A preterm baby, a premature baby.

A child born before the 37th week of gestation.

Due to the lack of time for full development, their bodies are usually frail, and cases of death are, unfortunately, not uncommon.

Journey—Shin Da-eun—was one of those premature babies.

Born too early, she was placed in an incubator before she could even feel her parents’ embrace.

Thankfully, she didn’t meet the tragic fate of quietly passing away inside the incubator. But she didn’t grow up as healthy as other children.

She was often bedridden with fevers that lasted for days, and sometimes she slipped into a coma due to breathing difficulties.

Da-eun was frail from the start, her childhood plagued by various illnesses, making the hospital feel more like home.

When it was time for her to start elementary school, she fell severely ill and had to spend a long period in the hospital instead of going to school.

While other kids were at school, making friends, fighting, reconciling, and studying, Da-eun lay in a hospital bed, battling her illness day after day.

As a result, Da-eun had no childhood friends or memories of those early school years.

Still, she was relatively fortunate.

Her family was well-off, so there were no worries about medical bills, and her parents never saw her as a burden. They always cared for her with love.

Thinking about families who’d been torn apart by the strain of caregiving or the crushing weight of medical expenses, Da-eun knew she was blessed.

But…

“Still, I can’t shake this sense of emptiness.”

A childhood stolen by illness.

The frustration of being confined to the hospital.

The loneliness of having no friends to share her childhood memories with.

Even now, as an adult, those feelings weighed heavily on her.

That was why she started traveling.

She hoped that by seeing and experiencing more of the world, she could alleviate the suffocation that had built up during her long struggle with illness.

Da-eun’s passion for travel led her to study languages and go to university. As soon as she was old enough to travel alone, she visited countless places and countries.

Her parents, who felt sympathy for the daughter born frail, supported her endeavors.

She sometimes spoke of being sick as a child and loving travel, so her viewers knew about it. But she had never delved into her past in such detail before.

Da-eun glanced at where the chat window usually appeared.

She had shared parts of her story that she hadn’t before, but the chat was silent.

‘Of course.’

The stream had already ended before they climbed the hill.

The viewers had been clamoring, but she had closed the broadcast without hesitation.

It wasn’t out of embarrassment about sharing her past.

Taking a deep breath, Da-eun looked at the girl standing before her.

Non-Player Character.

In short, an NPC.

Unlike Da-eun, who was a player, this girl was a resident of the game world, Silia Online, artificially created by the game developers.

An NPC, who thinks and acts according to how the developers programmed her—a sequence of zeros and ones.

Though she understood that, logically—

‘…I know, but still.’

When she looked into the girl’s eyes or spoke with her, Da-eun often felt as if she were talking to a real person.

At first, it was just curiosity.

Curiosity about discovering the secrets of a raid boss no one had defeated before.

That curiosity had brought her to the mountain. But from the moment she saw the girl, she was captivated.

“I’ve always wanted a little sister.”

Da-eun couldn’t quite remember the exact reason.

Maybe it was because she longed for the companionship she had missed out on as a child.

Or maybe it was that she wanted to share the love her parents had given her with someone else.

She couldn’t burden her parents, who were busy caring for her, so her interest naturally shifted to small, adorable animals.

Her frequent absences from home made it impractical to care for pets, though.

And then she found Kana.

“…I won’t deny it.”

Yes.

Da-eun had latched onto Kana because she thought Kana might fill the void in her heart.

Da-eun revealed emotions she had kept hidden, admitting the truth she had wanted to bury because it felt shameful to see someone as a replacement for her own unfulfilled desires.

“But that’s not true anymore.”

The more time she spent with Kana, and the more she got to know her, the more Da-eun began to see her differently.

Kana’s stoic demeanor was a defense mechanism to avoid further hurt.

The garden she tended was her way of honoring the memory of her late mentor, a father figure to her.

Though she seemed uninterested in forming connections, she had a soft spot for those who persisted.

If Kana truly disliked people approaching her, she wouldn’t have shared her name or saved Da-eun multiple times when she was in danger.

Raid boss, gravekeeper, Silia Online’s idol, master swordsman, nemesis of the Empire…

Kana had many titles, but to Da-eun, she was just a girl unable to be entirely honest with herself.

A girl who longed for warmth but hid because she was afraid of the pain people could cause.

That’s how Da-eun saw her.

According to what Aeron had told her, Kana had a troubled past, which likely explained her behavior.

Da-eun found herself feeling protective over Kana.

She wanted to hold this girl’s hand and let her feel warmth.

She wanted to see her smile.

Just as her parents had done for her long ago.

“Could you trust me on one thing? That I genuinely care about you, Kana.”

She hoped that, like her, this young girl could overcome her scars.

Smiling, Da-eun took something from her inventory.

“Kana, give me your hand?”

“….”

She had bought a silver bracelet in Ordo, one with a simple design that exuded a unique charm.

She’d chosen the bracelet over a necklace because she’d noticed Kana already wore a black choker around her neck.

She hadn’t found the right moment to give it to her because of all the commotion, so it had stayed in her inventory until now.

Da-eun took Kana’s hand and slipped the bracelet onto her wrist.

“…There! All done!”

Da-eun beamed as she looked over Kana’s wrist.

“See? I knew it would suit you. I mean, I think the credit goes to your great taste, though.”

With a frame like Kana’s, she’d look good even in rags. The bracelet was bound to suit her.

“I meant to give this to you in Ordo, but I guess it’s turned into a farewell gift…”

Not that I’m trying to bribe you, she added hastily, just in case Kana misunderstood.

“I just hope you’ll remember me when you look at it.”

Kana stood silently as Da-eun finished speaking, not saying a word.

Whether she was listening or simply letting it go in one ear and out the other, Da-eun couldn’t tell.

But she was confident Kana was hearing her.

The lively festival streets had quieted, and the lights illuminating them had slowly winked out one by one.

Even the moon was hidden by clouds, casting Kana’s face in shadow.

Maybe it was the influence of the night’s mystery.

Da-eun, still holding Kana’s hand, spoke impulsively.

“You know… I can’t give you all the details, but I’m actually from a place far beyond this continent. Much farther away than the lands beyond the ocean.”

Kana’s hand tensed slightly in Da-eun’s grasp.

The residents of Silia Online thought that players like Da-eun came to Ardina from lands across the sea, guided by Edel’s will.

Kana must be surprised to hear it wasn’t true.

Or so Da-eun guessed.

“…I know.”

“…H-huh? You know…?”

“….”

Da-eun blinked, shocked not only by Kana’s sudden response but also by its content.

But she quickly regained her composure and smiled.

“Most people don’t know that. I knew you were clever, Kana.”

She figured Kana must have seen it during her travels across the sea.

She let Kana’s response slide away as she moved on.

“It’s a secret, but my real name back home isn’t Journey. You told me your name, so it’s only fair I do the same, right? Even if keeping secrets isn’t really my thing…”

She leaned in, her voice a whisper.

“It’s Shin Da-eun. That’s my name.”

If we ever meet again, would you call me by that name?

At that moment, the clouds parted, and the moonlight revealed a look on Kana’s face that Da-eun had never seen before—a sad, yearning expression.

‘…Ah, now I understand.’

Only now could Da-eun finally put a name to her feelings.

It wasn’t sympathy, pity, or just affection.

It was all of these things mixed together—attachment.

She realized that, no matter how long she lived, she would never be able to let go of this girl.

Kana reached out.

Her small hand brushed Da-eun’s cheek.

Right where Kana’s sword had grazed her earlier that day.

Every touch of Kana’s fingers brought a faint warmth to Da-eun’s cheek.

But she paid no attention to her health bar.

Instead, she looked up at the sky, noticing that the clouds that had blocked the moonlight were now completely gone.

After gently brushing Da-eun’s wound, Kana turned her back and walked away.

Step by step.

Just when she was a few paces away, Kana turned around again.

The small girl’s lips parted.

“So, have you made up your mind?”