Jae-sung sat back down, watching his son's chest rise and fall with shallow breaths.
What are you? he wondered. What did I bring into this world?
The baby's eyes opened. Stared directly at him with that too-knowing gaze.
Then closed again.
Jae-sung shivered.
Inside Yoo's Mind
"Host father suspects anomaly," Akasha reported. "Recommend: minimize unusual behavior until motor control is sufficient to disguise adult awareness as prodigy development."
How long?
"Four weeks minimum."
Four weeks of playing completely helpless infant. Four weeks of pretending he couldn't understand language, couldn't process information, couldn't do anything but eat, sleep, and shit.
I'm going to lose my mind.
"Unlikely. Human consciousness is remarkably resilient. However, psychological strain will be significant. Recommendation: establish routine. Create mental exercises to maintain cognitive function."
Like what?
"Mathematics. Code architecture. Game design theory. Anything that engages analytical processes without requiring physical output."
Yoo latched onto that idea like a lifeline.
For the next three days, while his body was fed, changed, and moved around by his father, his mind was elsewhere.
He designed entire game systems in his head. Calculated probability matrices. Rebuilt code algorithms from memory. Planned progression trees for hypothetical RPGs.
It kept him sane.
Barely.
Six Days After Birth
Jae-sung carried his son through the slums for the first time.
The bunker's upper levels had been evacuated after the breach. Too dangerous, structurally unsound. Most survivors had relocated to the surface—to the sprawling tent cities and salvaged-building communities that had sprung up in Seoul's ruins.
The slums.
They weren't officially called that. The government termed them "Transitional Habitation Zones" or some bureaucratic nonsense.
Everyone else called them what they were: the place where people went to survive or die.
Jae-sung navigated through narrow passages between tents. Cooking fires leaked smoke. People hunched over meager rations. Children—the few who remained—played in dirt with improvised toys.
This was humanity now.
He found Ji-hye's place in the eastern section. A reinforced tent, larger than most, with actual walls on two sides—salvaged sheet metal.
A woman emerged before he could knock. Thirties, tired eyes, but she smiled when she saw him.
"You're Jae-sung? Min-jun told me you might come."
"He did?"
"Said his squad leader just lost his wife. Had a newborn. Might need help." She looked at the bundle in his arms. "That him?"
"Yeah. His name is—" Jae-sung paused. They hadn't officially named him yet. Min-ah was supposed to choose. "—Seung-yoon. Yoo Seung-yoon."
Wait, what?
Inside the bundle, Yoo's consciousness jolted.
Did he just—did he name me MY NAME?
"Affirmative. Host father has assigned designation: Yoo Seung-yoon. Probability this is coincidence: 0.0000000000003%."
That's impossible. He can't know. There's no way—
"Agreed. However, data indicates otherwise. Hypothesis: cosmic energies involved in host's reincarnation may have influenced father's subconscious choice. Alternatively: predetermined destiny structure."
I don't believe in destiny.
"Irrelevance. Destiny does not require belief to function."
Ji-hye was speaking: "—can watch him while you're deployed. I have three others here currently. All under age two. It's cramped but safe."
"How much?" Jae-sung asked.
"Ten tokens per day."
Not unreasonable. Hunter missions paid fifty to five hundred depending on difficulty. Jae-sung could afford it.
"Deal."
Ji-hye took the baby—took Yoo—with practiced ease. "Don't worry. I raised Min-jun through worse than this. Your boy will be fine."
Jae-sung hesitated. Then: "He's... special. I don't know how to explain it. Just—watch him closely. If anything unusual happens—"
"I'll call you immediately." Ji-hye's expression was understanding. "Every parent thinks their child is special. And in this world? Every child who survives is special."
Jae-sung nodded. Touched his son's head one last time.
"Stay alive, kid. I'll be back soon."
He left before he could change his mind.
Ji-hye's Care
Yoo found himself in a new environment.
Ji-hye's tent was indeed cramped. Four makeshift cribs—three occupied by sleeping infants. Supply shelves. A cooking area. A small medical station.
She placed him in the empty crib, adjusted blankets, checked his diaper.
"You're awfully quiet," she murmured. "Most newborns cry more. You in shock, little one?"
If only you knew.
Yoo had spent the last six days processing trauma. Birth. Death. Reincarnation. Helplessness. The weight of adult consciousness in infant form.
He was exhausted.
But also alert. Analyzing everything. The tent's structure—reinforced against monster incursions but would collapse under sustained assault. The other infants—all around two to six months old, developing normally based on movement patterns. The supplies—adequate for short term, insufficient for extended siege.
This place was a death trap if anything serious attacked.
We need defenses. Better walls. Escape routes. A—
"Host: you cannot implement defenses. You cannot walk, speak, or manipulate objects. Current capacity: minimal motor control of three fingers. Recommendation: cease tactical analysis of situations beyond your capability to influence."
Then what am I supposed to do?
"Survive. Grow. Wait."
Yoo hated that answer.
But it was the only one that made sense.
Two Weeks After Birth
Progress came in millimeters.
Yoo could now open and close his hands on command. Could turn his head deliberately—not just random infant movements. Could focus his eyes on specific objects and track movement.
To an outside observer, he looked like a normally developing infant. Maybe slightly ahead of the curve.
To Yoo, it felt like climbing a mountain with his fingernails.
Ji-hye noticed. "You're a smart one, aren't you?" she said while feeding him. "Already tracking faces. Most babies your age don't do that."
I'm not a baby. I'm a twenty-nine-year-old man trapped in a baby's body. This is psychological torture.
He smiled at her.
Because what else could he do?
Ji-hye smiled back. "You're going to be handsome like your father. And hopefully just as strong. This world needs strong people."
She didn't know how right she was.
Three Weeks After Birth
Jae-sung returned from his mission.
Injured. Limping. Three days overdue. Ji-hye had been worried but said nothing—hunters being late was normal. Being dead was normal.
Being alive was the surprise.
"Your boy was perfect," she reported. "Ate well. Slept through the night after the first week. Barely cried."
Jae-sung picked up his son. The baby grabbed his finger—strong grip for a newborn.
"Hey, kid. Missed me?"