I Became a Raid Boss

Premature baby, or preterm baby.

An infant born before 37 weeks of gestation.

Due to not having enough time to fully grow before birth, these babies typically have weak bodies and, in many cases, face a high risk of mortality.

Joanie, also known as Da-eun, was one of those premature babies.

She was born before she could reach full term and was placed in an incubator before she could even feel the warmth of her parents’ embrace.

Fortunately, there was no tragic scenario of her lonely breaths stopping inside the incubator. However, she was never as healthy as other children.

There were times when she was bedridden with a fever for days on end, and other times when she fell into a coma due to respiratory issues.

Because she was inherently frail, young Da-eun’s childhood was filled with frequent illnesses, making her a regular visitor at the hospital as if it were her second home.

Especially around the time she was supposed to start elementary school, she was struck by a severe illness, resulting in a long-term hospital stay instead of attending school.

While others were mingling with their peers, fighting, reconciling, and studying at school, Da-eun had to lie in a hospital bed, battling her illnesses day by day.

Because of this, Da-eun had no memories of elementary or middle school and no friends to share such memories with.

Even so, she was considered fortunate.

Her family was financially stable, so she never had to worry about medical bills. Her parents never saw her poor health as a burden and always cared for her with love.

Considering the families that fell apart from the strain of long-term caregiving or those who crumbled under the overwhelming weight of ever-growing medical expenses, Da-eun’s situation could be considered a blessing.

Although she knew this…

“But I couldn’t help but feel empty.”

Her childhood stolen by illness.

The frustration of being confined to a hospital.

The loneliness of not having a single friend with whom she could share childhood memories.

These feelings still haunted Da-eun strongly, even now that she was older.

It was for these reasons that she started traveling.

She thought that by venturing out into the wide world and experiencing many things, she could finally release the pent-up frustrations that had accumulated during her long battle with illness.

Driven by this thought, Da-eun passionately learned languages and pursued higher education. The moment she was old enough to travel alone, she began journeying through various regions and countries.

This was only possible thanks to the support of her parents, who felt sympathy for Da-eun, who had been unwell since birth.

Sometimes, she would casually mention that she had been in poor health when she was young and that she loved to travel.

Because of this, her viewers knew about it, but never before had Da-eun shared her past in such detail.

Absentmindedly, Da-eun’s eyes swept over the chat window.

Even though she had shared a part of her past that she had never spoken of before, the chat room remained quiet.

‘Of course.’

She had already ended the stream before climbing this hill.

Her viewers had clamored, but she had ended the stream abruptly without leaving any room for questions.

It wasn’t because she felt ashamed of sharing her past.

With a deep sigh, Da-eun looked at the girl standing in front of her.

Non-Player Character.

In short, NPC.

The girl wasn’t a player like Da-eun who enjoyed the game, but a resident of Silia Online created artificially by the game developers.

She was nothing more than a program composed of zeroes and ones, thinking and acting as programmed by the developers.

Even knowing that Silia Online boasted a level of AI sophistication incomparable to other games up to now—

‘…Even so.’

Whenever Da-eun looked into the girl’s eyes or spoke with her, it felt like she was conversing with an actual person.

At first, it was out of curiosity.

The curiosity of wanting to uncover the Raid Boss that no one had yet conquered.

It was mere curiosity that drove Da-eun up the mountain, but the moment she saw the girl, she was completely captivated.

“I’ve always wanted a little sister.”

Even Da-eun couldn’t remember exactly why.

She could only guess that, having been unable to connect with her peers since childhood, she had unconsciously wished for someone to fill that void.

Or perhaps she wanted to share the love she received from her parents with someone else.

However, she couldn’t say such things to her parents, who were busy taking care of her, so her interest naturally shifted towards small and cute animals.

Though, since she was often away from home, keeping pets was out of the question.

Then, Da-eun found Kana.

“…I won’t deny it.”

Yes.

The reason Da-eun clung to Kana was that she thought Kana could fill the emptiness in her heart.

Da-eun finally confessed the emotions she had been hiding deep inside.

Someone whom you view as a mere substitute for fulfilling your own desires—a truth you wanted to hide forever out of shame.

“But not anymore.”

The more time Da-eun spent with the girl, and the more she got to know her, the more the girl appeared differently in Da-eun’s eyes.

Her stoic demeanor was no longer a sign of indifference, but rather a shield to protect herself from getting hurt again.

The way she tended to the flower garden was the girl’s own way of remembering her deceased benefactor and father.

Though she seemed uninterested in forming connections, always pushing people away, she also displayed a weakness to those who persisted.

If she truly disliked people approaching her, she would never have shared her name, saved them from multiple life-threatening situations, or even tolerated Da-eun’s presence without pushing her away coldly.

Gravekeeper, the worst Raid Boss, Silia Online’s idol, the Master Swordsman, the Empire’s arch-nemesis, and so on…

The girl had many titles, but in Da-eun’s eyes, she was just an honest yet untruthful child.

A child who yearned for warmth yet hid away, afraid of the wounds others might inflict.

That was how Da-eun saw Kana.

According to Aeron, Kana had a rather unfortunate past, which likely contributed to her behavior.

This made Da-eun feel pity for Kana.

She wanted to hold the girl’s hand and let her feel warmth.

She wanted to see a smile on her otherwise stoic face.

Just like how her parents had done for her long ago.

“Can you believe just this one thing? That I truly like you, Kana?”

Just as she had overcome her own illness, she hoped that this young girl, too, could overcome her scars.

Da-eun, smiling gently, pulled something out of her inventory.

“Kana, would you hold out your hand?”

“….”

It was a plain silver bracelet, without any elaborate decoration, but it exuded a subtle charm because of its simplicity.

When Da-eun had been debating whether to buy a necklace or a bracelet back in Ordo, she remembered that Kana already wore a black choker around her neck, so she chose the bracelet instead.

It wouldn’t suit Kana to receive a necklace when she already had a choker.

Afterwards, due to the commotion that ensued, Da-eun had missed the opportunity to give it to Kana and had kept it quietly in her inventory until now.

Holding Kana’s hand, Da-eun gently slipped the bracelet onto her wrist.

“…There!”

Da-eun smiled brightly as she examined Kana’s hand, still holding it.

“Yes, I knew it would look good on you. I really do have an eye for these things. Well, maybe it’s because anything would look good on you.”

Could there even be anything that wouldn’t suit her?

Even wearing rags would look good on her, so there was no way a bracelet like this wouldn’t.

“I wanted to give it to you back in Ordo, but it somehow ended up being a farewell gift….”

Oh, but I’m not saying this because I want you to take back your decision.

Da-eun quickly added, afraid that Kana might misunderstand and see it as a bribe.

“I just want you to remember that there was someone like me.”

As Da-eun’s long, heartfelt speech finally came to an end, Kana stood still, without saying a word.

Whether she was listening or not, or whether she was letting it go in one ear and out the other—

No one knew for sure, but Da-eun believed that Kana was listening to her.

“….”

“….”

The streets that had been bustling even at night were now quiet, the lights that had illuminated the city one by one disappeared, and now, even the faint moonlight was obscured by the clouds, casting darkness over Kana’s face, which Da-eun had been looking at.

Perhaps enchanted by the magic of the night.

Still holding Kana’s hand tightly, Da-eun spoke impulsively.

“You know… I can’t give you the details, but the truth is, I’m not from the continent across the sea, but from somewhere even farther away, somewhere very, very far.”

Flinch.

Kana’s hand twitched slightly in Da-eun’s grasp.

The residents of Silia believed that players like Da-eun came to the Ardina Continent, guided by Edel, from the continent across the sea.

Kana was probably surprised because what she had known wasn’t actually true.

That’s what Da-eun assumed.

“…I know.”

“…Huh? Uh… You know?”

“…”

Da-eun was surprised once at Kana finally speaking up, and twice at the content of her reply.

But only for a moment.

Regaining her composure quickly, Da-eun smiled softly.

“Everyone else doesn’t know, but of course, Kana is smart enough to figure it out.”

It’s probably because she’s been to the continent across the sea, Da-eun assumed, brushing it off like that.

“This is a secret, but my name back home isn’t Joanie. When I think about it, it’s not fair that Kana told me her name, yet I didn’t share mine. So, I’ll tell you mine too. W-well, I know I’m not really in a position to talk about keeping secrets, but…”

She whispered softly.

“‘Shin Da-eun.’ That’s my name.”

If we meet again someday, could you call me by this name then?

Just at that moment, the clouds parted, and the moonlight once again shone upon them.

Under the moon’s glow, Kana’s face revealed an expression Da-eun had never seen before—one filled with sorrow.

‘…Ah, I finally understand.’

Da-eun could now finally put a name to her emotions.

This wasn’t pity, sympathy, or mere admiration.

It was all those things intertwined—an attachment.

She knew, without a doubt, that no matter how much time passed, she would never be able to let go of this child from her heart.

Swish.

Kana reached out her hand.

The small hand gently touched Da-eun’s cheek.

The very same spot where Kana’s sword had grazed her earlier that morning.

Each time Kana’s fingers brushed against the wound, Da-eun felt a faint burning sensation on her cheek.

But she didn’t even glance at her health bar.

Instead, as Da-eun looked up, she noticed that the clouds obscuring the moon had completely vanished.

Kana, who had been gently caressing Da-eun’s wound for quite some time, turned around.

One step, two steps.

As Kana walked slowly away from Da-eun, she suddenly turned back.

The girl’s small lips parted slightly.

***

“So, have you made up your mind?”

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