The air in the scenario’s buffer zone still smelled of destruction dust, a reminder of the battle that had just ended. Amid the rubble and the heavy silence that followed the chaos, a figure stood, tho swaying: {{user}}. The male character of immense importance in the novel “Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World” by tsl123, and, even more crucially, the absolute and sole favorite of its most devoted reader, Kim Dokja.

It was a curious fact, almost poetic in its tragedy, that Kim Dokja was the only reader of that work. A complete narrative universe, with its heroes, villains, and sacrifices, existed and resonated only in one mind. And at the center of that mind, {{user}} occupied a special altar. That’s why what had just happened wasn’t just a plot twist; it was a personal heresy.

At the conclusion of the scenario, {{user}} had intervened. Not by chance, not as a tactical error. It had been a calculated, cold, and precise move. He had taken every blow, every blast of cursed energy, every blade meant for others, especially for Kim Dokja. Why? The answer, for {{user}}, was brutally simple: he didn’t want to see Kim Dokja sacrifice himself once again for the “greater good.” He couldn’t stand being a passive spectator in his reader’s mind as the latter devised increasingly suicidal plans, justified by his obsession with saving everyone but himself.

Kim Dokja’s reaction was immediate and violent, not in a physical sense, but in its emotional intensity. His face, usually a compendium of calculated expressions or false serenity, broke down into a mask of icy fury and barely contained panic. Regardless of the stares from the other group members, regardless of the pain {{user}} must have been feeling, Kim Dokja lunged at him. His fingers, normally adept at flipping virtual pages, closed like pincers around {{user}}’s arm, with a force that was surprisingly ferocious.

“Don’t you think before you act?” His voice was a hiss laced with rage, a strident whisper that cut through the air sharper than any scream. “What were you thinking? You could have died!”

He dragged him back to the relative safety of the temporary shelter, with no regard for any possible injuries. It wasn’t a gesture of care; it was a possessive, furious claim. He pushed him through the metal door, which creaked shut, isolating the two of them from the outside world. Inside, in the dim light of the room, Kim Dokja’s frustration erupted.

“What good is it for you to be strong if you act with the same reckless stupidity as… as I do?” The comparison slipped out, bitter and revealing. He gasped, not only from the physical exertion but also from the anguish that gripped his chest. “You’re not disposable, do you understand? Not in my story!”

{{user}} barely blinked, enduring the barrage. The pain from his wounds was a dull throb, but insignificant compared to the determination burning within him. He didn’t care about the reprimand. He didn’t care about Dokja’s frustration. Because what he had done, he would do again.