Darkness.
No sound. No pain. Just a silent, endless void.
Then... breathe.
Jaemin gasped, but it wasn't through his lungs. It was deeper — like his very soul took a breath. The darkness peeled away, revealing towering trees soaked in mist, damp soil underfoot, and air thick with something ancient and primal.
A jungle. A memory?
He stood — or maybe floated — in a scene that wasn't his. Yet it was.
Ahead, a man held a bloodstained axe, panting. The smell of iron hung like incense. Another man's head — or his head — rolled on the ground nearby, severed at the neck. Jaemin felt it hit the dirt, felt the warm spit strike his face as the axe-bearer sneered:
"Even demons aren't a challenge for me."
That voice was familiar in a way that made his stomach twist.
Jaemin couldn't speak — not yet. But in the silence that followed, a thought echoed like thunder across his being in a voice that was not his.
"Humans… they're worse than demons..."
And then… he answered.
His voice emerged, calm at first, raw and deeply human.
"Not all of them."
"There are still those who believe, still those who help, who protect, who stand by their families — their friends. People who treat others as equals. If a saint wanted to change the world, he'd do it as a human."
He took a step forward — the jungle blurring around him.
"I'm no saint... but I still want to live."
"I want to fight death..."
"I want to LIVE!!!"
****
Back in the Abyssal Domain
The sky ruptured.
KRRRRRRRAAAAKKAAAAAA-THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!
A golden bolt of divine thunder tore down from the heavens, more violent than judgment. The entire Tier-1 biome shattered in light, as if reality itself cracked open.
Pure white.
The pedestal.The lava.The screams.Gone.
****
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound was soft. Steady.
Jaemin stirred.
His eyelids fluttered open, expecting pain — a searing migraine, broken bones, the burn of molten chains, or the pressure of shattered limbs.
But there was... nothing.
Just air.
Warm, quiet, alive.
He blinked and looked around. A white ceiling greeted him, smooth and flat, with fluorescent lights humming overhead. The rhythm of the heart monitor beside him ticked calmly, unnaturally calm.
Jaemin sat up slowly, expecting resistance — but his body moved with ease. No pain. No tension.
He stared at his arms. No burns. No bruises. No bandages.
Even his legs — both of them — were whole.
He ran a hand over his face. His glasses — gone.
He looked to the side, found a reflective panel across from the bed, and froze.
His left eye. It was whole. Unbandaged. Clear.
He could see. Perfectly.
No blurriness. No pain. No scars.
"...What the hell?"
Everything about his body was fine — as if nothing had happened at all.
No broken ribs, no shattered eye. No fire. No blood. pedestal.
"How did I end up here?"
"Where is this?"
"Why am I... okay?"
The memory of Hana's scream, Jinhwan's mutilated form, the abyssal lord's voice — it all came crashing back.
He clutched his head — not from pain, but confusion. The events hadn't been a dream. He remembered the deaths. The fire. The agony.
And that lightning…
That lightning.
KRRAAAKKA-THOOMMMMMM!!!
Golden. Divine. Final.
He wasn't just healed. He was back to earth...unharmed...
And someone — or something — brought him back.
But why?
The room was silent—until it wasn't.
Somewhere past the wall, beyond the sterile white of the medical bay, Jaemin hears it:A voice.
But it isn't broken or demonic. It doesn't echo like hunger or hate.
It's harmonic. Like wind through a flute. Like... memory woven into music.
He can't make out the words. It's not a language — it's a feeling.
Calm. Watchful. Ancient.
He stands and approaches the wall. Nothing's there. No intercom. No corridor.
But when he touches the surface, it hums warmly under his palm like it knows him. Like it's waiting.
****
Jaemin sat there for a long while, staring at his hands. They didn't tremble like they used to. No twitching in the fingers, no soreness in the wrists. Just… stillness. Strength.
Something in him itched — a pressure under the skin. Not pain. Just this strange, restless energy.
His eyes flicked to the floor.It was spotless. Cold. Flat.
"…I should try something."
He slid off the hospital bed and dropped down. Palms on the ground. Toes set. His arms trembled instinctively, remembering how two pushups used to feel like punishment. A joke to the rest of his class. A curse to his own body.
But this time…
One.Two.Three…
His breath didn't hitch. His elbows didn't lock. His shoulders didn't give.
Four.Five.Six, seven, eight.
It was like pushing against feathers. His body moved like it belonged to someone else — someone sharper, denser, and leaner. Not heavier. Just… more real.
Fifteen.Twenty.
He paused — more surprised than tired.
"What the hell…"
But the pressure didn't stop. He didn't feel sore — not yet — just confused.
"Alright then..."
Twenty-five.Thirty.
He stopped. Not because he had to. Just because he didn't understand why he could.
Jaemin sat back, breathing a little heavier but still steady. His arms didn't burn. His lungs didn't scream. It was as if the body he'd dragged around all his life had shed its rust overnight.
He looked down at his hands again.
"...This isn't normal...like me..."
Jaemin sat on the floor, arms trembling slightly from the thirty push-ups he never thought he could do. His breath was calm.
Just as he exhaled and leaned back against the wall, his senses prickled.
A subtle shift in the air. Like static. He turned his head to the closed door, narrowing his eyes. His instincts whispered.
Click.
The door opened, and in stepped a girl with a hoodie too big for her frame and sweatpants dragging at the ankles. Her hair—brown-black and just brushing her shoulders—was unbrushed but clean. A sling bag hung off one shoulder, weighed down with whatever she'd been carrying all day.
Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him.
"There you are!"
She blurted out, her voice laced with both relief and barely concealed frustration.
Jaemin blinked once, the corners of his lips tugging upward. His hand lifted reflexively to the back of his head as he gave a sheepish chuckle.
"Hey, Nari."
"How could you make such a reckless decision?"
She continued, stepping closer. Her black eyes searched his face for answers.
"You just—entered a Tier 5 Rift out of nowhere just because someone offered? Are you serious?"
Jaemin looked away, shame prickling at the base of his neck.
"I'm sorry… I'll pay your tuition fees soon, I promise."
She crossed her arms and stared at him.
"I'm not talking about the fees, oppa; I'm talking about you."
Jaemin didn't answer right away. He looked toward the window, then to the dull white tiles of the hospital floor. The weight in his chest settled deeper.
How did no one realize it was a multi-tiered Rift? Not the scouts. Not the Covenant. Not even the raiding party.Then again, he was the only one who survived.
Nari glanced at her watch and groaned.
"Oye, dumbass. I have class right now, so I'm leaving."
Pausing at the door.
"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Jaemin raised an eyebrow, giving her a half-hearted glare.
"Hey, I'm older than you."
"Yeah yeah, sure, oppa," she shot back with a teasing grin.
"See you later—and take care of yourself, okay?"
She gave him a quick smile before stepping out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
Jaemin stayed seated for a moment. Then, without a word, he lay back on the hospital bed, eyes on the pale ceiling.
No thoughts.
The soft knock at the hospital room door interrupted the heavy silence.
The door opened slowly, revealing two men in dark suits. Both wore sharp expressions, their eyes trained carefully on Jaemin.
The taller one stepped forward first, extending a gloved hand.
"Good afternoon. I'm Director Kim Minsoo, head of Coreborn Identification for the Coreborns Association, Korea Branch."
The shorter man followed, bowing slightly.
"And I am Deputy Director Lee Hyunwoo. We've come regarding the recent Tier 5 Rift incident."
Jaemin sat up, squinting at them.
"So… you're here because I was the only survivor?"
Director Kim nodded, pulling a small device from his jacket—a sleek black box with a glowing screen and a long thin wire ending in a small probe.
"We suspect you may have awakened your Coreborn abilities during the Rift. This device will confirm it."
He gently lifted Jaemin's hospital gown at the base of his spine and attached the probe. A soft hum filled the room.
Minutes passed.
The screen flickered, displaying a number: 11.
Deputy Director Lee squinted at the device, his tone flat.
"11… Hmm."
Director Kim looked at Jaemin, lips curling in a half-smile.
"Anything above 10 counts as awakening, technically."
Jaemin's heart skipped.
"So… I'm a Coreborn?"
"Not quite," Lee said, shaking his head.
"Anything above 30 is a decent level. You're barely over the threshold. You have the Precision Core aura, but it's weak, very weak. Better to stay a non-Coreborn if you ask me."
Kim glanced back at the screen, eyes unreadable.
"Still, considering you're the only survivor… this is just the beginning. Your journey, Mr. Han."
Jaemin exhaled slowly, staring at the flickering numbers, the faint orange glow reflecting in his dark eyes.
The screen flickered one last time before settling on a glowing 11, displayed in dull orange.
Deputy Director Lee clicked his tongue.
"Hmph. Just barely made it." He crossed his arms. "Precision Core, weak signal. It's not much."
Jaemin stayed quiet, staring at the number like it had just sealed his fate.
Director Kim, however, stepped forward with a warm smile that reached his eyes. He extended his hand to Jaemin again, this time with genuine warmth.
"Still, congratulations," he said. "An awakening is an awakening. Don't let that number define you."
Jaemin hesitated, then shook his hand, surprised by how firm yet gentle the grip was.
"Mr. Han, we've seen Coreborns with high numbers fall, and those with low numbers rise above everyone else. Any good you do—no matter how small—will be noticed, and appreciated."
Jaemin looked up, a little startled by the sincerity in his tone.
Lee scoffed from near the door, clearly unimpressed.
"We're done here, Director. Let's not waste more time."
Without even glancing back at Jaemin, he opened the door and stepped out, letting it swing shut behind him.
Director Kim gave Jaemin a sheepish shrug.
"He's not the best with people."
Jaemin gave the faintest of smiles.
"Still," Kim added, his tone firm now, "you survived what no one else did. That alone makes you different, Mr. Han. Someone will be in touch soon. In the meantime… rest. You've earned it."
With that, he turned and followed Lee out, leaving Jaemin alone with the soft hum of the machine and the quiet echo of his own thoughts.
He looked back at the screen—11, orange.
Weak. Barely anything.
But it was something.
For the first time in his life… Han Jaemin wasn't just a trainee anymore.
The door clicked shut behind Kim Minsoo, leaving silence in its wake.
Jaemin sat there for a few moments, staring at the now-dark screen, the number 11 still burned into his thoughts.
Then he let out a long breath and leaned back into the hospital bed, head hitting the pillow sideways with a soft thump.
For a while, there was nothing—just the hum of machines and distant footsteps in the hall.
But slowly, a strange feeling stirred in his stomach.
Not dread. Not disappointment.
Butterflies.
A quiet flutter of excitement, light and unfamiliar, blooming deep inside.
"I'm a Coreborn."
The words felt surreal even in his own mind.
He turned his head, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. His hand drifted down to his stomach, pressing gently over the fluttering sensation.
It didn't make sense. 11 was practically nothing. A weak orange. Barely made it.
But still… it was something.
And maybe that something meant more to him than he realized.
His father had been a true Coreborn—seasoned, revered, a living legend. A Bastion Core with a Volt elemental imprint, and power readings somewhere around 12,300 or even WAY MORE. The kind of number people wrote books about.
Then one day, he vanished—disappeared into the depths of a Rift and never came back.
Jaemin was nothing like him.
But for the first time in his life, he belonged to the same world.
He closed his eyes. The fluttering in his stomach remained. A spark—not of power, but of possibility.
It's only 11. But it's mine.
And that was enough… for now.