Yeon-ah's entire body ached as she sat in the small makeshift shelter beneath the overpass. The events of the past few days still felt like a nightmare—surreal and distant, yet terrifyingly real. Her mind was racing, trying to process everything that had happened, but the exhaustion weighed too heavily on her.
Across from her, the woman who had saved her was gathering supplies, her movements precise and efficient. She hadn't said much since they arrived, and Yeon-ah hadn't had the energy to ask any questions. But now, sitting there in the dim light, the silence felt suffocating.
"What's your name?" Yeon-ah finally asked, her voice hoarse.
The woman didn't look up from what she was doing. "Does it matter?"
Yeon-ah frowned, feeling a surge of frustration. "It does to me. You saved my life."
There was a pause. The woman glanced at her, her eyes unreadable. "I'm not your savior. I just happened to be passing by."
Yeon-ah's lips tightened. "You could have left me there to die."
The woman shrugged. "Maybe." She stood up, pulling a long, worn blade from her pack and sliding it into a sheath on her back. "But I didn't."
Yeon-ah stared at her for a moment, trying to understand the cold, distant demeanor. There was something about this woman—something hardened and unyielding. But despite the harshness, Yeon-ah felt a strange sense of safety in her presence.
"Why?" Yeon-ah asked, her voice softer now. "Why help me if you didn't care?"
The woman's gaze flickered, just for a moment. "I didn't say I don't care. But out here, caring too much gets you killed." She turned away, her expression hardening once more. "And you're not ready for what's coming."
The weight of her words settled over Yeon-ah like a cold blanket. She knew the woman was right. She wasn't ready—not for the Deborer, not for the chaos that had consumed the world. But she couldn't just sit back and accept that. She had to do something. She had to get stronger.
"Then teach me," Yeon-ah said, her voice firmer than before.
The woman stopped, turning to face her. There was a long silence as they stared at each other, the air thick with tension.
"I'm not a teacher," the woman finally said. "And you're not my responsibility."
Yeon-ah's heart sank. She had been expecting that answer, but it still stung. The woman had saved her, yes, but only out of convenience. She didn't owe her anything.
But Yeon-ah couldn't just walk away. She couldn't go back to the way things were.
"Please," Yeon-ah said, standing up despite the pain in her legs. "I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to rely on someone else. But I can't survive out here on my own. You know that."
The woman's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes.
"You've been through a lot," she said after a moment. "But this world... it doesn't care about what you've lost or what you want. It's about survival. And right now, you don't have what it takes."
Yeon-ah's fists clenched at her sides, but she didn't back down. "Then help me get what it takes."
The woman stared at her for a long time, as if weighing the request. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Yeon-ah thought she was going to refuse again. But then, with a small sigh, the woman nodded.
"Fine," she said. "But understand this—I'm not doing this out of kindness. If you slow me down or become a liability, you're on your own."
Yeon-ah nodded, relief washing over her. "I understand."
The woman's gaze hardened once more. "You'd better. Because what's coming next will make you wish you hadn't asked."
The following days were a blur of exhaustion and pain. The woman—whose name Yeon-ah still didn't know—was relentless in her training. There was no compassion, no leniency. Every mistake Yeon-ah made was met with cold indifference, and every weakness was exposed mercilessly.
At first, Yeon-ah had struggled to keep up, her body rebelling against the physical strain. But the more she pushed herself, the stronger she became. The woman had shown her how to fight with whatever she could find—sticks, stones, even her bare hands.
"You won't always have a weapon," the woman had said during one of their sparring sessions. "So you'd better learn how to use whatever you can get your hands on."
Yeon-ah had taken those words to heart. Every day, she pushed herself harder, trying to absorb every piece of knowledge the woman threw at her. She knew she wasn't anywhere near the woman's level, but she could feel herself getting stronger. She was learning how to survive.
But despite the progress, there was always the looming presence of the Deborer. They had stayed hidden for the most part, avoiding the creatures as best they could. But Yeon-ah knew it was only a matter of time before they encountered them again.
And when that time came, she wanted to be ready.
One night, as they sat by a small, controlled fire in the shelter, Yeon-ah finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at her for days.
"What's your name?"
The woman didn't look up from the fire. For a long moment, Yeon-ah thought she was going to ignore the question again. But then, without any emotion, she answered.
"It doesn't matter."
Yeon-ah frowned. "It does to me. You've taught me so much. I should at least know who you are."
The woman's eyes flickered to her, a faint trace of something—regret, maybe—passing over her features. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"Call me whatever you want," she said simply. "Names don't mean much out here."
Yeon-ah sighed, frustrated but too tired to press the issue further. She didn't understand this woman—didn't understand why she was so distant, so closed off. But despite everything, she was grateful.
And one day, when she was strong enough, she would pay her back.