From Hayoon’s perspective, Jieun was someone who “pretended to be cold.”
Whenever Hayoon was struggling alone at school, Jieun would suddenly come over and start a scattered, random conversation.
If not that, she would grab Hayoon by the hand, take her to a secluded spot, and silently walk around the area with her.
Sometimes, she’d abruptly head to the convenience store, buy some food, and put it into Hayoon’s mouth without a word.
Through it all, Jieun never once sought recognition.
She never said something like, “I helped you when you were struggling,” or used that as a basis to make demands.
Her face always remained indifferent, and even when she bought something for Hayoon, she didn’t act like it was a big deal.
Yet, her actions always carried a warmth, like a ray of sunlight breaking through a small hole on a cold, dry day.
To Hayoon, Jieun was that kind of person—a warm light that seeped into her heart just by being nearby.
But things changed.
When they returned to the place they stayed—despite the repairs and attempts to make it livable—it still looked like a ruin from an objective standpoint.
As soon as they arrived, the light emanating from Jieun’s presence dimmed in an instant.
The Jieun standing there was just a tired, somewhat sorrowful girl.
The sight of her back, holding large plastic bags in both hands, looked darker than usual.
Hayoon wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.
The other kids probably had a lot to ask too.
Especially Iris, who looked slightly anxious, likely wanting to ask about the warp they had just witnessed.
But in the end, no one could bring themselves to speak.
Jieun’s silent back seemed to plead with them not to.
Without turning around, Jieun entered the house, carefully set down the plastic bags she had brought, and crawled into the tent.
She didn’t close the door but curled up in the sleeping bag inside.
Hayoon bit her lip.
She wanted to go in and hug Jieun, to tell her everything would be okay.
But now wasn’t the time.
The children moved hesitantly.
Although they avoided loud chatter, they busied themselves trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
They needed to prepare food, organize the supplies, fetch water for bathing, and eventually convince Jieun to bathe as well.
For now, though, it seemed best to give her some time.
After seeing her like that, none of them had the heart to push her.
As they went about their tasks, Hayoon kept thinking.
It wasn’t strange that Jieun might have other friends.
After all, Hayoon didn’t expect to be Jieun’s only friend.
She herself had other friends among the magical girls.
But still—her chest felt tight.
It was odd. She already knew about Ji-hye.
She knew that Ji-hye had shared a room with Jieun for a long time.
That level of closeness made sense.
Yet, the sight of Jieun playing with someone like James, a creature who seemed like a mix of a hamster and a fox but harbored the scheming mind of a former Noir Corporation villain, stirred emotions she couldn’t quite describe.
Hayoon didn’t believe every member of Noir Corporation was evil, but she held no illusions about the malevolent intentions of those at the top.
Even so, Jieun had never shown any signs of siding with them—or with the Federation or the government, for that matter.
The way they made physical contact without hesitation, so naturally, felt almost as if they were flaunting their closeness.
And James… he was still someone cooperating temporarily for his own reasons.
What if, somehow, getting too emotionally close led to Jieun being taken advantage of?
It was impossible not to think about such things.
But with Ji-hye… Ji-hye didn’t evoke those worries.
Because she was just too kind.
Unlike Hayoon, she had never wronged Jieun.
Ji-hye was the sisterly friend Jieun missed so dearly.
Thinking about that fact made Hayoon’s chest tighten inexplicably.
After finishing some organizing and preparations, Hayoon went outside.
Today, it wasn’t with Jieun but alone, though she felt this was the only way to calm herself.
She went to the spot where she and Jieun often sat and looked at the sky together, but today, she sat there alone.
Whenever Hayoon leaned on Jieun’s shoulder, how had Jieun reacted?
She seemed to accept it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hayoon wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“Why…?” she muttered to herself, frustrated.
The question was directed inward, so she couldn’t answer it.
Instead, her frustration only deepened.
She was beginning to understand the nature of these feelings, vaguely.
After all, she’d felt them before—toward Ji-hye.
When the three of them had gone out together, and Ji-hye clung to Jieun naturally, Hayoon had done the same.
It might have been the first time Hayoon initiated such closeness.
And now… she wanted to be that kind of person for Jieun.
That’s why she’d been thrilled during the battle earlier, knowing Jieun had drawn hope from her and turned it into energy within the circuit.
But Ji-hye… Ji-hye could do far more with just one meeting with Jieun.
She hugged her casually, cheered her on effortlessly.
The acts Hayoon considered special, Ji-hye performed as though they were nothing out of the ordinary.
“I…”
That was it.
Hayoon was jealous of Ji-hye.
She knew it was irrational.
Objectively, Hayoon had more than either Ji-hye or Jieun.
Even in this situation, her lack of concern for the future stemmed from having always lived a life of abundance.
For someone like her to envy the emotions of others felt grotesque.
After sitting with her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest for some time, Hayoon eventually stood.
She hadn’t overcome her jealousy.
But she knew what she had to do to start overcoming it.
Hayoon strode purposefully toward Jieun.
She knew this might seem pathetic.
The current situation wasn’t even Jieun or Ji-hye’s fault.
It had all happened because Hayoon couldn’t properly manage her energy.
That failure had led to meeting Ji-hye, to returning here after finding new magic through her encouragement.
Yet, upon her return, Hayoon felt worse than ever.
When despair gives rise to hope, the experience of witnessing a bright light in darkness feels miraculous.
It can fill you with a sense that you can accomplish anything, even as you find yourself reluctantly accepting an unwanted reality.
But the moment that hope fades, reality crashes down harder.
Just as Hayoon was about to sink deeper into these thoughts, she felt someone enter the tent abruptly.
Thud.
The sound came from both in front and behind her—a noise of hands hitting the ground.
It took her three seconds to process what was happening.
Normally, she would have reacted much faster, but in her extreme gloom, she lay there listlessly, struggling to grasp the situation.
Then—
“Ha-Hayoon?!”
Three seconds later, Jieun shouted in surprise, her voice filled with panic.
The faint noise outside the tent instantly fell silent.
Whoosh. The sleeping bag that had been covering Jieun’s face slid away.
What appeared before her was Hayoon’s face, uncomfortably close.
She hadn’t deliberately leaned in, but with her palms on the ground, their eyes were unavoidably near.
“How long are you planning to stay like this?”
Hayoon said, her tone slightly stern.
“Huh?” Jieun’s heart felt as though it had leaped into her throat.
While she tried to steady herself, Hayoon grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her up.
“You haven’t eaten,”
Hayoon said, dragging Jieun by the arm.
Knowing they’d just struggle endlessly if she resisted, Jieun reluctantly followed.
“And you haven’t washed! Are you just planning to sleep like this?”
“I’m not hungry, and I can bathe tomorrow,”
Jieun mumbled.
“You haven’t even changed your clothes!”
Hayoon snapped.
“Come on, get outside already.”
When I followed Hayoon out, the others were indeed preparing dinner.
I felt a little pathetic for just lying around without even thinking about helping.
Hayoon pressed down on my shoulder, making me sit, and then sat down beside me.
“Here,” she said, picking up a side dish with her chopsticks and trying to put it in my mouth.
Startled again, I grabbed her hand to stop her.
“I’ll eat, okay? I’ll eat,” I said, feeling a bit off about the strange distance between us.
Hayoon smiled and asked, “Really?” I just nodded and began eating quietly.
The other kids’ stares directed at us were a bit embarrassing, especially since I’d already been wallowing in self-pity.
Still, I was glad Hayoon had pulled me up.
If I’d stayed like that until bedtime, I wouldn’t have been able to face anyone the next morning.
After the meal, Hayoon grabbed my arm again, pulling me up.
“What now?” I asked.
“You’re covered in dust. Of course, you need to wash before bed.
Let’s go,” she said, dragging me toward the kitchen.
“But we haven’t even drawn lots,” I protested weakly.
“You’re tired. Wouldn’t it be better to just wash instead of wasting time on that?”
Hayoon’s determined tone left me speechless—not because her argument was logical, but because I felt like nothing I said would faze her.
Was Hayoon always this stubborn? Maybe.
At school, she acted fragile, like a gust of wind could blow her away, especially in front of the other kids.
She dutifully followed everything her parents told her to do, but when she got hurt, she wouldn’t talk about it—even in front of me.
I had to guess and try to cheer her up before she’d finally crack a smile.
But being stubborn didn’t mean she was weak.
If she weren’t strong-willed, she wouldn’t be able to fight using “hope.”
She wouldn’t be here, standing for her version of justice, fighting villains.
Maybe I had been acting too pitiful, forcing Hayoon to take action herself.
Hayoon pushed me into the kitchen, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and started to lift it.
“What—what are you doing?!” I shrieked.
“If I don’t help, you won’t wash,” Hayoon replied matter-of-factly.
“I’ll take it off! I’ll do it myself, so let go!”
I shouted, and Hayoon finally let go.
I sighed. Maybe I should’ve just let her do what she wanted.
Knowing Hayoon, she wouldn’t have actually undressed me completely.
Feeling an odd sense of defeat, I took off my clothes.
Of course, neither of us looked at each other—it would’ve been too awkward.
When I got into the tub, I couldn’t help but feel better.
Warm water, after all, has a way of melting away bad moods.
It wasn’t the washing itself that was bothersome—it was the effort to get here and the thought of cleaning up afterward.
As loud as Hayoon had been before we got here, she went eerily silent after we entered the bath.
She must’ve felt embarrassed only after stepping in.
Typical Hayoon—always overexerting herself.
It was all because of me.
She must’ve been trying to figure out how to lift my spirits and settled on this.
I exhaled softly.
“Sorry.”
Hearing that, Hayoon apologized as well.
Her voice, bouncing off the walls, sounded faint since she was facing the opposite direction.
“No,” I replied.
“Sorry for making you worry.”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,”
Hayoon said, her voice slightly drained.
Neither of us spoke after that.
Maybe it was the bath, or perhaps the quiet, but my thoughts started to organize themselves.
I wasn’t the problem here.
The colossal organizations that created this situation were the real problem.
Although I didn’t know exactly how, I couldn’t let this go unanswered.
I had to find a way to strike back, to get revenge.
Somehow, I had to.
Even though the Federation hadn’t yet targeted Ji-hye, they’d targeted me.
That was enough.
“Ji-hye, huh,” Hayoon said suddenly, catching me off guard as I was just thinking about her.
“You’re really close,” she added.
I nodded, though she couldn’t see it from her angle.
“She’s… a good person. Truly.”
It’s not like we’d never fought.
Spending so much time together made that impossible.
Honestly, if Ji-hye hadn’t been so patient with my personality, we might’ve ended up as one of those infamous stories about roommates who can’t stand each other.
I’ve never been fond of people touching my things without permission.
I guess you could call it a strong attachment to personal space.
But could a child living in the same space as me really understand that?
At first, I tried to endure it.
And I did, for years.
But enduring something doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother you.
Eventually, after years of bottled-up frustration, the dam broke.
Maybe overcoming that emotional barrier brought us closer.
Or maybe it was discovering our shared interests.
Who knows? Maybe it was simply living together for so long that we became close out of necessity.
With neither of us having family, we became family to each other.
The reason didn’t matter.
Ji-hye cared for me, and I had every reason to care for her too.
All I could do was try my best.
While soaking in the bath, I shared these scattered thoughts with Hayoon, who listened quietly to the end.
She seemed to understand why Ji-hye and I were so close.
“I see… so that’s how it is,” Hayoon murmured before standing.
The water rippled softly as she moved.
I followed suit, drying myself off with a towel near the door.
Not everything was resolved yet.
There was still so much to do. But my heart felt a little lighter.
“Did I talk too much about myself?” I asked.
“You already know everything about me,” Hayoon replied casually, making me lose my words for a moment.
Right.
Beside me now was another friend I’d known for a long time.
I was worried about Ji-hye.
But simply worrying wouldn’t solve anything.
The best way to help those I cared about was to work with the others and figure out how to improve our situation.
The kids didn’t seem too concerned at the moment.
As always, the night was dark.
We kept the lights minimal to avoid drawing attention, giving the camp an oddly cozy atmosphere, like a camping trip.
The faint glow illuminated our faces just enough to reassure the others.
I’d worried them far too much.
Hayoon quietly took my hand.
“Let’s not go straight to bed tonight. Let’s talk for a bit.”
“Talk?” I asked.
“Not about strategy, enemy movements, or radio updates.
Just talk,” she said with a smile.
“Fun stories, scary stories, anything.”
I glanced at the others.
At first, I didn’t understand why they’d come here.
Yet, despite having countless chances to leave, they’d stayed with me.
Whatever our past relationships had been, I now understood their intentions clearly.
They were fighting for the justice they believed in, and I was someone they sought to save with that justice.
I’d ignored that fact for far too long.
“I’m not really good at telling stories,” I admitted.
“Then just listen,” Hayoon said.
I nodded in agreement.
Following her lead, I listened to the kids’ stories.
Sometimes, I shivered; other times, I laughed softly at their tales.
Eventually, I fell asleep right there among them.
That night, for the first time,
I slept not in a tent but surrounded by the others.
When I woke up, Hayoon was curled up next to me.
That, at least, was nothing out of the ordinary.