The rain fell like shattered glass, slicing the neon lights of Seoul into trembling reflections.
Han Jiwon sprinted through the crowded sidewalk, clutching his soaked backpack to his chest. His breath came in ragged bursts, lungs burning, heart pounding—not from running, but from frustration.
Late again.
The automatic doors of Hwarang Martial Arts Academy slid open with a soft hiss. Warm air rushed out, carrying the scent of sweat, rubber mats, and ambition.
Inside, the training hall thundered with the sound of impact—fists striking pads, feet snapping through the air, bodies colliding in controlled violence.
Jiwon paused at the entrance.
He watched.
Always watching.
Students moved like predators: sharp stances, fluid footwork, confident eyes. Their bodies carried a rhythm Jiwon admired more than anything.
He wanted that rhythm.
But talent had never wanted him.
"You're staring again, Jiwon."
The voice belonged to Kang Minseok, tall, athletic, and annoyingly gifted. Minseok leaned against a pillar, wiping sweat from his jaw.
"Training doesn't improve by observation alone," he smirked.
Jiwon forced a smile. "I know."
He stepped onto the mat.
The coach, Master Choi, glanced at him. The old man's sharp eyes softened for a moment—then hardened again.
"Warm up. Five rounds."
Jiwon nodded.
He stretched, shadowboxed, practiced kicks he had memorized from hours of watching videos and professional matches. His form was technically correct.
But every movement felt half a second too slow.
Too weak.
Too… ordinary.
When sparring began, his weakness showed instantly.
A younger student knocked him down within seconds.
Laughter rippled across the room.
Jiwon clenched his teeth and stood back up.
Again.
And again.
By the end of training, his body ached, knuckles bruised, ribs screaming.
He bowed to the coach and left without speaking.
Outside, night had swallowed the city.
Jiwon walked home under flickering streetlights, rain dripping from his hair.
Why am I like this?
He loved martial arts. Loved the discipline. The power. The idea of protecting others.
But love alone didn't make a warrior.
His apartment was small, dim, and silent.
Jiwon tossed his bag aside and collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Talentless," he whispered.
The word tasted bitter.
A faint glow caught his eye.
On his desk lay a strange object he had bought weeks earlier from a forgotten antique shop—a cracked, silver pocket watch engraved with unfamiliar symbols.
He had bought it on impulse.
Because it felt… important.
Jiwon picked it up.
The metal was cold.
The second hand twitched—then stopped.
The symbols pulsed.
Suddenly, the room tilted.
Sound vanished.
Air thickened.
Then—
CRACK.
Light exploded around him.
Jiwon stumbled back, heart racing.
When his vision cleared, he was no longer in his apartment.
He stood in a vast stone courtyard under a crimson sky.
Broken pillars surrounded him.
The air smelled of dust and iron.
In the distance, colossal statues of warriors towered like gods frozen in time.
"Where… am I?"
A voice echoed—not from outside, but inside his mind.
"Trial Candidate Detected."
"Temporal Training Domain Activated."
Jiwon's head throbbed.
"What? Who said that?!"
No response.
A translucent screen flickered before his eyes.
Temporal Domain System
Time Flow Ratio: 1 Day (Domain) = 1 Minute (Modern World)
User: Han Jiwon
Talent Assessment: Below Average
Potential: Undetermined
Jiwon stared.
"Below average…? Even here?"
The ground trembled.
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
A man clad in ancient martial robes, face hidden beneath a cracked mask. His presence alone crushed the air.
"Strength is not given," the masked man spoke calmly. "It is carved."
He raised a hand.
The courtyard transformed.
Stone shattered.
Dozens of training dummies rose from the earth—each radiating a faint killing intent.
"Survive. Improve. Repeat."
The man vanished.
Jiwon's pulse spiked.
"Wait—!"
The nearest dummy lunged.
Instinct kicked in.
He dodged—barely.
The impact shattered stone where he had stood.
"What kind of training is this?!"
He counterattacked.
His punch landed.
The dummy didn't move.
Pain shot through his arm.
I'm weak here too.
Fear crawled up his spine.
But another emotion burned hotter.
Excitement.
If time is slower here…
I can train longer.
I can fail more.
I can get stronger.
He grinned despite the pain.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's do this."
Hours passed in the Domain.
Jiwon was thrown to the ground again and again.
Bones bruised.
Muscles screamed.
He learned the rhythm of the enemies.
Adjusted his footwork.
Focused on precision rather than power.
Finally—
He shattered his first dummy.
Stone fragments scattered.
Jiwon dropped to one knee, panting.
"I… did it…"
A notification flashed.
Skill Unlocked: Basic Combat Adaptation
Rank: F
"F-rank? Seriously?"
Still—
He laughed.
For the first time, progress felt real.
Light swallowed him.
He snapped back to his apartment.
His clock ticked.
Only two minutes had passed.
But his body felt like it had trained all day.
His phone buzzed.
A message appeared.
From: Seo Yuna
Did training go okay today?
Jiwon's chest tightened.
Yuna.
His childhood friend.
The girl who believed in him more than he believed in himself.
He typed back:
Not great. But I'm not giving up.
A second later:
I never thought you would.
He smiled softly.
Then looked at the pocket watch.
Its symbols glowed faintly.
This power…
If I master it…
Maybe I can become someone worthy.
That night, he returned to the Domain.
The masked instructor awaited him.
"You are weak," the man said. "But weakness is not a curse. Giving up is."
He pointed at Jiwon.
"Train until your bones remember pain. Train until your heart stops fearing failure."
Jiwon clenched his fists.
"I will."
The crimson sky darkened.
And the real training began.