Hyun-Jae didn't realize how tired he was until everything finally stopped moving.
The endless procession of bodies slowed, then halted, and for the first time since arriving on this world, there was no pressure pushing him forward. No commands. No sudden shifts of space. Just a vast, quiet expanse filled with breathing, uneven, anxious, human and non-human alike.
A faint light pulsed ahead.
One by one, participants were guided forward by the attendants. Each time someone stepped into the light, it flared briefly, then dimmed again. No screams. No resistance. Just a subtle change in posture afterward, people touching their arms, their chests, their necks, as if checking something invisible.
Hyun-Jae swallowed.
When it was his turn, his legs moved before his thoughts could catch up.
The attendant in front of him inclined her head slightly. Up close, the uncanny perfection was even more unsettling. Her skin was flawless, but not in a human way, it lacked pores, lacked irregularity, like a sculpture animated by will rather than flesh.
"Please remain still," she said.
A translucent panel of light unfolded in front of Hyun-Jae, hovering at chest level. Symbols flickered across it, some familiar, others utterly alien.
He caught what he could read.
Name: Seo Hyun-Jae
Species: Human
Realm: Seventh
Status: Temporary Participant
That last line made his chest tighten.
Temporary.
Before he could ask what that meant, the panel condensed into a thin, rectangular shape, a card no thicker than paper, glowing faintly with soft white edges. It drifted forward on its own, stopping inches from his chest.
Hyun-Jae hesitated.
The attendant's eyes met his. They weren't cold. Not warm either. Simply expectant.
"…Okay," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
The card moved.
The moment it touched his skin, it dissolved.
There was no pain.
No shock.
Instead, a strange sensation spread outward from the point of contact, warmth, like sunlight soaking into muscle after a long winter. The light slipped beneath his skin as if it had never been solid to begin with, threading itself through him, sinking deeper until it was no longer visible at all.
Hyun-Jae sucked in a sharp breath.
Instinctively, he grabbed at his chest.
Nothing.
No scar. No mark. No heat.
Yet he felt it.
Not like something foreign had entered him, but like something had been acknowledged.
Claimed.
Around him, others were reacting the same way.
A young man kept rubbing his forearm, eyes wide. A woman pressed both hands to her collarbone, breathing shakily. A non-human participant, a tall, four-eyed being with scaled skin, tilted its head, clicking softly as if listening to something only it could hear.
"Registration complete," the attendant said smoothly. "You will now be guided to your temporary quarters."
Temporary again.
Hyun-Jae lowered his hands slowly, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
So this is it, he thought.No turning back. Not even on paper.
The attendants began directing participants away in orderly streams. There was no confusion now, no panic. Just movement, thousands upon thousands of individuals flowing through unseen pathways, guided by beings who never once raised their voices.
As Hyun-Jae walked, the environment around him shifted almost imperceptibly.
At first, there had been nothing but open land.
Now, corridors emerged.
Walls rose from the ground as if they had always been there, smooth and seamless, stretching upward into soft, glowing ceilings. Doors lined the halls, identical in shape but subtly different in texture and color, as though tailored to whoever would pass through them.
He passed species he had never imagined existed.
A floating mass of translucent tendrils drifted silently beside him. A pair of hulking, fur-covered giants ducked slightly to avoid scraping the ceiling. A small group of humans whispered nervously, their voices echoing too loudly in the pristine space.
"How many rooms are there…?" someone muttered.
Hyun-Jae wondered the same thing.
The hallways branched endlessly, each turn revealing more doors, more space. It didn't make sense. Even accounting for technology beyond Earth's understanding, the sheer scale was impossible.
And yet,
No matter how far he looked, there was no crowding.
Everyone had somewhere to go.
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
This wasn't preparation.
This was accommodation.
The attendant guiding his group stopped in front of a door that shimmered faintly when Hyun-Jae approached.
"Seo Hyun-Jae," she said.
The door responded instantly, sliding open without a sound.
Inside was a room, simple, clean, and far larger than he expected.
A bed rested against one wall, neatly made with unfamiliar but comfortable-looking fabric. A desk stood near a wide window that overlooked an artificial sky, its color shifting slowly like a living painting. There was a private bathroom, storage space, even a small seating area.
Everything he needed.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
"This will be your quarters until further notice," the attendant said. "You are advised to rest."
"Rest…?" Hyun-Jae echoed quietly.
"Yes."
As if on cue, the door slid shut behind him.
Alone.
The silence settled heavily.
Hyun-Jae stood there for several seconds, unmoving, as if afraid the room might vanish if he breathed too hard. Finally, he exhaled and set his bag down near the bed.
He sat.
The mattress dipped under his weight, firm but forgiving.
His eyes drifted to his hands.
They looked the same.
No marks. No glowing symbols. No sign that his identity had just been rewritten by something far beyond human authority.
And yet…
He pressed a hand to his chest again.
Still there.
Not physically, but undeniably present.
A reminder.
Temporary Participant.
Hyun-Jae leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
So this is the first day, he thought. No trials. No blood. No answers.
Just a room, a name, and the knowledge that something vast had quietly wrapped its fingers around his existence.
Outside the window, the artificial sky shifted, clouds drifting lazily across a world that hadn't existed hours ago.
Tomorrow, he knew, wouldn't be this calm.
And somehow, that thought unsettled him more than the chaos ever had.
-
Hyun-Jae woke before the summons came.
He wasn't sure what had stirred him, there was no alarm, no sound, no change in the room's lighting. His eyes simply opened, heart already beating a little faster than normal, as if his body had known before his mind did.
For a few seconds, he lay there staring at the unfamiliar ceiling.
Right.Not home.
The room was silent in a way that felt intentional. Not empty, not abandoned, maintained. As if even quiet here was something carefully designed.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The floor was cool beneath his feet, grounding him. He stretched his shoulders, rolling tension out of muscles that never seemed to fully relax anymore.
That was when it happened.
A pressure, not heavy, not painful, settled gently against his awareness.
Not on his ears.
Not in the air.
Inside.
Temporary participants of designated classifications, please respond to the summons.
The voice wasn't spoken aloud, yet it was unmistakable. Clear, neutral, absolute.
Hyun-Jae froze.
Designated classifications.
His fingers curled slowly into fists.
"…So that's how it starts," he murmured.
The door slid open on its own.
Beyond it, the corridor was already alive with movement. Humans stepped out of their rooms in silence, expressions tense and wary. Alongside them came others, slender beings with cautious movements, stockier creatures whose eyes darted constantly, species that carried the same uneasy stiffness in their posture.
No one had to ask who this summons was for.
You could see it.
The strong weren't here.
The towering armored giants Hyun-Jae had glimpsed yesterday were absent. So were the glowing, sharp-eyed beings that had radiated quiet confidence. The corridor was filled instead with those who hesitated, who moved like prey trying not to draw attention.
Like him.
They followed the flow, guided once again by the attendants. The passageways shifted subtly as they walked, walls gliding into new configurations to accommodate the gathering mass. Despite the number of participants, there was no sense of crowding. Everyone had space. Everyone had a place.
That alone was unsettling.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber.
Hyun-Jae stopped short.
The ceiling was impossibly high, curving upward into a dome of faintly glowing patterns that shifted too slowly to track. The floor stretched outward in gentle tiers, like a massive amphitheater, already filling with people, thousands of them.
Humans clustered instinctively together, though there were others mixed among them: small-framed species, lightly built beings, creatures whose bodies bore signs of fragility rather than power.
A quiet murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Why only us…?"
"Where are the others?"
"Did we do something wrong…?"
Hyun-Jae swallowed and took a step forward, then another, until he found an open space among a group of humans he didn't recognize. He kept his arms at his sides, shoulders squared, trying to appear calmer than he felt.
This isn't a trial, he told himself.Not yet.
The air shifted.
The murmurs died instantly.
The Celestial appeared without ceremony at the center of the chamber, hovering just above the ground. There was no distortion this time, no dramatic fracture of reality, just a sudden certainty that it had arrived.
Its presence was different here.
Less crushing than before.
More focused.
Its gaze swept across the assembled participants, not lingering on individuals, yet somehow missing nothing.
"You have been summoned," it began, "because you share a common trait."
Silence reigned.
Hyun-Jae felt his pulse quicken.
"You are lacking."
The word landed without malice.
That somehow made it worse.
"Relative to the standards required for the coming trials," the Celestial continued evenly, "your biological, energetic, or structural capabilities fall below the optimal threshold."
A ripple of discomfort moved through the crowd.
Some bristled. Some looked down. Others clenched their jaws, faces flushing with quiet anger or shame.
Hyun-Jae's nails bit into his palms.
So that's it.Confirmed. Labeled.
"You may perceive this as unfair," the Celestial said. "You may perceive it as an insult. Neither interpretation is relevant."
A few sharp breaths were audible now.
"The tournament is not designed to reward effort," it went on. "It is designed to preserve balance."
Hyun-Jae's eyes narrowed slightly.
Balance.
Ten years ago, that word had been used to justify annihilation.
"However," the Celestial said, raising one hand slightly, "absolute disparity undermines efficiency."
The chamber grew colder.
"To that end, assistance will be provided."
Every head snapped up.
Assistance.
A thousand questions trembled on the edge of the room, but no one dared speak.
"The assistance you will receive will not cause you harm," the Celestial said, as if answering the unspoken fear directly. "It will not damage your bodies, shorten your lifespans, or compromise your autonomy."
Hyun-Jae felt a strange tightening in his chest.
Not harm.
That didn't mean safe.
"It will," the Celestial continued, "allow you to participate meaningfully."
Meaningfully.
Not equally.
Not safely.
Just… meaningfully.
"You are not being elevated to the level of stronger species," it said calmly. "You are being raised to the minimum required to survive."
A shiver passed through the chamber.
Hyun-Jae exhaled slowly through his nose.
Minimum required to survive.
"So long as you remain within designated parameters," the Celestial added, "the assistance will adapt in accordance with your continued performance."
Adapt.
That word lodged itself deep in Hyun-Jae's thoughts.
"The process will begin soon," the Celestial concluded. "You will be informed when and how to proceed. Until then, you will return to your quarters."
It paused, its gaze sweeping over them once more.
"Do not mistake this for generosity," it said. "It is an necessity."
And then,
It was gone.
No flash. No sound.
Just absence.
The pressure lifted, and the chamber exhaled as one.
Voices erupted immediately.
"What does that mean?"
"Minimum required?!"
"Did you hear what it said about adapting?!"
Hyun-Jae didn't speak.
He stood there, staring at the space where the Celestial had been, his thoughts unusually quiet.
Help.
Not power.
Not a miracle.
A correction.
As the attendants began guiding them back toward the corridors, Hyun-Jae felt that same faint sensation again, the one he'd felt during registration. A subtle awareness, like something deep within him had shifted its attention.
He placed a hand over his chest instinctively.
Temporary Participant.
Lacking.
Soon to be adjusted.
For the first time since arriving in this place, Hyun-Jae felt something stir beneath the weight of fear and uncertainty.
Not hope.
Not yet.
But anticipation.
Whatever "help" meant, whatever form it took-
It was coming.
And whether he wanted it or not, it was about to change him.