The Awakened
Three of them. Each the size of a small car. Carapaced, six-legged, mandibles that could shear through steel.
Han-sol's face went pale. "Fall back! We can't—"
"No," Jae-sung said. "We hold here. If we retreat, they'll chase us through civilian zones."
"We'll all die!"
"Maybe. But running means everyone dies."
He set his stance. The other hunters—those still standing—followed his lead.
The Awakened beasts charged.
Yoo's Energy Sense screamed warnings. These things were powerful. Iron-rank equivalent at minimum. His father was Gold-high, but tired, injured, operating on adrenaline.
He'll die.
"Probability: 73%," Akasha confirmed. "Host father's survival odds: poor. Recommendation: emergency extraction via Extras World."
No. If we run, everyone here dies.
"Alternative: none detected."
Then we make one.
Yoo focused everything into Energy Sense. Pushed the skill beyond its normal range. Felt the shape of the battlefield. The energy flows. The—
There.
The Awakened beasts had synchronized movements. Not pack intelligence. Something else. A shared energy frequency that let them coordinate.
If I can disrupt that—
Yoo reached out with his consciousness. Touched the energy frequency. And twisted.
It was instinct. Desperation. Shouldn't have worked.
But it did.
Bind
The skill manifested without warning.
Yoo's Gi—barely developed, infant-weak—lashed out. Formed threads of energy that wrapped around the lead Awakened beast's frequency.
And pulled.
The beast stumbled. Its synchronization with the others fractured.
"New skill manifestation detected," Akasha reported with surprise. "Designation: Bind. Function: energy thread creation for restraint and manipulation. Power level: minimal. Effectiveness against Awakened-tier: 3%. However—"
Three percent was enough.
The lead beast's hesitation gave Jae-sung his opening. He lunged, drove his hammer into the creature's eye socket.
It screeched. Thrashed. But the coordination was broken.
The other two Awakened beasts, confused by the disruption, attacked without proper formation.
Han-sol and three other Gold-ranks converged on one. Four-on-one. They brought it down with sustained assault.
The third beast killed two more hunters before Jae-sung could reach it. But when he did—injured, exhausted, running on pure spite—he channeled every ounce of his Gold-high strength into one final strike.
The hammer crashed down. The beast's carapace cracked. Then shattered. Then the creature's entire body collapsed inward, crushed by force beyond its ability to withstand.
Silence.
The monsters were dead.
The defenders—those still standing—collapsed.
Jae-sung dropped to his knees, gasping.
Yoo's consciousness flickered. He'd expended too much energy. His infant body couldn't sustain that kind of output.
Thump-thump-thump.
His vision darkened.
The last thing he heard was his father's voice: "Stay with me, kid. We won. Stay awake. Please—"
Then nothing.
Recovery
Yoo woke three hours later.
Medical tent. Crude but functional. His father sitting beside him, head in his hands.
"You're awake." Relief flooded Jae-sung's face. "Don't ever do that again. Whatever you did—using your power during combat—you almost died."
Did we win?
Yoo tried to speak. His throat was too dry.
"We won," Jae-sung confirmed. "Twenty-three monsters dead. We lost nine hunters. Would've been twenty without you."
Not enough. Should've saved more.
"Incorrect assessment," Akasha said. "Host performed optimally given capabilities. Additional interventions would have resulted in host death. Nine losses is acceptable outcome."
Nine people died. That's not acceptable.
"Then become stronger. Mourn later. Grow first."
Yoo hated that Akasha was right.
But it was.
"The others want to see you," Jae-sung said quietly. "The baby who coordinated the defense. They're calling you a miracle."
I'm not a miracle. I'm just a reincarnated programmer in an infant's body. This is absurd.
But he nodded.
Because if people believed he was a miracle, maybe they'd protect him long enough for him to actually become strong.
The Visitors
They came in waves.
Han-sol first. She bowed—actually bowed—to an infant. "Thank you. My life. My people's lives. We owe you."
Please don't bow to a baby. This is so uncomfortable.
Ji-hye came. Crying. She'd awakened as Bronze-rank during the Surge but hadn't fought—she'd been protecting the non-combatant children. "You saved my son. Min-jun was on the defensive line. He's alive because you warned them."
Other hunters. Strangers. All thanking an infant who'd used abilities he shouldn't have.
Yoo endured it. Made appropriate baby sounds. Didn't speak—Akasha had warned him that talking too much would expose him completely.
Finally, they left.
Jae-sung closed the tent flap. "We need to talk. Really talk."
Yoo nodded.
"What are you? I've accepted that you're my son. That I'll protect you. But I need to know what I'm protecting."
Fair question. Yoo deserved honesty.
He focused. Forced his infant vocal cords to cooperate. It hurt. But he managed:
"Was... man. Died. Long... ago. Born... again."
Jae-sung went very still. "You're saying you're reincarnated?"
"Yes."
"How long ago did you die?"
"Eight... hun... dred... years."
"Eight hundred—" Jae-sung stood, paced, sat down again. "That's before the apocalypse. Before the rifts. You remember the old world?"
"Yes."
"And you chose to be reborn into this hell?"
"No... choice. Cos... mic... game. Pulled... me."
Jae-sung absorbed this. "The entities. Aethon and Chaos. They did this to you?"
"Acci... dent. Their... game... gathered... soul."
"So you're a mistake. A cosmic mistake that gave you a second life."
Yoo nodded.
Jae-sung laughed—bitter, exhausted sound. "Of course. My son is a reincarnated soul from before the apocalypse with powers that shouldn't exist. Why would he be normal?"
He reached over, touched Yoo's forehead gently.
"Doesn't matter. You're still my son. I'll still protect you. But we need to be smarter. Hide what you can do. Because if the wrong people find out—"
"I... know."
"Good. Then we have an understanding."
That Night
Dr. Choi reviewed the combat footage. Security cameras—primitive, salvaged from pre-apocalypse buildings—had captured fragments of the battle.
He watched an infant coordinate veteran hunters.
Watched energy threads manifest from nowhere to disrupt an Awakened beast.
Watched impossible power from an impossible child.
"Eight hundred forty-seven percent absorption rate during Core Surge," he murmured, reviewing his data. "Physical aging acceleration. Advanced consciousness. Multiple manifested abilities."
He should report this. Should tell the government, the guilds, the research divisions.
Instead, he deleted the footage.
"Some children become legends," he reminded himself. "Others become weapons."
He refused to let this one become the latter.
But he kept watching.
Because whatever Yoo Seung-yoon was becoming—
The world would need it.
Three Days Later
The slums stabilized. Dead were buried. Wounded recovered—accelerated by Core Surge enhanced healing.
Jae-sung spent those days training. His new Gold-high rank needed control. Raw power was useless without technique.
Yoo spent them in Extras World.
Four-hour sessions. Practicing energy control. Developing Bind skill. Expanding his pocket dimension—now twenty cubic meters.
His physical body aged more during those three days. Not as dramatically as the Surge night, but visibly. By day three, he looked eight months old.
People noticed. Whispered. But attributed it to "Surge anomaly effects."
Convenient lie.
On day four, a group arrived from the central district.
Government representatives. Guild scouts. And something else.
A woman in white robes. Face covered. Energy signature that made Yoo's senses scream.
"Warning: Platinum-rank entity detected. Threat level: extreme. Recommend: hide."
But there was nowhere to hide.
The woman walked directly to Jae-sung's quarters. Looked at Yoo with eyes that saw too much.
"The anomaly child," she said. "I've been looking for you."