Antifragile

The island was silent.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an eerie golden hue over the water as if it was trying to cleanse the land of the bloodshed it had witnessed. But even the bright rays seemed unable to chase away the heavy cloud of dread that had settled over the group. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, a reminder of the world that continued to spin, indifferent to the suffering of those who lived upon it.

Inside the cave, the group was still, too still, as though they were afraid to move, lest the fragile illusion of peace shatter completely.

Sakura sat on the rocky floor, her legs drawn up to her chest, her head resting against the cold stone wall. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, staring at the ground, though she saw nothing. In the chaos of their escape, she had barely registered the loss of Yunjin—her death felt so sudden, so brutal, that it had taken a while for the grief to settle. But now, with the passing days, there was something else gnawing at her insides, something worse than the sorrow of Yunjin’s death. It was the unbearable, suffocating knowledge that Eunchae was slipping away.

Eunchae.

The youngest of them all.

The girl who had once laughed so easily, whose wide eyes were always filled with curiosity and wonder, now lay weak and feverish in the corner of the cave. The infection from the dirty sword wound had spread faster than anyone had anticipated, the toxic bacteria seeping into her body like poison. No amount of makeshift medicine, no amount of care or tenderness from Yena or Eunbi, could stop it.

Sakura heard the faint sound of muffled sobs, and her heart clenched. It was Yena. She had been so strong, so resilient, after the battles they’d fought, but now her shoulders shook with grief. She sat by Eunchae’s side, holding her hand, whispering soft words of comfort to the girl who had been like a little sister to her.

But the truth was there for everyone to see: Eunchae was not going to survive.

Sakura closed her eyes, the image of Eunchae’s face from when she had been struck still fresh in her mind. That sharp, agonizing scream. The blood. The way her small frame crumpled to the ground, her eyes wide with shock and pain. They had fought so hard to get her to safety, to get her away from the Yakuza, but now, after all they had been through, they were losing her anyway.

Her throat tightened as she felt the weight of it all.

They had lost Yunjin, and now they were about to lose Eunchae.

A quiet, fragile voice broke through the silence.

“Unnie… Sakura…”

It was Eunchae.

Sakura’s head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the girl’s eyes flutter open, her fevered face pale and streaked with sweat. Eunchae’s lips parted, her eyes struggling to focus on the faces around her, but it was clear she didn’t fully recognize them. The fever had taken most of her strength, leaving her barely conscious.

Sakura’s chest ached. She pushed herself to her feet, crossing the small space to kneel beside the girl, her hand gently brushing back a lock of hair from Eunchae’s forehead.

“Eunchae…” Sakura whispered, her voice trembling. “Eunchae, stay with us.”

The girl’s lips quivered as she managed a faint smile, though it was strained, almost painful to see. “Unnie... I’m sorry…” she whispered weakly.

“No,” Sakura shook her head, her heart sinking deeper with each passing moment. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’re going to be okay.”

Eunchae’s smile faded, replaced with a look of resignation. She turned her head, her gaze shifting to Yena, who was sitting close by, her face drawn with worry.

“Yena... unnie...” Eunchae’s voice was barely audible, but the desperation in it was enough to make Yena lean in closer.

“I’m here, Eunchae,” Yena whispered, her voice cracking. She reached out, gently wiping away the sweat from Eunchae’s face. “I’m here, you’re going to be okay.”

But even Yena’s comforting words couldn’t mask the fear in her eyes. Eunchae’s condition had worsened in the past few days, and no matter how many times they had tried to tend to the wound, the infection had spread too far. There was nothing more they could do.

Eunchae’s gaze drifted back to Sakura, her expression softening, as if she were trying to memorize her face. Sakura felt a lump rise in her throat, her heart heavy with the weight of the unspoken words.

“I’m sorry,” Eunchae repeated, her voice so faint it was almost lost in the air. “I couldn’t protect everyone…”

Tears welled up in Sakura’s eyes, but she swallowed them down, forcing herself to remain composed for the others. She could feel the weight of their gazes on her, the unsaid expectation that she would somehow make it all better, but the truth was that nothing could fix this. Nothing could bring Yunjin back, nothing could save Eunchae.

She was losing her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“You didn’t have to protect everyone, Eunchae,” Sakura whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Eunchae’s hand twitched in hers, her grip weak but still there. “Thank you…” she murmured. “For... everything…”

Sakura could hear the rattle in her breath, the way it came in shallow gasps, and it made her stomach turn. She wanted to tell Eunchae that everything was going to be okay, that they would find a way to save her, but the truth was too obvious. They were too far from any help. And even if they could get to a doctor, it was too late. The infection had already taken its toll.

As if sensing the hopelessness of the situation, Eunchae closed her eyes, her small body trembling slightly.

“No, no, Eunchae, stay with me,” Yena pleaded, her voice breaking as she leaned down to kiss the top of Eunchae’s head. “Please, you’re going to be okay.”

But it was too late. The grip in Sakura’s hand slackened. Eunchae’s breath stilled. Her small body went limp in Yena’s arms.

For a moment, the world stood still.

Sakura’s heart froze, her entire body going numb. She didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t want to face the reality that they had lost her. Eunchae was gone.

Yena’s cry shattered the silence, a mournful, guttural sound that made Sakura’s heart ache with a grief too deep for words. It was the kind of pain that carved its way into your soul, a wound that would never fully heal. Eunchae, the bright-eyed girl who had joined them full of hope, was gone. They had failed her.

Sakura stood frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe. The tears came in slow, silent waves, each one burning her face as she looked at the lifeless form of Eunchae. Her heart ached with the weight of the loss, and her mind screamed at her for not being able to protect her.

“We should’ve—” Yena began, but her words faltered, and she fell silent, cradling Eunchae’s body as if she could somehow bring her back, as if the warmth of her touch could revive her.

But nothing would.

Nothing could bring her back.

Sakura turned away, unable to watch anymore. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt empty. Hollow. Like the loss of one more person would be the final breaking point for her—if there was even anything left of her to break.

But they had to keep going. They had no choice. They couldn’t stop, couldn’t let their grief swallow them whole.

As the night deepened, the group held Eunchae’s body, their mourning silent but palpable. They had lost their youngest member, the heart of their group, and with her, they had lost something else: the last spark of innocence among them.

The island seemed colder now, as though it too mourned the loss.

And Sakura—Sakura had never felt so alone.