The cold stench of blood still lingered in the air.
Min Jae sat in the corner of the dim cave, his back against the jagged stone wall, his stomach aching from hunger. Around him, the cries of children echoed—some in pain, some in rage, some in fear. But he didn't speak. He couldn't. The only thing in his mind was his little brother.
Was he safe? Was he alone?
That uncertainty clung to him like chains. But there was one thought that pierced the darkness of his mind like a blade.
"I have to survive."
He couldn't die here. Not before he found out what happened to his brother. Not before he got revenge on those who did this to him.
Still, on the first day, Min Jae had refused to fight. Watching children tear each other apart for scraps of food had been more than he could bear. He starved, not out of weakness, but guilt. But he knew it wouldn't last. Sooner or later, his body would betray him, and he would have to make a choice—kill or die.
That choice came sooner than expected.
The instructor returned. His gaze was devoid of compassion. Clad in a black robe stained with dried blood, he stood tall, arms crossed, eyes scanning the surviving children like a butcher evaluating cattle.
"Out," he barked.
No explanation. No instructions. Just a command.
The group of twenty-three children—once seventy-nine—was herded out of the cave into a dark, fog-covered forest. The air was dense, every breath heavy with tension.
"You have all survived the first selection," the instructor began. "But that was nothing. From now on, every six months, you will face what we call 'The Trials of Hell.' Those who survive five gates will be trained to become assassins. Those who fail… will rot as corpses beneath our feet."
Murmurs rose from the crowd. Fear gripped them like a vice.
"Today, you face the First Gate of Hell: The Trial of Stamina and Agility. You will run through this forest and reach the end. But this is no simple race. Traps have been laid. Hundreds of them—designed to kill, maim, or cripple. There will be no second chances. Survive or die."
He pointed toward the darkened trail behind him, lined with vines, stakes, pits, and gods-knew-what else.
"Run."
And so they did.
Min Jae burst forward, dodging the first swing of a bladed pendulum. Behind him, a scream—someone had already fallen. He didn't look back. His legs pounded against the dirt, his eyes sharp, scanning the terrain. Hidden tripwires, poison-tipped spikes, falling logs—every step was death.
An arrow flew past his cheek, grazing it. He didn't flinch. He ducked beneath a swinging log, rolled past a net trap, and vaulted over a spike pit. His heart hammered in his chest, sweat pouring down his face, but he pushed forward.
Children were dropping around him. One was impaled by a spike. Another caught in a bear trap. Their cries became part of the forest's chorus.
By the time Min Jae saw the clearing at the end, only half of them remained.
Twelve survivors.
Bodies bruised, bleeding, some crawling instead of walking—but alive.
They collapsed into the clearing, panting, clutching their chests, vomiting, or crying. Before anyone could even catch their breath, they saw it:
A single table with a small pile of food—only enough for six.
And then they knew.
Another test.
As soon as the instructor gave the nod, the children lunged at each other again, animalistic, crazed by exhaustion and hunger. Fists flew. Teeth bared. Even after surviving the forest of death, they were forced to turn on each other again.
But Min Jae didn't move.
He stood back, watching, his expression cold and conflicted. His stomach begged for food, but his heart—what little remained of it—couldn't bring himself to do it. Not this time.
He watched a smaller boy get beaten and left with nothing. The food was gone in minutes. The chaos faded, replaced by the low groans of the weak.
The instructor returned the next morning.
"From now on," he said, "you will undergo one Trial of Hell every six months. The rest of the time will be spent preparing—training your body, mind, and senses. Survive long enough, and you might earn the right to live."
He held up a board with numbers. No names were spoken.
From that day on, the children were stripped of their identities and referred to by numbers.
"You are no longer Min Jae," the instructor said, pointing directly at him. "From today, you are Number 007."
The numbers were burned into their clothes—branding them like livestock.
"Training begins now."
A large cart was brought forward, filled with iron bracelets and ankle weights. Each child was given four—two for their wrists, two for their ankles. The weights were heavy, soul-crushing even, especially after the brutal trial they had just endured.
They were made to run, squat, climb, crawl—day in and day out. Their only water was given after collapsing. Food was a luxury, earned only through performance.
And so began the first six months of body training—hell in flesh form.
But through it all, Min Jae—now 007—never lost focus.
He wasn't here for glory.
He was here to survive.
To endure.
And one day… to get revenge.