After finishing our meal and regaining some strength from the modest military rations, the atmosphere began to feel a little warmer—even though we were still trapped in this place of uncertainty, with danger lurking just beyond our reach. The air around us settled into a strange silence, the kind that doesn't come from peace, but from something left unsaid. Something waiting.
To break the tension hanging over us like a heavy curtain, we decided to share stories—fragments from our old lives. About our daily routines, childhood memories, dreams we once chased, even failures that had once felt overwhelming but now seemed trivial compared to our current nightmare.
Olivia told us about her job as a financial analyst, about the pressure and expectations from the people around her that had quietly drained the joy from her life. Hyunsuk, with a spark in his eyes, shared how he once dreamed of becoming a professional athlete, only to have it all cut short by a knee injury. I chuckled quietly, recounting boring office days, the crowded coffee shop near my building, and piles of paperwork that never seemed to end.
Those stories—simple and mundane—became a bridge, connecting us with something we had nearly forgotten: a sense of belonging. In a world this unfamiliar and disorienting, where time and direction had lost meaning, the only foundation we could truly rely on was each other. Small laughter echoed every now and then, faint but real. And for now, that was enough. Enough to feel human.
But like the wind suddenly shifting direction, our conversation slowly drifted toward things we could no longer ignore.
"By the way," Hyunsuk said, his voice turning serious, "what was that thing that chased us earlier, hyung? That... thing was terrifying."
His expression had changed—no more playful light in his eyes.
I was silent for a moment before replying, "I don't know. That was the first time I've seen anything like it. But one thing's for sure—this isn't the world we used to know. This… isn't Earth anymore."
Olivia, leaning against a pile of empty crates, gave a small nod. Her face was clouded with worry.
"If monsters like that exist here… then there's a good chance we'll encounter more, right?"
Her words hung in the air like a fog—cold and clinging. Even Hyunsuk, who always tried to stay upbeat, looked uneasy. I knew they were afraid. So was I. But as the oldest among us, I had to show resolve.
"I can't say for sure," I finally said, "but we have to be prepared for anything. I'll do my best to keep us safe. No matter what happens."
My words were simple, but somehow they seemed to lift their spirits a little. Olivia looked at me with a soft, meaningful smile.
"I feel like Lan is someone we can truly rely on," she said, almost absentmindedly.
"Totally agree! Hyung should be our team leader," Hyunsuk chimed in with a grin.
I let out a small laugh, slightly embarrassed.
"Alright, that's enough praise. You two should get some sleep. We'll take turns keeping watch tonight."
"Okay, Hyung."
"Alright, Lan."
We prepared a makeshift sleeping spot—an old tarp spread out, worn fabrics as bedding. The cold of the concrete floor seeped through, but exhaustion outweighed discomfort.
Once they had both drifted off, I sat near the wall, back resting against it, staring into the darkness of the corridor. A small flashlight dangled from a rusted nail, casting a faint glow—the only source of light around me.
I decided to take inventory of our supplies.
Roughly estimating, we had enough food and water for six to eight days—depending on how much energy we'd need and whether we could find more resources along the way. I remembered seeing a few supply crates when we were fleeing earlier, but we hadn't had time to grab them. Now, I regretted that.
My gaze drifted toward the damp wall. My thoughts wandered back to that thing—the tall, hulking creature with glowing white eyes and claws like knives. It had seemed to be drawn by light. When my flashlight broke, it lost track of us briefly, only to find us again by the sound of our footsteps. That meant it could respond to light and sound.
Knowing this, I placed the flashlight somewhere within easy reach, in case I needed to distract it again.
I rolled up the sleeves of my now-filthy white shirt—once a neat office uniform, now torn and stained. The tight fabric around the shoulders limited my movement, so I ripped the sides and sleeves slightly to give myself more range. In this world, comfort and mobility mattered more than appearance.
Beside me lay a katana I had found earlier. Its handle was wrapped in simple black leather, the scabbard unadorned. But when I slowly drew the blade, its polished edge caught the dim light—gleaming with a deadly precision that hinted at expert craftsmanship. I didn't know who made it, but the weapon felt alive in my hands.
I stood up slowly and began to train. Step by step, I swung the katana through the air. The weight felt awkward at first—uneven, unfamiliar. I struggled to maintain balance. But I kept at it.
A horizontal slash. A vertical strike. A forward thrust. A guarded stance.
In my mind, I pictured that monster again—trying to predict its movements, visualizing how I'd block or strike. As I moved, I realized that swordsmanship wasn't just about strength. It was rhythm. Harmony between body, mind, and breath. Every step needed to be firm. Every cut, decisive.
I recalled samurai films, martial arts clips I'd seen online, even passages from old novels. None of those could replace real training, but they gave me a foundation—something to start with.
Swing after swing, I trained. The blade sliced the air with a soft whistle, the only music in this lonely corridor. I was sweating, breath heavy, yet each movement brought a sense of control. Of purpose.
Eventually, I stopped. My muscles ached, and I was soaked in sweat. I sat down, wiped my face with the inside of my shirt, and pulled out a chocolate bar from the bag. Its sweetness hit my tongue with surprising intensity, making me grimace slightly. I never liked sweets much, but I needed the energy. Besides, I had just told Hyunsuk to appreciate whatever food he had—I didn't want to be a hypocrite.
As I chewed slowly, resting against the wall, my eyes casually scanned the corridor to the right. And that's when I saw it.
A figure.
Small.
Child-sized.
Still. Unmoving. Standing at the end of the corridor. Silent. Staring at me.
Every hair on my body stood on end.
"...!!!!"
My body froze.
Our eyes met in the darkness.
Its gaze wasn't human. But it wasn't animal either. It was empty. Cold. As if it didn't belong to any living thing.
My hand slowly reached for the katana beside my foot. My breathing slowed—deep and controlled. As if even the smallest sound could trigger disaster.
And the creature… was still watching.
A bead of cold sweat slid down my temple.
What is that…? Another monster?
Or something else entirely?
The corridor grew even quieter. I could hear my heartbeat like a drum in my skull.
My grip tightened around the katana's hilt.
If it moves—
I'll be ready.
…Or at least, I want to believe I will be.