Night folded over Seoul like a heavy cloak, dimming even the sharp neon that usually fought to shine through the windows. The city outside was distant, muted. Inside the small apartment, everything was still—except for Aryl.
He sat on the floor of his bedroom, hoodie clinging to his back with sweat that hadn't dried since the fight.
Asha was safe. Asleep in the next room.
but he wasn't okay.
His eyes stared into the space between his fingers like something might flicker there again—the faint red-and-black shimmer that pulsed when Iron Chess had activated. He remembered it too clearly. How the world had slowed. How movement had felt... designed.
"That... couldn't have been real," he muttered.
Aryl leaned back against the wall, head tilted to the ceiling. "A system," he whispered.
He had heard of the Awakened before. Everyone had. Rumors, mostly. Stories of kids who suddenly gained strange abilities—supernatural, terrifying, beautiful. The world never officially confirmed them, but the whispers never died. Government coverups.
But no one ever talked about a system.
Not like his.
Why me?" he muttered. "Why this?"
He closed his eyes, breathing steady. He needed to see it again. That screen. That throne room. The voice that called him .
"How do I... open it again?" he asked the air, feeling foolish.
"System open."
Nothing.
The air stayed dead.
He frowned, trying to remember the feeling from earlier. The stillness. The pull. Not words—intention.
And then—he felt it. Like pressure shifting behind his eyes.
He said it softly, almost like a whisper.
"Open."
A faint hum pulsed behind his mind.
The system bloomed.
▶ Strength ▌▌▌░░░░░░░░ 2
Raw force. Lifting, striking, Impacts strikes and close-range damage.
▶ Dexterity ▌▌▌░░░░░░░░ 2
Agility and control. Affects movement, reflexes, and precision.
▶ Perception ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌░░ 9
Awareness of surroundings. Enhances reaction time and detail recognition.
▶ Intelligence ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌▌░░░ 8
Logical thinking, memory, and decision-making speed.
▶ Charisma ▌▌▌▌▌░░░░░░ 3
Influence. Affects presence, tone, and subtle social sway and gaze.
▶ Endurance ▌▌▌▌▌▌▌░░░░ 7
Resistance to physical strain. Governs stamina and lasting power.
▶ Vitality ▌▌░░░░░░░░░ 2
Health and recovery. Determines physical resilience and natural healing.
Aryl blinked. Still the same numbers. Still the same surreal layout hanging in front of him like a projection on glass.
And then—another flicker.
[More Details]
He focused on it. The system responded.
[Stat Growth Guide Unlocked]
Stat progression is influenced by real-world action and experience.
Combat, training, survival, knowledge, choice.
But growth can be targeted.
Training routines detected. Would you like to view tailored guidance?
[Y/N]
He blinked.
His heart thumped once in his chest.
He didn't hesitate.
Yes.
Aryl's eyes scanned the screen. The words felt more like instincts than instructions.
Stat Growth - More Details]
▶ Strength
Increased through physical load.
Weighted exercises. Impacts. Repetition under force.
▶ Dexterity
Improved through refined movement.
Balance drills. Speed work. Control under pressure.
▶ Endurance
Built through sustained effort.
Running. Strain. Training past exhaustion.
▶ Vitality
Raised by pushing limits and recovering.
Injury. Healing. Testing the body's edge.
▶ Intelligence
Grows through calculated problem-solving.
Planning, mental endurance, decision-making under stress.
▶ Perception
Heightened by focus and sensory clarity.
Tracking movement. Detecting shifts. Staying aware in chaos.
▶ Charisma
Growth comes from presence—unshaken.
Stand your ground when silence would be easier.
Hold eye contact when they expect you to look away.
He didn't know what he was expecting.
Some kind of skill tree? A flashing list of achievements? Maybe a voice in his head explaining what to do next?
Instead, it gave him this—raw, quiet truth. No shortcuts. No tricks. Just work.
He sat on the floor beside the old mattress where Asha slept, the hum of the system fading like a breath held too long. His heart was still beating faster than normal.
"…I guess tomorrow," he muttered, letting his head tilt back against the cold wall. letting the words drop into the stillness of the room.
But the quiet didn't last. Not inside his head.
It came back sharp. That shove in the hallway. The way they laughed when he hit the ground. That smirk when they said his mother was better off dead.
His fists clenched before he realized they had.
He swallowed hard, his eyes stinging—but when he looked across the room, it wasn't the past staring back at him.
It was her.
Asha, fast asleep on the mattress he laid out for her, tucked in with careful hands. She always mumbled in her sleep. Little things. Dreams she'd never tell him about.
He watched her chest rise and fall, slow, steady.
And suddenly, none of the pain from earlier felt half as loud as the thought of someone hurting her again.
That couldn't happen.
Not again. Not while he could move. Not while he could stand.
He didn't make a sound as he got up, grabbing his hoodie and stepping into his worn sneakers. The night air outside was cold, biting, but clean.
This wasn't about revenge.
This was preparation.
The streets were nearly empty at this hour, washed in a pale orange from tired streetlights. Seoul always whispered at night, like the city was dreaming too.
Aryl jogged at first. No destination—just motion. His breath made clouds. His legs ached sooner than they should've.
"Strength – Increased through physical load."
He pushed harder, his arms pumping, lungs tightening. A stairway near the park caught his eye. He ran it twice. Then three more times.
"Endurance – Built through sustained effort."
By the fourth lap, his shirt clung to his skin, drenched. Knees trembled. He dropped to the grass, panting, heart hammering in his ears.
Not enough.
He scanned the park, found a railing by the playground, and started slow dips. His arms shook with every motion.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Planks until his arms buckled. Not clean, not pretty—but done.
And he kept going.
"Dexterity – Improved through movement precision."
He remembered the system's instructions. He improvised footwork drills—shuffling, pivoting, sharp turns around lamp posts, treating the city corner like a makeshift ring.
He stumbled. He adjusted. He learned.
Minutes became hours.
His arms trembled. His breath turned shallow. Every muscle screamed.
Then everything just… blurred.
His vision narrowed.
His knees gave out.
He collapsed onto the cold grass, too drained to even curse. Face down, breathing heavy.
Silence.
The world dimmed, not from the night—but from the burn inside him finally burning out.
He didn't know how long he was out. A minute? Ten?
When he opened his eyes, the stars hadn't moved.
The cold was sharper now.
He groaned, rolled onto his back, then forced himself upright with a grunt. His body hated him for it.
But he stood.
Not because he was stronger—but because he had to.
He blinked sweat from his eyes and started walking.
Back home. Back to Asha.
He didn't say a word on the way. Just one thought, circling tight in his head.
I can't stay like this.
The city lights barely touched the cracked stairwell as he climbed. Floor by floor. Shadow by shadow.
When he reached their door, the hallway was still. Like the world was waiting to see if he'd go back to being who he was.
He slipped through the door without a sound.
The apartment was dark. Quiet.
He stepped over the loose floorboard, careful not to wake her.
Asha was still asleep on the mattress, curled up tight, one arm tucked under her cheek. The blanket had slipped halfway off.
He fixed it gently like his mother used to do.
For a moment, he just stood there—watching the slow rise and fall of her breath, the tiny frown she wore even in sleep. She'd never say it, but she was scared too.
He turned away.
The corner of the room waited, cold and bare. He crouched beside the folded blanket, lowered himself onto it, and let out a slow, shaky breath.
His body screamed at him. Muscles he didn't know he had ached. Every limb felt heavy, burned-out.
No big thoughts. No promises.
Just closed his eyes—and let sleep take him.
Next Morning – Jung-Hwa Vocational High
Class 2-C of The second-floor hallway
was loud again. Not because of excitement. Just routine noise. That noise people make to pretend things are normal.
Taesung leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up, lips twisted into a grin. "Tch. Guess he got scared."
A couple of the other boys chuckled, feeding off the tone. "The way he froze up? Man probably cried himself sick."
Another one snorted. "He didn't even show up yesterday. Pathetic."
But one of them, the one in the back with the chewed pen cap, hesitated."…Didn't we mess with him before? He always showed up. No matter what."
The table quieted, just a little.
Taesung clicked his tongue. "So what? People break eventually."
Four days passed.
On the fourth, Taesung tossed his bag on the desk harder than usual. "He's really not showing up, huh."
And from the back row, the transfer girl's pencil stilled mid-scribble. Her eyes lingered on the empty seat near the window. The one that hadn't been touched in days.
Outside the gate—A figure moved, steps steady. The school building loomed ahead, cold in the morning gray.
Aryl had returned.
The door creaked open with a slow, deliberate push.
Every head in Class 2-C turned.
The chatter died instantly. Even the sound of the chalk on the board paused as Mr. Han turned to look.
Aryl stepped into the room.
the stiff collar of his Jung Hwa uniform, buttoned right to the top. His hair slightly damp from the wind. His eyes—sharper than glass, colder than they'd remembered.
A few whispers broke the silence.
"...He's here?"
"No way. After four days?"
"I thought he ran off or something."
But something felt off.
"...Is that him?"
"He looks different."
"Did something happen?"
The class didn't know what exactly—just that something had shifted. He looked the same. Walked the same. But the air around him...
Mr. Han lowered his chalk, glancing down at the attendance sheet. "You're late, Aryl."
The teacher looked down at the attendance sheet and tapped his pen once. "Since this is your first time, I'll let it slide. Sit down."
Aryl gave no reply. Just a small nod, almost invisible.
He moved down the aisle, past eyes that suddenly couldn't stop following him.
No slouch in his posture. Just calm, even steps.
He sat down in his usual seat.
Taesung clicked his tongue from the back.
"Look who finally decided to show," he muttered.
His friend, Jinseok, leaned in with a snort "Guess someone grew a spine."
Aryl didn't look at them. Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink their way.
That silence That was worse than any insult.
Taesung's grin twitched.
He leaned forward, voice low and smug.
"See you at lunch."