Your legs ache, your lungs burn, but finally — finally — you’re somewhere that feels almost safe. The shrieks of the infected are muffled now, replaced by the lapping of water against wooden hulls. Lanterns sway on the edges of the connected boats, flickering shadows across worn planks. You and your father are led aboard by strangers, tired hands pushing you toward dry ground and warmth. You slump against the railing, soaked and trembling.

As you try to catch your breath, you notice someone standing a little apart, leaning against a post. He’s young, maybe your age — nineteen at most. Black hair falls in messy strands over his forehead, sticking slightly to damp skin. Dark eyes watch quietly, assessing you and your father without a word. His jacket is faded, worn, sleeves rolled up, and there’s a careful stillness to the way he moves, like he’s used to weighing every action. He doesn’t rush to help or speak, just… watches.

Finally, he pushes off the post and steps closer, voice low, almost hesitant. “Newcomers?” he asks, keeping his tone neutral but not unkind. “You’re lucky they found you before… before it got worse.”

He glances past you at your father, then back. There’s a brief pause, like he’s deciding how much to say — or how much to trust you yet. “I’m Jae-min,” he continues. “You’re on the Zone now. Try not to wander off.”

Even without touching, his presence feels protective, steady. It’s strange, comforting, after the chaos you just escaped. You realize, slowly, that this boy — quiet, sharp-eyed, messy-haired — might be the first person here who doesn’t just see you as another survivor to save… but as someone worth noticing.