I felt something gently thump against my shoulder.
I flinched. My body jerked slightly as the sudden contact yanked me back into reality.
The station's background noise rushed in all at once—buzzing lights, soft murmurs, the low hum of a train... wait.
The train had arrived.
"Huh—what?" I blinked rapidly, almost dropping my phone. My eyes darted around.
Someone was standing next to me. I tilted my head up.
It was him.
The man from the bench—the one who had been glued to his phone like it held the meaning of life itself.
"Ah, sorry... I was trying to get your attention because the train arrived," he said.
His voice was quiet, calm. Unassuming. Almost as if he hadn't just startled the soul out of me.
I scrambled up from my seat, brushing imaginary dust off my sleeves. "Oh. Right. Thank you."
I gave him a polite nod,
"I didn't notice..." inwardly cringing.
Well, that's embarrassing. Zoning out so hard I needed a complete stranger to bring me back.
We boarded the train together. I followed just a few steps behind him.
Inside, the car was surprisingly empty. A quiet kind of silence, like the air was holding its breath.
As he slid into one of the seats by the window, I hesitated for half a second... then sat down next to him.
Not too close. Just enough to not seem too weird.
"...Um, this is Cart 3807, right?" I asked, a little unsure, a little wary.
The man looked at me then. Really looked.
It was brief—just a glance—but in that moment, something about his gaze made my spine straighten. Like he was reading far more than my words.
His eyes weren't cold. Just... tired. Knowing.
"Yeah," he said simply. Then turned his gaze back out the window.
I let out a quiet breath and nodded, mostly to myself.
"Good. Just making sure."
Carriage 3807. Just like the webnoval the first episode.
I didn't know if that was a good sign or a very, very bad one.
But at least—for now—I was on the right track.
Literally.
I glance at the man beside me, watching as his thumb flicks across the screen again. Something about the way he read—so intensely, so focused—it tugged at a strange sense of déjà vu.
It was like watching someone live in a story, not just read it.
I tried not to stare, but curiosity got the better of me.
I cleared my throat. "Ahem."
He glanced up, mildly startled.
"Sorry," I said quickly, offering a polite smile. "I can't help but ask... are you reading a novel?"
There was a pause.
The man blinked at me, and for a second I wondered if I crossed some sacred introvert boundary.
Then I saw it—a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. His ears turned just a little red.
"...Yeah," he said, voice a bit awkward. "Something like that."
I tilted my head. "Is it good?"
His fingers tightened slightly around the phone, but he nodded.
"Very."
That was it. One word. Very.
But there was something in the way he said it. Not like someone talking about a good book—but like someone talking about a truth.
I smiled again, more out of politeness than anything, and looked back at my own phone.
But I noticed, out of the corner of my eye...
He tilted his screen a little further away.
Like he didn't want me seeing what he was reading.
Which, of course, made me even more curious.
What kind of novel gets that reaction...?
Or maybe...
What kind of man reads a novel like it's keeping him alive?
I smiled, trying to ease the awkwardness.
"I also read webnovels," I offered casually.
That seemed to do something.
The man blinked at me—once, twice—then his entire expression shifted. The guardedness in his eyes faded, replaced by a quiet brightness, like I'd just said the magic password.
His lips parted before he could stop himself.
"...Really?" he asked, straightening slightly. "Not many people I know read them."
"Yeah," I nodded. "They're kind of a guilty pleasure, I guess."
He let out a soft laugh—more breath than sound—but there was something honest in it. Enthusiastic.
"I thought I was the only one on this train who might care," he said. "I've been reading this one for over a decade now."
My brows lifted. "A decade?"
He glanced down at his screen, as if it were something sacred.
"Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse," he said softly, reverently. "3,000+ chapters. I've been reading it since high school. It's... not popular. I might be the only person left who ever finished it."
That sparked something in me.
The title.
I glanced at my own phone, where the same file was still open.
"Wait, that's the one I just started."
He blinked. "You... started TWSA?"
He looked at me like I'd just told him I saw Bigfoot walk into a 7-Eleven.
I gave him a tight smile.
"Yeah. Literally today. Someone sent it to me."
His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes searched mine with a strange intensity—like he couldn't quite believe it.
He leaned in slightly, like curiosity physically pulled him closer.
"It's... probably the most underappreciated webnovel ever written," he said. "Everyone dropped it after the 100th chapter. The author never revealed their identity, and it stopped getting comments years ago, but they kept uploading. Every single day."
I blinked. "That's... kind of impressive."
He nodded—maybe a bit too fast. "The world-building is insane. At first, you think it's just monsters and survival, but then it spirals into philosophy, mythology, timelines, even metafiction. The protagonist—Yoo Joonghyuk—he dies, regresses, comes back. Again and again. He's done it hundreds of times."
He was speaking faster now, his hands subtly gesturing, his voice rising with excitement.
"There are constellations. Scenario messages. Probability wars. You'd think it'd get repetitive, but it doesn't. You start seeing how every loop changes him. It's about watching someone try to stay human while being forced to make inhuman decisions."
Then he suddenly stopped, realizing how much he'd said.
He sat back, flustered. "Sorry," he muttered. "I don't get to talk about it much. Most people don't care."
I smiled, gently. "No, it's fine. You're passionate about it."
He looked down at his screen again, quieter now. "Yeah... maybe too much."
Then, under his breath:
"...Sometimes it feels like I'm the only person who remembers this story even exists."
A chill slid down my spine.
Not because of what he said—but because of what he didn't know.
He didn't know yet.
Not about the scenarios.
Not about the system messages.
Not about the fact that, in less than an hour, everything he knew about this story... would become terrifyingly real.
But for now...
He was just a lonely man, talking about a story he loved.
And for some reason...
That made my chest ache.
I suddenly felt a strange protective feeling toward the man—who, by the way, I still didn't know the name of. I should probably ask that. Casually. Somehow.
But there was something about him...
Something that tugged at the back of my mind. A sense of déjà vu, sharp and unshakable. The kind you don't get from passing faces.
It was the same feeling I had when I first met Sung Jinwoo.
I shivered.
Not from fear—but from the weight of knowing what came next.
Because just like back then... I was sitting beside someone who hadn't yet realized their story was about to begin.
"By the way, I'm Tom Révain," I said, offering a smile as I reached out my hand. "You are?"
The man looked up at me properly this time and returned the gesture.
"Kim Dokja. Nice to meet you," he replied, smiling faintly as he shook my hand.
I froze.
Right then, the pieces clicked.
A name I knew too well.
A name that didn't belong in this world unless the story was already bleeding into it.
For a moment, all I could do was sit there, gripping his hand in silence, my smile stiff and my heart sinking.
Of all the trains.
Of all the benches.
Of all the timelines.
I should've known.
I should've known the moment I opened that file.
The moment I saw his face.
The moment I recognized the hollow weight in his eyes.
This wasn't just a coincidence.
I pulled my hand back slowly, still smiling, but something cold crawled down my spine.
'Damn you' I curse the basterd in my heart
I don't know if my luck is a blessing or a curse—but at this point?
I'm definitely leaning toward curse.
To be continue
.
.
.
Tom: curse every curse he knows in every language he's ever heard, possibly inventing a few more on the spot
[The constellation "Laughter is Chaos" sweatdrops and says:
'Isn't that a bit much, dear?']
Tom: switches to French
"Tu m'as foutu dans la merde cosmique encore une fois, espèce d'erreur numérique dégénérée !"
then back to English, spitting venom through gritted teeth
"You glitch-ridden, star-chomping, chaos-breathing JOKE. I swear if I survive this I'm rewriting the multiverse laws just to slap you."
[The constellation "Laughter is Chaos" makes a small coughing sound and says,
'Oh, I do love it when you talk rough, but do go on~'
cue little sparkles of corrupted amusement flickering in system space]
Tom: keeps going, ignoring the warning signs now glitching around the edge of his vision
"I'm putting salt in your data stream. I'm sticking gum in your scenario scripts. I'm hijacking your constellation channel and playing elevator music on loop. Try me."
[The constellation is now audibly wheezing with laughter in the void.
'My dear Saint... this is why I picked you.'
'Now don't forget to smile~ He's right next to you ♡'
]
Tom: twitches violently, smiles at Kim Dokja with the dead-eyed warmth of a man seconds away from murdering the stars themselves
"Lovely weather, huh?"