The Seoul of Nitrian's early years was a city of grit and noise, a sprawling maze of concrete and neon where the air always carried the faint tang of exhaust. It was a time before the gates, before the world turned upside down, when life was simple but heavy for families like his. Nitrian was born into this world, a small bundle with black curly hair that sprang out in every direction and green eyes that seemed to hold a spark of something ancient, even as a baby. By the time he was three, he was a whirlwind of energy, racing through the park near their apartment, his laughter echoing as he chased after Jin-Woo.
Jin-Woo, six years old and already lanky, with a quiet intensity in his dark eyes, was Nitrian's best friend—his brother in all but blood. The two boys tumbled into the grass, Nitrian's curls bouncing as he tackled Jin-Woo with all the ferocity a toddler could muster.
"I'm the hunter, you're dead!" Nitrian shouted, his voice high and gleeful.
Jin-Woo grinned, letting himself fall dramatically to the ground. "Okay, killer, you got me."
From a nearby bench, Norma watched her son with a soft smile, her own curly hair tied back loosely, strands escaping to frame her face. Her dark skin glowed in the late afternoon sun, but there was a tiredness in her eyes, a weight she carried as a single breadwinner most days. Beside her sat Park Kyung-Hye, a petite woman with a gentle demeanor, her hands resting on a container of kimbap she'd brought to share. The two women had become fast friends, bonded by the shared struggle of raising young children while their husbands were often absent.
"He's a handful, isn't he?" Kyung-Hye said, her English accented but warm.
Norma chuckled, her gaze never leaving Nitrian. "He keeps me on my toes, that's for sure. But Jin-Woo's so calm—he balances him out."
Kyung-Hye nodded, her smile tinged with a quiet pride as she watched her son. "They're good for each other."
The women fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from understanding each other's burdens without needing to speak them aloud. A distant siren wailed—likely a fire drill, they assumed—but neither paid it much mind. For now, the world was still normal, and their boys were safe, playing in the fading light.
Time passed in a blur of small, precious moments. Nitrian and Jin-Woo were inseparable, their days filled with the kind of adventures only children can dream up. They'd kick a worn soccer ball through the narrow alleys behind their apartments, their shouts echoing off the concrete walls. They'd trade dog-eared superhero comics, Nitrian always gravitating toward the brash, powerful heroes while Jin-Woo preferred the clever, understated ones. Nitrian's black curls and striking green eyes often drew curious looks from other kids, but Jin-Woo never seemed to notice—he treated Nitrian like family, no questions asked.
Their fathers were a rare presence, their visits fleeting but cherished. Min-Jae, Nitrian's dad, was a quiet man with a perpetually tired expression, his dark eyes carrying a weight Nitrian couldn't understand. He worked long hours at a lab, often coming home late, his clothes smelling of chemicals and his voice low as he spoke of "securing the future." Nitrian didn't know what that meant, but the words made his chest swell with a strange mix of pride and unease.
Sung Il-Hwan, Jin-Woo's dad, was the opposite—big and boisterous, with a laugh that filled the room. As a firefighter, he was often gone for long shifts, coming home with the scent of smoke clinging to his uniform and stories of daring rescues that left both boys wide-eyed. He'd ruffle their hair, his hands rough but warm.
"You'll be tough like me one day," Il-Hwan said, grinning down at them.
Norma and Kyung-Hye leaned on each other through those years, their friendship a lifeline in a world that often felt too heavy. They'd spend evenings in Norma's cramped kitchen, the air thick with the smell of seaweed soup or the occasional attempt at an American dish. Norma once tried to teach Kyung-Hye how to make mac and cheese, only for it to come out a gooey mess, and Kyung-Hye's attempt at kimchi left them both laughing over the too-salty result.
"Good enough!" they'd said in unison, their laughter a rare moment of lightness.
But beneath the laughter, there was always tension. They'd share quiet complaints over tea or soju—Min-Jae's endless lab hours, Il-Hwan's exhausting shifts at the fire station that left Kyung-Hye counting coins to make ends meet.
"He says it's for us," Norma muttered one night, staring into her cup. "But it never feels like it."
Kyung-Hye sighed, her hands wrapped around her own cup. "I know. It's always the same."
When Jin-Ah was born, the dynamic shifted in the best way. Nitrian was four, Jin-Woo seven, and the new baby brought a spark of joy to their little circle. Jin-Woo was instantly smitten, his quiet demeanor softening as he held his sister, his face glowing with pride.
"My sister," he said, showing her off to Nitrian like she was a treasure.
Nitrian took to her just as quickly. Jin-Ah was a bundle of noise and energy, her tiny hands always reaching for his black curls as she giggled. She'd toddle after them as soon as she could walk, her voice high and bright as she called out.
"Oppa! Woo-oppa!"
Nitrian would scoop her up, his green eyes sparkling with affection, and spin her around until she squealed with delight. Those moments were golden, a brief reprieve from the storm he didn't yet know was coming.
That same year, everything changed for Nitrian. He was four years old, lying in bed one night, the darkness of his room pressing in around him. Jin-Ah's birth was still fresh, her cries occasionally drifting through the walls from the Sung family's apartment next door. Nitrian had been restless all day, his head buzzing, his eyes itching, as if something was trying to claw its way out. He drifted into a fitful sleep, and then it hit him—memories, sharp and overwhelming, flooding his mind like a tidal wave.
He saw the dark void, the white void, three voices echoing in his skull. He felt the sludge consuming him, the phone in his hand, the entity's voice—"Child of All and None." The Waifu Catalog, its perks and powers—dragon heritage, Sunshine magic, lures—unfolded before him, along with missions to conquer worlds, to be the vessel, the ultimate power. He saw himself, older, signing up for this life, choosing to be reborn.
He bolted upright, gasping, sweat soaking his small frame, black curls plastered to his forehead.
"Holy…" he whispered, his tiny voice trembling as he caught himself.
(Four years old, and I know—I died, got yanked here, reborn. I've got the Solo Leveling timeline in my head—Jin-Woo's rise, Monarchs, gates—but this ain't right. Who's Min-Jae? Dad's not in the story. And Mom's Norma Selner? She's supposed to be some American psychic, not here. What's going on?) His mind raced, piecing together the fragments—dragon scales, Sunshine magic, powers he could feel simmering under his skin. (Patrons said something about a system, maybe, but they were vague. Is it coming? I don't know. But these powers… they're real. I can feel them. I need to train—now.)
The next morning, he sat at the breakfast table, his green eyes locked on Norma as she cooked eggs, humming softly to herself. He watched her with a new intensity, searching for answers in her familiar face. She caught his gaze, her brow furrowing.
"What's up, baby?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.
He hesitated, his small hands gripping his spoon. He couldn't tell her—not yet, maybe not ever. "Nothin'," he mumbled, shoving a bite of rice into his mouth.
Norma's eyes lingered on him, sensing something off, but she let it go. She had no idea of the storm brewing in her son's mind, no hint of the Selner blood in her veins that would one day awaken. To her, Nitrian was just her little boy, a bit quieter than usual that morning.
That day, Nitrian began his training in secret. He'd slip into the alley behind their apartment when no one was looking, his small frame dwarfed by the towering buildings. He focused on the heat in his chest, willing it to grow, and a tiny spark of Sunshine magic flickered to life in his palm—golden, warm, like a piece of the sun. He snuffed it out quickly, glancing around to make sure no one saw. He'd flex his fingers, feeling the dragon strength coiling in his muscles, scales prickling under his skin for a moment before he pulled it back. At night, he'd whisper to himself in the dark, testing the lures—his voice turned smoother, sweeter, even at four. He'd practice on stray cats, luring them closer with a soft hum, his green eyes glinting as they purred at his feet.
(I've got to master this,) he thought, determination hardening in his chest. (If I'm gonna keep up with Jin-Woo, I can't slack.)
He kept it hidden, playing the part of a normal kid around Jin-Woo and Jin-Ah. He'd roughhouse with Jin-Woo in the park, letting his friend win most of the time to avoid suspicion, though sometimes he'd slip—running a little too fast, lifting Jin-Ah a little too high. Jin-Woo would raise an eyebrow but never pressed, his steady presence a comfort Nitrian didn't realize he needed.
The years that followed were a careful balancing act. Nitrian trained in secret, his powers growing steadily as he pushed himself harder. By six, he could summon a small orb of Sunshine magic that glowed like a lantern, though he only did it in the dead of night, hidden in his room. His dragon strength let him lift things no kid his age should—like the heavy crates in the alley, which he'd move just to test himself, setting them back before anyone noticed. His lures were trickier—he'd use them sparingly, charming a teacher into giving him an extra snack at school or calming a bully with a few soft words, but he was careful not to overdo it. He couldn't risk anyone finding out.
Life went on around him, a mix of warmth and quiet struggle. He and Jin-Woo remained as close as ever, their bond unshakable even as Nitrian carried his secret. Jin-Ah grew into a bright, energetic girl, always trailing after them, her laughter a constant in their lives.
"Oppa!" she'd call, tugging at Nitrian's sleeve. "Play with me!"
He'd grin, his green eyes softening, and let her drag him into whatever game she'd invented. Those moments grounded him, reminding him of the family he'd found in this world, even as he prepared for the chaos he knew was coming.
Norma and Kyung-Hye's friendship deepened, their evenings together a ritual of shared meals and quiet support. They'd sit in Norma's kitchen, the air filled with the scent of seaweed soup or the occasional attempt at an American dish, their laughter a rare but precious sound. Norma remained unaware of the power in her blood, her life consumed by the daily grind of raising Nitrian alone while Min-Jae buried himself in his work.
When Nitrian turned ten, the world he'd been preparing for finally arrived. He was wiry now, his black curls a wild mess framing his face, his green eyes sharp and piercing, carrying a confidence that hinted at the man he'd become. Jin-Woo was fourteen, taller and still the steady rock Nitrian relied on. Jin-Ah, at eight, was a bundle of energy, always tagging along with a grin. Nitrian had been training for six years, and it showed—he could summon Sunshine magic in a steady glow, his dragon strength let him lift weights that would make adults struggle, and his lures could charm a crowd if he wanted. But he kept it hidden, only using his powers in secret, always careful.
The world began to change that year. Sirens grew sharper, more frequent, and whispers of "gates" spread through the city like wildfire. People spoke of strange portals, of monsters spilling out, of a new era dawning. Nitrian felt it in his bones, a pull that made his blood hum. (Gates are here—right on time. Canon's kicking in… but what else is different?)
That same year, the dads disappeared, their fates sealed in a single, devastating day. Min-Jae had been working in a lab, part of an early government project to study the gates—something called "Project Mana." A mana explosion tore through the facility, leaving nothing of him but ash and a crumpled note in his desk—"Project Mana secured." Il-Hwan, who had shifted from firefighter to one of the first hunters as the gates appeared, vanished in one of those early portals, part of a response team that never came back. The news hit like a tidal wave, shattering the fragile stability of both families.
Norma's phone slipped from her hand when she got the call, clattering to the floor as her face went blank. She clutched Min-Jae's note, her hands trembling, her voice barely a whisper when she finally spoke.
"Dad's not back?" Nitrian asked, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, green eyes searching her face.
Norma knelt in front of him, tears brimming in her eyes. "No, baby. It's just us now."
(Min-Jae's not in the story—what the hell was he doing? Gate tests? This ain't canon.) Nitrian's mind raced, but he kept his expression neutral, hiding the turmoil inside. He'd known Il-Hwan's fate—canon said he'd vanish, trapped by the Rulers—but Min-Jae's death was a curveball, another sign this world wasn't the one he'd read about.
Jin-Woo didn't ask questions, his face a mask of quiet resolve as he stared out the window, fists clenched at his sides. Jin-Ah, too young to fully understand, pointed at the door with a trembling lip.
"Papa?"
No one answered her, the silence heavier than any words could be.
Norma and Kyung-Hye clung to each other in the aftermath, their shared grief binding them closer. They'd cook together in silence, the smell of seaweed soup filling the air as they sat late into the night, talking about anything but the men they'd lost. Kyung-Hye's health began to decline, the stress taking its toll, while Norma threw herself into caring for Nitrian, unaware of the power in her blood that would one day awaken.
Nitrian and Jin-Woo grew tougher in the wake of their fathers' absence. They'd wrestle in the park, Jin-Woo teaching Nitrian moves he'd picked up from watching older kids, Nitrian holding back just enough to keep his dragon strength a secret. He'd been training for years, and it showed—he was faster, stronger, sharper than any kid his age, but he played it off as natural talent.
"Go, Oppa!" Jin-Ah would cheer, waving sticks like they were pom-poms, her bright smile a small light in their darkening world.
School was a battleground—bullies targeted Nitrian for his black curls, Jin-Woo for his quiet nature, but the two boys always had each other's backs. Nitrian would use his lures sparingly, a soft word here or there to defuse a fight, but he never let it go too far. He couldn't risk exposure, not when the world was already starting to crack.
That same night, after the news of their fathers' deaths, Nitrian and Jin-Woo slipped out, leaving Jin-Ah behind despite her protests.
"Not fair!" she whined, stomping her foot.
"Stay here," Jin-Woo said firmly, his voice gentle but unyielding.
They headed to a place the local kids called the "haunted spot"—an old warehouse near the edge of the city, abandoned after the incident that had taken their dads. It was a crumbling shell of a building, its concrete walls split, metal beams twisted, the air thick with the stench of rust and something sour. Kids whispered that it was cursed, that lights flickered inside, that voices moaned in the dark. Nitrian didn't buy the ghost stories, but he felt a pull to the place, a need to see it for himself.
"Lame," he said, rolling his eyes as they hopped a busted fence.
Jin-Woo smirked, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. "Scared?"
Nitrian snorted, his green eyes glinting with defiance. "As if."
Inside, the air was cold and damp, the darkness pressing in like a living thing. Nitrian's skin buzzed—not with fear, but with something else, something alive, as if the place recognized him. Jin-Woo's flashlight swept across the interior, landing on a busted machine—wires spilling out like guts, the metal charred black.
"This where they died?" Nitrian asked, his voice low, almost reverent.
Jin-Woo shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Maybe. Dad didn't talk about it."
Nitrian reached out, his fingers brushing the cold metal, and a surge of power ripped through him, stronger than anything he'd felt in his six years of training. His shadow stretched across the floor, dragon wings flaring for a moment, scales prickling along his arms. Heat flared in his chest, Sunshine magic sparking brighter than ever, a golden glow that lit up the dark for a split second. A voice whispered in his mind, seductive and smooth—his lures, amplified, urging him to let go. His green eyes glowed briefly, the power overwhelming him.
He stumbled back, breath catching in his throat, the glow fading as quickly as it had come.
"You good?" Jin-Woo grabbed his arm, worry etched into his face.
"Yeah, tripped," Nitrian lied, his heart hammering in his chest.
(Six years of training, and it's still growing—dragon blood, Sunshine, lures, all of it. No system, though—patrons were cagey. Maybe it's coming, maybe not. This world's messed up—Min-Jae, Norma, gates on time but still weird. I've got to keep pushing.) He forced a grin, flexing his hand, feeling the power settle back into his bones.
They ran out of the warehouse, their laughter echoing in the night, adrenaline pumping through their veins. But the experience lingered with Nitrian, a reminder of the path he was on. Back home, Norma tucked him into bed, her hands shaky, her eyes tired from crying—she didn't see anything yet, just a mother grieving for her husband and worried for her son.
"You're my world, you know?" she said, her voice thick with emotion as she kissed his forehead.
He nodded, his green eyes softening as he looked at her. (Ten, and I'm a beast—dragon, Sunshine, the works. No system, no clue if it's real, but I've been training for years. Jin-Woo's canon, but this ain't. The game's changed, and I'm ready.) He drifted off, his mind already racing with plans to push his training further.
The next morning, he woke up, green eyes blazing with determination, black curls a wild mess. He slipped out to the alley before breakfast, summoning a small orb of Sunshine magic in his palm, brighter than ever before.
"Time to step it up," he muttered to himself, ten and already a force to be reckoned with.