sat nearby, the smile still lingering faintly on his face.
Then his eyes drifted toward a figure just beyond the treeline.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood slightly apart, arms folded, watching the group with the air of someone who didn't quite know what to do with peace.
Kim Dokja rose and walked over.
Joonghyuk didn't acknowledge him at first. But he didn't leave, either.
"Still standing on the edge of things," Dokja said.
Yoo Joonghyuk grunted. "Someone has to watch the perimeter."
"There's no perimeter anymore."
"There always is. You just don't see it yet."
A breeze passed between them. Leaves rustled like whispered regrets.
"You kept your promise," Dokja said softly.
Joonghyuk looked at him now. Just briefly. "Took longer than I wanted. But yes."
"I did tell you exactly that in the 0 turn."
"I know."
There was a long pause.
"It wasn't easy" Joonghyuk said, almost inaudibly. "When the scenario ended. When the wall wouldn't open. When that Fourth wall of yours basically executed our hopes before us."
Dokja's throat tightened.
"I wasn't the only one who waited," Joonghyuk added. "But I was the one who believed you 'will return, you always find a way in the end, even in a world without a story."
A silence settled that wasn't awkward—just full.
"You were the first character I ever met," Dokja said. "And the only one who ever made me want to live."
Joonghyuk scoffed. "You really are soft now."
"I had to survive the epilogue somehow."
Joonghyuk didn't smile. But he didn't argue either.
And when he turned to walk back toward the others, it was Dokja who followed.
The sun had dipped fully below the horizon now. The park was awash in golden twilight, the soft hum of crickets joining the last of the laughter.
People were packing up—folding blankets, shaking off crumbs and stories alike.
Jung Heewon stood near the edge of the clearing, her back to the others.
Her sword was drawn—not in warning, but almost habit. The steel caught the fading light, gleaming like memory.
Dokja approached quietly.
She didn't look at him. "You know," she said, "I used to believe this thing was all I needed. As long as I had my sword, I could fix anything."
He said nothing.
"But I couldn't cut through what mattered," she continued. "Not Yoo Sangah's silence. Not Gilyoung's tears. Not Sooyoung's anger. Nothing seemed to be able to reach you."
She lowered the blade, the point gently brushing the grass.
"But I kept it sharp. And tried everything to make you came back."
"I'm sorry," Dokja said. "For making you wait."
"You better be. I almost used it on your avatar."
He blinked. "You what—"
"Don't worry, Yoo Sangah stopped me. Barely."
There was a beat of silence.
Then she turned to face him fully, eyes hard but shining.
"Next time," she said, "you run ahead again, I'll find you. And I will drag your ass back, even if I have to stab the universe."
He believed her.
She sheathed her sword with a clean motion, the sound crisp in the dusk.
"Come on," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "They're waiting."
The final bits of the picnic were loaded into bags. The last cookie had been claimed—Uriel, of course. The kids were yawning, clinging to Wukong like sleepy barnacles. The sky was filling with few stars, their stars.
Kim Dokja stood in the center of it all, surrounded by people who had died for him, cried for him, fought beside him.
Lived, for him.
The constellations were quiet now. The scenarios were over.
But here, with their hearts stitched together in laughter and loss, something new was beginning.
He didn't know what the future would bring.
But for the first time, he wasn't afraid.
He will imagine an ending where he can be happy.
Where everyone can be happy.
Where is Author can be happy.
At that moment a familiar voice rang in Kim dokja's ears.
[The Star Stream Is rebooting some its functions]
[Star Stream can't find the system]
[You are no longer "The Character"]