The world was too bright.

  Too clean.

  Too silent.

  Lee Aseok opened his eyes and was immediately greeted by the sterile ceiling above him, a familiar white square panel, glowing faintly under artificial lights. The smell of disinfectant stung his nose.

  A hospital.

  He sighed softly.

  Of course it was.

  The heaviness in his limbs made him feel like he’d been tied down by invisible chains. Slowly, sluggishly, he sat up. His body resisted every motion, like it had forgotten how to move.

  He glanced around.

  Pristine white walls. A single potted plant. A tall cabinet, untouched. A monitor that was now silent.

  The room was expensive.

  Too expensive for someone like him.

  It screamed "VIP Suite," something only high-ranking awakeners, guild leaders, or rich elites would have access to.

  Not a nameless long-haired youth who barely even existed in official records.

  Lee Aseok’s bare feet touched the cool floor as he stood up. His legs felt unstable, but he didn’t care.

  He walked to the window.

  Outside, people came and went. Cars passed. Drones hovered overhead delivering parcels. Students in uniform joked and laughed.

  Hunters in gear walked toward nearby stations. Ordinary and extraordinary lives weaving together into a city that breathed without ever noticing him.

  He stared at them for a long while, his eyes dulled and unreadable.

  Then, slowly, his shoulders dropped.

  “I really…” he muttered to no one, voice raspy from disuse, “…have nothing, huh?”

  He tried to smile, but the corners of his lips barely twitched.

  There were no tears in his eyes.

  There never were.

  No matter how deep the ache in his chest. No matter how heavy the pain in his bones.

  No matter how desperately he wanted to scream until the universe bent and broke under the weight of his sorrow…..

  Nothing came out.

  Not a sound.

  Not a drop.

  His heart… had grown dry long ago.

  He could remember pain.

  But not the act of crying.

  Lee Aseok lowered his gaze, watching the passing crowds like a ghost behind glass.

  Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go.

  A purpose.

  A reason.

  A connection.

  But him? He felt like a forgotten sketch in a corner of a grand mural, unfinished, unwanted, unseen.

  The thought made him laugh.

  A dry, breathless laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Even now… the world doesn’t want me,” he murmured. “Even my own body refuses to let me cry.”

  He leaned against the windowpane.

  Heavy silence returned.

  Just like always.

  And for some reason, that felt like the most familiar thing in his life.

  From the fourth floor, the city looked peaceful.

  Lee Aseok leaned slightly against the wide hospital window, his arms loose at his sides, his long hair brushing over the bland white gown they’d dressed him in.

  Below, cars hummed faintly like distant insects, people walked with purpose, and not a single one of them knew he existed.

  His expression remained blank, not because he wasn’t feeling anything… but because he didn’t know how to show it anymore.

  His chest was hollow. A vast, barren land inside him. No wind. No birds. No life.

  Just dust and silence.

  He reached out and slowly pushed open the window.

  A soft breeze entered. It was cool, fresh… but it couldn’t reach his heart.

  Lee Aseok's gaze remained downward, calm and detached. This height, it was enough. The human body was fragile. If he fell, it wouldn’t survive.

  Even with his awakened body, which was only slightly more durable than the average person’s, it wouldn’t matter.

  He’d die instantly.

  And that was the strange part. He knew it, yet felt nothing.

  His power… wasn't in his muscles or bones.

  It was in something else, something hidden, something no one else in the world could sense.

  Dungeon cores.

  In the year he spent alone in the west zone, he had absorbed more core energy than he expected. Not because he wanted to be strong. Not to fight. Not for status or protection.

  He did it because he was bored.

  Because there was nothing else to do.

  Because he was curious about the nameless skill that once confused even the world’s greatest mages.

  In his previous life, he died before truly understanding it.

  Only after death did he understand: the skill allowed him to absorb dungeon cores.

  Not just the magic. Not just mana.

  The existence of the gate itself.

  He absorbed it. Became it. Held it in his veins, his blood, his very breath.

  Even now, standing here, his body pulsed faintly with an unnatural hum. If anyone could hear it, they would mistake him for a walking core.

  But even with all that,

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  His bones could still shatter.

  His organs could still rupture.

  He was still human enough to die from a fall like this.

  And he was… sure of it.

  His fingers tightened on the windowsill.

  A quiet decision settled in the air. Not a dramatic one. Not a desperate one.

  Just quiet.

  The wind whispered past his ears as Lee Aseok stood on the narrow ledge, one foot already out, the other following with slow, steady resolve.

  His posture was relaxed, as if he wasn’t standing at the edge of death but on the edge of an ordinary street curb, waiting to cross.

  There was no panic in his gaze.

  No desperation.

  Just an eerie stillness.

  His eyes were half-lidded, dull. The kind of gaze that had already said goodbye to the world long before the body followed.

  He was ready.

  Ready to finally let go.

  But just then…

  Click.

  The door creaked open with a soft sound that didn’t match the weight it carried.

  Lee Aseok didn’t move.

  Not even a flinch.

  Mu Yichen stood at the threshold, his usual warm and composed expression strained with a rare edge.

  Behind him was a man who appeared to be in his early forties, dressed sharply in a fitted black suit. His aura was calm and quiet, but held the unmistakable weight of someone who had seen the battlefield far too many times.

  The silence that followed was suffocating.

  Mu Yichen’s eyes locked onto the figure by the window, his breath caught in his throat.

  But he didn’t speak.

  The older man didn’t either.

  He just watched.

  Lee Aseok, however, turned his head slowly.

  His eyes swept past Mu Yichen and landed directly on the man behind him.

  And for the first time in a long while..

  Something flickered in those lifeless eyes.

  Recognition.

  Grief.

  …Relief.

  A strange twist of emotion tightened Lee Aseok’s throat.

  His hand that rested lightly on the window frame curled into a faint fist. The breeze tugged at his long hair, brushing strands across his cheek, but he didn’t move.

  If anything, he looked more exhausted.

  Lee Aseok looked at the man next to Mu Yichen in silence.

  He for once, glad for his mental break down.

  Because if he hadn’t already fallen apart earlier…

  Seeing Mu Haejoon now, standing there alive and as composed as ever, would have cracked him open like glass under pressure.

  He didn’t move.

  Didn’t speak again.

  He simply stared.

  The man standing behind Mu Yichen looked the same as he did all those years ago.

  Tall, dignified, with an ever-unreadable face. Sharp lines framed his jaw, and his gaze, calm but firm, held the kind of depth only those who’ve truly lived on the battlefield possessed.

  Lee Aseok’s thoughts blurred as old memories came flooding in.

  In his previous life, Lee Aseok had awoken as an F-rank hunter.

  Not because he wanted to.

  But because the world gave him no other choice.

  He lived quietly, if not pathetically. No dream. No goal. Nothing to guide him except the instinct to survive.

  Some days he worked as a porter, carrying gear and clearing rubble.

  Other days, he’d take on basic errands or low-tier dungeon support jobs, anything to earn enough for cheap meals and rent.

  He didn’t mind. Because at the time, he didn’t care about anything.

  He had accepted it. That the world was cruel, and he was small. That some people were meant to shine, and some, like him, would simply survive in their shadow.

  But one day, that meaningless life cracked.

  A gate burst open.

  The guild in charge of it failed to manage the threat, and chaos descended on the district.

  He ran, like most others.

  He remembered the screams. The scent of blood. The bone-deep chill of death brushing past his skin.

  And then, just as he thought it was over….

  A flash of silver tore through the air.

  Clean. Precise. Silent.

  The monsters fell before he even knew someone had arrived.

  Lee Aseok, collapsed and bleeding, raised his eyes, and saw a man standing tall amidst the corpses.

  A lone swordsman.

  Unshaken. Untouched.

  He wielded the blade as if it were part of him, effortless and beautiful. There was no theatrics in the way he moved, only practiced, lethal precision.

  That was Mu Haejoon.

  The elder brother of the legendary hero, Mu Tianhai, and the personal sword instructor of the current Mu heir, Mu Yichen.

  Lee Aseok hadn’t even met Mu Yichen back then. He had no idea what world these people came from, only that it was galaxies apart from his own.

  But that day…

  Watching Mu Haejoon’s back as he cut down the last monsters...

  Lee Aseok felt something ignite inside him for the first time.

  It wasn’t admiration.

  It wasn’t envy.

  It was fascination.

  He fell in love with the sword.

  So he pursued him.

  Like a lunatic, really.

  He tracked him down. Camped outside his guild. Send him letters. Showed up at public events. Picked up a rusted practice sword and trained every night until his hands bled.

  He begged. Pleaded.

  Mu Haejoon, who was a high-ranking guild leader and the head of the prestigious Mu family, obviously refused.

  At first.

  But Lee Aseok didn’t stop.

  He never stopped.

  And eventually, Mu Haejoon, perhaps out of exhaustion, or curiosity, or something else entirely, accepted.

  He once told Lee Aseok in passing, “You’re like a weed. Persistent. Stubborn. But maybe that’s the only kind of thing that survives in this world.”

  Lee Aseok knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

  But he didn’t care, all he wanted was to learn swordsmanship.

  And now, years later…

  Standing barefoot in a sterile hospital room, after coming back from the dead and living through things no one would ever understand…

  He was once again looking at the man who changed everything.

  His master.

  Still alive.

  Still the same.

  Lee Aseok didn’t fall apart this time.

  His master, Mu Haejoon, often said it plainly:

  “You’re not talented in mana, and your body is too honest. But you’re persistent. Annoyingly persistent. That’s why I taught you.”

  Lee Aseok never cared for those words.

  At the time, he didn’t seek praise or warmth.

  He was simply... fascinated.

  He had seen how his master moved..with clarity, balance, and the elegance of a man who had trained every muscle to become one with his blade.

  Lee Aseok wanted that. Not the praise. Not the title.

  Just that feeling: to hold a sword not as a weapon, but as an extension of himself.

  Back then, his mana level was barely measurable. So low that even the weakest skills sputtered and died in his hands. Still, he showed up every day.

  And every day, he was knocked down, bruised, or left breathless.

  He got back up.

  Again. And again.

  Three years passed like that.

  And slowly, somehow, his blade began to flow.

  Not as smooth, not as sharp, but still, his own.

  He remembered the first time his master didn't correct his grip. Didn't criticize the swing. Just watched silently and let him finish the form.

  That was the day he knew he had finally taken his first real step as a swordsman.

  In his final year of training, rumors began to circulate, the Holy Sword had appeared.

  A divine relic, said to choose only one true wielder across generations.

  Later came the announcement:

  “Mu Yichen, of the Mu Family, chosen by the Holy Sword.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t react.

  He didn’t even recognize the name at the time.

  But then, one night, when his master was unusually relaxed after a drink, Mu Haejoon laughed lightly and spoke with rare warmth in his voice:

  “That boy... he’s my nephew. Mu Tianhai’s son.”

  It clicked then.

  The hero of the age, Mu Yichen, was the very same boy raised under the same sword that once saved Lee Aseok’s life.

  He remembered smiling faintly that night.

  Not in jealousy.

  But in something close to awe.

  For someone like Lee Aseok, who had never been wanted, never been chosen, the sword, the lessons, and his master’s care were more than enough.

  Mu Haejoon never introduced Lee Aseok as his disciple publicly. His level was too low. His status is too lacking.

  But Lee Aseok never minded.

  After all, Mu Haejoon never let him go hungry. Even on long training days, he made sure there was always food before practice.

  That simple kindness was enough.

  More than enough.

  And yet…

  Now.

  Everything that felt warm once now felt like a memory laced with frost.

  That chapter in his life, before the sword chose him, before everything fell apart.

  It still clung to him, no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.

  Lee Aseok took a deep breath, grounding himself.

  He had promised himself not to think about those things anymore.

  He didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

  He didn’t want to remember.

  So instead of speaking, he lifted his head and looked at them, Mu Yichen and Mu Haejoon, without emotion.

  Without any trace of the chaos inside.

  His eyes were as blank as ever.

  And he waited. For whatever came next.

  Mu Yichen’s expression remained as gentle as ever, but his brows had creased slightly, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know how to read him.

  But he was watching.

  Watching the long-haired youth, his oversized hospital gown fluttering lightly in the wind as he stood on the window ledge. A step away from vanishing.

  Mu Yichen didn’t speak at first.

  Because he understood now, words didn’t reach Lee Aseok.

  At least not easily.

  Not directly.

  He simply stood there, arms crossed, back straight, and watched Lee Aseok tilt his head slightly to the side, lost in thought.

  He could almost guess what the youth was thinking.

  Mu Yichen exhaled softly and spoke, his voice light, calm, yet impossible to ignore.

  “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

  His usual gentle smile lingered, but his eyes, his eyes were darker than before. Deeper. Sharper.

  Lee Aseok didn’t flinch, didn’t even look at him.

  He just stared into space, lost in the kind of silence that seemed older than the room itself.

  A whole minute passed.

  Two.

  Mu Yichen remained where he was, arms still crossed.

  Mu Haejoon, standing quietly by the door, didn’t interfere. He merely narrowed his eyes slightly as he glanced between the two of them. His jaw tightened once, but he said nothing.

  Then…

  Lee Aseok finally moved.

  Not dramatically.

  He just turned, calm and silent, and walked back to the bed as if none of them existed.

  He sat down slowly, placing his feet on the floor. His posture was lazy, his gaze unfocused. The usual gloomy, unbothered air returned to him like a habit.

  Mu Yichen let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

  This kid...

  Mu Yichen didn’t know how to talk to someone like this. He had faced monsters, politicians, the public... but not this.

  Someone who wanted to die not out of rage or desperation, but out of... emptiness.

  Mu Yichen looked at the window. It remained open, the breeze still brushing the curtains.

  He glanced toward Mu Haejoon.

  The man still hadn’t said a word. But Mu Yichen could sense the storm gathering in his master's eyes.

  He was glad, honestly, that Seo MinHyun wasn’t here.

  That man would’ve flipped the bed, shouted something dramatic, and called the hospital’s director to rant about emotional trauma.

  Lee Aseok probably would’ve jumped just to get away from the noise.

  Mu Yichen rubbed his brow, then looked back at the boy slumped on the bed.

  “I’ll close the window,” he said quietly.

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  Of course.

  Mu Yichen sighed.

  This was going to be a long week.

  every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Yes, every week!