That the Crack is something that can create anything at all—I confirmed this myself in its deepest depths, guided by Kang Han-min.

In that distant place, as if life itself had been rendered in its most repulsive form, I saw countless shapes ceaselessly shifting like slot machine symbols, each built on entirely different principles.

The idea that those forms might be the residents of other planets the Crack has swallowed still holds weight.

Therefore, the notion that among those forms, something resembling a human could be made—that was entirely foreseeable.

But then, what is a human?

This question has already been studied to the point of banality by sages of far greater depth and virtue than myself.

Here, the “human” I speak of will simply be set at the level of what we think of as the most average of average humans.

With that definition of “average human” fixed, I logged back into Gong Gyeong-min’s network.

An error popped up during login.

Some satellite devices had malfunctioned, and Viva! Apocalypse! headquarters had to reconfigure its satellite signal system.

According to the emergency notice, a massive, unexplained swarm of space debris had struck the satellite fleet, disabling a significant number of operational satellites.

However, on the North American board, the theory gaining traction was that the main Viva! Apocalypse! data center in California had abruptly shut down for unknown reasons, triggering the failure.

The end of the world was becoming increasingly visible, yet around my bunker the world remained absurdly tranquil. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Hearing the cry of some nameless beast in the distance, I entered the bunker and completed the connection to Gong Gyeong-min’s network.

This was my second time logging into the Chinese-made VR game that Gong Gyeong-min had acquired.

Everything in this garishly colorful world was so dazzling, so radiant, that it was filled instead with a bizarre kind of horror. In this world of primary colors, Gong Gyeong-min appeared before me again.

“You must have noticed too.”

I began to understand what he was trying to say.

After much deliberation, it seemed he had reached a conclusion not so different from mine.

That humanity’s extinction is unavoidable—a conclusion so simple, yet so difficult to accept.

“I chose to run away in the end. Just like you did.”

I could have answered sharply, but I didn’t bother.

The sharp words this friend of mine threw out no longer cut me.

When I felt indebted to him, when I still felt guilt toward him, every sharp action or remark he made left a wound. But things have changed.

I overcame my past, fought my adversary, and won—and after that I resolved to face the Crack head-on.

That led me to Kang Han-min, and I listened to his thoughts.

Of course, I don’t agree with him.

His plan to slash the population to avoid the Crack’s notice may have a certain cold logic, but the opponent here is the Crack.

We know nothing of it—any logic we spin is nothing but an empty echo.

At any rate, Gong Gyeong-min confessed that he too had chosen the path I once chose.

His escape, however, differs from mine.

The first difference is, naturally, resources.

Even if I became known as “Professor,” my bunker was built not on inherited wealth but on what I, Park Gyu, had earned myself. More than an average man, yes—but still paltry compared to any true rich man.

In contrast, Gong Gyeong-min, though not among the innermost circle of power, had still dwelled near it. Accordingly, he built a refuge unimaginable to ordinary people.

“Right. Like the Chinese tycoons, I created a virtual world.”

The second difference is originality.

Some might ask what separates my bunker from the countless bunkers of other doomsday preppers. That’s the opinion of an outsider.

By that logic, every house in the world—being walls, foundation, and roof—is the same, whether a shack or a tycoon’s mansion.

My bunker is unique—created by collecting the opinions of legendary doomsday preppers, including John Nae-non, while adding plenty of my own individuality.

In terms of value for cost, no bunker can compare to Park Gyu’s Sweet Home.

Gong Gyeong-min’s refuge, on the other hand, is nothing but a crude copy of what the Chinese magnates already built.

I don’t know exactly how he got it—likely through secret backdoor deals with the Chinese government before the war ended—but the virtual world he claims to have “built with his own effort,” named “Do-won-hyang,” matches exactly with the “Hudie Zhi Meng” that Rebecca read about on the North American board and told me of.

Even if not emphasized, you only need to glance at the status window: martial world and non-martial world are clearly distinguished. Proof enough.

No need to see it in person.

Even with a half-baked translator, it’s not hard to see this world is identical to that last refuge built by Chinese elites rotting in their erosion zones.

The third difference is in the philosophy infused into the creation.

My bunker was made by me, Park Gyu, to become humanity’s last survivor within the environment of annihilation caused by the Crack.

To that end I stocked not only over ten years of food, but also heavy equipment for maintenance, ammunition for fighting external enemies, hobbies and educational tools to preserve the mind—everything necessary for me to endure as the last survivor.

But in Do-won-hyang, a shallow imitation of a Chinese mogul’s escape, there is no such philosophy.

The cheap hanbok-clad avatar Gong Gyeong-min uses here is likely the only personal imprint he left in this world.

Everything else belongs strictly to the Chinese elites.

Even the crumpled hanji lying around—written in simplified Chinese—proclaims it.

“I don’t mean to nitpick,” I said, staring at him.

“But isn’t this Hudie Zhi Meng? The one made in China?”

Gong Gyeong-min stared back at me.

He hadn’t expected me to know what this world was.

Sure enough—

“How did you know?”

“I read about it on the North American board. It was a pretty famous story.”

“Really? Ah~. So that’s why you could look at this place so nonchalantly.”

Just because someone has a Viva! Apocalypse! account doesn’t mean they’re active.

Especially someone like Gong Gyeong-min, who only peeked in occasionally for a hobby—he used the same board as us, but he wasn’t truly a “board friend.”

For us, the board was another life entirely.

In silence, he began to explain his world again.

“I’ll admit it—Hudie Zhi Meng was the base. It really was the base. But I won’t run it the same way they did in Chongqing. For now it connects through Viva! Apocalypse!, but once it’s on track, I’ll cut all external links. It’ll run closed.”

“Closed?”

“Yes. Remember the place I stayed before? Didn’t the temperature feel strangely low there?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Indeed, the interior of his school building had been kept unnaturally cold compared to the outside.

“I got hold of a nuclear battery. I plan to run near-permanent power off it.”

“Like John Nae-non?”

“John Nae-non?”

“No, forget it.”

“Anyway—with our own power supply, Do-won-hyang here—the physical Do-won-hyang—I’ll seal it off. There’s a government bunker under that school. I’ll lock those gates tight.”

“And if Jeon Si-hoon pushes in?”

At that, Gong Gyeong-min burst out {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} laughing and waggled his finger.

“We’ve got a nuclear bomb.”

“A nuclear bomb?”

“From the Chinese military.”

“...Don’t tell me—it’s that one?”

“If they even try to mess with us, boom! We’ll set it off.”

It seemed my old friend had unraveled rapidly of late.

The more proudly he explained his plans, the more my interest withered.

The breaking point was when he introduced his “friends.”

“These are the companions who will live with me in Do-won-hyang forever.”

In a Chinese-style pavilion framed by clouds and objects modeled after Niagara Falls, he introduced them.

They weren’t people, but characters.

Each swayed in its stance, but only because it was programmed to do so.

They were dolls implemented in a 3D world.

The adjectives he gave them were lofty.

“I built personalities on fourth-generation self-learning AI models. They’re a bit artificial for now, and passive, sure. But the more they learn, the more astonishingly human they’ll become. Maybe they’ll even come to see us as the machine-like ones. At least they’re sincere about this world, right? For them, this world is all there is.”

The adjectives were lofty indeed.

He stopped in front of a grotesquely voluptuous female character in a hanbok and a gat.

“This is Isabel. Killer body, right?”

The woman character gazed at me and spoke.

“Hi, pretty boy. First time seeing you. Is this your first time in Do-won-hyang? Since Gong Gongja introduced you, you must not be a bad person.”

A soulless program following a set prompt.

Her eyes looked at me, but though they shone with mysterious color, they were nothing but polygons and textures.

Silently, I watched as he went on introducing his “friends.”

“This is Daniel. Ambitious but helpful.”

“You’re Skelton? I’ve heard of you. Someday I’d love to spar! Of course, to fight me, you’ll have to first overcome the trial of the Shaolin Eighteen Arhats!”

“This is Chad. Full of energy.”

“Bro! You got it! My name’s Chad! No time to slack off, bro, I’ll be watching your back!”

“...Wait.”

At first I planned to coldly endure the introductions, but it was too much.

All of Gong Gyeong-min’s AI friends had concepts turned up absurdly high.

I can’t stand that kind of thing.

“Enough.”

I glared at him.

A gathering of hollow dolls.

I wanted no further part in this puppet play.

Part of it was just my dislike for the atmosphere, but the greater reason was the change in my once-beloved friend.

He wasn’t like this.

Gong Gyeong-min.

I’ve changed too, but at least I believe my changes carry some positive meaning.

Not him.

Before, he was everyone’s friend, the one who lifted the mood, loved and lovable.

They say good people die young—maybe that really means their personalities change long before death.

“Ah, I see.”

When I cut him off, his voice alone betrayed his irritation.

“So you don’t like this sort of thing?”

“...”

I said nothing.

That silence might be a small comfort to this friend, who had become fragile and easily hurt.

He quickly turned away.

“...Follow me.”

Now came the main point.

I walked through the fantastical yet hollow virtual world, bound by duty alone.

Chinese-style music and chatter, even birdsong, rang out around us.

If you wanted to believe this world was real, you could almost convince yourself.

The person in question stood alone in a dark clearing.

At a glance, just another generic female character.

A textbook NPC.

“You may find this odd. She looks identical to an NPC model. No name, no lines, no set role. No AI learning function applied. Just a bare entity.”

“And why is that a problem?”

“The problem is that she exists at all.”

He turned to me.

He showed me a screen.

Source code, unreadable to me.

“See this annotation? Not generated by us.”

“...”

“Yeah. An entity that shouldn’t exist here.”

He turned back to the NPC.

She stood there, staring blankly into the void.

One doll among countless others.

“Is this the human made by the Crack you spoke of?”

He nodded.

“A person, within this world.”

“And proof the Crack made it?”

He typed something in midair.

“Let me show you.”

The moment he hit what must have been Enter, everything around us was swallowed by darkness.

“I just shut down the world. Ended it.”

And indeed—our avatars vanished too.

But something remained.

Only the NPC.

“See? The world’s gone, but she’s still here. Professor, you can understand what that means, can’t you?”

I looked at the NPC, standing alone in the void.

She didn’t move, only stared into nothing.

We couldn’t know what she thought, or what she would do.

She simply existed.

Outside our logic.

Of course, she wasn’t human.

Couldn’t be called human.

And yet, mimicking the human form, she stood among us as if she were.

Unfathomable. From within it, a sickening dread spread like fog, as Gong Gyeong-min’s sigh echoed faintly.

“Yeah. There’s nowhere left to run.”

And yet he would live on, alongside that dread.

“...”

A tragedy of the most ordinary kind.

 Though I hadn’t noticed, it seemed my condition had worsened enough that others could see it.

“Senior, did something happen?”

Even Kim Daram was asking after me.

“No, I’m fine.”

I wasn’t fine.

I wouldn’t be fine.

I could try to deny what I’d seen, but self-delusion runs counter to the path I’ve lived all my life.

This was something to accept and overcome.

What I’d seen—and even the inevitable collapse of my old friend.

“...”

This gloom would last.

But sometimes salvation comes from the least expected place.

Message from mmmmmmmmm: Hey. Skelton.

Out of nowhere, M9 sent me a message.

As if bewitched, as if called by fate, I began to speak with a board friend.

“...”

Tap, tap, tap.

SKELTON: (Skelton tears) M9... ㅠㅠ I missed you....

Message from mmmmmmmmm: ???

SKELTON: (Skelton sobbing) I said I missed you...

Message from mmmmmmmmm: This bastard’s finally gone insane.

SKELTON: Phewㅠ

Message from mmmmmmmmm: I’m heading your way. Give me your address.

SKELTON: (Skelton serious) You’re not welcome.

Message from mmmmmmmmm: I’m not coming alone. Bringing a special guest.

SKELTON: A special guest?

Message from mmmmmmmmm: Yeah. A very special guest.

They say the opposite of despair is happiness.

That’s not quite right.

I think it’s expectation.

This feeling stirring my chest proves me right.