I PICKED UP A CHILD IN A DUMPSTER

Chapter 176 176: W-why... why did this happen... what's happening...

Piece by piece, and piece by piece.

The fire on the far wall was getting louder, the crackling sound climbing in pitch as it found new material, and the smoke was thickening around them fast enough that each breath came with a slight resistance.

Then—

Two hands appeared in the gap.

One small. Child sized. Fingers slightly curled. And beside it, an adult hand, palm upward, completely still.

Jisoo moved forward without a word and pressed two fingers against each wrist in turn. The motion was practiced. Quick. Clinical in a way that came from having done it enough times that emotion had been separated from the action entirely.

She pulled her hand back.

"They're dead."

The words landed in the room like something physical.

Han's crying broke into something louder and more broken, the sound of it filling the burning classroom while smoke drifted between them and the fire crackled closer on the wall behind them.

Si Hon stayed exactly where he was, kneeling in front of the gap in the debris, staring at those two hands. The small one. The still one.

His breathing started going wrong again.

Not the quiet internal kind from before. The visible kind— chest moving too fast, shoulders rising with each inhale, hands pressing hard against the floor in front of him like he needed something solid to push against.

He stayed like that for several seconds without speaking while Han cried behind him and the fire continued growing and Jisoo stood to one side watching him with an expression that had gone carefully neutral.

Then Si Hon turned and looked at Han. Both hands gripped Han's shoulders again, firmer this time. "What happened. Tell me exactly."

Han tried. Between sobs, between the hitching inhales that kept interrupting him— the words came out in pieces.

(Earlier)

Seong had spotted them. She was moving toward them when the building shook the first time and a falling chunk of ceiling had caught her across the head, dropping her instantly.

Han had started moving first while Seong was down and then the building shook again, harder, and Suha had seen the debris coming before he did and she had run toward him and—

Han couldn't finish it.

He didn't need to.

Si Hon looked up at Jisoo.

She was already looking at him. And something in her expression said she already knew what was in his head before he opened his mouth— that particular calm of someone who had seen this specific moment enough times to recognize it approaching.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I know." A pause. "Let me ask you anything later then. Deal?"

She crossed the distance between them, took his hand, and guided it upward toward her own neck with a steadiness that had no hesitation in it anywhere.

Like this was just a practical solution to a logistical problem. Like she had done this before. Like she would do it again.

"Go ahead," she said. "Don't worry about it."

Si Hon's hand stayed where she'd placed it.

"If we regress," he said. His voice had gone rough. "Does everyone reset? Or do they stay—"

"Everyone resets," Jisoo said. "Like nothing happened. Nobody stays."

Si Hon's fingers tightened slightly.

Then he stopped.

Jisoo suddenly tripped backward after stepping on broken debris behind, and because she was still holding Si Hon's sleeve, she accidentally pulled him down with her too. She landed flat on the floor with a grunt while Si Hon crashed directly on top of her, both hands still on her neck.

Something behind his eyes shifted. The hesitation sat visibly on his face, his jaw tight, his hand not moving, and Jisoo watched him not do it for several seconds with the patience of someone who understood exactly why it was hard and was choosing not to comment on it.

Then small footsteps.

Han appeared above Jisoo's head, standing there with tear streaked cheeks and concrete dust in his hair and both small hands cupped together in front of him.

"ᚠᚤᚱ. ᚱᛟᚲ. ᛋᛈᛁᚲ." He muttered.

Around those hands, something moved— thin threads of fire peeling away from the burning wall and winding between his fingers, responding to something he was pulling from himself rather than from the room.

The fire gathered and compressed, changing color slightly as it condensed, and then solidified into something hard and angular and pointed resting in his palm.

Han looked at Jisoo. Then at Si Hon.

"Dad." His voice was still cracking but there was something underneath it that hadn't been there a moment ago. Something that had decided. "Is she the regressor?"

"Han." Si Hon's voice dropped. "Don't look."

Han's wet eyes moved to Jisoo's face. "I'll save them," he said. Simply. "I'll make us regress."

"Han." Firmer this time.

"Let him do it." Jisoo's voice came out quieter than before. Less flat. Something underneath it that was almost— not quite, but almost— something other than calm. "Honestly that's... yeah. Okay."

She looked up at Si Hon.

Her hand found his wrist and her fingers wrapped around it, not guiding this time, just holding. Steady. And when she spoke again her voice had dropped lower, meant only for the space between them.

"Don't worry about the kid," she said. "And don't hesitate." A pause. Her eyes stayed on his face. "You want to know something? I've lived this day four thousand, eight hundred and twenty-one times."

The fire crackled.

Han's hands shook slightly around the thing he was holding.

Si Hon's grip tightened.

Then tightened more.

Then —

Crack.

The sound was small. Quieter than the fire. Quieter than Han crying somewhere behind them. Just a small, final sound, and then Jisoo Park stopped moving beneath him, and the classroom was exactly as loud as it had been before, which somehow felt wrong— like the room should have acknowledged it somehow and didn't.

Si Hon stayed where he was.

Breathing.

Waiting for the white.

Waiting for chalk sounds and fluorescent lights and thirty students who didn't know anything.

But the white didn't come.

The fire crackled.

Smoke drifted.

Han stood a few feet away still holding the thing in his hands, tear tracks drying on his face, looking at Si Hon with wide eyes that were waiting for something to happen.

Nothing happened.

Si Hon looked down.

Then slowly— very slowly— looked up at Han.