Arrival – 23:47 (13 Minutes Early)
Yoo approached the abandoned factory from downwind.
Iron rank 19 wasn't much, but it was enough for basic Energy Sense — thirty-meter range, moderate precision. Better than nothing.
The factory loomed against the night sky — five stories of rusted steel and shattered windows. A pre-apocalypse automotive plant, gutted during the entity attacks two years ago.
Perfect ambush location.
Thirteen minutes early. Time to scout.
He circled the perimeter, staying in shadows. His body moved with practiced efficiency — two years of training had given him that much, at least.
Or was it longer?
The other memories insisted he'd trained for years. Sealed void rifts. Reached ranks far beyond Iron.
But his body said otherwise. Iron 19. Age two, appearing eight. Weak compared to what was waiting inside.
Focus. Deal with memory confusion later. Dad first.
Energy Sense detected them at twenty-eight meters.
Signature one: Gold rank 33. Southwest corner, third floor.
Signature two: Gold rank 35. Northeast corner, second floor.
He counted methodically, triangulating positions.
By the time he'd completed the circuit: thirty distinct signatures.
All Gold-rank. Minimum 32, maximum 41.
Against his Iron 19.
"Analysis complete," Akasha reported. "Enemy force composition: thirty Gold-rank hunters. Estimated combined combat power: sufficient to eliminate Diamond rank 50 through coordinated assault. Host survival probability if detected: 0.003%."
Three-thousandths of a percent. Generous.
But something nagged at him.
Thirty Gold-ranks to capture one Iron-rank child?
Overkill. Unless they expect someone else.
Or they knew more about him than they should.
The other memories offered fragments — void rift missions, spatial manipulation, powers beyond his current rank.
If those memories are real... if they think I'm that strong...
"Hypothesis," Akasha said. "Multiple factions monitoring host. Information discrepancy between perceived capabilities and actual current state. The Architect may believe host possesses abilities from... alternate timeline data."
That's insane.
"Agreed. However, it explains force allocation."
Yoo checked the time: 23:54.
Six minutes until deadline.
He could leave. Crush the emergency beacon. Let Mira and Min-jun handle this with proper backup.
But the other memories — prophetic visions? alternate timeline? delusions? — showed him what that path led to.
Hesitation meant death. Always.
I go in. Find Dad. Use Extras World if it gets impossible.
Assuming Extras World still worked. The memories insisted it existed — ninety-three cubic meters of personal pocket dimension.
But did it exist here? In this timeline?
Only one way to find out.
23:58 – Entry
Yoo walked through the main entrance.
No stealth. No subterfuge.
If they expected him, hiding was pointless.
The factory floor was vast — assembly lines stripped, ceiling partly collapsed, moonlight streaming through gaps.
And waiting in the center: a woman.
Thirties. Athletic build. Platinum rank 43 — her aura made the air heavy just from existing.
Behind her: five Gold-ranks. The visible ones. Twenty-five more hidden in position.
"Yoo Seung-yoon," the woman said. "Punctual. I appreciate that."
"Where's my father?"
"Direct. Also appreciated." She gestured. "But before we discuss him — you should understand your situation."
The hidden Gold-ranks revealed themselves. Dropped from rafters, emerged from shadows, stepped through doorways.
Thirty total. Surrounding him in precise formation.
Yoo's Energy Sense confirmed: no escape routes. Every exit covered. Every angle blocked.
"The Architect sends her regards," the woman continued. "I'm Instructor Han. We've been monitoring you since birth. Your development has been... fascinating."
"My father. Now."
"Impatient children get disciplined." Han's voice dropped. "Kneel."
One Gold-rank moved — casual speed to most observers.
Yoo's mind processed at what felt like normal speed, but the other memories insisted it was accelerated thought. Some function called Great Sage that made seconds feel longer.
Is that real? Or am I hallucinating advantages I don't have?
The Gold-rank's fist blurred toward his face.
Yoo moved.
Not fast enough to dodge — his Iron-rank body couldn't match Gold-tier speed.
But fast enough to redirect.
His hand met the Gold-rank's wrist at an angle. Not blocking — guiding. Used the attacker's momentum against them.
The other memories supplied the technique. Perfect body coordination. Analytical combat processing.
Did I learn this? Or just remember it?
The Gold-rank stumbled past him, off-balance.
Surprised.
"Interesting," Han murmured. "Your combat instincts exceed Iron rank parameters. As reported."
Who reported? How much do they know?
"We know," Han said, as if reading his mind, "that you're more than you appear. The question is: how much more?"
She snapped her fingers.
Ten Gold-ranks attacked simultaneously.
The Impossible Test
Yoo's mind fragmented into parallel processing.
Track opponents. Calculate trajectories. Identify weaknesses. Prioritize threats.
Attack from left — dodge.
Blade thrust center — parry.
Kick low right — jump.
His body moved with precision his rank shouldn't allow.
The other memories guided him. Muscle memory from a timeline that might not exist. Combat experience from battles he couldn't verify.
But it worked.
Five seconds. He survived ten Gold-ranks through pure technique.
Then physics asserted itself.
One attacker grabbed his shoulder — Gold-rank strength crushed. Yoo felt bones crack.
Another's kick connected with his ribs. The impact lifted him off the ground, sent him tumbling across concrete.
He tried to rise. Couldn't. Lung punctured, probably. Shoulder definitely dislocated.
Three Gold-ranks would've killed me. Ten was impossible.
I lasted five seconds through borrowed memories and luck.
Han approached, crouched beside him.
"Your technique is Gold-rank level. Your instincts are Platinum-equivalent. But your body?" She poked his broken shoulder.
Yoo screamed.
"Iron rank 19. Fragile."
"Where... is he?"
"Your father is safe. For now. He's bait. Obviously." Han studied him clinically. "The real question: how do you possess skills you haven't trained? How do you know techniques you've never seen?"
Yoo coughed blood.
"Don't... know what... you mean."
"Liar." But she sounded almost impressed. "The Architect wants answers. We'll get them — gently or brutally. Your choice."
She stood. Gestured to her team.
"Secure him. Medical bay. Keep him alive. The extraction begins at dawn."
Extraction?
Two Gold-ranks grabbed him. Started dragging toward a doorway.
Yoo's consciousness flickered. Blood loss. Shock. Broken body.
I need... need to...
"Recommend emergency protocols," Akasha said distantly. "Extras World escape. If dimension exists in current timeline."
Does it exist?
Only one way to find out.
Yoo focused everything — his fragmenting consciousness, his desperate will, his need — into a single purpose:
Open.
Reality shivered.
The Gap
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—
Space tore.
Not violently. Precisely.
A gap in reality, dinner-plate sized, floating beside him.
Through it: warmth. Safety. The dimensional space his other memories insisted he'd built.
It's real. Extras World is real.
"Confirmed," Akasha said with something like relief. "Pocket dimension accessible. Structural integrity: stable. Size: sixty cubic meters. Functions: operational."
Sixty? The other timeline had ninety-three...
Didn't matter. It existed. That was enough.
The Gold-ranks holding him froze. Stared at the impossible gap.
"What—"
Yoo didn't let them finish.
Pulled himself through the gap with his one working arm.
Reality inverted.
His broken body tumbled into warm emptiness.
The gap sealed behind him.
Inside – Sanctuary
Yoo floated in darkness that wasn't dark.
Extras World.
His personal pocket dimension.
Sixty cubic meters of impossible space where physics bent to his will — slightly.
Where time flowed normally but felt different.
Where injuries healed at 8.5x normal rate.
It's smaller than the other timeline. Less developed. But it's here.
He tried to manifest objects from memory — his apartment, the gaming chair, the desk.
Nothing appeared.
Right. That required practice. Development. I haven't built that yet in this timeline.
The space was empty. Featureless. Just warm void.
But safe.
He couldn't stay forever — his body needed food, water eventually.
And Jae-sung was still out there.
But for now: safe.
Yoo let himself drift. Let the accelerated healing work on his shattered shoulder, his punctured lung.
"Injury assessment," Akasha reported. "Healing rate: 8.5x baseline. Projected recovery to mobile state: 47 minutes. Full recovery: 8 hours. Recommend: remain in Extras World for minimum duration, exit when critical injuries stabilize."
Forty-seven minutes. Dad doesn't have forty-seven minutes.
But dead, Yoo couldn't help anyone.
Compromise. Thirty minutes. Enough to stabilize. Then find another way in.
He closed his eyes. Let the dimension's properties work.
And tried to reconcile what just happened.
He had Extras World — real, functional, proven.
He had combat instincts beyond his rank — the other memories guiding his movements.
He had Akasha Archive — analyzing, calculating, supporting.
So the other timeline's abilities exist. But weaker. Less developed.
Like I'm starting over with residual knowledge.
That means...
The sacrifice had been real. Xe'val's erasure had been complete.
But 0.00001% of his soul had survived — carrying fragments of experience, skills, memories.
I'm not the same Yoo who sealed the rifts.
I'm an echo. A remnant. A seed planted in an earlier timeline.
With knowledge I shouldn't have. And powers I haven't earned yet.
The realization settled over him.
I died saving everyone. Got sent back to before I was strong enough to matter.
This is my second chance. Not at life — at doing it RIGHT.
Outside Extras World, thirty Gold-ranks and one Platinum were probably panicking. Searching. Trying to understand where he'd gone.
Let them search.
Yoo had thirty minutes to heal.
Then he'd find his father.
And this time, he'd do it smart.