The transition from the vibrant, high-stakes atmosphere of the Azure Province to the reality of Busan was always like a physical blow. When Si-woo pulled the headset off, the first thing he felt wasn't the "Dao"—it was the smell of damp concrete and the low hum of the refrigerator in the corner.
He lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling where a water stain was slowly expanding. In the game, he was a man who could command the mountain's breath. Here, he was an eighteen-year-old in a basement, his body slick with the cold sweat of a fever that wouldn't break.
"Si-woo?"
The door creaked open. Mi-rae stepped in, holding a glass of water. She didn't turn on the main light, knowing his eyes would be sensitive after hours in the rig. Instead, she sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning softly.
"You were under for seven hours this time," she said, her voice quiet. "Eomma was worried. She kept checking your breathing."
Si-woo took the water, his hand trembling slightly—not from weakness, but from the residual electrical "noise" of the high-sync session. "I'm fine. The... the north is open. The whole server is moving."
"I don't care about the server, Oppa," Mi-rae said, her expression hardening in the dim light. "Look at what you did while you were 'away'."
She reached down and pulled back the thin summer blanket. Si-woo looked down at his legs.
They weren't just twitching. The muscles in his calves, which had been as thin as dry wood just weeks ago, were visibly swollen. The skin was a flushed, healthy red, and he could see the veins pulsing with blood flow. But more importantly, his right leg wasn't lying flat. His knee was slightly bent, held up by the tension of his own muscles.
"I didn't move it," Si-woo whispered. "Not consciously."
"You were kicking in your sleep," Mi-rae said. "And not just spasms. It looked like you were trying to walk. Eomma cried. She had to leave the room so she wouldn't wake you up."
Si-woo reached down. His fingers touched his thigh. For the first time since the accident, it didn't feel like touching a piece of furniture. He felt the heat of his own skin. He felt the pressure of his own grip.
"The doctor is coming tomorrow," Mi-rae added, her tone shifting to something more concerned. "The 'disgraced' one Eomma found. Dr. Park. He's the only one who would agree to a house call without a massive deposit."
Si-woo nodded. "Good. We need a professional to tell us if I'm actually healing or if I'm just burning out my nervous system. But Mi-rae... tell Eomma to be careful. If Dr. Park sees how fast this is happening, he might talk. People in this neighborhood talk for a handful of won."
He sat up—not using the bedrail, but using his core strength. He felt solid. The "logic" he had applied to the forge was manifesting in his own bones. If he could align a building, why couldn't he align his own frame?
"I'm going to try to stand," Si-woo said.
Mi-rae's eyes went wide. "No. Si-woo, don't. You'll fall and break something."
"I have to know," he replied.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was a slow, clumsy movement, his feet hitting the cold linoleum with a heavy thud. He gripped the edge of the mattress, his knuckles turning white. He visualized the "Dragon's Tail"—the way the water had supported his weight in the middle of the torrent.
He pushed.
For three seconds, Han Si-woo stood.
He was shaking, his breath coming in jagged gasps, but his weight was being carried by his own legs. The basement room felt like it was spinning, the "Sync Strain" and physical gravity fighting for control of his equilibrium. Then, his knees buckled, and he collapsed back onto the bed, Mi-rae catching his shoulders.
"Three seconds," he panted, a wild, exhausted grin on his face. "Mi-rae... I stood."
"You're an idiot," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears as she held him. "A total, reckless idiot."
"Yeah," Si-woo said, leaning his head against her shoulder. "But I'm an idiot who's going to walk out of this basement."
In the distance, the sound of a heavy engine rumbled past the high window—a black sedan, moving slowly through the fog of the Sanbok-doro. Si-woo didn't hear it. He was already looking at the headset on the floor, thinking about the Forbidden Peaks and the violet light.
He had stood up in Busan. Now, he had to make sure the world he was using to heal didn't fall apart before he finished the job.