CHAPTER 4: The Light Behind the Door
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Ji-ho walked through the night like a ghost.
His body ached—deeply, invisibly—as if something inside him had been shattered and reassembled. Each breath burned, and every step felt heavier than the last. But he didn't stop.
His younger brother, Ye-jun, lay limp in his arms—breathing, but barely. Alive. Ji-ho had made sure of that.
Now, all that mattered was finding a safe place—anywhere the gangsters couldn't reach them.
The city around him glowed cold and indifferent, a maze of neon signs, shuttered stalls, and buzzing streetlights. People passed by, lost in their own world, too scared or too numb to notice a wounded boy cradling another through the back alleys of Seoul.
After what felt like hours of wandering, Ji-ho spotted it—a small clinic, tucked between an abandoned restaurant and an old cyber café. The windows were dusty. The sign above the door flickered weakly. But the door was unlocked.
He pushed inside.
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The room was dim, but not empty.
A woman stood near a sink, humming softly as she cleaned a tray of medical tools. She turned the moment she heard the door creak.
She was stunning—but not in the exaggerated way movies portrayed healers. She had elegance, quiet and effortless. Her long dark hair was tied in a low bun, strands falling naturally across her cheekbones. Her skin was pale with a healthy glow, eyes a rare shade of jade green, sharp yet warm. She wore a long white coat over a simple black top and leggings, like someone who didn't care for fashion but couldn't help looking beautiful.
She stepped back instinctively when she saw Ji-ho.
Her eyes darted to Ye-jun, then back to him.
Ji-ho's glowing red eyes hadn't faded completely, nor had the faint aura of power pulsing around him. His shirt was torn. Blood streaked his face. He looked more like a demon than a boy.
"Help him," he said, voice low and shaking. "Heal him."
The woman hesitated. "Who are you—?"
"I SAID HELP HIM!"
Ji-ho's arm flared with unstable energy, just enough to singe the air between them. Her expression changed from fear to understanding. Not because she wasn't scared—but because she'd seen this before.
People pushed too far.
People clinging to something worth dying for.
She nodded slowly. "Put him on the table. I'll need quiet."
Ji-ho laid Ye-jun down and backed away, barely able to stand himself. The woman raised her hands over the boy's chest, and a gentle light flowed from her palms—soft green, warm like sunlight filtering through leaves.
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Minutes passed. Then an hour. Ji-ho's vision swam. His knees gave out.
And he collapsed, unconscious.
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Later…
Ye-jun stirred first.
His eyelids fluttered open, then widened as he took in the white ceiling above him. The soft cotton sheets. The faint floral scent of antiseptic.
"Hyung…?"
He looked to his left.
Ji-ho lay on a second bed, covered with a blanket. His breathing was steady, but his face was pale with exhaustion.
Panic rose in Ye-jun's throat.
"What happened to him?!"
The woman walked in, holding a glass of water. Her coat was off now, revealing faint bruises on her arms—likely from carrying Ji-ho. But her expression was calm.
"He's alive," she said gently, placing the water by the bed. "He'll be okay."
Ye-jun's voice cracked. "Who are you? What did you do to him?!"
"I saved you both. Now calm down and listen." She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands.
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She began to explain everything.
How Ji-ho had barged into the clinic with wild, desperate eyes. How he had begged—no, demanded—that she save his brother. How power leaked off him like a leaking reactor, terrifying but unstable.
How he had refused to rest until she used her ability.
And how the moment she started healing Ye-jun… Ji-ho collapsed without a word.
She spent the next hour healing both of them in shifts. She worked in silence, ignoring her own fear, her own fatigue. When she was finished, Ji-ho was still unconscious—but healed.
"He never asked for anything," she said, voice quiet. "Except for you to live."
Ye-jun was silent for a long time, then whispered: "Thank you…"
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Later that night…
Ji-ho's eyes snapped open.
No pain.
No weight in his chest.
He sat up and stared at his hands—clean, whole, steady. He pulled his shirt aside. Not a scratch.
His injuries—burns, cuts, bruises—all gone.
He got out of bed and rushed down the hall. The sound of light laughter reached his ears. He followed it to a small kitchen.
There, sitting at a table, Ye-jun was eating soup and rice with the healer.
The tension in Ji-ho's body vanished the moment he saw his brother smiling.
"Hyung!" Ye-jun called out, waving his spoon. "She made food! And it's good!"
Ji-ho blinked. "…You're okay?"
Ye-jun nodded. "Thanks to you. And her."
The woman looked up and met Ji-ho's gaze.
"You scared me," she said softly. "But I'm glad you brought him to me."
Ji-ho stepped inside quietly, unsure what to say.
Ye-jun grinned. "She says we can rest here tonight. Said we looked like stray dogs."
Ji-ho exhaled—a long, grateful breath.
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That night, after the meal, Ji-ho stepped into a small guest room the woman had set up for them. The door creaked closed behind him.
He sat on the bed and opened his status window.
And froze.
Lines of text shimmered and shifted.
New traits. New titles. A strange new evolution symbol etched beside his name.
Ji-ho stared at it.
What… am I becoming?
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To be continued…
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