The Rift mirrored the alley he came from, but twisted—like walking into a shattered reflection of reality. Jagged walls shimmered like cracked glass, and distant neon lights blinked in eerie delay, casting warped shadows in every direction.
Everything was quiet. Unnaturally so.
Then, movement.
Three Rift Hounds stalked from behind the mist. Small, fast, and beginner-tier—but Jaemin remembered them well. His first raid. His almost-lost arms. The phantom pain still lingered.
He set his bag down gently, pulling out a plain steel dagger. No aura, no enhancements—just a weapon that could kill, but little more.
One of the hounds let out a low howl. In an instant, both leapt.
Jaemin moved on instinct—low, swift, controlled. His hoodie fluttered as he ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding a snapping jaw. The world seemed to slow around him, their limbs sluggish, almost readable.
Still, his hands were shaking.
The hounds attacked again. He dodged—once, twice, three times. Until he stopped dead in his tracks, panting, fists clenched.
"No… I won't dodge anymore…"
His voice trembled, raw with something deeper than fear.
"I want to kill… kill you!!!"
The nearest hound lunged again.
SLASH!
His blade tore across its nape in one clean arc. The creature howled mid-air, then hit the ground twitching. Jaemin didn't flinch. He drove the dagger straight through its skull. Blood splashed across his sleeves.
The second and third came in a blur. He moved before he could think.
SLASH!
Second one down.
SLASH!
Third stabbed straight through the skull, brutal, messy, final.
He staggered back, chest heaving, dagger dripping.
Three Rift Hounds.
Dead.
By his hand.
For a long second, he just stood there, breathless, the silence rushing back in like a crashing wave.
His first kill. His first three.
Achievement or not, the weight of it all hit him—in his arms, his knees, his chest. But this time, he didn't run.
He looked down at his bloodied dagger, hands still trembling.
And he smiled, just a little.
"One step closer."
From the darkness between the warped alleyways, more movement stirred.
First one pair of eyes. Then five. Then dozens.
More Rift Hounds. Fast. Twenty of them, slythering with twisted hunger in their eyes.
But they weren't alone.
From behind the pack, a second wave slinked out of the mist—smaller, but far more sinister.
Ten Abyssal Vulpus. Each the size of a teenager, but shaped like nightmares—lanky limbs tipped with long claws, snouts like warped foxes, eyes glowing with cruel intelligence. Their teeth were long and uneven, poking out from thin, stretched jaws.
Jaemin took a single step back.
His hand trembled—but he forced it still. Gripping his dagger tightly, he spun it around in his palm, flipping the blade backward into a reverse grip.
"Breathe."
"Focus."
His Hoodie sleeves were soaked in blood, sticking to his arms. But his muscles were warm now, awakened. Ready.
The dagger's weight felt familiar. Comfortable.
He looked up as the first hound growled, the Vulpus behind it tilting its head with inhuman curiosity.
Jaemin exhaled through his nose.
And said, calm but steady:
"Bring it on."
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
Jaemin moved like a man possessed.
Every time a Rift Hound lunged, his dagger met it mid-air—cutting through fur, flesh, and bone. The alley warped with movement and violence, blood splattering the twisted mirror-world around him.
A bite to the arm—he grunted.
A claw across the ribs—he winced.
But he never stopped.
One after another, all twenty hounds fell.
Bodies disintegrated into steam around his feet. His arms burned, soaked in blood—not all of it his own. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes were sharp.
Then he turned.
The Abyssal Vulpus stared back at him, still ten strong. They were cautious now, eyes twitching, muscles tensing like coiled springs.
Jaemin wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve.
"You're next."
He muttered.
One of them dashed forward like lightning.
Jaemin raised his dagger—
CRACK!
The Vulpus bit straight through it.
Shards of steel clattered to the ground.
"Shit."
Jaemin breathed, eyes wide.
The Vulpus coiled for another strike, claws gleaming—
But Jaemin moved first.
BAM!!
His fist, clenched with every fiber of his will, smashed into its skull with raw force.The Vulpus's head crumpled inward—then burst into steam.
He blinked. His fist trembled. But he wasn't done.
Jaemin lunged forward.
No more dodging. No more fear.
He met the remaining Vulpus head-on, fist against claw.
THUMP!!
THUD!!
CRACK!!
His hoodie was shredded. His body slashed and punctured, claw marks streaking down his torso and sides. But each strike only pushed him further.
He saw their movements more clearly.
Faster. Slower. Predictable.
He caught one mid-air and slammed it into the ground. Another, he sidestepped and drove his elbow into its spine.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.
The tenth tried to run.
Jaemin grabbed it by the back of its neck and punched through its head.
Steam hissed from his knuckles.
Then—Silence.
His knees gave out. He collapsed onto the cracked stone floor, bleeding, panting, but alive.
His vision blurred.
But even through the pain, the agony, and the stench of death—
A smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
Jaemin dragged himself against the warped wall of the Rift alley, his body screaming in pain. His arms were torn open, his torso laced with gashes, and blood dripped steadily onto the broken ground.
He reached into his bag with trembling hands and pulled out his water bottle, uncapping it with his teeth.
Gulp.
He drank the entire thing in one go, some of it spilling down his chin as he gasped between swallows.
"If only I could recover quickly…"
He muttered between pants, dropping the bottle beside him.
The moment the word "recover" left his lips—
An emerald hue pulsed from beneath his skin.
It lasted just a second—no more than a flicker of light—but the effect was immediate.
Wounds sealed. Fatigue vanished.His breath steadied.
The pain was just… gone.
He stared at his arms in disbelief, watching the skin knit together, raw muscle hidden beneath smooth flesh once more. Blood still stained his clothes—this wasn't magic laundry—but the damage was healed.
"All I have to do is say it? Recover… with the intent to heal?"
He flexed his hands. No tremble. No weakness. He felt… light. Almost energized.
A soft laugh escaped him. Then a faint smile.
"Sweet nectar."
He said, tilting his head back, letting the surreal calm wash over him.
And for the first time since entering the Rift…
He wasn't afraid.
Jaemin pushed himself to his feet, exhaling slowly.
The burn in his muscles was gone, but he knew better than to rely on miracles.
"I can't spam it..."
He muttered, flexing his fingers, still faintly glowing from the emerald hue.
"There's gotta be a cooldown… maybe once a day."
He'd play it safe and assume as much. No more reckless charges.
The fights had proven one thing: bare fists wouldn't cut it forever. He got lucky this time. If one of those Vulpus creatures had sharper instincts, his hand would've been the appetizer.
He needed a weapon—a real one.
He recalled something he'd seen in training lectures.
Precision Cores. The only Core type capable of weapon conjuration, usually limited to throwing knives or short blades. Simple, tactical tools.
Jaemin closed his eyes.
His breathing calmed. His intent sharpened.
"Conjuration."
In an instant, something formed in his hand—not the flicker of a dagger. No, this was heavier. Sleek. Cold.
His eyes widened.
A blade gleamed in his grasp—not just any weapon.
A katana, lightweight and perfectly balanced, the steel glowing faint gold. Sakura petal engravings shimmered faintly along the length of the blade, dancing like etchings of memory.
"What…?"
He hadn't said "Precision Core: Conjuration," and no one in that class could conjure this kind of weapon. And then he saw it—
A faint glyph hovered just above the hilt, like a hologram.
"Eye of the Sun."
A name. Engraved into existence.
It wasn't divine. He could feel that much. Not some god-tier artifact. But it pulsed with presence—a low-tier relic maybe, ideal for someone still growing into their power.
Lightweight. Razor-sharp. It moved like it wanted to fly.When he gripped it, the air around the edge shimmered faintly—as if the blade cut the wind before even swinging.
Jaemin stared at it, breath steady.
"So… this is what I can do."
He lifted the blade, golden edge catching the Rift's dim light.
The fear was still there, somewhere deep down. But now?
He was armed.
Jaemin lowered the blade gently, letting it rest across his lap. The golden sheen of Eye of the Sun still shimmered, but his focus had shifted.
He reached into his small, half-torn backpack—his fingers fumbling past protein bars and gauze—until they closed around something far more important.
The coffee.
Stolen straight from the hospital fridge. Still cold.
He peeled it open with a hiss and dropped to the floor, cross-legged like a kid about to unwrap a rare toy. For a moment, the Rift's hum, the scent of steam and blood, even the weight of the katana—all of it faded into the background.
He took a sip.
Bitterness punched him in the tongue.
And he loved it.
His eyes gleamed as if he'd just leveled up. The bitter roast hit deeper than expected, like the flavor had a story. Grit, energy, focus—all packed into a single swig. He chugged the rest down like water, not even flinching.
"Oh damn!!!"
He exhaled, staring at the empty can.
"Better than recovery."
His shoulders loosened. Muscles still tense, but spirit? Calmer. Recharged. Not just from the caffeine, but from the act itself—this tiny moment of normal in a world flipped upside down.
A golden katana in one hand. A new coffee addiction in the other.
"Not bad."
He got up, dusted his pants, and slung the torn backpack around his shoulder. The weight was uneven, the strap frayed, but it held. Just barely.
Jaemin pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie—now tight around his forearms. Not bulky, but strong. Corded muscle wrapped his lean frame like a suit of tempered steel slowly forging itself. Still growing. Still unfinished.
He reached down and gripped Eye of the Sun. The katana hummed faintly in his hand, the golden blade gleaming under the warped light of the Rift like a whisper of dawn cutting through stormclouds.
He took a breath.Then another.
The ground beneath his feet was fractured, pulsing gently with Rift energy. Steam hissed out of the cracks, curling around his ankles like curious spirits.
His fingers twitched slightly on the hilt—not from cold. From memory.
The Mirror Warmaiden.
The Monster that killed all of them.
The screams.
The glass that saved him.
The lives lost.
His body had healed.
But the scar on his soul hadn't.
Still, he walked.
Step by step, Jaemin moved deeper into the Rift. The alleyway illusion was gone now. Ahead, the landscape twisted into obsidian plains and jagged cliffs, all reflecting warped shadows of himself like broken mirrors hanging in midair.
"No way back. Only forward."
He kept his posture firm, but every sound made him tighten his grip just slightly. Every flicker of motion in the steam made his eyes dart.
And yet… he didn't hesitate.
For the first time, Jaemin was not running from the Rift.
He was walking into it—with sword in hand, breath steady, and a whisper of resolve burning in his veins.
"Come on," he said under his breath, eyes scanning every crevice.
"Let's see what you've got."
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
SLASH!!
The Eye of the Sun gleamed with every motion, a golden arc cleaving through shadowed flesh.
Rifthounds leapt at him from the mist—teeth bared, claws flashing—but they fell just as quickly. The katana cut through them like they were made of steam and paper.
"A million times better than that rusted dagger."
Jaemin muttered, panting between swings.
Another one lunged from the side.
SLASH!!
Its head rolled clean off before it even made contact.
The weight of the blade felt natural in his hand, like it belonged there. Not too heavy, not too light. A perfect extension of his will.
This is it, he thought. This is how I survive.
He pivoted, ducked under a lunge, and carved upward in a perfect arc.
SPLATTER!!
Blood turned to mist midair. Another down.
His movements were sharper now—efficient. The panic was still there, buried under his ribs, but it no longer ruled him. Now it was fuel.
Another hound lunged from behind—he twisted, parried, then rammed the blade through its gut and tore it free.
"Keep coming."
He hissed through clenched teeth, sweat dripping down his chin.
"I'll cut you all down."
The Rift answered with silence. At least, for now.
Jaemin stood still, katana at his side, steam rising from the ground and the corpses around him. His breath was heavy. His heartbeat loud in his ears.
But his hands?They no longer trembled.
A building hung upside-down in the sky — floors suspended midair, furniture bolted to the ceiling as if gravity had given up. Glass shards floated motionless in the mist, reflecting Jaemin from a dozen angles. He moved cautiously, his katana held low, his steps silent on the inverted floor.
Something was here. He could feel it.
A pressure… like eyes watching from every corner. The air was heavier, warmer.His instincts screamed the word before he could think it:
Overseer.
The final boss of a Tier-5 Rift.
Even trained Coreborn tread carefully when facing one. They were fast, intelligent, and brutal. And Jaemin? He was just a rookie. Barely awakened. Wounded not long ago.
His breath caught in his throat. For a moment, his grip on the katana faltered.
Am I really doing this?
Yes. He had to.
His fear hadn't vanished. It still gnawed at him, coiled in his gut like a snake. But wrapped around that fear now was something stronger—will.
He stepped forward again.
I'm not here to survive anymore. I'm here to kill.To win.
He clenched the sword tighter and whispered into the shifting air around him:
"I know you're here. Come out, Overseer."
And from the far side of the upside-down ruin…Something stirred.
From the darkness, it descended—coiled around a rusted support pipe above a silver-black lake.
A long, humanoid figure. Its torso shimmered with a faint glow, like constellations stitched into flesh. A jagged crown hovered above its head, spinning slowly like a blade waiting to fall. Two eyes burned in its face—no pupils, just gleaming orbs of fractured starlight. Its arms ended in claws, each finger curved like scythes. Below the torso, there were no legs—just a serpentine lower body, scaled and endless, winding up around the pipe in a spiral upside own that defied gravity.
It didn't breathe.
It didn't blink.
It only watched.
Jaemin stared back, gripping his katana. The "Eye of the Sun" hummed faintly in his hands, the golden edge picking up reflections from the lake. Behind him, the upside-down world held its breath. Even the broken glass had stopped spinning.
This thing... this is on another level entirely. Ttill a tier-5..still something i can fight then.
But he didn't step back.
Because the Overseer wasn't just some monster—it was a wall. One he had to break through.
If I run now, I'll never come back. If I win... I prove I belong in this world.
His voice cracked the silence.
"I'll take you down."
The Overseer uncoiled with the hiss of shifting metal, dropping low toward the lake with a grace far too fluid for its massive size. Ripples moved out in a circle, glowing faintly blue.
And then—The Overseer shrieked, a hollow, mechanical sound like static tearing through speakers—
As if answering that glow, Jaemin tightened his grip around the hilt.
A pulse. A flicker of light.
His blade shimmered—softly, faintly—but unmistakably alive with energy. The golden edge wasn't just reflecting now; it was glowing. Not bright. Not loud. But ready.
The Overseer tilted its crowned head.
Jaemin didn't flinch.
He was ready.