The taxi lurched to a halt, the sudden stillness jarring after the hypnotic rhythm of the rain against the windows. Jin-Woo stared numbly at the familiar facade of his apartment building, hunched against the persistent drizzle. Each brick seemed accounted for, each window frame in its place, yet the entire structure felt alien, like looking at a photograph of a place he used to know. The air itself, thick with the smell of wet concrete and Seoul's perpetual damp chill, seemed to press in on him, heavy with the ghosts of the Cartenon Temple.
He paid the driver, the crinkle of bills and the polite exchange of thank yous feeling like rituals performed by someone else. His body moved on autopilot, unlocking muscle memory his mind was still struggling to reconnect with. He felt… distant. Intact, yes – a miracle that defied the screaming phantom pains of dissection – but profoundly altered. The blue screen's greeting, [Welcome, Player.], flickered insistently at the edge of his awareness, a constant, unwelcome reminder of the impossible path thrust upon him.
He didn't need to knock. The door flew open with a force born of frantic anticipation. Kyung-Hye stood framed in the familiar yellow light of the hallway, her face a roadmap of sleepless nights and terrified prayers. The deep worry lines etched around her eyes seemed to vanish instantly, replaced by a raw, visceral relief that stole her breath. A choked sound, half sob, half gasp, escaped her lips. She didn't rush forward; she seemed rooted to the spot, as if fearing he was an apparition.
Then, confirmation flooded her system. "Jin-Woo!" His name tore from her throat, rough with emotion. She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him, clutching him with a desperate strength that spoke of nights spent staring into the abyss. She wasn't just hugging him; she was anchoring herself to his solid, living presence. Her tears soaked into the shoulder of his thin hospital-issued shirt as she murmured his name like a mantra, "Jin-Woo… oh, thank God… Jin-Woo… you're home… you're safe…"
Before he could fully respond, a smaller force impacted his legs. Jin-Ah, her pigtails flying, launched herself at him with the unrestrained joy only a child possesses. "Woo-oppa! You're back! I told Mommy! I told her you were too strong for the bad monsters!" Her bright, unwavering belief was a sharp, painful contrast to the horrific reality he'd endured. He managed to disentangle one arm from his mother's fierce embrace to gently pat Jin-Ah's head, forcing a smile that felt brittle.
Over Jin-Ah's bouncing head, he saw them. Standing just inside the doorway, radiating an awkward tension that felt jarringly out of place amidst the emotional reunion. Joo-Hee, her vibrant orange hair clinging in damp strands to her pale face, her blue eyes wide and red-rimmed. And Nitrian, looking unnervingly composed, a quiet observer in dark clothing that seemed to absorb the hallway light.
The moment Kyung-Hye momentarily loosened her grip, Joo-Hee darted forward. Her relief was immediate, almost frantic. Her hands hovered over Jin-Woo's arms, his chest, checking for injuries that the system had erased but which were vividly imprinted on her memory. "Jin-Woo," she breathed, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Are you okay? Really okay? We were so scared… I thought…" She trailed off, unable to voice the horror. But even as she fussed over him, her body language screamed volumes. She subtly positioned herself between Jin-Woo and Nitrian, her shoulder angled defensively, her gaze constantly flickering towards Jin-Woo, ensuring his well-being while pointedly refusing to acknowledge the figure standing silently behind her. The air around her crackled with suppressed fury, all of it directed like a laser beam at Nitrian.
Nitrian stepped forward slightly, offering a carefully modulated expression of concern. "Welcome back, Jin-Woo," he said, his voice even, perhaps a fraction too calm. "We were all worried sick."
Jin-Woo met his gaze. He searched the familiar green eyes, eyes he had trusted implicitly for most of his life, looking for the shared relief, the apology, the explanation that should have been there. He found… nothing. Only a disconcerting stillness, a depth he couldn't fathom, that felt colder than the rain outside. The betrayal, sharp and icy, coiled in his gut again. He gave a single, curt nod, the barest minimum of acknowledgment. The easy camaraderie, the inside jokes, the effortless understanding built over years – it felt like dust scattered in the wind. Now, Jin-Woo watched Nitrian not as a friend, but as an enigma, a potential threat whose motives were suddenly terrifyingly opaque.
The small apartment felt simultaneously comforting and claustrophobic. The familiar scent of Kyung-Hye's cooking warred with the lingering phantom smell of ozone and dust from the Temple. Jin-Ah's cheerful chatter about school and cartoons felt like noise from another universe. Joo-Hee's constant presence by his side was a source of genuine comfort, yet her simmering rage towards Nitrian created a palpable tension that permeated the entire space. Nitrian, meanwhile, maintained his quiet, observant distance, contributing little to the conversation, his very calmness feeling like a provocation in the emotionally charged atmosphere. Jin-Woo sat amongst them, accepting his mother's worried ministrations, answering Jin-Ah's questions distractedly, feeling Joo-Hee's protective loyalty, and watching Nitrian, his mind racing, trying to reconcile the friend he knew with the person who had condemned him to die. Home was no longer simple. It was now another place filled with questions he couldn't yet ask and dangers he couldn't yet perceive.
Later, the initial wave of emotional reunion subsided into a fragile quiet. Kyung-Hye, having exhausted her tear ducts for the moment, retreated to the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans a comforting rhythm as she threw herself into preparing a proper homecoming meal. Jin-Ah, content now that her brother was physically present and seemingly unharmed, was engrossed in a coloring book on the living room floor, humming softly to herself. Joo-Hee hovered nearby, occasionally glancing towards the kitchen, ready to assist Kyung-Hye, but her primary focus remained locked on Jin-Woo, her earlier anxiety replaced by a watchful, protective stance.
Seeking a moment of clarity, Jin-Woo stepped out onto the small balcony overlooking the damp, glittering sprawl of Seoul. The air was cooler here, carrying the metallic tang of rain and the distant drone of city life. He leaned against the cold metal railing, watching the headlights carve paths through the wet streets below. The vastness of the city felt both overwhelming and oddly grounding after the suffocating confines of the Temple and the sterile white of the hospital room. He needed space to think, to try and make sense of the blue screen demanding push-ups, the phantom power humming beneath his skin, and the chilling memory of Nitrian's departure.
He wasn't surprised when the sliding glass door opened and closed softly behind him. He didn't need to turn; the subtle shift in the air, the familiar-yet-now-unsettling presence, announced Nitrian's arrival. His friend—his former friend?—leaned against the adjacent railing, respecting Jin-Woo's space but making his presence known. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, broken only by the sigh of the wind and the distant sirens.
"The man from the hospital," Nitrian finally said, his voice quiet, almost conversational, yet carrying an undeniable weight. "The one with the black card. Project Mana. He mentioned an academy, didn't he?"
Jin-Woo kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, where skyscraper lights pierced the low-hanging mist. "He did," he confirmed, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. He wouldn't give Nitrian the satisfaction of seeing his turmoil. "Talked about potential. Said the Association only sees ranks. Offered a way to get stronger… beyond limits." He deliberately emphasized the last phrase, letting it hang in the air like a probe, testing Nitrian's reaction, his knowledge.
Nitrian didn't react visibly, besides a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He reached into the inner pocket of his dark jacket and produced the folded letter. He didn't offer it immediately, just held it loosely in his hand. "It connects," he stated simply. "My father. He worked for them, you know. Before… everything." He paused, letting the shared memory of Min-Jae's sudden death settle between them. "He left this for me. Found it after the news came… about you." Another calculated pause. "He knew they'd eventually approach people like us – people involved in… incidents. People with potential they couldn't measure. He told me in this letter, point blank: if they offer an invitation, accept it. Go to their academy. He said it was crucial."
That got Jin-Woo's attention. He finally turned, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the letter in Nitrian's hand. The paper looked old, the creases worn. He remembered Min-Jae – a quiet, intense man, often lost in thought, smelling faintly of chemicals. The idea of him leaving such a specific, coded message… it resonated with the unease surrounding Project Mana. "Your father," Jin-Woo repeated slowly, the connection solidifying in his mind, "died in a Project Mana facility."
"Seems like he knew the risks," Nitrian replied, his expression carefully neutral. "And maybe knew more about the game being played than anyone realized. He wrote this anticipating he wouldn't be around to guide me. Whatever this academy is, Jin-Woo," he met Jin-Woo's gaze directly now, the green eyes intense, "it feels like the next piece of the puzzle. The place we're supposed to go. To find answers about our fathers, about the gates… about getting truly strong."
"Stronger?" Jin-Woo scoffed, the bitterness rising again. The word felt like a mockery. "You keep saying that. Is that your justification? You left me to be butchered, hoping I'd miraculously get… stronger?" The accusation hung heavy and sharp in the cool night air.
Just as Nitrian opened his mouth to respond, perhaps with another cryptic justification, the balcony door slid open again. Joo-Hee stood there, drawn by the charged silence or perhaps just her relentless need to monitor Jin-Woo. Her gaze immediately sharpened, taking in their proximity, the letter in Nitrian's hand, the tension radiating between them.
"Oppa? Woo-oppa?" Her voice was laced with concern aimed solely at Jin-Woo. "Are you alright? It's getting cold out here. What are you two talking about?" Her eyes darted towards Nitrian, suspicion flashing nakedly.
Nitrian seemed about to dismiss her, to wave it off as nothing, but Jin-Woo cut him off. He turned slightly towards Joo-Hee, deliberately including her, perhaps seeking an anchor against Nitrian's unsettling certainty. "An invitation," he stated, his voice level, watching her reaction closely. "To some kind of special academy. Apparently run by Project Mana. The same group Nitrian's dad worked for."
Joo-Hee absorbed the information, her initial confusion quickly replaced by a fierce, protective instinct. Her blue eyes widened, then narrowed with determination. "An academy? If it's connected to what happened… if you're going, Jin-Woo," she declared, stepping fully onto the balcony, her small frame radiating unexpected resolve, "then I am going too! End of discussion!" She planted herself beside Jin-Woo, a clear statement of alliance. "I'm not letting you walk into another unknown danger alone. Not after…" She visibly bit back the rest, but her meaning was crystal clear, punctuated by another sharp glare towards Nitrian.
Nitrian let out a sigh, a performance of weary resignation that Jin-Woo now recognized as potentially calculated. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy curls. "Joo-Hee, let's be rational," he began, adopting a tone of gentle reason. "We have no idea what this 'academy' entails. Project Mana operates in the shadows. Their methods could be brutal, their tests lethal. Your role as a healer is crucial, undeniably, but this might require front-line combat capabilities far beyond standard hunter training. It could be incredibly dangerous for you." His argument sounded logical, protective even.
"I don't care how dangerous it is!" Joo-Hee retorted, her voice ringing with conviction. She crossed her arms stubbornly. "My healing is important. What if Jin-Woo gets hurt again? Who will be there for him? And besides," her gaze hardened as she looked pointedly at Nitrian, "someone needs to make sure he stays safe. From everything."
Jin-Woo felt a surge of gratitude for Joo-Hee's unwavering loyalty. In the face of Nitrian's betrayal, her steadfastness was a shield. He needed people he could trust without reservation. And maybe, he admitted grimly to himself, he needed someone to watch Nitrian as much as he did. "She's right, Nitrian," Jin-Woo said, his voice firm, cutting off any further argument. He looked at Joo-Hee, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. "If I'm going, Joo-Hee comes. We look out for each other." The implied contrast with Nitrian's actions was deliberate, a line drawn in the sand.
Nitrian studied Jin-Woo's unyielding expression, then Joo-Hee's intractable stance. He held their gaze for a beat longer, then let out a final, soft sigh, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright," he conceded, the word clipped. "Fine. We stick together. But Joo-Hee," his tone sharpened slightly, losing the gentle reason, gaining an edge of command, "this isn't a game. You stay alert, you follow instructions, and you don't take unnecessary risks. If I tell you to run, you run. Understand?"
Joo-Hee bristled at the command but gave a stiff nod, her priority clearly Jin-Woo's inclusion over arguing semantics with Nitrian. The uneasy alliance was formed, forged in suspicion and necessity, under the watchful, indifferent lights of the Seoul night sky.
The tension on the balcony remained thick, but the immediate conflict had shifted into a strained truce. Theshared goal – the Academy – now overlaid the fractured trust. Nitrian, accepting the new dynamic with unnerving ease, stepped closer, holding out the letter from his father.
"Read it," he urged, offering it first to Jin-Woo, then glancing towards Joo-Hee. "Both of you. Understand what we're potentially walking into."
Jin-Woo took the letter hesitantly. The paper felt thin, slightly brittle with age. Min-Jae's handwriting was precise, almost clinical, yet carried an undercurrent of urgency. He read the carefully chosen words aloud, his voice low and steady, projecting a calmness he didn't entirely feel:
My Dearest Nitrian,
If you are reading this, then the failsafe has triggered, and I am gone. I imagine you are confused, perhaps angry. Answers will not come easily. Know this: our world is not what it seems. Forces beyond comprehension are at play.
By now, you must have Awakened. Your potential… it likely surpasses anything recorded. Because of this, certain parties will take an interest in you. Soon, you will be approached – perhaps discreetly, perhaps overtly – with an invitation. It will likely be framed as an opportunity, a recruitment to a specialized college, an elite academy, some prestigious institution.
Nitrian, no matter how strange it seems, no matter your suspicions – you must accept their offer. Go along with them. It is crucial for reasons I cannot explain here. Trust in this, at least. Stay sharp, stay strong. I believe in you.
Your Father, Min-Jae
As Jin-Woo finished reading, Joo-Hee leaned closer, her eyes scanning the page, absorbing the cryptic message. The atmosphere grew heavier. "Forces beyond comprehension?" she whispered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself despite the mild temperature. "He knew… he knew something big was happening."
Jin-Woo nodded slowly, tracing the signature with his finger. "He anticipated this. Awakened potential… recruitment… It lines up with the Project Mana agent." He looked at Nitrian, the suspicion still there, but now layered with a shared sense of inherited mystery. "Our fathers… they started working on similar projects right around the time the first gates appeared, didn't they? My dad disappeared into one. Yours died in their lab." The unspoken question hung between them: What exactly had their fathers stumbled upon? Was Project Mana trying to control awakenings, harness gate energy, or something far stranger?
"Seems like they were both pieces in a much larger game," Nitrian agreed solemnly. "And now, it looks like we've inherited their spots on the board." He gestured towards the black card Jin-Woo still held. "Which means we need to play our part. Make the call, Jin-Woo. Tell the man—Mr. Black Suit, whoever he is—that you accept. And," he added, meeting Jin-Woo's gaze squarely, "tell him Nitrian Selner and Lee Joo-Hee will be accompanying you. Say we fit the 'profile' he mentioned – unusual circumstances, untapped potential. Let's see if they bite."
Jin-Woo hesitated for only a heartbeat. This felt like stepping off a cliff, trusting the word of a dead man passed down by the friend who had betrayed him. But the allure of answers, the promise of strength offered by both the System and potentially this Academy, was too strong to ignore. He needed to understand what had happened to him, what had happened to his father, and why the world seemed poised on the edge of chaos. With a deep breath, steeling his resolve, he pulled out his phone, found the number etched onto the simple black card, and dialed.
The phone was answered on the second ring by a crisp, professional, and utterly anonymous male voice. "Yes?"
"This is Sung Jin-Woo," Jin-Woo stated, keeping his voice level. "I received your offer at the hospital earlier today."
"Mr. Sung. We anticipated your call," the voice replied smoothly, without a hint of surprise. "Have you reached a decision regarding our proposal?"
"I accept," Jin-Woo said. "But I won't be coming alone." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "My companions, Nitrian Selner and Lee Joo-Hee, were also present during the… incident. They also fit the profile you described. We come as a group." He held his breath, waiting for the reaction.
There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause on the other end, perhaps the sound of keys clicking softly. Then the voice returned, just as smooth as before. "Understood, Mr. Sung. Selner and Lee. Their presence is… acceptable. Expected, even, given the circumstances." Another slight pause. "Your orientation and initial assessment will take place in five days. Report to Sector 7 Industrial Complex, Warehouse 4B, precisely at 0800 hours. Further instructions regarding necessary preparations will be sent to the digital contact number you provided at the hospital within the hour. Do not be late, Mr. Sung. Punctuality is valued."
"We'll be there," Jin-Woo confirmed.
"Excellent. We look forward to evaluating your potential." The line clicked dead.
Jin-Woo lowered the phone slowly, exchanging a look first with Joo-Hee, whose face was pale but resolute, then with Nitrian, whose expression remained carefully neutral, though Jin-Woo thought he saw a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
"They accepted. All of us," Jin-Woo reported, the reality of it sinking in. "Five days. Sector 7, Warehouse 4B. They're sending more details."
"Sector 7…" Nitrian murmured thoughtfully. "Old industrial district. Mostly abandoned now. Good place for something clandestine." He pushed off the railing. "Alright then. Five days isn't much time. We need to prepare. Every second counts." He looked pointedly at Jin-Woo, then Joo-Hee. "Training. Starts tomorrow morning, sunrise. Don't be late." The casual authority was back, pragmatic and slightly unnerving.
The die was cast. They had accepted the invitation into the unknown, guided by a dead man's warning and driven by their own desperate need for answers and strength. The fragile alliance stepped back from the balcony's edge, leaving the sleeping city behind, the weight of their fathers' secrets and the looming shadow of the Academy pressing down upon them.
The heavy, charged atmosphere of Jin-Woo's apartment lingered in Nitrian's senses long after the door clicked shut behind him. Walking down the dimly lit stairwell, the familiar scent of old concrete and dust seemed sharper, underscored by the lingering tension. Jin-Woo's raw suspicion, Joo-Hee's volatile mix of anger and protective instinct - managing them would be a delicate dance, requiring constant vigilance and subtle manipulation. Yet, amidst the complexity, a thread of satisfaction warmed him. Events were proceeding, more or less, according to the narrative's trajectory, albeit with his own alterations woven in. The Academy invitation was secured for all three, a crucial step.
He pushed open the heavy main door of the building and stepped out into the night. The rain had finally ceased, leaving the streets slick and reflective under the sodium glow of the streetlights. The air tasted cleaner, washed free of the day's grime, carrying the faint scent of wet earth from nearby planters. Instead of heading directly home, he took a slightly longer route, needing a moment to compartmentalize, to review.
He mentally accessed Zeina's interface, confirming the 'Rizz Route: Joo-Hee' status remained active, likely boosted by the recent emotional turmoil and his 'protective' actions. (Good. Keep her close, keep her conflicted. The fluids will enhance her resilience and subtly deepen the connection. Less overt than the Stamp, less permanent than the Bite… for now.)
He reached his own apartment building, the climb up the stairs feeling lighter than the descent from Jin-Woo's. He let himself in quietly. The small apartment was hushed, the only light spilling from the kitchen. He found Norma sitting at the table, a half-empty mug of tea cradled in her hands, her gaze distant, focused on something beyond the floral pattern of the tablecloth.
She looked up as he entered, the unfocused look sharpening slightly, replaced by the familiar maternal concern, though now it held a new depth, a shadow of something else he hadn't seen before the Temple incident.
"You're back late," she observed, her voice soft. "Everything… settled? With Jin-Woo?"
Nitrian nodded, sliding into the chair opposite her. The simple domesticity of the kitchen felt worlds away from architect systems and hidden academies. "As settled as it can be. He's home, he's physically okay. That's the main thing." He paused, gauging her mood. "He's changed, though. Quieter. Wary."
Norma sighed, rubbing her temples lightly. "Wouldn't you be? After what Joo-Hee implied… after being left behind?" Her eyes met his, not with accusation, but with a deep, searching confusion. "Nitrian, when you spoke to Kyung-Hye earlier, when you told me he'd be okay… there was such… certainty in your voice. It wasn't just hope. It was like you knew." She leaned forward slightly. "How? How could you know something like that?"
He offered the same carefully constructed explanation he'd given Jin-Woo, tailoring it slightly for his mother. "Sometimes, Mom, I get… feelings. More than feelings. Like quick flashes, glimpses of things that might happen. They don't make sense half the time, they're broken pieces. But I saw… fragments. Enough to believe Jin-Woo's path wasn't over. That he needed to face that… darkness… to find something new." He kept his tone earnest, slightly hesitant, playing on the idea of uncontrollable, confusing premonitions rather than calculated meta-knowledge.
He expected skepticism, perhaps gentle dismissal. Instead, Norma listened with unnerving stillness, her expression shifting from confusion to dawning recognition, tinged with fear. She reached across the table, her hand trembling slightly as it covered his. Her skin felt strangely cool, almost electric.
"My dreams," she whispered, her voice barely louder than the hum of the refrigerator. "It's not just dreams anymore, Nitrian. It's… bleeding into the day." Her grip tightened, surprisingly strong. "When you were out earlier, just for a heartbeat, I saw you standing on the balcony… surrounded by golden fire. Not burning you, just… there. Then it vanished." Her eyes were wide, reflecting the overhead light, pupils dilated. "I see flashes now, when I'm awake. Quick scenes. A storm gathering over the city, dark shapes moving in the corners of my vision, a feeling of… immense pressure building." She shook her head, bewildered and terrified. "I don't understand it. What's happening to me?"
Nitrian stared at her, momentarily thrown off balance. This was accelerating far faster than he'd anticipated. (Her Selner lineage, dormant for so long, now awakening rapidly. The stress of Jin-Woo's disappearance, my own proximity and mana leakage, the general rise in global mana levels… it's acting as a catalyst.) This was a significant complication – a powerful psychic potential blooming right under his nose, untrained and unpredictable.
"Mom…" he began, trying to formulate a reassuring response, but she cut him off with a gentle shake of her head.
"No, don't try to explain it away. Don't pretend it's nothing." Her gaze sharpened, locking onto his with an intensity that mirrored the strange visions she described. The fear was still there, but beneath it lay a bedrock of maternal resolve. "Maybe it's linked to whatever you feel. Maybe it's something else entirely. Right now, understanding it isn't the most important thing."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping but gaining a fierce conviction. "What is important is what I know. And I know you, Nitrian. I know the strength you hide. I feel it sometimes, like a low hum beneath the surface." Her eyes seemed to look past his calm facade, seeing the draconic power coiled within. "So whatever is coming – these shadows, these storms I see – you face it."
Her grip became almost painfully tight. "You protect them. Jin-Woo, Joo-Hee, little Jin-Ah… Kyung-Hye… you protect us. You protect yourself." Her words were a plea, a command, an act of faith all rolled into one. "It won't be easy. I feel that too. A weight… heavy choices. Choices that might look wrong, feel wrong." Her gaze held his, an uncanny perception flickering within her eyes, as if she sensed the moral compromises he'd already made, the ones still to come. "But you keep going. You find the path through. Don't let the fear take hold. Not mine, not yours."
She released his hand abruptly, slumping back in her chair as if the intensity had drained her. She took a shaky breath, the visionary fire receding, leaving behind profound weariness but also an unshakeable core of determination. "Lord knows I worry myself sick," she admitted, a faint, tired smile touching her lips. "But my worrying won't change the tide." She met his eyes again, the fierce love overriding the fear. "Just… promise me you'll be careful. And promise me you'll always come home."
The unexpected weight of his mother's burgeoning abilities and her unwavering, terrified faith settled heavily upon him. He felt a complex brew of emotions: startled concern for her sudden awakening, irritation at the unforeseen complication, but also a deep, resonant warmth, a connection that felt more real than the calculated bonds he was forging elsewhere. He reached across and gently squeezed her hand in return.
"I promise, Mom," he said, surprised by the sincerity that laced his own voice. "I'll protect everyone. And I'll always come back."
He sat with her for a while longer, the silence comfortable now, punctuated only by the familiar sounds of their small home. The path ahead had just become significantly more complicated, but his resolve hadn't wavered. It had simply deepened, anchored now not just by ambition, but by the fierce, frightening, unconditional love of a mother starting to see beyond the veil.
The five days leading up to the Academy orientation unfolded with a relentless, driving intensity. The fragile truce between Nitrian, Jin-Woo, and Joo-Hee held, primarily because there was simply no time for simmering resentments to boil over. Every waking hour was consumed by preparation, each session underscored by the high stakes and the unknown dangers lurking within Project Mana.
Nitrian orchestrated their training with the precision of a military campaign commander, albeit one navigating deeply fractured interpersonal dynamics. He rented out dilapidated gyms on the city's outskirts or commandeered abandoned industrial lots under the cover of early morning fog or late evening twilight, spaces where Jin-Woo's burgeoning power or Joo-Hee's tentative mana shields wouldn't attract unwanted attention.
Jin-Woo became Nitrian's primary focus in terms of raw combat development. The change in him was palpable with each passing day. The Player System was a potent accelerator, pouring stat points and skill levels into him at a rate that defied conventional Awakening progression. Nitrian's role shifted from primary power source (as he often was in their previous, lower-rank dungeon crawls) to that of a demanding, borderline brutal sparring partner and tactician.
Their spars were fierce. Nitrian, drawing on his Dragon Heritage-enhanced speed, strength, and ingrained combat instincts honed over years in this life and echoes of the last, pushed Jin-Woo to his absolute limit. He didn't rely on overwhelming Sunshine Magic, instead focusing on physical prowess and mana-enhanced strikes, forcing Jin-Woo to learn, adapt, or be overwhelmed.
"Too slow!" Nitrian's voice would crack like a whip as he sidestepped a desperate lunge from Jin-Woo, countering with a precise jab to the ribs that sent Jin-Woo stumbling back, gasping. "Your Agility is higher now, use it! Don't just react, anticipate! Feel the flow of mana, his – mine! Where am I moving next?"
He'd demonstrate techniques – feints, parries that redirected momentum, devastating combinations that flowed like water – then force Jin-Woo to replicate them under pressure. He was merciless in pointing out flaws. "Your guard dropped!" Thwack – a sharp kick connected with Jin-Woo's thigh. "You telegraphed that punch a mile away!" Smack – a deflected blow left Jin-Woo momentarily off balance.
Jin-Woo met the challenge with gritted teeth and a silent, burning determination. The shame of his E-Rank past, the sting of Nitrian's betrayal, the desperate need to prove himself – it all fueled an intensity that matched Nitrian's demands. He absorbed the lessons, his body adapting visibly, movements becoming sharper, faster, more confident. The blue screens tracking his progress likely flared constantly with notifications of skill improvements and stat gains. Yet, conversation between them remained minimal, functional. Jin-Woo asked pointed questions about technique, mana control, enemy weaknesses, but the easy camaraderie was utterly absent. He watched Nitrian constantly, his eyes sharp, analytical, trying to reconcile the demanding trainer and undeniable powerhouse before him with the friend who had abandoned him.
Nitrian also made sure to supervise Jin-Woo's peculiar Daily Quests. He'd jog alongside him during the grueling runs mandated by the System, easily keeping pace while Jin-Woo pushed himself to exhaustion. He'd watch silently as Jin-Woo performed hundreds of push-ups or sit-ups in some secluded corner of a park, the repetitive strain building muscle and fulfilling system requirements. Nitrian offered no physical help, only curt nods or occasional corrections on form, reinforcing Jin-Woo's reliance on his own rapidly growing strength.
Complementing the physical exertion, Nitrian took charge of their nutrition. He utilized his Faerie Feast: The Secret Ingredient is Love talent, not for romantic entanglement this time, but for its secondary effect: maximizing the nutritional and restorative properties of food. He prepared calorie-dense, protein-rich meals packed with ingredients known to support mana regeneration and physical recovery. Steaming bowls of nutrient-dense stew, perfectly grilled fish, complex carbohydrates – each meal was a calculated boost to Jin-Woo's (and Joo-Hee's) rigorous training regimen. Jin-Woo ate silently, acknowledging the effectiveness of the food even as he remained wary of its source.
Training Joo-Hee required a different approach. She lacked Jin-Woo's offensive potential and his system-driven growth, but her B-Rank healing was invaluable, and Nitrian needed her alive and functional. He focused on bolstering her defenses and situational awareness.
"You're not a fighter, Joo-Hee," he stated bluntly during one session in a quiet, overgrown park. "Your priority is always heal and survive. Combat is a last resort, a means to create space."
He drilled her relentlessly on evasion tactics – quick side-steps, spins, using terrain for cover. He pushed her mana control, teaching her to form faster, more resilient emergency shields, simple concussive bursts of mana to momentarily stun an attacker, and basic sensory enhancement spells to detect incoming threats sooner. He showed her weaknesses on humanoid figures drawn in the dirt – pressure points, joints, eyes – not for offense, but for desperate, last-ditch disengagement strikes.
"If someone grabs you," he demonstrated, lightly holding her wrist, "don't try to pull away with raw strength. Disrupt their balance. Strike here," he tapped a nerve cluster on the inner elbow, "or here," indicating the eyes. "Create a window, then move."
Joo-Hee trained with a quiet intensity, her determination fueled by her fierce desire to protect Jin-Woo and, perhaps, a growing awareness of her own vulnerability in the dangerous world they were navigating. She was often frustrated by her slower progress compared to Jin-Woo's meteoric rise, but she persevered, absorbing Nitrian's instructions despite the resentment that still colored her interactions with him.
It was during these sessions, often disguised as post-training cooldowns, that Nitrian implemented his more insidious plan. He'd offer her a special "recovery drink" – a blend of electrolytes, mana-restoring herbs, and fruit juices – or hand her meticulously prepared energy bars. Tasteless, undetectable, mixed within were trace amounts of his own vital fluids – saliva enhanced by his draconic nature, or occasionally, a single drop of blood diluted almost to nothingness. These carried the subtle imprint of his Dragon Thrall ability, designed not for immediate control, but for gradual strengthening of her constitution, enhancement of her mana pathways, and a slow, subconscious attunement to his will and presence.
Each time he handed her the doctored refreshment, watching her drink it down gratefully, a familiar discomfort twisted inside him. It felt… violating. More personal than the Lures, which merely amplified existing potential or perception. This was actively altering her, subtly binding her, without her knowledge or consent. (She needs this edge,) he argued internally, silencing the protest. (The Academy, Project Mana… they won't be gentle. This helps her survive. It keeps her functional. It keeps her… manageable.) He briefly considered the Company Stamp – cleaner, perhaps, offering loyalty without the biological intrusion. Then the Treasure Hoard bite, a primal draconic claiming. (No. Too drastic. Too irreversible. Maintain plausible deniability. Preserve her core self, for now. The slow infusion is safer… for everyone involved.) He pushed the ethical quandary aside, focusing on the perceived necessity.
The five days passed in this rhythm of intense exertion, calculated nutrition, simmering tension, and secret manipulations. Jin-Woo grew visibly stronger, faster, his presence crackling with nascent power. Joo-Hee became more agile, her defenses quicker, her healing honed under pressure. And Nitrian watched them both, guiding, pushing, subtly shaping, preparing them for the first true step into the deeper, darker game that awaited them at Warehouse 4B.
It happened on the afternoon of the third day. They had just finished a grueling sparring session in the echoing vastness of an abandoned textile factory, the air thick with dust motes dancing in the slanted rays of light filtering through grimy windows. Jin-Woo, breathing heavily, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead, suddenly froze. His eyes unfocused for a second, gazing at something only he could see – the tell-tale flicker of a system notification.
He reached into the empty air, a gesture that still looked slightly odd to Joo-Hee, and materialized a small, ornate key in his hand. It pulsed with a faint, blue light, emanating a low thrum of contained mana.
"System reward," he stated, his voice holding a mixture of excitement and solemnity. He turned the key over in his palm. "Instant Dungeon Key. E-Rank." He looked up, meeting Nitrian's gaze, then Joo-Hee's worried one. "I need to do this. See what I can handle on my own."
Joo-Hee immediately started to protest. "Alone? Jin-Woo, is that safe? Even E-Ranks can be unpredictable! What if—"
"It's necessary, Joo-Hee," Jin-Woo interrupted gently but firmly. The confidence in his voice was new, hard-won over the last few days of intense training and system-fueled growth. "The system gave me this. It's a test. I need to know my own limits, without backup."
Nitrian stepped closer, examining the key with a discerning eye, recognizing the contained pocket dimension's energy signature. He nodded slowly. "He's right, Joo-Hee. This is part of his progression. A controlled environment to push himself." He clapped Jin-Woo on the shoulder – the gesture still felt stiff, lacking its old easy familiarity, but it carried weight. "Standard protocols apply. Assess the entrance, proceed cautiously, prioritize survival over loot. Don't underestimate anything just because the rank is low. Traps, unusual boss mechanics… E-Ranks can still kill the unwary."
Jin-Woo nodded, absorbing the practical advice. "I'll be careful."
They found a suitable location nearby – a dead-end alley choked with overflowing dumpsters and layers of faded graffiti, shielded from casual view. The air smelled sour, a mixture of decay and stale rainwater.
"Wish me luck," Jin-Woo said, offering a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He held the key aloft. It flared brighter, casting flickering blue shadows on the grimy brick walls. With a soft shimmer that distorted the air, a tear in reality opened before him – a swirling vortex of dark energy crackling with blue sparks. Without a backward glance, he stepped through, and the portal snapped shut behind him, leaving only the mundane smell of the alley and a lingering trace of ozone.
Silence descended, thick and uncomfortable. Joo-Hee immediately began pacing the short length of the alley, her footsteps echoing softly. She wrung her hands, chewed on her lower lip, and periodically checked the time on her phone, her anxiety radiating outwards.
Nitrian, in contrast, leaned casually against the graffiti-scarred brick wall, arms crossed, eyes closed. He appeared utterly relaxed, almost bored. But beneath the calm facade, his senses were fully extended. He wasn't just listening to Joo-Hee's restless pacing; he was tasting the ambient mana flow of the surrounding blocks, listening to the subtle energy signatures of the city, his Dragon Heritage and Land Talent keeping him attuned to his environment on a level far beyond normal human or even hunter perception. He projected calm for Joo-Hee's sake, but he was coiled, ready.
Minutes stretched into an hour, then two. Joo-Hee's pacing grew more frantic. "How long do these things usually take?" she asked nervously, pausing her restless movement to look at Nitrian.
"Depends," Nitrian replied without opening his eyes. "The size of the dungeon, the number of monsters, the complexity of the boss. Could be quick, could take all day. Patience."
His admonition was cut short by a sudden, jarring ripple in the ambient mana field – sharp, discordant, and definitely not originating from the alley. It came from a block or two away. Almost simultaneously, the faint, distant sound of shattering glass reached them, followed by a rising chorus of panicked screams.
Nitrian's eyes snapped open, instantly alert, all trace of relaxation gone. "Trouble," he stated flatly.
"What? What is it?" Joo-Hee asked, her head whipping around, trying to pinpoint the source of the commotion.
"Dungeon Break," Nitrian said curtly, already pushing off the wall. "Low-rank gate must have ruptured nearby. Stay here, Joo-Hee! Don't move from this alley."
Before she could respond or argue, he was a blur. He moved with a speed that defied physics, covering the ground between the alley entrance and the street corner in less than a second. He rounded the corner just as chaos erupted on the main street. Shoppers scattered, dropping bags, screaming, fleeing in terror. Three grotesque creatures, looking like twisted, vaguely goblinoid figures with mottled green skin, overly long arms ending in sharp claws, and mouths filled with needle-like teeth, had shambled out from a shimmering, unstable tear hovering haphazardly near a bus stop. They snarled, turning their beady eyes towards the nearest fleeing civilians.
Nitrian didn't waste a fraction of a second assessing blame or waiting for Hunter Association backup. He raised one hand, palm outward. A sphere of pure, blinding golden light, no larger than a baseball but radiating intense heat and power, coalesced instantly. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it streaking through the air. It moved faster than a bullet, impacting the lead creature dead center. There was a silent flash, an implosion of golden energy, and the creature simply ceased to exist, leaving behind only a faint shimmer and the smell of burnt ozone.
While the remaining two creatures were momentarily stunned by the flash, Nitrian closed the distance. He moved like a phantom, weaving through the panicked civilians seemingly without touching them. He reached the second creature as it lunged towards a fallen old woman. A devastatingly fast side-kick, powered by dragon strength, connected with its spine. The sickening crack echoed even over the screams as the creature crumpled, inert. The third, realizing the sudden, lethal threat, turned towards Nitrian, letting out a high-pitched shriek. Nitrian met its charge head-on, his hand blurring in a precise chop to the base of its skull. Another crack, and it dropped like a stone.
The entire encounter lasted maybe five seconds. It was brutally efficient, surgically precise, and utterly overwhelming. The distant wail of sirens grew closer, but the immediate threat was neutralized.
Nitrian took a single, calming breath, the golden battle-light fading from his eyes. He glanced around, ensuring no other monsters had emerged, then turned and walked calmly back towards the alley, ignoring the stunned, terrified stares of the few civilians who had witnessed the impossible display.
He reached the alley entrance just as Joo-Hee peered out cautiously, drawn by the sudden cessation of screams. She saw him approaching, saw the inert forms of the creatures on the street behind him, saw the dissipating shimmer where the first had been vaporized. Her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. She stared at him, not with anger this time, but with a complex mixture of shock, awe, and undeniable fear. The sheer speed, the casual lethality, the raw power he wielded… it was terrifying. Yet, he had acted instantly, protectively, shielding the innocent without hesitation. The cognitive dissonance warred on her face, her glare softening into a deeply conflicted frown before she quickly looked away, unable to reconcile the monster who betrayed Jin-Woo with the terrifyingly competent guardian who had just saved lives.
Just as Nitrian stepped back into the relative shadow of the alley, the space where Jin-Woo's portal had been flickered violently. With a final pop, it dissolved, and Jin-Woo stumbled out, leaning heavily against the grimy brick wall.
He was covered in dirt, grime, and splatters of dark monster blood. His clothes were torn, and he bore several fresh scratches, but beneath the exhaustion, he radiated a newfound energy. His mana signature felt denser, sharper, honed by hours of solitary combat. His eyes, though tired, held a spark of hard-earned victory and significantly increased power.
He took a deep, ragged breath, then his gaze swept the scene. He registered the distant, fading sirens, the faint scorch mark sizzling on the damp pavement just outside the alley, Joo-Hee's pale, conflicted expression as she stared fixedly at the ground, avoiding looking at Nitrian, and Nitrian himself, standing calmly, dusting off non-existent dirt from his sleeve. Jin-Woo didn't need to ask. His enhanced senses, a passive benefit of his rapidly evolving 'Player' status, picked up the residual mana signatures, the lingering scent of burnt ozone and monster ichor, the faint psychic echo of intense fear from the street. He understood immediately. While he'd been fighting for his life and leveling up in his private dungeon, chaos had broken out here, and Nitrian had dealt with it. His gaze lingered on Nitrian for an extra moment, the suspicion still present, but now overlaid with a grudging acknowledgment of the power his erstwhile friend commanded, and the complicated reality of his actions. The world outside the System, it seemed, continued to turn, fraught with its own dangers and complexities.
The morning of the fifth day arrived not with clear skies and hopeful light, but under a blanket of low, grey clouds that threatened rain but held back, mirroring the suspended tension among the trio. The air was cool, carrying the usual morning scents of street food vendors starting their day, damp pavement, and diesel exhaust. They met near the designated exit of a bustling subway station, a deliberate choice by Nitrian – anonymity amidst the morning rush, easy access to the lines heading towards the industrial outskirts of Sector 7.
Commuters flowed around them like a river around stones – men in suits hurrying towards offices, students laden with backpacks, ajummas pulling shopping carts. The mundane energy of the city starting its workday felt jarringly disconnected from the path the three were about to embark upon.
Jin-Woo arrived first, a few minutes early. The change in him over the scant five days was remarkable. He stood taller, his posture radiating a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before his awakening. His clothes were practical – durable dark pants, sturdy boots, a nondescript grey hoodie – but beneath the ordinary attire, his sharpened senses could almost feel the thrum of contained power from the Player System. His eyes, no longer haunted by the E-Rank's perpetual anxiety, were sharp, observant, constantly scanning the surroundings, lingering perhaps a fraction longer than necessary whenever Nitrian came into his peripheral vision. He carried no obvious weapon, but the way his hand occasionally brushed the side of his hoodie suggested the presence of his system-generated dagger, ready at a moment's notice.
Joo-Hee arrived next, looking pale but resolute. She wore practical cargo pants and layered tops under her signature orange jacket, perhaps with some light, flexible protective padding underneath – a concession to the dangers Nitrian had drilled into her. Her healer's kit, larger and more comprehensively stocked than usual, was slung securely over her shoulder. Nervous energy still vibrated around her, evident in the way she tightly gripped the strap of her bag, but her chin was held high, her gaze fixed determinedly ahead, though she occasionally sent anxious, protective glances towards Jin-Woo. When Nitrian arrived, her gaze flickered towards him, the conflict – the anger, the grudging acknowledgment of his power, the deep-seated distrust – warring briefly on her face before she deliberately looked away, focusing solely on Jin-Woo.
Nitrian materialized seemingly out of the crowd moments later, looking deceptively relaxed. He wore simple dark jeans and a fitted black Henley that didn't constrict movement, his perpetually messy dark curls doing little to detract from the alert, assessing quality in his green eyes. He carried nothing besides his phone and wallet, his true arsenal concealed within his Dragon Den or readily summonable through magic. He surveyed Jin-Woo and Joo-Hee, noting the subtle shifts – Jin-Woo's heightened mana signature and coiled readiness, Joo-Hee's fortified resolve overlaying her anxiety.
"Everyone ready?" Nitrian asked, his voice calm and even, cutting through the noise of the station.
Jin-Woo gave a curt, single nod, his hand settling near the concealed dagger. His mind was a whirlwind of anticipation – for answers about his father, for the chance to grow exponentially stronger, for understanding the bizarre system controlling his life – all overlaid with the constant, grating suspicion of the person standing beside him.
Joo-Hee took a visible, steadying breath, her knuckles white where she gripped her bag strap. "Ready," she affirmed, her voice slightly strained but firm. Her purpose was clear: protect Jin-Woo, survive whatever came next, and never, ever let Nitrian put him in that kind of danger again if she could help it.
Nitrian held their gazes for a moment, acknowledging their fragile unity. (Good. Focused. Wary, but committed. Phase two begins now.) He turned towards the stairs leading down into the subway depths. "Alright. Train towards Sector 7 leaves in ten minutes. Let's move."
Without further words, they joined the stream of commuters descending into the station. Three figures moving with purpose amidst the oblivious crowd: one driven by a mysterious system and the shadow of his father, seeking strength and truth; one fueled by fierce loyalty and protective instincts, battling fear and conflicted emotions; one orchestrating events, wielding immense power and hidden knowledge, his own complex motives veiled behind a mask of calm control.
They boarded the train, finding seats together near the window, surrounded by the mundane chatter and digital glow of phones. As the train rumbled to life, pulling away from the platform and plunging into the darkness of the tunnels, they left the familiar world behind. Outside the window, the city blurred past, giving way to grimmer industrial landscapes as they neared Sector 7. They were heading towards Warehouse 4B, towards Project Mana, towards an unknown future defined by cryptic warnings, burgeoning power, and the deep, dangerous fault lines running through the heart of their fractured alliance. They had crossed the threshold.