Li Han came back to his apartment at exactly 6:42 a.m.
The clock on the microwave said so. He checked it twice, mostly because his sense of time still hadn't fully adjusted. In the dungeon, time felt thick—heavy, stretched, meaningless. Here, it moved forward no matter what he did.
He locked the door.
Then he stood there.
Waiting.
Nothing happened.
No distortion. No pressure. No invisible hand grabbing him by the spine and dragging him into another hole in reality.
"…Huh."
He exhaled slowly and rubbed the side of his neck. His muscles ached in that dull, lingering way that told him this body really had reached its limit earlier. Not injuries. Just exhaustion layered on exhaustion.
"So it does let me rest," he muttered. "How considerate."
He walked to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and stared at his reflection.
Young. Clean. Too clean.
Han Li had once been able to tell how many fights he'd been in by counting scars in the mirror. This body had none of that history. Only faint shadows under the eyes. Only tension that didn't belong to it.
He straightened.
Then froze.
The blue window appeared again, hovering lazily in front of him, as if it had all the time in the world.
He stared at it.
"…You again."
No response.
No explanation.
Just lines of text that felt unfinished, like a message written by someone who didn't care if it was understood.
He reached out, touched nothing, and sighed.
"Let's get something straight," he said quietly. "If you're going to follow me around, the least you could do is explain what you want."
The window flickered.
Pain exploded behind his eyes.
Li Han grunted, gripping the sink as his vision swam. It wasn't sharp enough to knock him out—just deep, invasive, like someone pressing a thumb into his brain.
"…So that's how it is."
The pain vanished as suddenly as it came.
The window was gone.
Li Han straightened slowly, jaw tight.
"A system that doesn't answer questions," he murmured. "Figures."
In Murim, artifacts either obeyed or destroyed their users. This thing did neither. It punished curiosity. Encouraged silence.
Annoying.
Classes resumed the same day.
Li Han sat in the back of the lecture hall, head resting on one arm, eyes half-lidded. To anyone watching, he looked like another exhausted student barely holding onto consciousness.
In reality, he was cataloguing every sound in the room.
Chairs shifting. Pens scratching paper. A girl two rows ahead tapping her foot too fast. Someone breathing too shallowly behind him.
Old habits.
He didn't fight them.
Seyon slid into the seat beside him with a grunt. "Man, I swear this professor hates sleep."
Li Han didn't answer.
"Still tired from the hospital?" Seyon asked.
"Something like that."
Seyon yawned. "If you find a way to sleep standing up, tell me."
Li Han almost smiled.
Almost.
The lecture droned on. Slides flashed. Words flowed without meaning. Li Han let his eyes close fully—but his awareness stayed sharp, coiled tight beneath the surface.
That was when it happened.
No warning.
No buildup.
The pressure slammed into him like a fist closing around his chest.
His vision went black.
The world tilted.
Someone shouted his name.
And then—
Stone.
Cold.
Hard.
Li Han rolled instinctively, breath coming out in a sharp exhale as he hit the ground. His hands scraped rough surface. Dirt. Gravel.
"…Again?" he muttered.
He pushed himself up, ignoring the sting in his palms.
A dungeon.
Different from the last one.
This one was wider, open like a collapsed ruin instead of a cavern. Broken pillars. Cracked stone floors. Dim red light leaking from cracks in the walls like veins.
He hadn't been walking.
He hadn't been sleeping.
He'd been sitting in class.
"So it doesn't care what I'm doing," he said flatly.
The blue window appeared.
No greeting.
No apology.
Just a line of text that burned faintly as he read it.
Li Han stared.
"…You really have terrible timing."
Pain flared in his legs this time, sharp enough to drop him to one knee.
He clenched his teeth.
"Alright," he breathed. "Message received."
The pain faded.
He stood slowly, adjusting his balance.
This dungeon felt different.
He could feel it.
The air was heavier. The silence wasn't empty—it was expectant. Like something was waiting to see what he'd do.
A growl echoed from the far end of the ruins.
Not one creature.
Several.
Li Han rolled his shoulders, wincing slightly.
"This body is still trash," he muttered. "But it'll have to do."
The first monster emerged—a hunched thing with too many joints and skin stretched thin over bone. Then another. Then another.
Low-level.
Individually.
Together?
"…Annoying."
He moved.
Not fast. Not flashy. Just efficient.
He sidestepped, used terrain, shoved a creature into broken stone, crushed another's neck with a sharp twist that sent pain shooting up his arm.
His breathing grew uneven.
His movements slowed.
By the time the last monster fell, Li Han was leaning heavily against a pillar, chest rising and falling.
Sweat dripped down his temple.
"Yeah," he panted. "Definitely trash."
The blue window flickered.
He didn't look at it.
"Don't," he warned softly.
Nothing happened.
For once, the system stayed silent.
The dungeon dissolved around him.
He woke up slumped over his desk.
The lecture hall was empty.
Sunlight streamed through the windows at a different angle.
Hours had passed.
Li Han straightened slowly, ignoring the ache that spread through his body like a reminder.
No one questioned him.
No one noticed.
To this world, he had simply slept through class.
He packed his bag and left quietly.
As he walked down the hallway, a thought settled into place—heavy, unwelcome, but undeniable.
"This isn't random," he murmured.
The timing. The silence. The punishment.
"This system isn't guiding me."
It was using him.
And worse—
It could pull him in anytime.
While eating.
While walking.
While sleeping.
Even while—
He stopped abruptly, scowling.
"…I'm going to starve if this keeps up."
The thought was absurd.
And yet, it made him laugh quietly.
Low. Humorless.
"In my last life, karma came in the form of blades," Li Han said. "Looks like this time…"
He glanced at the empty air where the window usually appeared.
"It comes in the form of inconvenience."
He walked on.
More alert than ever.
Because now he knew—
The silence of this world wasn't peace.
It was just the pause before the next pull.