[Skill: ???]

  The words floated in front of him like a cruel joke.

  Lee Aseok stared at the glowing system window. His eyes were blank, mouth slightly open, chest tight. The tremors in his body hadn’t stopped.

  He knew it. Somewhere deep inside, he already knew what he would see. But facing it was another thing entirely.

  His knees pressed to the cold bathroom floor, bare skin touching tile, and yet it felt distant, like he wasn’t really here. His mind, stretched thin, kept circling the same thoughts without answers.

  Why?

  Why again?

  Why him?

  He didn't want this.

  He didn't want anything.

  Lee Aseok sat there for a long time. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. Just trembled silent, like always.

  Eventually, he moved.

  He stood up slowly and turned on the shower. Cold water burst from the showerhead with a sharp hiss, spraying against the wall before trailing down.

  Without removing his clothes, Lee Aseok stepped under the stream.

  The icy water soaked through his shirt, hair clinging to his neck and face. His body flinched at first, but he didn’t move away. He tilted his head down, letting the water run over his scalp and eyes until the shaking started to ease.

  He stood there until his thoughts dulled and his breathing calmed.

  Just water.

  Just the sound of water.

  When his head felt clearer, he leaned against the wall, still dripping wet, and closed his eyes.

  He remembered.

  Seven years ago, after finishing his entrance exams, he had nothing to do. His parents were long gone. He wasn’t even awake then. No power. No purpose.

  So he found part-time work.

  Small jobs at delivery shops, convenience stores, stockrooms. Anything to avoid being a burden.

  He hadn’t complained.

  He told himself it was fine. He didn’t need much. Just something to do. Something to earn.

  And then the acceptance letter came.

  A good university. One of the best he could’ve hoped for.

  For a moment, he felt… proud.

  But that didn’t last.

  His cousin, always petty, always watching, had sneered at the news. And a week before the start of term on the narrow stairs between their bedrooms, Lee Aseok had been pushed.

  It wasn’t a fall that should’ve broken anything. But his leg was badly twisted. He couldn’t walk without pain for weeks. He missed the university registration deadline.

  They didn’t wait.

  His homeroom teacher tried to encourage him.

  “You can apply again next year, Aseok. You did well. You still have time.”

  So he went back to working. Longer hours. More shifts. Saving money. Always quietly, always behind the scenes.

  And then, one day—he awakened.

  F-rank.

  The lowest. Barely above humans. Practically useless.

  Even then, he didn’t complain.

  He just… felt something. A strange pull.

  To the gates.

  To become a hunter.

  Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was blood—his parents had both been hunters. Maybe something in him had never really let go of them.

  And so he made a decision.

  He told his aunt and uncle that he wanted to live on his own. Try the hunter’s path. He wasn’t expecting support. He just wanted to leave quietly.

  His aunt said no.

  At first, Lee Aseok thought she was worried. That she didn’t want him to risk his life.

  But later that night, when he passed by their room—

  He heard them arguing.

  About money.

  About how his uncle’s business had used up the funds his parents had left behind. About how nothing was left in the account. About how his inheritance had been “borrowed” for years.

  Lee Aseok didn’t go in. He just stood in the hallway, back against the wall, listening in silence.

  He didn’t feel anger. Or betrayal.

  He felt nothing.

  Just the quiet confirmation of something he'd always known but never wanted to believe.

  He wasn’t staying for family.

  He was just convenient.

  The water had stopped running.

  He didn’t remember turning it off.

  Lee Aseok stood in the silence of the bathroom, soaked to the bone, eyes fixed on the floor.

  He didn’t want to go to university.

  He didn’t want to awaken.

  He didn’t want to hold a sword.

  He didn’t want to see anyone.

  Not the world.

  Not that person.

  Not that sword.

  With slow, heavy steps, Lee Aseok walked out of the bathroom. His clothes left a trail of water behind him, but he didn’t care.

  He didn’t dry his hair. He didn’t pause to think.

  He simply walked out, water trailing across the old tiles, and changed into a dry shirt and pants without a word.

  His hands moved on their own.

  He picked up his phone and tapped into his bank app.

  The numbers blinked to life.

  The balance was modest, barely enough to survive, but it was his. Money he’d earned himself over the years through whatever odd jobs he could find. Small deliveries, night shifts, short-term warehouse work.

  His aunt never gave him money.

  If he didn’t work, he didn’t eat. That had always been the rule.

  He’d accepted it. Just like everything else.

  It was around noon when he began folding what few belongings he had. A couple of worn shirts, faded jeans, an old coat with a broken zipper. No photos. No mementos. No letters.

  Just clothes and a phone.

  He placed everything into a small duffel bag—quietly, methodically.

  When he stepped out of his room, the scent of food was thick in the air.

  His aunt, uncle, and cousin were already sitting around the low table, eating. Hot soup. Stir-fried vegetables. Rice. It smelled good.

  No one looked up.

  He didn’t expect them to.

  As he passed by, his aunt finally glanced up.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, voice sharp with suspicion.

  Lee Aseok adjusted the strap on his bag and replied evenly, “I’m moving out.”

  The chopsticks in her hand paused. “What do you mean moving out? You’re just a student.”

  “I’ve decided to live independently,” he said simply.

  His uncle scoffed but didn’t say anything. His cousin kept eating with a smug smirk on his face.

  His aunt’s brow furrowed. “You—do you even have money for that?”

  Lee Aseok met her gaze with calm, dark eyes. “I saved enough. I’ve been working for years.”

  He took a breath.

  “And I know,” he added softly.

  Her chopsticks clattered against the bowl.

  “ About my parents’ inheritance. About how it was used for the business.”

  Her face went pale. “Aseok, I—”

  “I’m not asking for it back,” he said, cutting her off gently. “You can consider it payment. For raising me all these years.”

  He bowed his head, polite and final. “I won’t trouble you anymore.”

  She stared at him, stunned. The words hung heavy in the air.

  He turned and walked toward the door.

  His cousin suddenly stood, scoffing. “You think you can just walk out like that? Who do you think you are?”

  He reached out to grab Aseok’s shoulder.

  Without hesitation, Lee Aseok spun and kicked him hard in the knee.

  The cousin dropped with a grunt, groaning in pain on the floor.

  Lee Aseok didn’t even look down.

  His cousin’s knees buckled beneath the weight of the kick, collapsing with a muffled curse.

  Lee Aseok didn’t stop.

  He stepped over him without a second glance, pushed open the rusted front gate of the house, and left, ignoring his aunt's loud voice calling him.

  The wind outside was faint but cool against his still-damp hair.

  The world hadn't changed.

  People walked past without noticing him.

  Cars hummed down the cracked roads.

  Shops opened. Children laughed somewhere in the distance.

  Everything was the same.

  Too much the same.

  He walked for a long time, his steps quiet, aimless. Past street corners he hadn’t seen in years. Past old vending machines that still sat like rusting statues. Past the convenience store where he used to wait outside during night shifts, drinking cheap coffee.

  Everything was too familiar.

  And somehow, unreal.

  The realization came slowly—like mist settling in layers.

  He had come back.

  Alive.

  Younger.

  Eighteen.

  And no matter how long he walked, the truth didn’t change.

  Eventually, he stopped at a bus shelter and made a call.

  The name on his contact list was barely visible anymore. He hadn’t spoken to this person in years. But he remembered they used to run a small boarding house for low-income students.

  A voice answered on the second ring.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s me,” Aseok said. “Can I rent a room? Just for a month.”

  A pause. “...You got money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. Room 302 is open. Come by before sunset. Key’s in the lockbox.”

  The call ended without further conversation.

  Room 302 was exactly how he remembered it.

  Small. Faint mold near the ceiling. Old walls patched up with masking tape. A single desk, a cheap bed, and a rickety shelf that leaned to one side. The bathroom light flickered if you left it on too long.

  To Lee Aseok, it was perfect.

  He dropped his bag near the desk and let out a quiet breath.

  He didn’t unpack. There was nothing to unpack.

  By evening, he headed to the nearest discount store and bought a week’s worth of cheap instant meals—curry packs, cup noodles, canned soup. He knew what lasted and what didn’t. He knew what stores sold expired food at a discount. He knew how to live on almost nothing.

  One meal a day.

  That was enough.

  It had always been enough.

  Though his rank was only F, his body was still a hunter’s. Faster recovery. Higher stamina. Strength just above what normal humans could manage.

  Surviving wouldn’t be hard.

  When he returned, he organized the food, wiped the dust from the desk, and booted up the old computer in the room. The fan wheezed and stuttered, but it worked.

  For the first time in this life, Lee Aseok opened the news.

  He didn’t flinch at the headlines.

  Didn’t react to the early reports of minor gate activity.

  Didn’t blink when the “Hero Candidates” were mentioned.

  He read everything. Slowly, carefully.

  He stayed up the entire night just to remember the world’s shape again.

  Names. Guilds. Stock values. Gate ranks. Timelines.

  He let it all soak into his bones.

  Only when his eyes began to sting did he shut the screen and rest his head on the desk.

  The next morning, he didn’t waste time.

  He changed clothes, washed his face, and sat down with his phone.

  In his previous life, after his cousin pushed him and he lost his place at the university, he had nothing to do but earn money and study.

  It was the only thing he could do.

  And he’d done it well.

  His memory was sharp. Numbers stayed in his head. Trends became instinct.

  He pulled up an app and quietly used every single won in his bank account to buy small shares in a few local stocks he knew would rise in the coming months.

  He didn’t aim for global empires. That would draw attention. He chose small ones—tech firms just before a partnership deal, shipping companies about to expand. The things only someone with future memory would notice.

  It wasn’t much. But it would be enough.

  He was eighteen. An adult. Old enough to register accounts. Old enough to do this quietly.

  There was no ambition behind it.

  No thirst for power.

  He just wanted to survive. Quietly. Unseen.

  And if possible… be left alone.

  Lee Aseok had never liked numbers. But he remembered them well.

  Formulas, stock codes, financial trends—once he read them, they stayed in his mind. It wasn’t brilliance, just memory. Cold, quiet, efficient.

  It gave him something to do.

  So for an entire month, Lee Aseok sat in front of the dusty old computer in his rented room, watching lines crawl across charts and prices rise and fall in decimals. His eyes remained clear, movements mechanical. He barely left the room except for water and one meal a day.

  He didn’t care about money.

  He just didn’t want to think.

  In the first week, he made almost nothing.

  But he didn’t lose either.

  By the second week, the small investments he’d placed in minor transport companies and underground tech startups began to return tenfold. It was quiet growth—nothing flashy, nothing large enough to attract headlines.

  And by the third week, the fortune came.

  Not immense wealth. But enough. Enough to take the next step.

  Lee Aseok didn’t smile.

  Didn’t celebrate.

  He just closed the trade window and opened a map.

  After the gates began appearing years ago, most cities adapted.

  But there were places abandoned, places where the gates appeared too frequently—unstable regions. People left, buildings collapsed, entire neighborhoods fell into silence.

  The Western Border Zone was one of those places.

  Low-ranked gates appeared there often, almost predictably. But they were always cleared quickly. No major outbreaks. No disasters. Just frequent enough to make it undesirable to live in.

  Lee Aseok remembered that.

  And that was exactly why he wanted it.

  He picked up his phone and contacted the local registry.

  The land wasn’t listed officially. It had been left unsold and unclaimed for years. When he finally tracked down the original owner—a middle-aged man with thinning hair and tired eyes—the response was immediate confusion.

  “You want that land?”

  The man’s voice crackled over the phone. “Kid, that area’s basically haunted by gates. Are you sure you didn’t dial the wrong number?”

  “I’m sure,” Lee Aseok said, tone flat.

  There was a pause on the other side. Then a soft, amused sigh.

  “Hell. You’re serious.”

  The man sounded more baffled than pleased. “No one’s touched that place in ten years. I was gonna write it off and let the city reclaim it.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  The man laughed once under his breath. “Well, you’re making my life easier. I’ll sell it cheap—just enough to cover the paperwork.”

  They met two days later.

  The landowner expected a real estate agent. Or someone from a wealthy family. Maybe a hunter’s guild scout.

  Instead, a young man arrived—thin, tall, dressed in washed-out clothes. His hair was slightly overgrown, framing his pale face. He didn’t look powerful. He didn’t even look like an adult.

  But his eyes were quiet. Empty. Like he’d already seen too much of the world.

  “You the buyer?” the man asked, eyebrows raised.

  Lee Aseok nodded.

  The man handed over the papers without much else to say.

  As he watched the boy sign the contract, the man couldn’t help but ask, “What’s someone like you want with this place anyway?”

  Lee Aseok didn’t answer.

  The man muttered under his breath. “Rich family kid, huh? Probably playing survivalist.”

  He chuckled to himself, not expecting a response.

  Lee Aseok finished signing and handed the pen back. His fingers were slender, his face expressionless.

  The man glanced at him one last time. A strange beauty—subtle, easily overlooked with the way he dressed, but clear under the sunlight. Sharp eyes. Tired posture.

  The man shook his head. “Weird kid.”

  Lee Aseok walked away with the deed in his bag and nothing in his heart.

  The land was quiet. Empty.

  Just like him.

  And that was exactly what he needed.

  Lee Aseok is stunning but didn’t stand out.

  He looked like a student in the middle of exams. Pale skin, slender frame, slightly long black hair that curled softly that hid his face. His clothes were clean but old, stretched at the seams and faded from too many washes. Nothing about him invited attention.

  Yet people still stared sometimes. As if something about him didn’t quite match the dull light of the café.

  The man across from him, the previous landowner, kept eyeing him with thinly veiled curiosity. “You sure you’re not running from home or something?” he asked, trying to joke.

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  Instead, he looked down, tapped a few times on his phone, and asked quietly, “What’s your bank account?”

  “Huh?”

  “The details,” he repeated, calmly. “I’ll transfer the money now.”

  The man scratched his head and gave him the info. Less than a minute later, the notification buzzed in his pocket.

  He stared at the screen. “You really paid full price up front?”

  Lee Aseok nodded.

  Truthfully, the land was even cheaper than he’d remembered. Practically being sold for scrap. But to Lee Aseok, it was the perfect price for a place everyone else had given up on.

  They signed the papers in a café nearby. No lawyers. No small talk. Just a pen and silence.

  Once the deal was done, Lee Aseok got up, bowed politely, and left without another word. He didn’t look back.