OVER ME [ZEROBASEONE]

XX.

The room was cloaked in a suffocating silence, as if the very air had conspired to weigh them down. No one dared to move; even the faintest shuffle would feel sacrilegious. Not a single sound pierced the heavy stillness, save for the faint hum of the heart monitor, which had been flatlining in a cruel, unbroken tone.

Fyona was dead.

That was what Matthew had said, his voice trembling, breaking like brittle glass as he delivered the words no one wanted to hear. And yet, they were hurt.

But why?

Wasn't this the outcome half of them had secretly yearned for? The dark wish they never voiced aloud but let fester in the corners of their hearts?

Then why did it feel like grief now clawed at their insides, hollowing them out?

Gunwook, the one they all called the toughest among them, stood rooted to the spot. He had been the loudest to demand her removal, her banishment—anything to rid their territory of her presence. Yet now, as the finality of her death loomed before him, it felt as though his heart had been torn asunder.

His eyes, usually sharp and unyielding, were clouded, almost unrecognizable, as they locked with Matthew's. Matthew's gaze bore into him, laced with disappointment so potent it was almost a physical blow. Gunwook's grip on the older man's collar faltered, his hands falling limply to his sides, the strength that had always defined him now conspicuously absent.

What's wrong with me?

The question rang in his head, each syllable scraping against the raw edges of his confusion. Wasn't this what he wanted? The thing he had wished for since the moment she stepped into their lives?

Why am I sad?

No answer came. His mind, usually a storm of thoughts and strategies, was eerily quiet, as if afraid to confront the truth. All he knew was that her absence felt like a gaping wound he couldn't explain.

Almost against his will, Gunwook took a step forward, closer to the lifeless form of Fyona. His breath hitched as his gaze settled on her face—so serene, so eerily at peace. Foam clung to the edges of her lips, stark against her pallid skin, drying with every passing second.

His hand moved on its own, trembling as it reached for hers. When his fingers finally brushed against hers, he recoiled slightly. They were cold. Unforgivably cold. It was the kind of cold that spoke of permanence.

She was really gone.

Gunwook's eyes tracing every detail of her face as though trying to memorize it. There was no warmth, no spark of life. Just the unyielding stillness of death. And yet, inexplicably, he wished it wasn't her lying there. He wished it was someone else—anyone else.

He wished it were his mother, the woman who had cast him aside the moment he was born, or his father, whose existence was so nebulous that Gunwook wasn't even sure if the man was alive.

The thought brought an ache so deep it felt like his chest might collapse under its weight.

A single tear, unbidden and unnoticed, welled up in his eye and slipped down his cheek. It was an act of betrayal to the image he had spent years cultivating, and yet he didn't care. Let them see, he thought bitterly. Let them witness his grief.

The tear traced a path down his face, gathering weight as it clung briefly to his chin before surrendering to gravity. It fell, soundless and insignificant, onto Fyona's cheek.

The room remained silent, oppressive. And then—

A sound.

It was faint at first, a tremor in the monotone drone of the heart monitor. A glitch, perhaps? But then it came again, steady and rhythmic. Beep. Beep. Beep.