Driving the newly plated car out of the license agency lot, Eun-woo felt a profound sense of satisfaction. It wasn't just about having a luxury vehicle; it was the silent, effortless power it represented. He hadn't needed to throw a single additional punch.
His phone buzzed with a KakaoTalk notification as he stopped at a traffic light. It was Han Seo-jin.
[Seo-jin]: You left school. Teacher Park said it was okay.
[Seo-jin]: This phone… it's too much. I can't accept it.
A small smile touched his lips. He typed a quick reply.
[Eun-woo]: Keep it. It's a tool, not a gift. How else will I collect my feast? Don't lose it.
He put the phone down, his mind already moving on. The ceramic fragments in his rented storage unit were his next project. The system's storage space was a game-changer. He could deconstruct and reconstruct items without the logistical nightmare of handling them physically. But first, he needed to understand the rules better. Could he store multiple items? Was there a size or quantity limit?
Instead of heading straight to the unit, he drove to a quiet riverside park. He needed a moment to think, away from the noise.
Sitting on a bench overlooking the Han River, he mentally summoned the system interface. It was still frustratingly minimalist.
"System, query: What are the specifications of the integrated storage space?"
[Answering Host: The system storage is a non-temporal dimensional pocket. It can store any item produced by the system's Deconstruction and Reconstruction function. There is no limit to the number of items, but the total volume cannot exceed 10 cubic meters per storage cycle. Items cannot be living organisms.]
Ten cubic meters. That was substantial. More than enough for his immediate plans.
"Can I deconstruct an item directly into storage, and reconstruct from storage?"
[Affirmative. The host may designate storage as the origin or destination for the function.]
Perfect. This streamlined everything. He could buy fragments, deconstruct them directly into the system's void, and reconstruct them later at his leisure, without ever needing to touch the physical pieces. The safety and secrecy were unparalleled.
His thoughts were interrupted by the roar of an overly tuned exhaust. A flashy, bright yellow Lamborghini Huracan pulled into the park's small lot, music blasting. The driver, a young man in designer clothes, got out, laughing loudly on his phone. He glanced at Eun-woo's parked Range Rover, gave a slight, appraising nod, but his eyes quickly swept over Eun-woo himself on the bench, dismissing him.
Eun-woo watched, detached. The boy was maybe a year or two older than him, another product of immense wealth, but his energy was loud, performative. It was the confidence of inherited status, not the quiet assurance Eun-woo was beginning to cultivate from self-made capability.
That used to annoy me, Eun-woo realized. Now it just seems… noisy.
He stood up, the movement catching the Lamborghini driver's eye again. Eun-woo walked not toward the flashy sports car, but to his own understated, black SUV. He pressed the key fob. The Range Rover's lights flashed, and the driver's door unlocked with a solid thunk.
The boy on the phone paused mid-laugh, his eyes following Eun-woo. The appraisal in his gaze shifted, turning more curious, recalculating. An SV Autobiography wasn't a teenager's typical ride. It spoke of a different kind of background—perhaps old money, perhaps serious new money, but not a frivolous purchase.
Eun-woo ignored the look. He got in, started the car, and drove away smoothly, the V8's growl a deep, restrained counterpoint to the Lamborghini's shriek.
He wasn't driving to the storage unit just yet. He had another stop. He needed more raw material.
He navigated to a different part of the city, an area known for wholesale markets and industrial suppliers. He found a large store that sold bulk materials, including—importantly—scrap metal and recycled goods. He wasn't here for ceramics this time. He had a different idea.
Inside, he approached a manager. "I need assorted scrap metal," Eun-woo said, his tone businesslike. "Small pieces, various alloys if possible. Not shredded. Just… broken bits. About fifty kilograms worth."
The manager, a middle-aged man with grease under his nails, looked him up and down, skepticism clear. "Kid, you running a school project?"
"Something like that," Eun-woo said, pulling out his wallet. "I can pay upfront."
An hour later, Eun-woo had several heavy sacks loaded into the back of the Range Rover. It was an odd mix: broken engine parts, twisted steel brackets, fragments of cast iron, even some pieces of copper pipe. To anyone else, it was junk. To Eun-woo, it was potential. A test.
He drove to the storage unit. Once inside with the door shut, he placed a hand on one of the sacks.
"System, Deconstruct this material and store the components."
Whoosh. The sack collapsed, now empty. In his mind, he sensed a new 'presence' in the system storage—a categorized mass of metallic elements.
So far, so good.
Now for the real test. He walked over to the remaining bags of ceramic fragments from Insadong. He touched one.
"System, Deconstruct all ceramic fragments in this immediate area and store components separately from the metal."
Another whoosh. The bags deflated.
He now had two distinct 'piles' of raw material in the system's storage: ceramics and mixed metals.
"System, reconstruct a small item from the stored ceramic components. A… buncheong ware teacup. Deploy it here."
A flicker of light, and a beautiful, grey-green celadon teacup with inlaid designs materialized on the concrete floor. It was perfect, exquisite.
Eun-woo picked it up, examining it. The system had not only reconstructed it but had given it the distinctive artistic flair of buncheong pottery. It was a small masterpiece.
A plan solidified in his mind. He wouldn't just make antiques. He could create new things. Unique things. With the system's ability to optimize and combine materials… the possibilities were staggering.
But first, he needed a secure outlet. Myeongbo Antiques was good for one-of-a-kind historical pieces. But for something new, something potentially revolutionary, he needed a different channel. Perhaps a gallery. Or a private collector with avant-garde tastes.
He looked at the teacup in his hand, then at the empty space where the scrap metal had been.
He could turn scrap into sculpture. Junk into jewelry. Fragments into fortune.
The value of an object, he mused, isn't in what it was, but in what it could become.
And he held the power of that transformation.
He placed the teacup carefully in the passenger seat. Tomorrow, after the final Suneung briefing at school, he would visit Myeongbo again. Not to sell, but to talk to Chairman Jeong. A man with those connections might know people who appreciated more than just old dust.
He locked the storage unit. As he drove home, the weight of the future felt not like a burden, but like potential energy, coiled and waiting for his command.
His phone buzzed again. Kim Do-hyun.
[Do-hyun]: HYUNG. WHERE ARE YOU. Sparta is on the WARPATH. She knows you left again.
[Eun-woo]: Tell her I'm getting spiritually prepared for the Suneung. It's a delicate process.
[Do-hyun]: She's going to use your head for delicate process…
Eun-woo chuckled. Let her be angry. Soon, very soon, none of it would matter. The game had changed, and he was just beginning to learn the new rules.
[To be continued…]