I Became the Drug-Addicted Childhood Friend

Translator: Elisia

Editor/Proofreader: SemiPickle

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Even if I told him to shut up, the fake Han Si-Hoo would never close his mouth.

“Han Si-Hoo, how should I put this… Your very existence feels contrived. Yoo Seo-Ah is the same. At first glance, she seems proactive and independent, but in reality, she’s extremely passive.”

“…What?”

“It’s because you’ve lost your purpose. You were created for the sake of a story about saving the world.”

He spoke as if he pitied me.

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Should I even say this?”

The fake Han Si-Hoo smiled as if he was enjoying himself.

“Wow, should I really say it? Seriously? It’s going to be hard to believe.”

What could he possibly be trying to say?

There was something Han Si-Hoo didn’t know.

“What…”

“Seo-Ah already knew this uncomfortable truth.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve given you enough hints, and you still don’t get it? Nothing’s even crossed your mind?”

The fake Han Si-Hoo glanced briefly toward the Saintess.

As if unwilling to share the information with her, he leaned closer to Han Si-Hoo and whispered.

“Hey, what does Seo-Ah call you?”

“Si-Hoo… just Si-Hoo.”

“Not your name.”

“…She doesn’t really call me anything else.”

Nothing came to mind.

The way Seo-Ah addressed Han Si-Hoo was usually just “Si-Hoo” with a soft smile afterward.

“No, come on. There’s that thing.”

That thing?

Han Si-Hoo tried desperately to recall.

“Si-Hoo, Si-Hoo.”

And then… what did she call him?

– “Si-Hoo, you are…”

You are… What was it?

All he could remember was thinking that Seo-Ah said something strange.

It was something she mentioned during her odd moments—a phrase he’d heard a few times.

– “You’re the protagonist…”

“Protagonist?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you are.”

“What…?”

“A protagonist. In a book, a movie, a game—whatever. You’re that protagonist.”

Han Si-Hoo thought about it.

If he were the protagonist of a story, it would surely be a tragedy.

One filled with absurd and relentless misfortune.

From afar, perhaps it would look like a comedy?

“Meanwhile, Yoo Seo-Ah is an extra.”

“……”

“But Seo-Ah learned this truth. She saw a future where she dies.”

“What… do you mean…”

Han Si-Hoo couldn’t understand.

“So, she ran away. But what happens if an actor abandons their role and runs away?”

The play collapses.

Because the actor refuses to perform.

“It all fell apart. The play itself. No happy ending, the protagonist couldn’t shine, world peace became impossible.”

“In a way, Yoo Seo-Ah is a traitor to humanity. She did this despite knowing everything.”

“What nonsense…”

“I’m like Seo-Ah’s conscience. I’ve always told her what the right path was. But look where we are now.”

The fake Han Si-Hoo let out a sigh.

Then he raised his voice, as if reaching a part where even the Saintess could hear.

“Everything I said is true. At least from Yoo Seo-Ah’s perspective. What did they call it? An inner world?”

He turned to the Saintess.

“Y-Yes… I’ve never seen anything like it before, but…”

The Saintess stuttered her reply.

“There you go. Seo-Ah’s inner world is like this. I’ve just explained things from her point of view. She can’t even explain it herself now because she’s lost her memories.”

“…I…”

Han Si-Hoo still couldn’t accept the truth.

The protagonist?

Of some play?

A fabricated story?

But that couldn’t be.

This was a vivid reality, no matter how you looked at it.

An actor going off script?

It started to make some sense.

The fake Han Si-Hoo claimed that Han Si-Hoo had a purpose.

Seo-Ah expected him to do something, too.

She believed he was the protagonist.

Someone who would save the world.

“A magnificent hero destined to save the world, right? Even the Saintess probably feels the same.”

“…Nonsense.”

I could never be such a remarkable person.

No one is born a protagonist from the start.

I understand that everyone is the protagonist of their own life.

But if life itself were planned out, that would be a problem.

The fake Han Si-Hoo lowered his voice again.

“Think about it. Why didn’t Seo-Ah ever tell you this truth? All she had to say was, ‘You’re just a character in a story, the future is already decided.’”

“Stop making ridiculous claims.”

“I kept asking, didn’t I? What are you doing? The real Han Si-Hoo has already saved the world.”

“……”

It could just be the sound of Seo-Ah’s inner voice.

There was no evidence.

It could be a ploy to shake Han Si-Hoo’s resolve.

But strangely, it felt believable.

Why was that?

Looking at Seo-Ah’s and the fake Han Si-Hoo’s actions so far, it made sense.

“The script is a mess. Then you need to improvise. Don’t you know about ad-libbing? Famous actors often create iconic scenes like that.”

The script had suddenly gone awry.

Even the audience watching would be bewildered.

And then they’d think, “Ah, this must also be part of the play.”

As they kept watching, they’d accept it.

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

Even if it were true, what would change?

“Only you and Seo-Ah know this. The doctor… might have an inkling, but they could never imagine that this world itself is fake.”

Yoo Seo-Ah had once muttered to the doctor that Han Si-Hoo was the protagonist of something.

The doctor probably dismissed it as strange ramblings.

“Well, what does it matter what you do? You’re just a character anyway. The real story is elsewhere… This world is just, let’s say, an if story.”

“No matter what you do, it doesn’t matter.”

“The only one who knows this now, besides Seo-Ah… is you.”

The fake Han Si-Hoo had vanished without a trace.

Only the whispering voice and the lingering darkness remained.

“Do whatever you want. Seo-Ah deceived you too. Everything’s fake, so what does it matter?”

“Think about it. There’s no way Awakeners or magic could actually exist. What is this, some kind of kids’ manga?”

“Gates, dungeons, items—those are just elements you’d find in a video game.”

I had thought this world was strange for a long time.

Somebody swings a sword and suddenly gets a swordsmanship skill, or runs fast and gains a sprinting skill…

It was ridiculous, like a childish game.

It was definitely strange.

The more I thought about it, the stranger it became.

“The writer of the original story is like a god. And that god abandoned this world because the actors threw away their scripts and acted on their own.”

“If there’s no god, there’s no justice. There’s no absolute standard to judge sin. Without god, morality and laws are just vague appeals to conscience.”

“That’s why the people who tormented you never faced punishment. It’s a world abandoned by its god—the writer. The narrative of good triumphing over evil disappeared, and the opposite took its place.”

Han Si-Hoo sank into the darkness, lost in thought.

Indeed, neither Han Si-Hoo nor Yoo Seo-Ah had received any help.

They had appealed to the authorities.

To the people who said to trust them.

To institutions that seemed benevolent.

But those feelings—those crushing emotions…

The despair that comes when the final bastion you believed in crumbles beneath you.

The people who promised to help offered lukewarm responses when the time came.

It had always been like that.

In the slums, they were treated like trash—left alive, but not cared for.

Those who’ve experienced that particular kind of despair know it well.

It breaks your spirit.

It drains your strength.

Your voice trembles, and the words won’t come out.

But I endured!

Han Si-Hoo was the protagonist.

He had to protect Seo-Ah.

And then, by some contrived twist of fate…

By coincidence, Han Si-Hoo and Yoo Seo-Ah were separated.

By coincidence, Seo-Ah ended up using the drugs spread by the doctor.

By coincidence, and by coincidence again…

Misfortune gave birth to more misfortune.

What kind of crappy story was this?

“Ha… Haha. Yeah, you’re right.”

“-Han Si-Hoo?”

The Saintess had been calling to him from the side.

“A-Are you okay?”

Of course not.

And it didn’t matter anymore.

“Let’s get out of here. My powers are at their limit anyway…”

Crash.

The space shattered.

I escaped from what felt like a hallucinatory world.

Seo-Ah was still sleeping.

Seo-Ah had kept a secret from Han Si-Hoo.

The fact that this world was fake.

So that’s why she had been so tormented by her own existence.

Han Si-Hoo stared blankly at Seo-Ah.

Was this the only way I could ever understand her?

“…Han Si-Hoo? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I leave now? I’d like to rest.”

The Saintess spoke hesitantly, as if uneasy.

The biggest issue was her contact with the fake Han Si-Hoo.

She didn’t know what conversation had taken place, but the atmosphere around Han Si-Hoo had changed drastically.

“No.”

“W-What?”

“You’re still useful.”

“Wha…”

Han Si-Hoo had made up his mind.

The world was rotten, fake from the ground up.

The problem wasn’t because Han Si-Hoo or Yoo Seo-Ah had done something terribly wrong.

It was because the world itself was fundamentally broken.

Click.

In an instant, a collar was locked around the Saintess’s neck.

“A-Ah? What is this—”

“This is what it’s originally meant for.”

It wasn’t for Seo-Ah.

It was meant for someone like the Saintess.

Mana-suppressing collars were truly convenient.

Based on what Han Si-Hoo had researched, there were a few restrictions when using the collar, but none of that mattered now.

“S-Si-Hoo?”

“You like this kind of thing, don’t you? You even liked it when I trampled over you.”

Han Si-Hoo spoke with a laugh.

Now, he wasn’t even sure if the fake Han Si-Hoo had really been fake.

Something inside Han Si-Hoo had broken.

There was no reason to treat others as individuals anymore.

They were just puppets, controlled like he was.

Fakes.

“T-This is—”

The Saintess was trembling.

Her fear was abnormally intense.

Han Si-Hoo understood.

She had already been captured and experimented on once before.

So, it made sense that being restrained like this would trigger her trauma.

But that didn’t matter.

Now, I’ll do whatever it takes for Seo-Ah.

Anything at all.

There were no limits anymore.