THAT NIGHT – EXTRAS WORLD
Yoo brought his consciousness into the pocket dimension for emergency planning.
"Contract assessment complete," Akasha reported. "Legal binding: legitimate. Escape clause: present but difficult to invoke. Overall evaluation: acceptable risk."
What are the dangers?
"Primary concern: 'study' may expand beyond stated boundaries. Academy research focus: understanding anomaly manifestation. Likely hypothesis: they want to replicate your abilities. Create more anomaly children artificially."
Can they do that?
"Unknown. But if they discover your reincarnation origin—that your soul was scattered for 823 years and reformed through cosmic accident—they may attempt to reproduce the process. Implications: disturbing."
Yoo's consciousness shuddered. The idea of others experiencing what he had—the void, the dissolution, the agony of reformation—was horrific.
We can't let them learn the full truth.
"Agreed. Recommend: reveal partial information only. Admit to reincarnation (already disclosed to host father). Deny knowledge of mechanism. Attribute abilities to 'unknown cosmic factors.' Provide enough data to satisfy curiosity without enabling replication."
That's... actually a good strategy.
"I am optimized for host survival. Deception is tool when necessary."
Fair point.
What about the other factions? The ones who want to weaponize or dissect anomaly children?
"Insufficient data. But assume they are monitoring. Academy protection is real—Platinum-rank presence deters casual interference. However, if perceived value exceeds risk, even Platinum ranks can be challenged."
So I need to become valuable enough to the academy that they protect me. But not so valuable that others risk war to take me.
"Precise assessment. Narrow optimization window. Recommend: demonstrate steady growth without revealing full capabilities. Hide Extras World's true nature. Conceal Akasha Archive's existence. Present as talented prodigy rather than unprecedented anomaly."
Can I do that while speaking like an infant?
"Vocal development will normalize in approximately 6–8 weeks. By three months chronological age, you should achieve basic speech capability. This aligns with 'prodigy' explanation rather than 'adult consciousness.'"
Yoo spent the next two hours practicing—manifesting objects, expanding Extras World boundaries (now twenty-two cubic meters), testing Bind skill.
The energy threads were weak. Could restrain small objects, nothing more. But Akasha theorized they'd strengthen with use.
Every tool matters. Even the small ones.
When he returned to his body, dawn was breaking.
First academy assessment was in six hours.
VANGUARD ACADEMY – FIRST VISIT
Sector 7 was different from the slums.
Clean. Organized. Buildings that weren't just salvaged rubble but actual architecture—pre-apocalypse structures maintained through hunter resources.
Jae-sung carried Yoo through security checkpoints. Each one scanned them—energy levels, threat assessment, biological markers.
At the third checkpoint, an alarm sounded.
"Spatial anomaly detected," the guard said. "Kid's giving off weird readings."
"He has spatial abilities," Jae-sung said carefully. "That's why we're here."
The guard consulted a tablet. "Right. Subject Yoo Seung-yoon. Cleared. But the dimensional signature is... strange. Like there's a pocket of nothing following him."
Extras World. They can detect it.
"Confirmed. Academy technology: more advanced than anticipated. Recommend: claim pocket dimension is small. Emphasize 'developing ability' narrative."
"His ability is still forming," Jae-sung improvised. "He's only ten weeks old."
"Ten weeks?" The guard looked at Yoo. "Kid looks eight months."
"Core Surge accelerated his growth. It's documented."
The guard waved them through. "Sure. Everything's weird now. Go to Building 12, third floor. Instructor Kang is waiting."
They entered a massive building. Inside—training halls, research labs, classrooms.
Hundreds of children, ages five to fifteen, trained in combat, energy manipulation, and academic subjects.
A functioning school. In the apocalypse.
This is what organization and resources can accomplish.
They reached the third floor.
Min-ji waited in a sterile room filled with equipment Yoo didn't recognize.
"Welcome. Let's begin."
THE ASSESSMENT
"Place him on the examination table."
Jae-sung did—remaining close enough to grab Yoo and run if needed.
Min-ji activated devices. Holographic displays appeared, showing Yoo's energy signature in three dimensions.
"Fascinating. His Gi pathways are fully formed. That should take three to five years. He's achieved it in ten weeks."
"Core Surge," Jae-sung offered.
"Partially. But look—" She zoomed in on neural patterns. "His brain structure. It's not infant-level. It's closer to adolescent development. Maybe twelve-year-old equivalent."
Shit. She's good.
"How is that possible?" Jae-sung asked.
"It shouldn't be. Unless..." Min-ji studied Yoo directly. "Unless he's not developing naturally. Tell me, child. Can you understand everything we're saying?"
Yoo considered lying. But Energy Sense detected three other Platinum-ranks hidden in adjacent rooms—probably monitoring.
Lying would be caught immediately.
He nodded.
"And you can think at what level? Toddler? Pre-teen?"
Yoo held up fingers. Struggled to make the number clear. Finally managed by raising both hands twice.
"Twenty? You think at twenty-year-old level?"
Close enough. Nod.
Min-ji's eyes widened.
"You're claiming adult consciousness in infant body?"
Another nod.
"And you remember a previous life?"
Here's where I control the narrative.
Nod.
"How did you die?"
Yoo made speaking gestures. Couldn't form complex words yet. Mimed writing.
Min-ji provided tablet and stylus. Yoo's infant hands could barely grip it—but he managed crude characters:
SHOT. LONG AGO. VOID. PULLED BACK.
"Shot? You were murdered?"
Nod.
"And you spent time in the void between death and rebirth?"
Nod.
"How long?"
Yoo wrote: DON'T KNOW. VERY LONG.
Not a lie. He didn't know exact duration—time didn't work normally in the void.
"And the cosmic game pulled you back?"
Nod.
Min-ji absorbed this.
"You're claiming to be a naturally reincarnated soul. Not artificially created. Not engineered. Just... a cosmic accident."
YES.
"And your abilities—spatial manipulation, accelerated growth, enhanced cognition—are all results of this unusual reincarnation?"
YES.
Half-truth. But close enough to satisfy.
Min-ji made notes. "This changes things. If your condition is unrepeatable—if it requires genuine death, void exposure, and cosmic intervention—then you're not a template. You're a unique case study."
She looked at Jae-sung.
"Good news: our research interest drops significantly. We can't weaponize random chance.
Bad news: other factions might view him as salvage. Try to extract and study his soul directly."
"Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged, if you're not careful. But I meant what I said—we'll protect him. He's valuable data, but also a child. We're not monsters."