It had been snowing for three days straight.

Not exactly a blizzard—more like a heavy snowfall.

Before we even had a proper introduction with the new members, we had to start expanding the living quarters.

The Awakened girl called Chae-won and the former government employee weren’t much help, but the two soldiers turned out to be both handy and efficient.

One of them, nicknamed Sergeant Jang, even had all sorts of heavy machinery licenses.

He could even operate a crane.

“Were you in the engineering corps?”

When I asked casually, he just grinned and shook his head.

“I thought about it a lot. That was before the war broke out, though.”

The new quarters were built with wood heating and, to improve insulation, adopted a traditional ondol floor-heating design.

Next to the firebox, we placed a drum filled with water so it could provide both heating and hot water—our own little trick.

Personally, I only knew the concept of ondol, but Sergeant Jang knew the practical techniques.

He introduced me to concepts I’d never heard of, like wind channels that carry warmth through the floor, and wind chambers that trap that warm air for a while before letting it circulate.

For insulation—which is just as important as heating—we used the usual waste vinyl and Styrofoam as the base, but Jang added a layer of traditional yellow clay.

“Yellow clay is good for your health. It emits far-infrared rays.”

His traditional construction methods were impressive, but I couldn’t say the same about his personality.

Even after a short time working with him, I could tell he had a tendency to do things his own way—a bit domineering.

His friend, Sergeant Kim, wasn’t as skilled with his hands, but he seemed like the kinder of the two.

And by “kinder,” I don’t mean he had Defender’s kind of charisma or people skills—just that he didn’t have a rebellious streak or any sharp edges.

The type who blends in without making waves.

Not particularly useful in work or combat, but the former civil servant, Mr. Heo, could help with administrative tasks, and he had the advantage of being on friendly terms with the three Awakened.

Most importantly, he knew his place.

He understood, objectively, that he wasn’t the main character on stage.

Personally, I think that’s a decent quality to have.

Awakened tend to be mentally unstable.

Some, like Lee Haru or Ahn Seung-hwan, are stable enough, but most carry at least one or two mild mental disorders.

Given the Awakened’s combat value, having at least one dedicated caretaker for them isn’t a bad investment.

Lastly, there was Yeom Da-eun, an Awakened who was only thirteen—about the same age as Dongtak.

According to Haru, whom she followed around like an older sister, she had no combat experience, was timid, and had been deemed unfit for battle. Haru added that she herself had been timid at that age, so it was worth just watching for now.

Kim Daram’s husband gave everyone a light health check.

“That friend, Ahn Seung-hwan, needs some rest. His body’s in bad shape. I can’t get exact numbers here, but his liver values are probably terrible. He says he doesn’t drink, but I think he’s the type who’s vulnerable to stress.”

Some of the new people didn’t recognize me at first, but after hearing who I was, they seemed to accept it.

A few even asked why someone like me was here, but I brushed it off with a laugh.

Numbers had increased.

And numbers bring stability to a group.

Especially with two more Awakened, we could completely drop the burden of small-scale combat.

The challenge now was integrating these new people.

Personally, I don’t think I have the qualities of a leader.

In the limited role of a Hunter team leader, I once reached the top, but that position wasn’t something I created.

It was a role built within the system created and maintained by the state and the National Ability Agency.

That meant the members already knew their duties and missions, and each was motivated in their own way.

Here, though, being “leader” meant literally being the head of a community—earning everyone’s trust and mediating each of their interests.

I had taken on that role once before and failed.

I couldn’t mediate the fight between the Defender siblings and Bang Jae-hyuk’s mother and daughter, nor did I manage to pull the Incheon Hunters together.

I knew we were just a loose gathering, but I didn’t try to fix it, and in the end we were absorbed into New Seoul in a rather anticlimactic way.

This time, it’s different.

The world is darker now, and my doubts have been resolved—but in a bad way.

“What’s the point of great heating and stable electricity? That’s not a place for people like us to live.”

Sergeant Jang said he had escaped from Seoul, which was under Jeon Si-hoon’s control.

The reason? Experiencing the brutality of Jeon Si-hoon’s “knights,” as his followers called them.

“If they don’t like the look of you on the street, they’ll just beat you up. No reason at all—just beat you half to death. If it’s for making eye contact, at least that feels less absurd. But sometimes they’ll go after you just because you turned away, chasing you down and beating you like a dog. And they’ll even shout at you in Chinese while they do it.”

It was already known that Jeon Si-hoon’s faction had many foreign Awakened.

As an over–level 10 Awakened who couldn’t join the mainstream, he recruited others who were likewise on the fringe—those ostracized from their groups, those who Awakened through other means, and, often, foreigners.

It’s obvious how people # Nоvеlight # with no love or identity for Korea would treat Koreans.

“If I’d stayed, I’d have been beaten to death. Luckily, I was in touch with Byung-hee, and when he called me over, I went. Though, well, things weren’t so great there either.”

Sergeant Jang was apparently close friends with Sergeant Kim.

Either way, Jeon Si-hoon’s atrocities were just beginning.

From what I read on the boards, he’s trying to exert influence not only over large groups like Park Penguin’s but also over Sejong, led by IAmJesus.

Sejong can still laugh it off, but for someone like Park Penguin—close in distance and with middling power—it’s a serious burden.

Maybe this early-arriving winter is a blessing.

I happened to notice a small, thin pine tree heavy with snow.

Under it, a short, skinny girl was fidgeting with her red ears, staring up at it blankly.

That sight gave me a childish but decent idea.

*

Christmas had passed, but the year wasn’t over yet.

New Year’s—time to put on some kind of event.

Back when the boards were active, I always took part in year-end events, like Foxgames’ “Decorate an Internet Tree.”

I wanted to do something like that.

“Campfire? Out of nowhere.”

“Everyone’s exhausted. Is that really necessary?”

“It’s cold—let’s just skip it.”

The reaction wasn’t great.

Mostly: Why bother?

Like a prewar company dinner—forcing people who aren’t close to gather and pretend to be merry.

I’m not a fan of those gatherings either.

I attended every offline meet-up that John Nae-non organized, but chatting with people I wasn’t close to was never exactly fun.

Still, I decided to go ahead with a year-end event.

A campfire.

My first idea was a Christmas tree, but Christmas had already passed, and setting up a tree takes too much work.

We still had a lot to do for the new residents’ homes, and if I forced people to decorate a tree, my reputation would tank.

The campfire was the next-best option—just needed firewood.

No marshmallows, but I had frozen rice cakes. No champagne, but I had diluted soju.

For the kids who couldn’t drink, I’d break out precious powdered soft drinks.

I announced the event in advance.

Two hours only, and I’d cover all night shifts myself afterward.

When I volunteered for night duty, the murmurs quieted down.

As Dies_Irae had said, there was a clear gap between the new arrivals and the old members.

Even Cheon Young-jae’s couple and Kim Daram’s couple had their distance, and the newcomers were even more detached.

After some observation, I saw little cliques forming.

Ahn Seung-hwan and Lee Haru were grouped, but they barely paid attention to each other—and Haru in particular seemed to dislike him.

Jang and Kim were together, but they seemed to be subtly competing over Mr. Heo, like romantic rivals.

And youngest of all, Yeom Da-eun, the Awakened girl, was left on her own among the various cliques.

Haru checked in on her now and then, but it felt more like obligation than affection.

She was the real reason I decided on the campfire.

She needed a friend.

At least a space to belong.

Luckily, she had Dongtak—someone her own age.

I could tell Kim Daram to have them spend time together, but there was no need.

I’ve never raised a child, but I’ve seen plenty of kids—and they’re always more drawn to someone like themselves than to adults.

So, despite the lukewarm mood, I started preparing for the campfire.

Surprisingly, someone was willing to help—Kim Daram’s husband.

“Sounds good. We could even put up a Christmas tree while we’re at it.”

He seemed less motivated by goodwill than by liking parties.

He was the type to mark every special occasion.

Before the war, Kim Daram used to post her anniversary gifts—bags and jewelry from her husband—on social media, earning herself plenty of envy and criticism.

And as a father, he also knew a thing or two about camping.

“For a campfire, this isn’t enough. We need more.”

At first, he was just helping, but when it became clear I knew almost nothing about campfires, he started giving instructions—just like he had at the hospital.

I ended up working hard enough to break a sweat, but I didn’t mind.

You could see it happening—people who had been indifferent started to show interest as the tables went up, food and snacks were set out, and the campfire—the heart of it—took shape.

“Oh. What the hell, you should’ve told me.”

Cheon Young-jae, who had been avoiding me with Yoo Jeong-min, joined in, and even Kim Daram showed up, arms folded, pretending to help with a sullen face—though not without some nagging.

“Do we have enough supplies for this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Fine? Really?”

“If we need something, we’ll just get it.”

Not an empty boast.

We have Defender—a pro-level scavenger—around.

I plan to learn a lot from him while I can.

“Well, well. For someone like Captain Park Gyu to go to all this trouble to welcome lowly folks like us.”

“Anything we can help with?”

Even the soldier duo, who had openly opposed the idea, joined in.

The festive mood was starting to take hold.

It began small, but if you push through, people eventually follow.

I’d never had that experience before.

Even as “Professor” and an acknowledged group leader, I’d never proactively driven something like this.

Sure, I’d gone on expeditions for survival, but I’d almost never worked to strengthen group cohesion.

One could question whether a small festival like this really helps.

That’s a question from a part of me—Dr. Emiris’s voice inside my head.

But I think it’s better than doing nothing.

They say people are made of memories.

Even a small moment like this can stay with you.

I gathered everyone—Cheon Young-jae and Kim Daram’s group, the newcomers, Haru, the soldiers.

I could’ve mixed the groups up, but I let friends sit together.

We passed out drinks—Cheon Young-jae and Yoo Jeong-min handing out alcohol and soft drinks.

I noticed Kim Daram get up and head toward the watch post on top of the bunker with her rifle.

“Where are you going?”

“What if someone attacks right now?”

In the past, I wouldn’t have argued.

But now—

“It’s fine.”

“What do you mean? Based on what?”

I smiled at her steady gaze.

“If they come now, let’s just die.”

“?”

“We’ve lived enough, haven’t we?”

Only then did she get it and let out a laugh.

“Ha. You’ve gone soft.”

She put the gun down and returned to her seat, moving like a leopard.

And as she passed, my junior muttered:

“So that’s how you fell for someone like Woo Min-hee.”

“More than you.”

“?”

“It hurts, you know.”

“Fair.”

So everyone gathered around the fire.

Crackle, crackle.

I found a spot and watched the flames.

“...”

People who, just days ago, didn’t even know each other’s names now sat facing the same fire.

Soft conversations, faint music.

The clink of glasses, whispered words of affection drifting in the breeze.

I kept my eyes on the sparks.

The voices faded, and everyone’s gaze converged on the flames.

Countless sparks were born and died within the blaze.

You could assign meaning to each one—like the fates of comrades and classmates who died on the battlefield.

Or you could fill each with hope—wishes for the safety and luck of those you love.

It’s all in how you see it.

Even if the world turns without caring about our hearts, I thought—this is good enough.

Everyone’s watching the same fire.

The flames are reflected in their eyes.

I can’t know what fires those reflections are lighting in their hearts.

But I wanted to make one suggestion.

“Next year—”

I stood up.

Meeting everyone’s gaze, looking into the flames in their eyes.

“Let’s do this again next year.”

A small wish.

At least—

“Yeah. I was in Jeju. You?”

“Me? I’ve always been here.”

The wall between the two young souls crumbled.

And for a moment, Suh’s face flashed in my mind—

A girl on the brink of becoming a woman, ready to take flight.