[Kim Dokja POV a few minutes ago]
There were 82 minutes left before Train for today was scheduled to arrive.
The subway platform was quiet—just the way I liked it. The low hum of electricity in the air, fluorescent lights buzzing, and that faint underground chill you couldn't really shake. Familiar. Predictable.
I sat on the far edge of the bench, pulled my coat tighter, and opened my phone.
[Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse – Chapter 3,149]
One view. One reader. Me.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was mine. My evening routine. My life.
Until he sat down.
I didn't look up immediately—habit. I didn't like making eye contact with strangers. Especially not on public transportation.
But I felt it. That shift in air pressure when someone enters your space.
Polite, though. He left one seat of distance. Someone with manners.
I tried to keep reading.
But... curiosity won.
I glanced sideways, just once.
Foreigner.
He looked like he belonged in a magazine shoot—not in this dingy Seoul subway. Tousled dark-blond hair, long lashes, sharp features that looked more "protagonist of a romance drama" than anything in real life. His clothes weren't showy, but they fit him—well enough to notice.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
He was scrolling through something on his phone, his expression focused and serious. Almost too serious. A man reading an execution notice, or maybe the last chapter of something really good.
I looked back down at my own screen quickly.
Well. Shit.
He was handsome.
Like, Yoo Joonghyuk if he moisturized and had a personality kind of handsome.
Not that it mattered. It didn't. I didn't talk to strangers, and he was probably just some tourist waiting for the wrong train.
Still... my thumb hovered above the screen. I wasn't reading anymore.
Why was I thinking about this?
It wasn't like anyone interesting ever came down here. This was the kind of place where office workers cried on benches and complained about youth. Not where... that kind of guy showed up.
Maybe he was an actor? A model?
I glanced again.
He was frowning now. Focused on a file. He didn't look like he was playing a game or watching YouTube.
Maybe... reading?
Huh.
That was kind of cute.
...
Wait, what the hell was I thinking?
I shook my head, cheeks warming slightly, and buried myself back in the glow of TWSA. Back to a world where survival meant something, where the silence between dialogue could scream louder than gunfire, and where Yoo Joonghyuk's sheer refusal to give up was somehow more comforting than any real-life advice ever given.
But still...
I kept glancing sideways.
Just a little.
Just enough.
And when he finally turned to me and smiled—
Well.
I might have forgotten what chapter I was on.
I was about to turn the page—well, scroll—when the low rumble of the arriving train vibrated through the bench.
The Train here
Right on time.
The announcement echoed overhead, mechanical and hollow. A few people around the station started moving, gathering their bags, adjusting their coats.
I stood up, still holding my phone in one hand. Habit. Always reading, even while walking.
I gave one last glance at the foreigner sitting beside me.
Still there.
Still staring at his screen.
And not just casually. No, this man was absorbed. Eyes sharp, brow furrowed like he was calculating rocket trajectory or deciphering ancient texts. His thumb wasn't moving anymore either. He'd stopped scrolling. Just staring.
A weird pang of déjà vu passed through me.
That was me, wasn't it? Ten years ago? Last week? This morning?
I hesitated.
Then cleared my throat lightly. "Uh..."
No reaction.
I blinked, looked at the train doors opening, then back at him.
I nudged his shoulder. "Hey."
He jumped slightly, eyes blinking as if coming out of a trance. He almost dropped his phone.
"Huh? What—?"
"Ah, sorry... I was trying to get your attention because" I said, a bit awkward. "the train arrived."
His expression shifted from confusion to realization to embarrassment in a matter of seconds.
"Oh. Right. Thank you." He stood quickly, clutching his phone like it might run away without him. "I didn't notice..."
I offered a faint smile, amused despite myself.
Who gets so sucked into their phone they forget a literal train arriving in front of them?
Apparently, he does.
And for some reason... I didn't mind it.
He followed me into the train car, and when we sat, he took the seat next to mine—this time, no polite distance. Just two people sitting on a train.
I was going to go back to reading, but then he turned to me.
"Um, this is cart 3807, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah"
He let out a relieved sigh. "Good. Just making sure."
Then he smiled again. Not the awkward one from before. This one was warmer, more natural.
Something tugged at me.
I didn't know his name yet.
And for some reason... I kind of wanted to.
He didn't speak again for a few moments.
Neither did I.
The train pulled into motion, the gentle hum and sway of the subway surrounding us. Familiar. Comforting. I returned to my phone, thumb beginning its practiced rhythm again.
[Chapter 1 – Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse]
Even if I'd already read it a hundred times, it always calmed me down. Like a friend who never changed.
I was just getting into the second paragraph when I heard someone clear their throat.
Soft. Awkward. Hesitant.
I glanced up.
The foreigner—he was looking at me now. Still polite, still a little sheepish, but with a kind of curiosity that felt... genuine.
"Sorry," he said, smiling. "I couldn't help but notice... Are you reading a novel?"
I blinked.
It took me a second to realize what he meant. I tilted my screen instinctively, the way one does when someone asks about your niche interests. But it was too late—he'd already seen.
"...Yeah," I said. "Something like that"
His smile widened slightly. "Is it good?"
That short sentence did something I wasn't expecting.
"Very"
It made my heart do a strange little thud.
He offered casually. "I also read webnovels,"
I tried to play it cool, but I could feel the slight warmth blooming across my cheeks. I wasn't used to people on trains talking to me—especially not handsome foreigners with unreadable eyes and relaxed smiles.
"Really" I asked, failing miserably to hide my interest. "Not many people I know read them."
"Yeah," He nodded. "They're kind of a guilty pleasure, I guess."
I let out a quiet laugh. Not mocking—just... surprised. And relieved. "I thought I was the only one on this train who might care."
And suddenly, the words just started spilling.
"I've been reading this one for over a decade now," I said, motioning toward my screen.
His brows lifted. "A decade?"
"Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse," I explained. "3,000+ chapters. I've been following it since high school. It's... not very popular. Pretty sure I'm the only person left who even finished it."
He glanced at his phone, as if that name had clicked something in him.
"Wait, that's the one I just started."
I blinked. Stared.
"You... started TWSA?"
Something fluttered in my chest. Excitement? Shock? Definitely not normal.
It felt like someone had just told me they liked the exact obscure song I'd kept hidden in my playlist for years.
He nodded. "Yeah. Literally today. Someone sent it to me."
...Huh.
Interesting.
But I didn't dwell too much on the coincidence.
I leaned forward slightly, unable to stop myself.
"It's... probably the most underappreciated webnovel ever written," I said, the words tumbling out faster than intended. "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 day. Without fail."
He just listened. Eyes sharp, focused.
Not mocking.
I continued, hands gesturing as I warmed up.
"The world-building is ridiculous. You think it's about monsters and survival at first, but then it gets into philosophy, mythology, timelines, even metafiction. The main character—Yoo Joonghyuk—he regresses over and over. Dies. Comes back. Keeps trying to survive. Over and over."
I paused. Realized I'd been talking a bit too fast. Maybe too eagerly.
"...Sorry," I muttered, face heating up. "I just don't get to talk about it much. No one reads it."
He smiled—calm, warm. "No, it's okay. You're really passionate about it."
I ducked my head, glancing at my screen again. "Yeah... maybe too much."
A small silence fell again. Comfortable this time.
And maybe—just maybe—I let myself admit something aloud that I hadn't in a long time:
"...Sometimes it feels like I'm the only person who remembers this story even exists."
It was the truth.
And I didn't know why, but... it felt okay to say it to him.
This stranger.
This foreigner.
This—
"By the way," he said suddenly, holding out a hand. "I'm Tom Révain."
That name startled me. Foreign, definitely French. It suited him.
"Kim Dokja," I replied, shaking his hand.
His hand was warm.
And for some reason...
I think I smiled a little more than I meant to.
To be continue