Ji-hoon stared at the glass with wide eyes. His breath caught in his throat. For several seconds, he could only sit there in silence, letting the strange reality sink into his still-chaotic mind.
The clear plastic cup rested motionless on the wooden table again. It didn't move. As if what had just happened was nothing more than an illusion.
This has to be stress, he told himself, trying to calm down. Trauma from the accident and the transmigration. Hallucinations.
With a slightly trembling hand, he reached for the cup. The cool touch of plastic grounded him a little. He drank the water, soothing his dry throat, but his eyes never left the cup, as if waiting for something to happen.
Nothing did.
Ji-hoon exhaled and placed the cup back on the table. Maybe it really was just exhaustion. Anyone would be shaken after dying and waking up in another person's body in a strange world.
He decided to try sleeping again. Maybe when he woke up, things would feel clearer—or maybe all of this would turn out to be a long, vivid dream. He lay down, closed his eyes, and forced his racing thoughts to settle.
But just as his consciousness began to drift, the voice returned.
Not from outside. It echoed directly inside his skull—clear and flat, exactly like the one he had heard before waking up here.
[Soul integration: 87% complete. Anomaly detected in memory module.]
Ji-hoon's eyes snapped open. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
"Who's there?" he whispered into the empty room, his voice shaking.
There was no response. Only silence.
[Analyzing anomaly… Source: dual identity conflict. Recommendation: temporary suppression of 'Kang Ji-hoon' memory set.]
"No—wait!" Ji-hoon protested internally, pure panic exploding in his chest. Suppressing his memories meant erasing himself. Whoever—or whatever—was doing this, he wouldn't allow it.
As if responding to his resistance, a strange pressure formed in his head. It wasn't pain, but a sensation as though something vast and alien was pressing against his consciousness, trying to force it into submission. His memories as Ji-hoon—his old life, his work, Seoul—began to blur, like faded photographs.
No!
He bit his lip and focused with everything he had. He clung to the image of his cluttered office, the smell of morning coffee, the faces of his coworkers. He held onto those details, using them as anchors against the unseen force.
The struggle played out in total silence. Ji-hoon lay there, drenched in cold sweat, his muscles tense as if he were lifting an enormous weight. Slowly, the pressure receded.
[Recommendation rejected. Identity conflict maintained. Updating integration protocol…]
The voice spoke once more—then vanished. The strange sensation in his head disappeared as well, leaving Ji-hoon gasping on the bed, his body limp as if he had just run a marathon.
He stared at the ceiling, his heart still pounding. So there really was something inside him. Something responsible for bringing him here. Something still active, still watching, still trying to "adjust" him. Terms like soul integration, memory module, and protocol sounded technical—like computer systems or a scientific experiment.
Min-jae's memories of his father, Dr. Kang Min-soo, and his research into dimensional resonance suddenly felt far too relevant.
Before Ji-hoon could think further, there was a soft knock on the door. It opened, and a middle-aged nurse in a spotless white uniform entered with a warm smile.
"Ah, Min-jae-ssi, you're awake. How are you feeling?" she asked while checking the monitor beside the bed.
Ji-hoon—who had to start getting used to that name—nodded slightly. "Fine… just a little dizzy."
"That's normal after being in a coma for several days," the nurse said as she noted something on her clipboard. "The doctor will come to examine you shortly. Do you need anything?"
Ji-hoon shook his head. His thoughts were still tangled around the mysterious voice. "No, thank you."
After the nurse left, Ji-hoon sat up. This time, he felt steadier. He looked around the room more carefully. On the bedside table, besides the water cup, lay a smartphone. He picked it up. The device looked advanced, its screen lighting up at his touch. A lock pattern appeared.
Without thinking, his fingers moved on their own—Min-jae's muscle memory taking over.
The phone unlocked.
Ji-hoon stared at it, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. He now had access to another person's life. He opened the photo gallery. There were several images: a large, modern house; a photo of a man with slightly graying hair, glasses, and a warm smile—Min-jae's father, Min-soo; photos of Min-jae himself laughing with a group of friends; and a picture of a grand building labeled Chrono Vanguard Headquarters.
He checked the messages next. Dozens were unread. From Uncle Dae-hyun. From Na-rae. From Hyung Min-hyuk. From several other unfamiliar names. The contents ranged from well-wishes and concern to questions about his condition—and one message from someone named Joon-ho asking about a monster theory assignment.
Kang Min-jae's world began to feel real. A complete life, filled with relationships, expectations, and problems of its own. And now, Ji-hoon had to live it.
Not long after, a doctor in a white coat entered with the nurse. The examination was routine—blood pressure, reflexes, questions about pain, basic neurological tests. The doctor concluded that his recovery was progressing well, but recommended a few more days of complete rest and light physical therapy to restore muscle strength.
"Most importantly, avoid excessive stress, Min-jae-ssi," the doctor advised calmly. "Your body has been through major trauma. Give it time to recover fully."
Excessive stress, Ji-hoon thought bitterly. Doctor, you have no idea.
After they left, Ji-hoon felt trapped. He couldn't keep lying here, worrying about mysterious voices and strange powers. He needed information. He needed to understand this world.
His memories of Gates and Hunters were vague, like half-read textbook pages from Min-jae's mind. He picked up the phone again and opened the browser.
He typed a simple keyword: "First appearance of Gates."
The screen filled with results—archived news articles, documentaries, encyclopedia entries. Ji-hoon tapped one of the older articles.
"Twenty Years Ago: The First Opening That Changed the World."
The article described how, twenty years earlier, massive energy portals—later called Gates—had suddenly appeared across the globe. Panic followed. Alien creatures, dubbed monsters, emerged from them. The world's militaries were overwhelmed. Soon after, it was discovered that some humans developed special abilities after exposure to Gate energy. They were called Hunters.
Hunters could fight monsters, enter Gates, and harvest magical resources from other dimensions—Mana Crystals and various exotic materials.
The world changed drastically. New economies formed around Gate loot. Hunter guilds rose like massive corporations. Nations established academies to train young Hunters. Social status was no longer measured solely by wealth, but by a Hunter's Rank.
Ji-hoon scrolled, reading about the ranking system: F (lowest), E, D, C, B, A, and S (highest). Gates were ranked the same way, based on danger level. Lower-ranked Hunters were restricted to lower-ranked Gates.
He also read about the risks. Hunter mortality rates—especially among low ranks—were high. Conflicts between guilds sometimes turned bloody. And while monsters were a threat, human greed was often just as dangerous.
His phone vibrated. An incoming call. The name displayed: Na-rae.
Ji-hoon stared at it. From Min-jae's memories, Yoo Na-rae was a childhood friend. Her family was also involved in the Hunter world, though not as prominent. They were close—though distance had grown recently due to training and academy pressure.
He took a breath and answered.
"Hello?"
"Min-jae! You finally picked up!" A girl's voice came through, relieved but tense. "I've been calling you so many times. How are you? Uncle Dae-hyun said you woke up."
"I'm… okay. Still a bit dizzy," Ji-hoon replied carefully.
"I heard about the academy. You're still going to re-enroll, right?" Na-rae asked, urgency in her voice.
"I'm not sure yet, Na-rae. Everything's still… a mess."
There was a brief silence. "I understand. But Min-jae… you remember our promise, right? We said we'd enter the academy together—be a team. I've already been accepted into the Support Department. Training's started. I'm waiting for you."
A promise. A wave of unfamiliar emotion—hope, determination, and quiet disappointment—washed over Ji-hoon from Min-jae's memories. Clearly, this mattered.
"I remember," he said. "I just need time to decide."
"Okay. Don't push yourself. Getting healthy comes first," Na-rae said softly. "I'll visit you later, okay? I'll bring food you like."
They ended the call. Ji-hoon set the phone down, feeling even more conflicted. Every interaction pulled him deeper into Min-jae's life. Everyone expected something from him.
A dull ache pulsed in his head. He closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts.
Alright, Kang Ji-hoon. Or Kang Min-jae. Or whoever you are now, he told himself.
You have a few facts. First: you're in a dangerous fantasy world. Second: there's a system or entity inside you that brought you here. Third: the people around you expect you to become a Hunter. Fourth: you might have a strange, uncontrollable power.
Then came the practical question: What do I do now?
Two different voices answered inside him.
Ji-hoon the editor said: Learn the rules of this world. Gather information. Don't rush decisions. Survival comes first.
Min-jae the pressured teenager whispered: Meet your family's expectations. Find out what happened to Father. Become strong.
The conflict deepened.
That afternoon, Uncle Dae-hyun returned, carrying a blue folder.
"Min-jae, this is the re-enrollment form for the Hunter Academy," Dae-hyun said bluntly, placing it on the table. "I've spoken with the academy. They're giving you leniency due to your condition. You have until the end of this week to decide."
Ji-hoon stared at the folder as if it were a venomous snake. "Uncle… am I really suited to be a Hunter? My aptitude tests before showed my potential was average at best, right?"
Dae-hyun sat down, his expression serious. "Potential can change, Min-jae. Especially after traumatic events like accidents—or exposure to certain energies." His eyes sharpened as he studied Ji-hoon. "Besides, being a Hunter isn't just about strength. It's about position, influence, and protection. With a Hunter title from a prestigious academy, you'll have security. That's important, considering… your father's research."
"Father…" Ji-hoon repeated. "Uncle, what do you think really happened to him?"
Dae-hyun sighed heavily. "I don't know for sure. What I do know is that his research at Ouroboros Research was extremely sensitive—related to Gate stability. After the lab incident, all data vanished, the team disbanded, and Ouroboros sealed everything tight. That wasn't an ordinary accident." He looked straight at Ji-hoon. "That's why you need to be strong. The Hunter world and Gate research are deeply connected. From the inside, you might find answers."
The pressure became undeniable. This wasn't just family expectation—it was a path toward the truth behind Min-jae's father… and perhaps the truth behind Ji-hoon's own transmigration.
"I'll think about it seriously, Uncle," Ji-hoon promised, sincerity filling his voice.
Dae-hyun nodded, satisfied. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, we'll go home."
That night, the lights were dimmed, leaving only a small lamp by the bed. Ji-hoon lay alone in the darkness, faint city lights leaking through the curtains.
His thoughts refused to settle.
He closed his eyes and focused on his new body. Was something different? Had the earlier movement of the cup been real?
He tried again, focusing on the glass on the table, imagining it sliding closer.
Nothing happened.
He tried until his head began to ache. Still nothing. Maybe it really had been a hallucination.
Frustrated, he shifted his gaze to the curtains. The night breeze made them sway slightly. Without thinking, a simple wish formed in his mind: I wish those curtains were fully closed.
Something subtle changed. The curtains didn't move at first—but the air around him felt different. Like a faint vibration, an extension of his perception. He could feel the folds of the fabric, their weight, how they hung from the rail. Not seeing. Not touching. Just knowing.
With that awareness came a tiny sense of control.
Gently, without forcing it, he pushed that sensation toward the curtains.
The fabric slowly—very slowly—slid shut, as if brushed by a breeze that didn't exist.
Ji-hoon held his breath.
This was different from moving the cup. This felt like sensing space itself, then nudging it. Telekinesis? But not simple object lifting—more like manipulating the surroundings.
[Ability activation detected. Classification: Psychic Telekinesis (Variant). Estimated level: 1. Further analysis required.]
The system voice returned, startling him. But this time, it felt… different. Not entirely alien. As if there was a trace of another awareness—perhaps part of the integration it mentioned.
"Who are you?" he asked again, more boldly, inside his mind.
There was no direct reply. Instead, an impression flowed into him—not words, but an image: two lights, one bright and stable, the other dim and flickering, slowly merging into a single, unified glow.
And one piece of information:
[Objective: Survival. Method: Adaptation.]
Then—silence.
Ji-hoon sat there, stunned. Survival. Adaptation. It made sense. Whatever this system or entity was, its goal seemed to be keeping him alive in this world—by merging Ji-hoon and Min-jae and helping him develop suitable abilities.
Telekinesis. Level 1.
Not a power that changed everything overnight—but a beginning. Something real. Something he might use to survive.
With mixed feelings of fear and hope, Ji-hoon made his decision.
He would re-enroll in the Hunter Academy.
Not just for family expectations or Min-jae's father—but for himself. For Kang Ji-hoon, stranded in a foreign world. There, he could learn about his power, this world, and maybe uncover clues about the voice in his head.
He looked at the blue folder on the table again. It no longer felt like a threat.
It felt like a ticket.
As he finally drifted to sleep, his dreams were filled with white light, echoing voices, and the image of a man in glasses—Dr. Kang Min-soo—standing beyond a pulsing portal of unknown energy.
Far away, deep within the Ouroboros Research Division, a monitor connected to an energy detection system suddenly recorded a faint spike. Its frequency matched a dimensional signature they had been searching for.
A scientist in the control room stared in shock, then grabbed the phone.
"Director? We've detected something. At the Chrono Vanguard family hospital. It's… similar to Dr. Kang's signal."
--