The house was a luxury none of them really knew how to handle yet, Yoo Sangah really work his magic to find a house like this near the industrial complex, the companions forgot the now she was a celebrity for the government.
Some, like my mother and Jang Hayoung preferred to stay and live in the industrial complex, someone had to keep an eye on the various factions and only Black Dragon and Gong Pildu now without powers would not have been enough, strangely they sit fine to live alone.
Fortunately my mother and anna croft's faction was very large and well organized for any problems.
And that brought us at today.
It started with toothbrushes.
Lee Jihye bought a pink one and scribbled her name on the handle with a permanent marker. Gilyoung and Yoosung picked out matching blue and green ones with cartoon frogs. Yoo Joonghyuk didn't buy one at all, so his mysteriously showed up in the cup the next day—black and still in its wrapper. Han Sooyoung made a big deal about not sharing her toothpaste. Kim Dokja smiled, and bought a pack of ten.
The house was alive by the third morning.
Lee Jihye was the first to leave.
She stood at the threshold in a clean, plain uniform, tie a little crooked. "It's just school," she said, glaring at Han Sooyoung, who had the audacity to take a picture. "I'm not a kid."
"You're literally the only one here legally enrolled in anything," Han Sooyoung retorted, snapping another photo. "Smile."
"Bite me."
She left anyway. It was strange, seeing her blend in with normal students on the street. A girl who'd wielded a blade through a dozen scenarios now adjusting to morning announcements and timed math tests. But she did it. When she came home that day—tired, grumbling—she still had that tiny look in her eyes that said: I lived through today. It was enough.
Yoo Sangah was like a government agent.
She'd always had the most normal life before it all. A government job, long hours, quiet habits. Now she worked like the face of the reconstruction , helping organize what had survived the scenario collapse.
"You like it?" Dokja asked her one evening as she drived him home with her limousine .
Sangah smiled, brushing hair from her face. "It's nice. I like not have a working schedule"
Jung Heewon couldn't sit still.
She tried—really. She cleaned the kitchen, rearranged furniture, joined a local self-defense class, then promptly got kicked out for breaking a punching dummy in half.
"I was being gentle," she argued, holding up her hands.
"You broke its jaw," said Dokja.
She shrugged. "It was looking at me weird."
Eventually, she found a volunteer group that worked with rebuilding efforts in the city. Hauling bricks, scrubbing walls, restoring homes one piece at a time. She came back with dirt on her jeans and a strange kind of peace in her eyes.
"I like helping," she told them. "Not because I have to. Just because I can."
Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung turned their room into a jungle.
Literally.
It started with potted plants and turned into vines climbing up curtain rods and bug habitats stacked neatly on bookshelves. Yoosung found a stray kitten one morning and promptly named it "Uru"—after Uriel, who was delighted and cried literal beams of light.
The two of them were adjusting better than most. Maybe because they were still kids. Maybe because they'd already seen too much and found their joy anyway. Gilyoung spent afternoons sketching insects and naming species after old memories. Yoosung read everything she could get her hands on, once telling Dokja, "If I keep reading, maybe I'll meet her again."
Dokja didn't ask who "her" was.
He already knew.
Uriel , well ...she was Uriel. she argued with Wukong every day about where to put his "collection."
Neither he nor she needed to work so they enjoyed their well-deserved vacation.
Lee Hyunsung became the unofficial house dad.
He cooked, grocery-shopped, scolded people for not recycling, and set up a spreadsheet to track everyone's chore days. No one dared disobey him. Not even Sooyoung.
"You could be a teacher," Dokja told him one evening while they were washing dishes.
"I don't know if I'm good at that," Hyunsung said quietly. "But I like making sure everyone eats. That's enough."
Han Sooyoung didn't leave her room for two days.
Then she came out, hair in a mess, notebook in hand, and said, "I need a proper writing desk."
She commandeered the living room. Set up three screens, a worn-out keyboard, and half a dozen journals. She didn't talk about the novel she was writing—not really. But Dokja saw the way she stared at him sometimes when she thought no one was looking.
Like she was still wondering if he was real.
"So when can I read it?" he asked one night, leaning against the doorway.
She didn't look up. "the first chapter is almost ready."
Yoo Joonghyuk resisted at first.
He didn't like the house. He didn't like the soft way people talked now. He didn't like that he couldn't heal a papercut anymore.
But he stayed.
He took long walks at dawn. Cleaned his sword even though it no longer glowed. Watched over the kids and his sister when he thought no one noticed. Sat beside Dokja in silence on the roof some nights, watching the stars that no longer whispered.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
And Kim Dokja?
He existed.
Not as a reader, not as a constellation, not as a Oldest Dream.
Just... as someone who woke up each morning, made coffee, opened a window, and stood in a house where people he loved were alive.
That, he decided, was a beginning worth having.
He sat at the table one morning, sunlight pouring across the floor, the scent of eggs and toast wafting from the kitchen, someone arguing in the hallway about laundry.
And he smiled.
The breakfast table was full—of food, yes, but also small rituals.
Han Sooyoung always reached across to steal someone's toast, usually Dokja's. Gilyoung sprinkled honey on his eggs. Yoosung drank her milk like it was a race. Hyunsung tried and failed to make everyone eat vegetables before noon.
And Yoo Joonghyuk sat at the corner, silent but never missing a meal.
"I'm going to bring back chocolate milk tomorrow," Lee Jihye said with her mouth full, flipping through her phone. "School cafeteria only sells the weird kind. It tastes like regret."
"You would know what that tastes like," Sooyoung muttered without looking up.
Jihye threw a napkin at her.
Dokja watched them with the quiet ache of someone witnessing something precious and fleeting. This—this noise, this warmth—it wasn't loud or chaotic like the scenarios had been. It was alive.
Later that evening, Dokja found Han Sooyoung and Lee Jihye sitting on the rooftop.
They weren't speaking—just sitting. Jihye had her knees hugged to her chest, schoolbag tossed beside her, hair pulled loose from her usual ponytail. Sooyoung was smoking, not really inhaling, just holding it between her fingers like a bad habit she couldn't fully quit.
"You're not as annoying as I thought you'd be," Jihye said suddenly.
Sooyoung gave a low chuckle. "You're still a brat."
"Whatever."
They fell quiet again.
From below, the distant buzz of the city drifted up. No monsters. No screams. Just cars, wind, the occasional laughter from a neighbor's apartment.
"I used to think normal life was fake," Jihye said. "Something people pretended to have."
Sooyoung looked at her. "And now?"
"It still kind of feels fake. But… I don't hate it."
Han Sooyoung flicked ash off the side of the roof. "Yeah. I know what you mean."
In the backyard, Lee Hyunsung and Jung Heewon were attempting to assemble outdoor furniture that had arrived in a flat-packed box.
"You're reading the instructions upside down," Jung Heewon said, crouched beside him.
Lee Hyunsung blinked. "Ah. That explains a lot."
She grinned and plucked the manual from his hands. "Let me."
They worked in a rhythm—him organizing bolts and planks, her handling the heavier parts. Every now and then, Heewon would crack a joke, and Hyunsung would laugh softly, like it still surprised him that people could laugh.
They built two chairs before one broke under Jung Heewon's testing weight.
"I was sitting normally," she insisted, lying flat on her back in the grass. "This is discrimination."
Hyunsung offered a hand to help her up. "Don't worry."
"You're just jealous of my superior glutes."
He laughed. Really laughed this time, full-bellied and warm.
"I'm glad we get to build things now," she said once the giggles died down. "Instead of tearing them apart."
Yoo Joonghyuk's room was the only one still sparsely decorated.
No posters. No books. Just a futon, a sword on the wall, and a desk he rarely used.
Dokja passed by one evening and noticed the door open. Joonghyuk was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a tray of tea between them, two cups already poured.
"…You were waiting?" Dokja asked.
Joonghyuk didn't look up. "It's late."
Dokja stepped in and took the other cup. The silence stretched. But it wasn't awkward. Just... comfortable.
"You think this will last?" Joonghyuk asked finally, eyes sharp.
"Maybe not," Dokja admitted. "But I think we deserve to find out."
Joonghyuk nodded once. "If it breaks, you better not trying something again"
"I know."
They drank in silence.
And outside, the stars were just stars—not anything more.
Han Sooyoung's novel was open on the table.
Pages everywhere. Notes in the margins. A single candle flickered beside her keyboard.
Dokja came down for water and found her scowling at the screen.
"You stuck?" he asked.
She didn't look up. "Trying to write a normal life is harder than I imagine."
He poured a glass, leaned against the counter. "Maybe because a normal life isn't normal. Not to us."
She tapped her pen against the desk. "You're a terrible muse."
"I know."
But then she smiled. Just a little.
"Want to read a paragraph?"
He hesitated. "Only if I get to leave notes."
"You always do."
When morning came again, the house buzzed with a dozen small lives overlapping. Someone burning toast. Someone brushing tangled hair. Someone running late.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was theirs.
And for Kim Dokja—who had been no one, then someone, then something beyond —it was enough to be here.
Just alive.
Just home.