Extra Nobody

Yoo Yeonha sat in her wheelchair. Her expression was cool and composed as usual, though a storm of thoughts brewed beneath the surface. Her body still felt weak from the aftermath of the Djinn attack, but she had insisted on getting some fresh air. She wasn’t the type to wallow in a hospital bed when there were things to be done.

The servant her father had sent to assist her was pushing the wheelchair quietly. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and Yeonha preferred it that way. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

She looked out the hospital window as they rolled down the hall. The day outside seemed bright, annoyingly so, given the grim circumstances. Chae Nayun was still in a coma, Ryeo Dae was dead, and public opinion of Cube had taken a nosedive. Everything felt out of her control. But not for long, she vowed. If there was one thing she hated, it was being powerless.

As they exited into the hospital garden, the breeze immediately hit her, cool and refreshing, carrying the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass. It was a brief relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside. Yeonha inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh air.

‘This is what I needed,’ she thought, though the heaviness in her chest didn’t entirely fade.

Her mind kept wandering back to the events of the attack. The chaos, the fear, the Djinns—how close they had all come to death. She had narrowly escaped with her life, thanks in part to Hyon Hyung’s quick thinking. It unsettled her, how vulnerable they all had been. The incident had shaken her more than she would ever admit to anyone, especially not to her father.

But now wasn’t the time to show weakness. The attack was over, and there was work to be done. She had already started planning. The fallout from this incident could be spun in her favor, but only if she moved carefully. She needed to strengthen her position at Cube and gain more influence. That meant not just surviving but thriving despite the tragedy.

“Take me over there,” she ordered, pointing to a secluded area of the garden with a stone bench. The servant nodded and pushed her wheelchair in that direction.

Yoo Yeonha’s eyes lit up when she saw Shin Jonghak rushing toward the hospital. His usual composed demeanor was replaced by a frantic energy she wasn’t used to seeing in him. For a brief moment, a flicker of hope rose in her chest. Did he come for me?

“Bring me back inside,” she ordered her servant quickly, her voice almost betraying the excitement she tried to keep in check. But as the servant moved to turn the wheelchair, she hesitated.

“No. Nevermind.” She waved him off with a sigh, her heart sinking. No, he probably came to visit Nayun, she realized. Of course. Chae Nayun was still in a coma, and Jonghak had always been more concerned with her than anyone else. It was foolish of Yeonha to think otherwise, even for a second.

She waited in the garden, her eyes following Jonghak’s figure as he disappeared into the hospital. Her hands gripped the arms of her wheelchair, frustration bubbling up beneath her cool exterior. Of course, it’s always Nayun, she thought bitterly, though she knew it wasn’t fair to hold that against her comatose classmate.

Still, she hated Chae Nayun enough not to wish for her well-being.

Time dragged on as Yeonha waited, watching the entrance of the hospital, her heart torn between irritation and anticipation. She had no intention of going back inside just yet. Not when Jonghak would likely be coming out soon. She wouldn’t miss the chance to speak to him, even if he wasn’t here for her.

Minutes later, Jonghak emerged from the hospital, looking visibly upset. His shoulders slumped, and the usual confidence in his posture seemed to have vanished. He looked… defeated. Yeonha’s heart raced as she watched him. Now’s my chance.

She straightened in her wheelchair, adjusting her expression to one of concern rather than the emotions that had been swirling inside her moments earlier. She wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.

“Jonghak!” she called out, her voice soft yet clear enough to catch his attention.

Jonghak stopped in his tracks, his eyes locking onto Yeonha’s for the first time since he had arrived. For a moment, he looked surprised to see her sitting there in the garden, but his face quickly settled back into that glum expression.

Yeonha gave him a gentle, understanding smile, hoping it conveyed the concern she wanted to express. “Are you okay? You look... troubled.”

Jonghak glanced back at the hospital before walking over to her. He didn’t answer immediately, his face still tight with whatever emotions he was trying to suppress. “It’s Nayun,” he said after a moment.

Yeonha’s heart twinged, but she nodded, keeping her composure. “I see.” She paused, studying his face. “You care about her a lot.”

Jonghak’s jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond to that. Instead, he exhaled slowly, looking down at the ground. “Yeah… I do.”

Yeonha’s eyes softened as she watched him. For all his arrogance and bravado, Jonghak had moments of vulnerability like this, moments that made him seem more human. It was these glimpses of his real self that made her hold out hope that, one day, maybe he would see her too.

“Heal well, I’ll see you back in Cube.” With those curt words, Shin Jonghak turned on his heel and walked away, his back straight but his pace hurried as if eager to escape the conversation.

Yoo Yeonha bit her lip, her chest tightening with frustration and hurt as she watched him disappear down the hospital walkway. Her hands clenched the armrests of her wheelchair. Is that it? she thought bitterly, her eyes narrowing. Lip service? That’s all I get?

Her thoughts spiraled, emotions bubbling up beneath her composed exterior. “I could’ve died, you know?” she whispered to herself, the weight of the situation finally hitting her. “If not for Hyung… I’d be dead… or maybe it would be me lying in a coma right now, just like Nayun…”

She cast her gaze downward, feeling the sting of Jonghak’s indifference. He hadn’t even stayed to talk, hadn’t even asked how she was really feeling. It was always the same with him—so wrapped up in his own world, his concern only ever truly extending to Chae Nayun. No matter what happened, Nayun always came first in his mind. Even when Yeonha had narrowly escaped death, it seemed Jonghak could only spare a brief, obligatory word for her.

‘Is this what I deserve?’ she thought, the pain in her chest intensifying. After everything?

Jonghak continued walking away, his figure growing smaller in the distance. Yeonha’s heart ached as she watched him go, her mind filled with thoughts she didn’t dare speak aloud. She had always known she wasn’t his first priority. That had been clear for a long time. But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Her lips trembled, and she quickly pressed them together, refusing to let any sign of weakness show. Not here, not now. She couldn’t afford to fall apart, not when she had worked so hard to keep up the facade of control. I’m stronger than this, she told herself. I have to be.

But even as she tried to convince herself, the sting of Jonghak’s coldness lingered.

***

When Rachel saw the news, the first thought that crossed her mind was whether she could have survived that.

The report was brutal—monsters attacking Seoul, Cube cadets involved in the bedlam, casualties piling up. She stared at the screen in silent contemplation. Her hands rested in her lap and her grip tightened as the footage played on. Scenes of destruction, flames, and the faces of injured cadets filled the screen.

Could I have survived that? The question echoed in her mind. It was heavy and suffocating. She wanted to believe in her own strength, in her training, and in her abilities. After all, she had honed her skills for moments like this, hadn’t she? Yet, doubt gnawed at her. The world wasn’t as simple as she had once thought. Battles weren’t won by skill alone—luck, timing, and the unpredictability of monsters all played their part.

She knew the cadets involved—Chae Nayun and Kim Suho. They had been there, facing the dangers head-on. ‘What would I have done if I were there?’ Rachel wondered, her gaze flickering with uncertainty. She had always prided herself on her calm composure in the face of adversity, but seeing the raw destruction, the lives lost, and the injuries sustained made her doubt her own readiness.

The screen shifted to show the face of a fallen cadet, Ryeo Dae, and Rachel felt a pang of sorrow. She had seen that cadet before in passing, maybe during training or in the halls of Cube. Now they were gone, a life snuffed out in a matter of moments. The thought unsettled her, sending a chill down her spine.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, forcing herself to breathe. ‘I should have been there.’ The thought wasn’t out of guilt or regret, but a determination to test herself, to prove that she could stand on the front lines like the others. She wanted to protect people, to make a difference. And yet, this time, she hadn’t been part of the fight.

Rachel stood up from her chair, pacing the room as her mind raced. She couldn’t let this doubt consume her. She needed to train harder and push herself further. If she were to face such a catastrophe in the future, she wouldn’t be caught wondering if she could survive—she would know.

‘Next time,’ she resolved silently, her eyes hardening with determination. ‘Next time, I’ll be part of the fight.’ Unbeknownst to her, she was already part of the fight, a part of the greater narrative unfolding around her.

Her involvement wasn’t something she could see yet, not with the weight of her insecurities clouding her mind. But in the background, decisions were being made, plans were being set into motion, and she was one of the key players in the intricate web that connected them all. The Djinn, the monsters, the cadets—everything was converging towards a greater conflict, and Rachel, whether she realized it or not, was already caught in its current.

“For my country, I will not allow myself to be weak.”

The calm after the storm felt deceptive.

***

It had been a PR disaster. When the Association sent an urgent request to dispatch heroes to the scene, Yun Seung-Ah had been among the first to respond. She remembered the scene vividly—the flames, the screams, and the overwhelming sense of danger. It was a miracle there had been so few casualties. And yet, despite their efforts, the media was painting the incident as a tragedy, as if the hero's intervention had done little to stem the tide of destruction.

The death of a single cadet had been sensationalized to the point where it overshadowed the fact that hundreds had been saved. One life lost, and it was as if the entire operation had been a failure. It stung. The headlines focused on the negative, on the life they couldn’t save, rather than the countless others who were spared.

She sat in her office now, staring at the reports from the media outlets. "Hopeless," they called it. A "tragedy that could have been avoided." The Association had done everything by the book, but none of that seemed to matter. Public perception was fragile, and the death of a young cadet—no matter how unavoidable—was enough to fracture the trust they had worked so hard to build.

Seung-Ah had seen this before. The media loved a martyr. The cadet who died had a name, a face, and now a tragic story that the public could latch onto. She couldn’t stop thinking about it either. Ryeo Dae... a cadet full of promise, caught in the crossfire of something far beyond her control. It didn’t matter that the heroes had fought valiantly or that they had reduced the potential death toll drastically. In the eyes of the public, that one death was an unbearable loss.

“Damn it,” Seung-Ah muttered under her breath. It wasn’t fair.

She knew the dangers of this line of work better than most. Heroes died all the time—sometimes it was the experienced veterans, other times the young and bright-eyed cadets who still believed in invincibility. But this was different. This death had become a symbol of the Association's failure in the public eye, and it was tearing at everything she stood for.

As she flipped through more reports, Seung-Ah wondered how they could recover from this or ake advantage of it. The media frenzy wasn't going to die down anytime soon, not when they were feeding the public stories of loss, fear, and uncertainty. It would take a lot to regain the trust of the people after this.

But she couldn’t wallow in frustration. Heroes didn’t get that luxury. She had a duty to continue, to rise above the criticisms, and to ensure that what happened was never repeated. Ryeo Dae’s death would not be in vain.