The Onlooker at the End of the Line

The door to the recovery hall was supposed to open from the inside.

Yet, on this particular morning, it wasn't patients standing before the door, but cameras.

Gimbals, folding lights, automatic tripods, and channel badges. People without hospital bracelets or Association treatment vouchers clung to the railings at the entrance of the recovery hall. They hadn't formed a line. They were surrounding the door like predators cornering their prey.

"Hey, is Kang Tae-san coming out of the recovery hall today?"

"If we get a shot of the actual Silent Thunder, our views will explode."

"It'll ruin the shot if the patients go first. Squeeze to the front before the door opens."

I sat on the bed behind the curtain, listening to their chatter.

The curtain was thin. A single sheet of white fabric was hardly enough to block their prying eyes. Cha Yu-ri deliberately hooked the curtain rings twice more. Silent Thunder wasn't by my side. It was tucked deep inside the storage locker, secured in its black mount. It wasn't hidden; we had simply decided not to show it.

"Unclench your fist."

"I haven't clenched it yet."

"I'm telling you to unclench it before you do."

Cha Yu-ri checked the vital patch on the back of my hand. Her voice was quiet, but her touch was firm.

"Those people didn't come to see a rescue."

"I know."

"They came to watch you get hit."

Her words were spot on.

Out in the hallway, Mun Ok-ja stood leaning on her cane, waiting for her turn to enter the recovery hall. Han Jae-o leaned against his guardian's shoulder, while Kim Do-sik sat in a chair, clutching a bag of medicine to his chest. Park Eun-hui had to walk slowly due to her thick bandages.

The cameras blocked their way.

"Excuse me, ma'am. You can't be in the frame."

A man with that badge around his neck blocked Mun Ok-ja.

Mun Ok-ja looked down at her cane.

"They told me to come in, so I came."

"Yes, I know. But we're currently waiting to film our main subject. Please step back a bit."

Main subject.

I went to curl my fingers into a fist but stopped. Cha Yu-ri was staring at my arm.

"That man's neck is not for your fingers to snap."

"I haven't done anything yet."

"You had the face of someone who was about to."

Just then, the sound of a chair dragging echoed from the end of the hallway.

Screeech.

Once.

Screeech.

And again.

Baek Ha-rin was dragging four folding chairs and an empty sign board. She didn't have her sword. Even her scabbard was nowhere to be seen. Instead, her hands gripped the legs of the chairs tightly. Her expression was that of someone dragging chairs instead of drawing a blade.

"What are you doing? We're filming here."

The ShieldCam guy snapped in irritation.

Baek Ha-rin didn't answer. She placed one chair not in front of the recovery hall, but at the very end of the hallway, right next to the restroom sign. She lined up the second, third, and fourth chairs right behind it.

Then, she flipped the sign board.

The HunterTube creators stirred in unison.

"We have press credentials, you know."

"And the fans are waiting too."

"If you're fans, then go even further back."

Baek Ha-rin replied curtly.

"If you came to watch, get in the spectator line."

The man smirked.

"You don't even have your sword. How do you plan on making us line up?"

Baek Ha-rin didn't push his shoulder. Instead, she lightly nudged one of the automatic tripods he had set up in front of Mun Ok-ja with the toe of her shoe. The tripod didn't fall. However, its wheel locks released, and it rolled quietly behind the man's knees.

"Sit."

The man tried to resist.

Just then, the tip of the gimbal he was holding thrust toward the curtain. The lens was about to brush against the white fabric.

A low rumble vibrated from the storage locker next to the bed.

Thud.

Silent Thunder wasn't drawn. The locker didn't even open. However, the black counterweight beneath the locker sank a fraction of an inch into the floor. The patient protection rail installed at the threshold of the recovery hall absorbed the weight.

And it clamped down precisely on the line the lens had crossed.

Click.

A thin metal latch popped up from the rail groove in front of the curtain. The gimbal rod got caught in between. The camera plunged face-first, pointing at the floor instead of the patient.

The ShieldCam guy yanked on it frantically.

"Hey! Why won't it come loose?!"

The harder he pulled, the tighter the gimbal handle's automatic stabilizer locked. The lens couldn't capture Mun Ok-ja's cane, nor could it capture my curtain. Instead, it only showed a close-up of the man's own shoes and the yellow treatment line on the floor.

The live chat began to scroll rapidly.

Cha Yu-ri looked at the screen and let out a soft sigh.

"Good. At least it's looking down on its own this time."

I opened my hand.

"I didn't do it."

"I know. That's why I like it even better."

Lee Na-gyeong walked over from the other side of the hallway, holding a collection bag. She stared at the gimbal stuck in the floor and spoke in a dry, emotionless voice.

"Intrusion of the patient protection line. Sealing the recording device."

"This is property damage!"

The ShieldCam guy shrieked.

Lee Na-gyeong pointed at the rail.

"It is not damaged. Your equipment was caught because it crossed an unauthorized line."

Baek Ha-rin dragged a chair right behind him.

"Now, sit down for real."

The man tried to resist. But the gimbal wouldn't budge, and the broadcast screen was still showing the floor. Ultimately, he slumped into the chair. With his stream still live, he sat at the very end of the spectator line.

Only then did Mun Ok-ja walk forward.

The sound of her cane echoed.

Tap.

Tap.

This time, no one blocked her path.

Kim Do-sik followed with his medicine bag tucked close, and Han Jae-o's guardian adjusted their grip on the boy's shoulder. Park Eun-hui crossed the threshold of the recovery hall slowly, but on her own two feet.

The ShieldCam guy gritted his teeth as he sat in the chair.

"This is all being recorded live. Public opinion will—"

Baek Ha-rin gestured toward his camera screen with her chin.

"Yeah. It's capturing your knees beautifully."

Indeed, his knees dominated the screen. Over them, the yellow sealing sticker Lee Na-gyeong had slapped on was clearly visible.

The spectators backed away one by one. They weren't pushed; they walked away on their own after seeing their channel names pop up on the enforcement screen. The HunterTube badges retreated from the recovery hall. The chairs at the end of the hallway began to fill up.

Cha Yu-ri parted the curtain slightly.

Mun Ok-ja spotted me as she walked past. She tried to bow her head, but Cha Yu-ri gently stopped her.

"You may head inside."

Mun Ok-ja smiled.

"Looks like that fellow is at the end of the line today."

I couldn't find anything to say.

Silent Thunder remained quiet inside the locker. The curtain closed, and the recovery hall door opened wide for the patients.

At the end of the hallway, the ShieldCam broadcast was still running.

But the screen no longer showed my bed, Silent Thunder, or the patients' faces.

Only the knees of the spectator sitting at the end of the line and the yellow text in front of him remained.

But the ShieldCam guy didn't stop there.

Still sitting in the chair, he tapped the donation window with his finger. A small progress bar popped up at the bottom of the screen.

He grinned, baring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his teeth.

"What the fans want to see is what's inside anyway. Once the donation goal is met, even the hospital won't be able to stop us."

Before he could even finish his sentence, his donation bar shook violently, flashing red. The device reacted even though Lee Na-gyeong wasn't looking at the screen.

The color drained from the ShieldCam guy's face.

"Wait, a settlement suspension? That can't be applied to the whole channel..."

Baek Ha-rin rested her arms on the back of her chair.

"You wouldn't budge for the patients, but you sure move fast when money is on the line."

He tried to leap to his feet. However, the chair legs, the gimbal rod, and the protection rail had locked him in place at the end of the line. His body was perfectly fine. He hadn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been hit anywhere. Yet, there was no way for him to move forward.

Cha Yu-ri spoke softly from inside the curtain.

"Tae-san."

"I'm not going out."

"I like that answer today."

I looked outside. Mun Ok-ja sat in a chair inside the recovery hall, and Kim Do-sik set down his medicine bag, finally letting his hands rest. Park Eun-hui crossed the threshold without looking back. Han Jae-o glanced at the spectators and let his lips curl up slightly.

That small smile was the most satisfying part.

The man who sold views was now broadcasting only his own knees. The screen that used to count donations now displayed his suspended payout. The line that once pushed patients aside had placed him at the very back.

I looked at my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠empty hand, which held no Silent Thunder.

Even without a weapon, there were lines that had to be drawn.

Cha Yu-ri pressed down lightly on the back of my hand.

"What is your pain level right now?"

"Three."

"Including your anger."

"Four."

"Good. Keep it there."

At the end of the hallway, the ShieldCam guy muttered one last time.

"If I just edit this—"

Lee Na-gyeong turned his phone screen to face him.

Baek Ha-rin smirked.

"Congratulations. You're going to go viral with the unedited footage today."

The ShieldCam guy couldn't say another word.

Inside the recovery hall, the patients' names were called out in order.

They were the names of people, not channels.

Those voices lingered far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠longer than the donation alerts at the end of the hallway.

A moment later, the hospital's PA system broadcasted an announcement.

"Resuming guardian access to the recovery hall."

The air in the hallway shifted with that single, short sentence. Guardian bags and medicine envelopes passed through the space just occupied by camera lenses. Instead of someone's view count, someone's next treatment took priority.

Han Jae-o raised his hand hesitantly toward the curtain.

"Tae-san."

I looked at him.

"I saw it. You can win without even stepping out."

I was slow to answer.

Winning without stepping out.

The old me didn't know how to win like that. I used to think that if I didn't stand in front, I was abandoning them. I was taught that if I didn't take the hit, I couldn't protect anyone. But today was different. While I stayed behind the curtain, Baek Ha-rin set up the line, Lee Na-gyeong sealed the equipment, and the patients went inside in their proper order.

And Silent Thunder only rumbled once, deeply, inside the locker.

I felt strangely pleased that Cha Yu-ri wasn't frightened when she heard that rumble. Instead, she was looking at my hand.

"You liked what Han Jae-o just said, didn't you?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"Yes. Your hand didn't close all the way."

Baek Ha-rin turned her head as if she had overheard from the end of the hallway.

"You should praise me too. I dragged four chairs all this way."

Cha Yu-ri replied in all seriousness.

"You did well too, Ha-rin. For not drawing your sword."

Baek Ha-rin was left speechless.

"Don't say it with such a straight face."

Han Jae-o burst out laughing. The tension inside the recovery hall eased slightly. The ShieldCam guy was still sitting at the end of the line, his broadcast locked in preservation mode. But no one spared him a glance anymore.

The star he wanted to capture remained behind the curtain.

The patients he had pushed aside walked through the door.

And on that chair at the end of the hallway, for the first time in his life, he became someone waiting for others to heal.