Four Months Later
Yoo was six months old chronologically.
Physically, he appeared two years old.
The academy's doctors had stopped being surprised. Now they just documented the impossible with clinical detachment.
"Subject Yoo: developmental age twenty-four months. Chronological age: twenty-six weeks. Acceleration factor: 3.7x normal human growth. Motor skills: advanced. Cognitive function: adult-equivalent. Conclusion: unprecedented."
Yoo sat in the examination room, tolerating another scan. He'd learned patience—an infant's greatest weapon was appearing harmless while planning.
"Four months summary," Akasha reported as doctors worked. "Physical progression: optimal. Extras World expansion: 47 cubic meters. Skill development: Bind—8% effectiveness, Energy Sense—127 meter range, Melt—moderate corrosion capability. Speech capability: 89% developed. Emotional regulation: improved."
And Dad?
"Last communication: 3 weeks ago. Status: alive. Injured but recovering. Mission success rate: acceptable. Current rank: Gold-high 47, approaching Platinum threshold."
Three weeks without word. Yoo tried not to worry. The academy claimed Reaper's Squad was in a communication blackout zone—deep dungeon clearance, no external contact.
But the not-knowing gnawed at him.
"All done," the doctor said, removing sensors. "You're healthy. Remarkably so. Whatever you are, your body is adapting perfectly."
I'm human. Mostly. I think.
The doctor left. Ji-hye entered immediately—she'd been waiting outside, as always.
"Ready for training?" she asked.
Yoo nodded. At two-year-old physical development, he could walk, run, speak in full sentences (though he deliberately kept it simple), and had enough motor control for basic combat training.
The academy had started him on fundamentals two weeks ago. Today was his ninth session.
Training Yard – Morning
Twenty children. Ages 3–7 physically, though some were chronologically younger thanks to Core Surge acceleration.
All of them anomalies. Special cases. Prodigies who'd manifested abilities too early, grown too fast, shown intelligence beyond their years.
Yoo was the youngest chronologically. But mid-range physically.
The instructor—a scarred Gold-rank named Sergeant Park—surveyed them with barely concealed contempt.
"You're all freaks," he announced. "Accidents. Mistakes. The only reason you're here instead of dissection tables is because you might be useful. Might. So prove it. Basic forms. Begin!"
They moved through combat stances. Punch. Block. Kick. Simple motions that trained muscle memory.
Yoo performed adequately. Not perfectly—that would draw attention. But competently enough to avoid punishment.
This is humiliating. I'm a grown man doing toddler karate.
"This is necessary. Physical conditioning builds foundation. Your infant body requires extensive training to match your mental capabilities."
I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
Beside him, a girl executed perfect form. Every movement precise, economical, textbook.
She was maybe four years old physically. Three chronologically, Yoo had learned from overheard conversations. Named Seo-yeon. Daughter of a dead Platinum-rank hunter.
Bronze rank 3 already. Genuine prodigy.
She'd been watching Yoo since training began. Not hostile. Curious.
During break, she approached.
"You're weird," she stated.
Great. Even children think I'm strange.
"Thanks?" Yoo managed.
"Not bad weird. Different weird. You move like you're thinking too much. Analyzing. Most kids just do." She demonstrated a punch—fast, instinctive. "See? No thinking."
"I prefer thinking."
"That's weird." She grinned. "I like weird. Want to spar?"
Yoo considered. Sparring meant exposure. But refusing might seem suspicious. And he needed combat experience against real opponents.
"Okay."
Sergeant Park allowed it. Probably hoping to see one of them hurt.
They faced each other. Seo-yeon bounced on her feet—energy, excitement. Yoo set his stance carefully.
She's Bronze 3. I'm unranked still. Physical age equivalent. She has training advantage.
"Probability of victory: 23%. However, defeat provides valuable learning data. Recommend: observe her technique for future reference."
Gee, thanks for the confidence.
"Begin!" Park shouted.
Seo-yeon attacked immediately. Fast punch aimed at Yoo's face.
He blocked—barely. Her strength was real. Bronze-rank enhanced.
She followed with low kick. He jumped back, nearly lost balance.
Too slow. Infant body still developing coordination.
She pressed advantage. Combination attack—punch, punch, kick, sweep.
Yoo blocked two, dodged one, got hit by the sweep. Fell hard.
"Point!" Park announced.
Yoo stood, frustrated. His mind knew how to fight—he'd watched hundreds of hours of combat footage, analyzed every technique. But his body couldn't execute.
Theory means nothing without practice.
They reset. This time, Yoo tried different approach. Instead of blocking, he used footwork. Let Seo-yeon's attacks miss by millimeters. Conserved energy. Waited for opening.
She overextended on a kick. He grabbed her leg, used Bind to thread energy around her ankle—not to hurt, just to disrupt balance.
She stumbled. He swept her standing leg.
She fell.
"Point!" Park sounded surprised.
Seo-yeon popped up, eyes shining. "You used energy manipulation! That's advanced!"
"It's basic Bind," Yoo said, downplaying.
"For you maybe. I can't do that yet." She looked at him with new respect. "You're really weird. Let's be friends."
Friends? I'm mentally twenty-nine. She's actually three. This is so bizarre.
But having allies was better than having rivals.
"Okay. Friends."
She beamed. "Great! After training, want to see something cool? I found a secret spot in the marketplace."
The Marketplace
The academy had its own internal marketplace. Small but functional. Hunters traded cores, equipment, services.
Seo-yeon led Yoo through crowds, ducking between adults' legs, navigating with practiced ease.
"This way!" She pointed to a back alley between two storage buildings.
Yoo followed, Energy Sense alert for threats.
They emerged in a small clearing. And there—sitting on salvaged crates—was an old trader. Weathered face, missing eye, aura that read Silver-rank but felt... wrong. Distorted somehow.
"Warning: Energy signature anomalous. Possible concealment technique. True rank: unknown. Recommend: caution."
"This is Mr. Han," Seo-yeon introduced. "He trades weird stuff. Not official marketplace goods. Secret things."
Han smiled with too many teeth. "Ah. Seo-yeon brings new customer. Welcome, strange child."
He knows I'm strange. How?
"I trade in rarities," Han continued. "Items the academy doesn't approve. Techniques they won't teach. Information they won't share." He leaned forward. "What do you seek, little anomaly?"
Yoo considered walking away. This screamed trap.
But curiosity won. "Information. About the Core Surge."
"Ah. Wise question." Han pulled out a data tablet—old, cracked, but functional.
"Core Surge was not natural. Was catalyst. Deliberate intervention by cosmic entities. Purpose: accelerate human evolution. Separate viable specimens from waste."
"Why?"
"Because endgame approaches. Aethon and Chaos's game enters final phase. They need strong pieces. Weak pieces are... discarded." Han's remaining eye gleamed. "One billion died during Surge. That was the discarding. You survived. Therefore: viable."
Yoo's blood chilled. One billion people died as population culling?
"The entities," Yoo pressed. "What do they want?"
"Entertainment. Power. Victory. Depends which entity you ask." Han scrolled through data. "But I can tell you this: Earth is battlefield. Humans are pawns. When final move occurs—three years, maybe less—reality restructures. Winners reshape existence. Losers cease to exist."
"How do you know this?"
Han's smile widened impossibly. "Because I've seen it before. Other worlds. Other games. I'm what you might call... veteran observer."
He's not human. Or he was human once and became something else.
"Confirmed. Energy signature analysis indicates: non-standard biology. Possible former human transformed through prolonged exposure to cosmic forces. Threat level: unknown but significant."
"What do you want in trade?" Yoo asked carefully.
"For this information? Nothing. It's free. Primer for future transactions." Han leaned back. "But I will offer you special deal. One-time only. Because you're interesting."
He pulled out a small crystal. Red. Pulsing with contained energy.
"Dragon-series core. From Wyvern. Awakened-tier. Normally costs five thousand tokens. For you: free. If you absorb successfully, you gain significant power boost. If you fail—" Han shrugged. "—you die messily."
Yoo stared at the core. It radiated danger. Not evil. Just concentrated lethality.
This could kill me. Or make me much stronger.
"Analysis: core is genuine. Awakened-tier Dragon-series. Absorption risk for current host body: 67% mortality. However, if successful: estimated rank advancement to Bronze 8 minimum. Possibly Iron 10. Significant power gain."
Why are you offering this free? Yoo asked Han.
"Because I enjoy interesting outcomes. You absorb it and die? Entertaining. You survive? More entertaining. Either way, I win." Han's expression turned serious. "But real reason: cosmic entities are watching you. Multiple factions want you. You're valuable. I prefer valuable things to survive long enough to become more valuable. This core helps that."
"What's the catch?"
"Catch is: if you survive, you owe me favor. One favor. Unspecified. To be called when I choose. Could be information. Could be action. Could be nothing. But you'll owe."
This is classic devil's bargain.
"Affirmative. However, benefit-to-risk ratio is favorable if host survives absorption. Recommendation: accept with caution."
Seo-yeon was watching, confused. "Are you actually considering this? That core could kill you!"
"I know." Yoo looked at Han. "How long do I have to decide?"
"Until you leave this alley. Once you walk away, the offer vanishes."