Jae-sung didn't look convinced.
More tests followed. Reflexes. Energy manipulation. Spatial ability demonstration.
Yoo performed carefully. Showed Extras World entrance—small gap, only large enough for himself. Demonstrated Bind—weak threads that restrained a wooden block.
Impressive for an infant. Not threatening for Platinum-ranks.
Perfect.
The Offer Refined
After three hours, Min-ji concluded the assessment.
"He's remarkable. Adult consciousness, spatial abilities, energy sensitivity. But he's still physically developing. Current combat capacity: negligible. He'd die to the weakest Fledgling beast."
"Obviously," Jae-sung said. "He's a baby."
"Which presents opportunity. Mr. Lee, how would you like a contract?"
"What kind?"
"Six months. You join Reaper's Squad—elite hunting group, Diamond-rank leader. Dangerous missions. High mortality rate. But also: high rewards. Complete the contract, and you'll advance to Platinum threshold. Maybe beyond."
"And my son?"
"Stays here. Under academy protection. We'll feed him, house him, continue developmental monitoring. When you return, he'll be sixteen weeks old chronologically. Maybe one year old physically, given his growth rate. Old enough to begin actual training."
"You want me to leave him."
"I want you to become strong enough to protect him. Right now, you're Gold-high. That's insufficient against the threats he'll face. Six months with Reaper? You'll be Platinum minimum. Possibly Platinum-high. Strong enough to matter."
Jae-sung looked at Yoo. "What do you think, kid?"
Yoo processed it.
Six months alone. At academy. Under scrutiny. Vulnerable.
But his father would return Platinum-rank. Strong enough to actually defend him.
And Yoo would have six months to train in secret. Develop abilities. Prepare.
He nodded.
Do it. I'll survive.
"You sure?" Jae-sung's voice broke slightly.
"Yes," Yoo forced out. Clear. Definite.
"Then we have a deal," Jae-sung told Min-ji. "But if anything happens to him while I'm gone—"
"You'll kill us all. Yes. I remember. Don't worry." Min-ji smiled. "He's too valuable to damage. We'll treat him well."
Jae-sung signed the contract.
Yoo watched his father agree to leave him.
And didn't cry. Couldn't afford to.
Six months. I'll be stronger when you return. Strong enough that you'll be proud.
The Departure
Jae-sung left three days later.
Before going, he held Yoo one last time.
"You're the strongest person I know. And you're ten weeks old. That's insane." He kissed Yoo's forehead. "Grow. Learn. Survive. I'll be back. I promise."
I'll be here. Waiting.
Yoo couldn't say that. But his grip on his father's finger—strong for an infant—conveyed it.
Jae-sung handed him to Ji-hye. She'd been hired by the academy as Yoo's primary caretaker. Familiar face. Small comfort.
"Take care of him."
"With my life," Ji-hye promised.
Jae-sung left.
Yoo watched him go. Felt the distance growing.
Six months. I can do six months.
But that night, alone in the academy nursery—sterile, clean, safe—Yoo cried.
Not from fear. From loss.
From the realization that he'd just let his father walk into danger.
And all he could do was wait.
And grow.
And hope it was enough.
Ji-hye's Worry
She found him crying. Picked him up, rocked him.
"It's okay. Your daddy will come back."
Will he? Six months with Reaper's Squad. Mortality rate is what—forty percent?
Yoo couldn't stop the tears. Infant body's emotional regulation was terrible. Adult anxiety combined with child's hormones created feedback loop he couldn't control.
"Shh. It's okay." Ji-hye held him close. "I know you understand me. I know you're not normal. But you're still a baby who misses his father. That's allowed."
I'm not a baby. I'm twenty-nine years old. I shouldn't need this.
But he did.
So he let her rock him until exhaustion claimed him.
And in dreams, he saw the alley again. The gunshot. The blood.
Not again. I refuse to lose someone else.
Day One Without Father
Morning. Ji-hye woke him. Fed him. Changed him.
Routine.
But it felt wrong. Jae-sung was supposed to do this. His father's rough hands, awkward technique, whispered promises.
Now: professional caretaker. Efficient. Kind. But not Dad.
Six months.
Yoo focused on that. Survival goal. Endpoint.
Academy staff came for daily assessment. Scans. Measurements. Questions he answered with gestures and crude writing.
They documented everything.
I'm a lab rat. But a protected lab rat.
Better than being a dead rat.
That afternoon, Min-ji visited.
"How are you adjusting?"
Yoo shrugged—motion he'd learned recently.
"Understandable. Separation anxiety is normal. Even for reincarnated souls, apparently." She sat across from him. "I'm going to be direct. Your father will likely die."
Yoo's blood went cold.
"Reaper's Squad has sixty percent casualty rate over six months. Your father is strong, but he's not Diamond-rank. The missions they undertake—clearing Overlord-tier threats, securing high-value resources—they're designed for expendable Gold-ranks to support Diamond-rank leaders. Your father is expendable."
Why are you telling me this?
"Because you need to prepare for his death. And because—if you want him to survive—you need to give me something."
What?
"Information. About your abilities. Real information. Not the sanitized version you've been providing." She leaned forward. "I know you're hiding capabilities. Everyone does. The question is: how much are you willing to reveal to save your father?"
Yoo stared at her.
This is extortion.
"It's negotiation," Min-ji corrected, as if reading his mind. "I can assign additional support to Reaper's Squad. Make sure your father gets preferential healing. Better equipment. Assignment to less suicidal missions. But I need justification. And that justification is: you're more valuable than we thought."
What do you want to know?
"Your pocket dimension. It's larger than you've shown. How large?"
Yoo hesitated. Then wrote: 22 CUBIC METERS.
"And it has special properties? Beyond storage?"
HEALING. FASTER RECOVERY.
Min-ji's eyes gleamed. "That's significant. Healing domains are rare. Platinum-level ability at minimum. If you can develop it further—expand the size, increase the healing rate—you become strategic asset. Worth protecting. Worth investing in. Worth keeping fathers alive for."
She stood. "Thank you for your honesty. I'll arrange better support for Mr. Lee. He might actually survive now."
She left.
Yoo sat alone, shaking.
I just sold part of my soul to keep Dad alive.
"Correct," Akasha confirmed. "But necessary. Probability of host father survival increased from 38% to 71%. Acceptable trade."
Is it? Where does it end? How much do I give away to keep the people I care about safe?
"Unknown. But alternative—watching them die while you hide secrets—is that preferable?"
No.
It wasn't.
Then I'll do what I have to. Reveal what I must. Hide what I can.
And hope it's enough.