Don’t Touch Me
Chapter 3 – Don’t Touch Me
Joonseo woke the way you woke from a nightmare you couldn’t fully remember–already tense, already braced, as if his body had been fighting in his sleep.
For half a second, the convenience store ceiling looked normal: white panels, fluorescent lights, a hanging sign pointing toward instant noodles. His mind reached for routine–I fell asleep somewhere stupid–and then the weight on his chest shifted when he inhaled.
Not metaphorical weight.
Actual weight.
His breath caught. His eyes snapped open fully.
His body was still wrong.
Still Elizabeth.
The cloak was draped over him like someone had tried to make him comfortable. It wasn’t his cloak–it was too warm, too heavy, and he realized with a sick jolt that it wasn’t even part of his outfit.
It was Leon’s hoodie.
He sat up so fast the fabric slipped down his shoulders, baring skin he didn’t want exposed. He yanked it back up instantly, cheeks burning, then froze when he remembered:
Leon.
Party formed.
Gold tether.
Safe zone.
He looked toward the doors.
Leon stood exactly where he had been hours ago–near the boundary line, sword resting against his shoulder, posture straight but exhausted in a way that looked like quiet stubbornness. His eyes were open. Red-rimmed. Awake.
He hadn’t slept.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
Leon noticed him sit up and turned slowly, as if he didn’t want to startle him.
“Morning,” Leon said softly.
The word felt absurd in a world that had ended overnight.
Joonseo’s gaze darted to the outside through the glass doors.
Hongdae was still there, but it had been… edited.
The street looked sharper, like it had been rendered at a higher resolution. Floating UI icons hovered over certain buildings. A lamppost had a faint “Interact” shimmer. The air beyond the safe zone looked slightly darker, like the world outside carried a permanent dungeon filter.
A group of people moved in the distance–some walking carefully, some sprinting, all with weapons or glowing effects. A low growl echoed from somewhere down the street, metallic and wrong.
The city was still Seoul.
But it was also Eternal Dawn.
Joonseo swallowed hard and looked back at Leon.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
Leon shrugged, like it wasn’t worth mentioning. “You needed rest.”
Joonseo hated the way those words landed. Hated the way his body wanted to relax into them. Hated that Leon could offer something so simple–rest–like it was his job.
It was his job now, wasn’t it?
Guardian.
Paladin.
Tank.
Leon moved toward him carefully, stopping a few steps away. He didn’t cross that last distance, like he’d learned overnight that proximity was dangerous–not because of monsters, but because of the way Joonseo reacted.
“I found this,” Leon said, holding something out.
A plastic-wrapped triangle of kimbap, slightly crushed. A bottle of water.
Joonseo stared at the food. Hunger hit him then, sudden and humiliating.
He hadn’t eaten last night. He’d thrown up. He’d run. He’d–
He reached for the water. His fingers brushed Leon’s.
A chime.
Soft. Immediate.
The gold tether between them pulsed.
BOND EFFECT: Party Proximity Stabilized MINOR BUFF: Calm (10 seconds) MINOR BUFF: Regeneration (5 seconds)
Joonseo flinched back so hard the kimbap nearly fell.
Leon’s hand froze midair. His face tightened. “Sorry.”
Joonseo’s chest rose and fell too fast.
The Calm buff tried to spread through him like warmth and he hated it–because it felt good. Because for ten seconds, his brain stopped screaming.
He forced the food out of Leon’s hand without touching him again.
“Don’t,” Joonseo said, voice raw. “Don’t do that.”
Leon swallowed. “I didn’t–”
“You did,” Joonseo snapped. “Your… your system thing. It–”
Leon’s eyes flicked toward the faint glow between them, understanding dawning. He exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” Leon said. “I’ll be careful.”
Joonseo tore open the water with shaking hands and drank too fast. Cold liquid hit his stomach and made him want to cry from relief, which was pathetic. He ate the kimbap in three quick bites without tasting it, because tasting it would make this feel too real.
When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at the floor.
Silence settled between them again–this time awkward, heavy, full of things neither of them could say without breaking.
A system ping cut through it.
Not gentle this time.
A window appeared in front of Joonseo, big enough to block Leon’s face.
DAILY QUEST UNLOCKED: TUTORIAL – THE FIRST CLEAR OBJECTIVE 1: Register at a SAFE ZONE HUB OBJECTIVE 2: Clear 1 LOW-LEVEL GATE (Party Required) OBJECTIVE 3: Acquire BASIC SUPPLIES (Food/Water/Bandages) REWARD: Map Access + Level Cap Unlock + Skill Point (1)
Under the objectives, a timer started counting down.
TIME LIMIT: 6 HOURS
Joonseo stared at the window until the numbers blurred.
Leon, behind the window, said quietly, “You see it too?”
Joonseo forced himself to nod.
Leon stepped closer–not all the way, still careful–but close enough that his voice felt like it belonged in Joonseo’s personal space.
“Safe Zone Hub,” Leon murmured, thinking aloud. “There’s usually one near a major landmark. In the game… it’s always…”
He stopped, eyes narrowing as he looked out the glass.
“As if the world copied it.”
Joonseo followed his gaze.
Across the street, past a shuttered café, a familiar building stood like a stubborn memory: a PC bang. Its sign was still there, half-lit.
But now a new icon hovered above it–bright, unmistakable.
A sunburst.
A hub marker.
SAFE ZONE HUB – REGISTER
Joonseo’s stomach dropped.
“No,” he whispered.
Leon’s jaw tightened. “We have to.”
“We don’t have to do anything,” Joonseo snapped, but his voice wavered.
The quest timer kept ticking. The system didn’t care about denial.
Leon turned to him, expression earnest and steady in a way that made Joonseo want to shove him.
“Listen,” Leon said, voice gentle but firm. “I don’t know what you’re feeling. I can’t–” He swallowed. “But we need the rewards. Map access means we can find safer routes. Skill points mean you’ll be stronger. And…”
His gaze flicked over Joonseo again, quick and controlled.
“And you… you’re a target. We need to get you somewhere safer than a convenience store.”
Joonseo’s throat tightened at the word “target.”
He hated that Leon was right.
He hated that his body made him right.
He grabbed his bag. The strap slid differently across his chest, catching in ways he wasn’t used to. He adjusted it angrily, then stalked toward the door.
Leon moved immediately to the boundary line, testing it.
“Ready?” Leon asked.
Joonseo didn’t answer. He pushed forward.
The safe zone barrier let him through.
The moment he stepped outside, the air changed. Not temperature–weight. Like the world outside carried an invisible pressure that made breathing slightly harder.
The gold tether between them stretched and then tightened as Leon followed.
A faint tremor ran through Joonseo’s arms.
The debuff window from last night flashed briefly in the corner of his vision, like a warning he wasn’t allowed to forget:
FRAUD (Stage 1)
He forced it away with will alone.
They crossed the street fast. Leon walked slightly ahead and to the side, positioning himself between Joonseo and the open street. It was so instinctive he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Joonseo noticed.
He hated noticing.
The PC bang door was half open, like someone had fled and never come back. Leon pushed it wider with his boot and stepped inside first, sword raised.
The interior smelled like stale instant noodles and dust and something faintly electrical–burnt circuitry.
The rows of computers were still there. The chairs. The neon keyboard lights.
But the air shimmered with faint particles, like the building was a portal trying to pretend it was a room.
A floating NPC stood behind the counter.
It wasn’t human.
Not fully.
It wore the shape of a young woman in a crisp uniform, but her eyes were too bright, her smile too perfectly symmetrical, her movements too smooth.
She looked like a game character rendered in the real world.
She bowed.
“Welcome to the Hub,” she said in perfect Korean–then immediately repeated it in English, accented in a way that felt algorithmic. “Please register your party.”
Joonseo’s skin crawled.
Leon stepped forward, voice calm. “Register.”
A new window appeared.
REGISTER PARTY: ELIZABETH + LEON CONFIRM?
Joonseo’s hand hovered. He didn’t want to confirm anything. Confirmation felt like surrender.
Leon glanced at him, a silent question.
Joonseo pressed confirm.
The window chimed.
REGISTERED. MAP ACCESS UNLOCKED.
A translucent mini-map flickered into existence in the corner of Joonseo’s vision. Streets outlined in pale blue. Safe zones marked with shield icons. Hub marked with a sunburst.
And–worse–a red pulse in the distance.
A gate forming.
LOW-LEVEL GATE DETECTED – 0.3km
The NPC smiled wider.
“Tutorial Gate available,” she said, voice bright. “Party recommended.”
Joonseo swallowed bile.
Leon looked at him. “We do it fast,” he said quietly. “In and out. We don’t linger.”
Joonseo wanted to ask, How do you know? He wanted to demand why Leon sounded like he’d rehearsed this.
Then he remembered: Leon had lived in this game for years. Leon had built his identity inside it the way other people built confidence in gyms or offices or friendships.
Eternal Dawn had always been Leon’s refuge.
Now it was the world.
They left the PC bang hub and followed the red pulse on the mini-map. The city looked wrong in daylight–or what passed for daylight under a sky that still carried faint translucent banners like scars.
People moved in small groups now, armed, wary. Some wore fantasy gear over ordinary clothes like mismatched armor. A man with a glowing axe argued with a woman whose hair had turned silver. A teenage boy sobbed as his hands crackled with fire.
And every so often, Joonseo caught eyes on him–on Elizabeth–too long, too sharp.
Appraisal.
Calculation.
Predation.
Leon noticed too. His posture shifted subtly, turning harder, broader, like he was making himself a wall.
“You okay?” Leon asked without looking at him.
Joonseo’s voice came out strained. “No.”
Leon’s mouth tightened, but he nodded like that was acceptable, like honesty–even ugly honesty–was better than pretending.
They turned into a narrow street lined with small restaurants. The gate was there, hovering in the middle of the road like a wound in the air.
A shimmering oval filled with swirling darkness and pixel-light.
Above it floated text:
TUTORIAL GATE – LVL 1 DUNGEON TYPE: CLEARANCE OBJECTIVE: ELIMINATE ALL HOSTILES WARNING: PARTY LOCKED UNTIL CLEAR
Joonseo stared at it, pulse roaring in his ears.
He had entered gates a thousand times in the game, laughing, chatting, flirting.
Now it looked like a mouth.
Leon stepped closer, testing the edge with his sword tip. The blade passed through like water.
Leon turned to Joonseo.
He looked different outside, under the strange daylight. More tired. More real. Like the distance between Leon-the-avatar and Leon-the-person had collapsed.
“We go together,” Leon said quietly. “Stay close to me. Don’t run off.”
Joonseo’s jaw clenched. “Stop telling me what to do.”
Leon’s eyes softened. “Okay.” He paused. “Then… please. Stay close.”
The word please hit harder than any command.
Joonseo stared at the gate and felt his hands tremble again. He hated being afraid. He hated that the fear lived in his new body like it belonged there. He hated that his survival rate depended on the guy he had deceived.
Leon held out his hand.
Not to grab.
Not to force.
Just… offered, palm open, like a bridge.
The gold tether between them pulsed faintly, eager.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
He could refuse.
But then he’d walk into that gate alone, with monsters and strangers and a body that made him a prize.
His eyes flicked to Leon’s hand. Then to Leon’s face.
Leon wasn’t smiling.
He was braced, too–just better at hiding it.
Joonseo didn’t take Leon’s hand.
Instead, he stepped closer until the edge of his cloak brushed Leon’s sleeve.
Close enough to trigger the system.
A chime.
BOND EFFECT: Party Proximity Stabilized MINOR BUFF: Courage (10 seconds)
Leon’s shoulders loosened slightly. Joonseo hated that he noticed it.
Leon nodded once, like he understood the compromise.
“Alright,” Leon murmured. “That’s enough.”
He stepped into the gate.
Joonseo followed.
The world turned inside out.
For a moment, everything was light and static and the sensation of falling sideways through a screen.
Then his boots hit solid ground.
They were inside.
The dungeon was… Seoul, but not.
A twisted version of a subway corridor–white tiles stained with pixelated rot, fluorescent lights flickering in stuttering loops. The air smelled like metal and old water. Signs on the walls glitched between Korean station names and fantasy runes.
A faint echo of announcements played overhead, distorted.
Leon’s nameplate glowed brighter in the dim. Elizabeth’s cloak shimmered faintly gold.
And down the corridor, shadows moved.
Low-level mobs, but real.
Their eyes lit up like red LEDs as they turned toward the party.
AGGRO
Leon moved instantly, stepping forward, shield icon flashing over his head.
Joonseo’s body reacted–heart lurching, breath shortening–but his UI also flared, ready like muscle memory.
SKILL READY: CHARM HYMN SKILL READY: ILLUSION VEIL SKILL READY: COURAGE AURA
Leon’s voice cut through the rising static of panic.
“Behind me,” Leon said, steady. “And when I taunt–buff me.”
Joonseo’s lips curled, reflexively cruel. “You don’t get to order me around.”
Leon didn’t turn his head.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then–help me.”
The humility in that word–help–slid under Joonseo’s defenses like a knife under ribs.
The mobs surged.
Leon raised his shield–an actual shimmering barrier–and slammed it into the ground. A shockwave rippled outward.
TAUNT – ACTIVE
The mobs’ attention snapped to Leon like magnets.
Joonseo lifted his hands.
He didn’t want to be Elizabeth.
But the world didn’t care what he wanted.
A golden note bloomed between his palms, shimmering like a song made visible. He released it, and it wrapped around Leon’s shoulders like light.
COURAGE AURA – ACTIVE
Leon’s HP bar steadied. His posture locked in. He looked unbreakable.
For a split second, watching him–watching Leon stand there, taking the monsters’ hate for Elizabeth–Joonseo felt something twist inside him.
Not affection.
Not yet.
Something darker.
Something like awe.
Something like fear of what devotion could do to a person.
Leon drove forward, blade flashing, clearing the first mob. The second mob leapt–Leon took it head-on, grunting, shield absorbing the impact. The third tried to slip past him toward Elizabeth.
Joonseo’s instincts snapped.
He cast Illusion Veil without thinking.
A shimmer of light unfolded like a curtain, bending the corridor’s visuals. The mob hesitated, confused, swiping at air.
Leon glanced back once, quick.
“Nice,” he breathed.
The praise hit Joonseo in a place he didn’t want touched.
He gritted his teeth and threw another buff, harder this time, as if aggression could keep emotion away.
They moved like that for minutes–Leon taunting, striking, shielding; Elizabeth buffing, veiling, controlling. A rhythm formed, terrifyingly natural.
Like they’d done this before.
Like they’d always been a party.
At the far end of the corridor, a heavier shadow uncoiled.
A mini-boss.
Its body was stitched from subway signage and black smoke, arms too long, fingers like hooked metal. It dragged a chain that scraped the tiles with an awful screech.
Above its head:
TUTORIAL BOSS: LINEBREAKER (LVL 1)
Leon’s grip tightened on his sword.
Joonseo’s mouth went dry.
The Linebreaker lifted its head slowly, and its red eyes locked onto Elizabeth.
Not Leon.
Elizabeth.
As if the dungeon itself understood which one of them was the true weak point.
Leon stepped in front of him immediately.
Joonseo’s stomach clenched.
“Don’t,” he said, voice sharp. “I can fight.”
Leon didn’t move away.
“I know,” Leon said quietly, without looking back. “But I won’t let it touch you.”
The line was simple.
It should’ve been comforting.
Instead it made something hot and confused coil in Joonseo’s gut–because it wasn’t just protection.
It was possession-adjacent.
It was the kind of statement people made when they loved you.
And Leon’s love had been built on a lie.
The Linebreaker lunged.
Leon met it with a shield slam that shook the corridor. Sparks exploded–blue and gold. The chain whipped through the air, slicing close enough that Joonseo felt wind kiss his cheek.
Leon’s voice snapped, urgent.
“Buff–now!”
Joonseo raised his hands. A bigger aura this time, brighter, humming like a song that wanted to be screamed.
COURAGE AURA – OVERCHARGE
The gold tether between them flared.
And for one terrifying heartbeat, Joonseo felt it.
Not the system.
Not the buffs.
Leon’s pulse.
Leon’s steadiness.
As if the bond line had carried more than magic.
As if proximity was making them… bleed into each other.
Joonseo’s breath hitched.
The Linebreaker swung again. Leon took the hit–HP dropping fast. He grunted, jaw clenched, and then he drove his sword into the boss’s chest.
It shrieked, the sound half-static, half-human.
Joonseo’s UI flashed:
SKILL UNLOCKED (TEMPORARY): RESONANCE NOTE CONDITION: Party Bond Active + Emotional Stress
He stared at it, shocked.
Emotional stress?
The system was reading his fear like code.
Leon stumbled, knees flexing, pain finally catching up.
Joonseo didn’t think.
He cast the Resonance Note.
The sound that came out wasn’t a musical note.
It was a voice–Elizabeth’s voice, amplified, raw, resonant. It washed through the corridor like a wave, hitting the Linebreaker’s form and destabilizing it, making its pixels flicker and tear.
The boss staggered.
Leon took the opening and drove the blade deeper.
The Linebreaker shattered into a spray of pixel-light, collapsing like a building made of sand.
Silence fell.
Then the dungeon chimed.
GATE CLEARED. REWARD AVAILABLE.
Joonseo’s knees nearly buckled. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been clenching his muscles. His whole body shook, adrenaline draining fast.
Leon stood there breathing hard, sword lowered, chest heaving.
Then he turned.
His eyes locked onto Joonseo’s face, intense and bright with something that looked dangerously like relief and pride.
“We did it,” Leon whispered.
Joonseo’s throat tightened.
We.
The word made him feel sick.
Because it was true.
And because it felt good.
A window appeared in front of Joonseo:
LEVEL UP: ELIZABETH – LVL 2 SKILL POINT +1 NEW QUEST UNLOCKED: THE TRUTH WEIGHT
He stared at the last line.
Leon didn’t see it, or pretended not to.
He stepped closer, stopping just short of touching.
“Are you hurt?” Leon asked, voice suddenly gentle again.
Joonseo’s mouth opened, and the first thing that came out wasn’t anger.
It was honesty, unfiltered.
“I hate this,” Joonseo whispered.
Leon’s expression softened, pain flickering through it.
“I know,” Leon murmured. “But you’re alive.”
Joonseo swallowed hard.
He wanted to say: You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t want me.
He wanted to say: I’m not Elizabeth.
He wanted to say: I saved you in a game and now I’m paying for it in flesh.
Instead he stared at Leon’s face, at the sweat on his brow, at the way he’d taken hits meant for Elizabeth without hesitation.
And for the first time since the sky split, Joonseo felt something other than fear.
It was small.
It was ugly.
It was a whisper of something he didn’t want:
Gratitude.
The dungeon corridor shimmered.
A portal opened behind them, leading back to Seoul’s street–back to the world that was both real and not.
Leon nodded toward it.
“Let’s get back to the hub,” he said. “Then we’ll find a better safe zone. Somewhere with doors that lock.”
Joonseo’s stomach tightened at the idea of being trapped with Leon behind a locked door.
Not because he was afraid Leon would hurt him.
Because he was afraid of what his body–this body–might start to want.
He forced his voice sharp again, grabbing at cruelty like armor.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Joonseo said. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
Leon’s eyes flickered, wounded–but he didn’t argue.
He just nodded once.
“Okay,” he said softly.
But as they stepped through the portal back into Seoul, the gold tether between them pulsing like a heartbeat, Joonseo knew the truth was already forming in the space between them.
It meant something.
Even if it shouldn’t.
Even if it was built on a lie.
And somewhere deep in his UI–quiet, patient, inevitable–the system kept the quest active like a threat and a promise:
THE TRUTH WEIGHT