Chapter 46 — Survivors Guilt
The hallway outside Aken's hospital room was quiet, but not in a comforting way.
It was the kind of silence that filled the air after something terrible had already happened— the kind that people create because they don't know what else to say. The lights overhead glowed softly against the pale walls, and someplace further down the corridor, machines beeped in slow, steady rhythms that felt strangely detached from the people lying behind the doors.
Aken stepped out of his room slowly, letting the door close behind him with a soft click.
CLICK.
For a moment, he simply stood there, feeling the cool air-conditioning breeze against his face, while at the same time observing the quiet surroundings.
The clothes on his body still felt a bit unfamiliar. Clean fabric. Fresh sleeves untouched by blood or ash. The Union-issued outfit fit perfectly, almost too perfectly, as though someone believed neat clothing could somehow restore normalcy to people who had walked through hell.
Aken gazed at his hands, searching for any trace of blood or trembling, but found nothing. Not a single sign revealed what had transpired inside that dungeon.
And somehow, that bothered him even more.
His fingers tightened briefly before relaxing again.
"…Excuse me."
A nurse who was walking past slowed and turned toward him almost immediately. She looked somewhat tired, though she tried not to show it. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, the kind that resulted from long shifts and a lot of emergency patients.
"Yes. Do you need something?"
Aken hesitated briefly before asking, "Do you know where Soo-ah Ming's room is?"
Recognition flickered across her face. Not surprise, more like sympathy.
"Oh, Mrs. Soo-ah. She's currently staying in room 312," she answered gently. "End of the hall, then turn to your left."
"…Sure thing, thank you."
She gave him a small nod of agreement before continuing on her way.
Aken began to walk, covering a distance that didn't seem too far at first. Yet, somehow, it felt much longer.
Every step softly echoed against the polished floor, and with each door he passed, the weight of what had happened grew heavier in his chest.
Some rooms were slightly open. And inside them held the unspeakable
In one of the rooms, a Player sat motionless on the edge of a bed, while a doctor carefully wrapped bandages around the burns that covered half his arm. The man showed no sign of pain, his gaze fixed blankly on the floor, as if he had left a piece of himself behind somewhere else and hadn't yet found his way back.
Another room held a woman quietly crying while someone beside her held her hand.
Aken looked away almost immediately.
Further down the hall, he caught a glimpse of a young player staring at his reflection in a dark television screen. One of his legs was gone beneath the knee. Judging from the expression on his face, he hadn't fully accepted his fate.
The hospital smelled sterile, clean, controlled. But underneath that was something harder to ignore; exhaustion, grief and fear.
This wasn't just a hospital for injuries, it was a place filled with survivors. And those survivors carried things medicine could never heal.
Aken continued walking until he finally arrived at Room 312, then came to a halt. For a few moments, he stood there, fixated, gazing intently at the door.
He didn't know why his chest suddenly felt tight. Maybe because seeing her awake would mean facing everything that happened.
Or perhaps it was fear that held him back, worried she might nont wake. But eventually, summoning all his courage, he reached for the handle and gently pushed the door open.
The room was dim compared to the hallway outside. Sunlight filtered softly through partially drawn curtains, casting pale gold across the floor and bed sheets. Machines hummed quietly nearby, their steady rhythms filling the silence without truly disturbing it.
Soo-ah lay quietly in the center of the bed, still and peaceful, embracing what felt like a moment of complete slumber.
Whereas Aken stood near the doorway longer than necessary.
Without the sharpness in her eyes or the cold confidence she always carried, she looked younger somehow. More fragile. The sight unsettled him in ways he didn't expect.
Her pale blue hair spread loosely across the pillow, catching sunlight where it touched her face. Her breathing was slow but steady, and every rise and fall of her chest felt strangely important to him now.
Maybe because there was a moment— a truly fleeting one— when he believed she was gone forever.
Aken quietly shut the door behind him and walked closer.
He pulled the chair beside her bed out carefully before sitting down. The soft scrape against the floor sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.
For a moment, he stayed silent, merely gazing at her. Strangely, that silence hurt more than any argument could've.
His gaze moved to her hands resting above the blanket, vivid memories flooding back. He recalled those same hands deftly shaping ice constructs without a second thought, standing fearlessly before an enemy capable of ending her life in an instant.
Now they appeared small, almost fragile; human and vulnerable.
Aken slightly lowered his gaze .
"I'm sorry, Soo-ah."
The words came out softly, almost uncertain.
As if he himself wasn't convinced apologies had any right in this conversation.
He reclined slightly in the chair, a small wave of exhaustion washing over him again.
"I keep thinking about it," he admitted after a long silence. "About how close we were to dying."
His voice remained calm, but only barely.
"If I had moved faster… if I understood my abilities earlier… maybe, just maybe, things would've turned out differently."
The memories came back instantly—Jin Wong's smile despite the situation being hopeless, Jae-Min summoning all his strength to stand, even after losing one arm.
Soo-ah refusing to back down while her body was literally breaking apart. People risking everything beside him; people trusting him.
Aken swallowed slowly.
"I really thought we were all going to make it out."
The room remained silent except for the machines beside her bed.
But then suddenly—
Soo-ah's body jerked up sharply.
Aken stood instantly, the chair scraping backward as his instincts reacted before his thoughts could catch up.
"Soo-ah!"
Her breathing became uneven for a second more before stabilizing once more. Aken frowned slightly, watching carefully.
"Just a reaction…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
He exhaled slowly, his hand reaching out once more for the chair, that is—until her eyes suddenly snapped open.
"Stop!"
The word emerged sharp and frantic, sending a jolt through the air. Aken froze in place, completely caught off guard.
For a split second, Soo-ah looked completely lost. Her eyes darted around the room rapidly, unfocused and searching, as if she still expected to see blood and collapsing walls around her.
Her breathing grew faster.
"…Soo-ah."
His voice was steadier this time, carrying a sense of grounding that seemed to anchor them both. She looked at him instantly, her eyes searching. As recognition gradually replaced her panic, a flicker of understanding sprinkled between them.
"Aken…?"
"You're safe," he said quietly. "Were in the hospital."
She blinked several times, trying to process the words.
"The dungeon…"
"It's already over."
Her expression grew noticeably more intense.
"…Did we...win?"
Aken gave her nod.
"Yeah, we did."
A flicker of relief softened her features, then reality slowly caught up. Her eyes widened in shock as she suddenly pushed herself upright, haste evident in her movements.
"What about the others—"
"You shouldn't move so soon."
"Where's Jae-Min?"
"He's alive, currently staying in another hospital room."
The answer came instantly. Soo-ah visibly relaxed, a slight release of tension noticeable from her shoulders. However, it was only a small easing.
Because there was still one name left unspoken between them. Her voice became quieter when she finally asked.
"…And Jin?"
Aken didn't answer right away. He wanted to, but he wanted to find gentler words, softer words, something that wouldn't hurt as much.
But there weren't any.
So instead, he directly told her the truth.
"He... didn't make it."
The room went completely silent after those words.
Soo-ah stared at him without reacting at first, as if her mind simply refused to process what she'd heard.
Then slowly, very slowly—She sat back down against the bed.
Aken watched her grip the blanket tightly, noticing her breathing start to change. It became uneven and shallow, as if she had suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
"How…" she whispered.
It wasn't a question; it felt more like pain. Aken looked away briefly, overwhelmed by the emotion behind it.
He shouldn't have been surprised. But somehow, seeing her break hurt more than expected.
Soo-ah had always seemed composed no matter what happened. Even during the dungeon, when things became impossibly stupid, she stayed calm in ways that made everyone else feel steadier and a little confident as well.
She was literally the greatest example of courage, but seeing that composure crack now felt strange.
Like watching something sturdy finally collapse after bearing too much weight for so long.
"He…" Her voice trembled slightly. "He promised we'd all get dinner after this."
Aken's chest tightened with a sense of pain and guilt.
Soo-ah laughed weakly through tears already beginning to form.
"He kept talking about barbecue the entire way there."
A small sound escaped her throat halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"And I had told him he was annoying."
The tears flowed softly afterward: not dramatic, not loud, just painfully human.
Her shoulders trembled as she lowered her head, fighting to hold herself together while grief threatened to consume her, piece by piece.
Aken stood there helplessly. He wanted to say something, anything. But nothing felt right.
What words existed for moments like this?
Sorry?
It sounded meaningless in a time like this.
Eventually, he carefully stepped closer.
Slow enough to give her room if she wanted distance.
Then he gently placed his hand on top of her head, the motion surprised even him.
Soo-ah froze slightly beneath his touch, as though it were her closest friend.
"I'm sorry," he said again quietly.
His voice was rougher now, more honest.
"I know that doesn't fix anything."
His hand tightened slightly before relaxing again.
"But if I had been stronger… if I had understood what I was doing sooner… maybe none of this would've ever happened."
The guilt had been sitting inside his chest ever since the battle ended; heavy and constant.
"If I ever get another chance to protect the people beside me," he continued softly, "I won't hesitate again, because I'll do it in a heartbeat. I don't even care what happens to me then."
Soo-ah listened to him silently. Not as a Player, not as someone powerful, but as someone who was grieving.
Sunlight shifted through the curtains, slowly filling more of the room with warm gold light. It softened the sharp edges of everything around them, making the hospital feel less cold for a moment.
Soo-ah slowly looked up at him. And for the first time since they met—
She saw him differently.
Not as an anomaly from the system, or as the strange player everyone whispered about. Just a person carrying pain he didn't know how to put down.
Her voice came quietly through the room.
"You really blame yourself for everything, don't you?"
Aken didn't answer, because he did. The truth was obvious.
Soo-ah wiped her eyes weakly before she spoke again.
"Jin had made his choice." The words shook slightly. "So did all of us."
Aken had looked away.
"But it doesn't make it easier to bare the pain of losing them."
"Maybe not," she admitted softly. "Or actually it doesn't."
She slowly pushed herself upright despite the weakness in her body.
Aken instinctively moved to help, but she shook her head slightly and steadied herself alone before stepping toward him.
Her movements were slow and wobbly, but yet deliberate.
She stopped directly in front of him. Then quietly wrapped her arms around him.
Aken froze completely. It wasn't because he wanted to pull away, but because nobody had ever held him like that in a very very long time.
Soo-ah's embrace was gentle, almost cautious, like she was afraid he might disappear if she held too tightly.
"It wasn't your fault," she whispered.
Aken closed his eyes briefly.
"You don't know that."
"I do, Aken."
Her grip tightened slightly.
"You tried harder than anyone else."
Her voice trembled again.
"And you came back for me, for all of us."
That hurt more than he expected. Probably because part of him still wasn't sure bringing her back had been the right choice.
The memory of her crimson eyes flashed briefly through his mind; scary, ancient and hungry.
Aken pushed the thought away immediately. Soo-ah rested her forehead lightly against his chest.
"Everyone who walks into a dungeon understands the risk," she said quietly. "We all know we might not come back."
A long silence passed between them. Then softly—
"So don't carry all of this alone."
Something inside Aken loosened slightly at those words, not healed or fixed, but lighter.
His arms slowly moved before he could overthink it, gently returning the embrace.
"…Thank you, Soo-ah."
The words barely rose above a whisper.
Outside the window, the sunlight finally broke fully through the clouds, pouring warm light across the room.
And for the first time since leaving the dungeon—
The silence no longer felt unbearable. It felt shared. Everything wasn't okay, not even close.
Jin was still gone, the scars were still there. And somewhere deep beneath everything, darker truths still waited for them.
But for now, in the quiet warmth of that hospital room, two survivors stood together carrying the same grief.
And somehow—
That made it much easier to breathe.
END OF CHAPTER