Morning light filtered through reinforced glass as Yooha Jin opened his eyes.
For a moment, he simply lay there, listening to the distant hum of barrier engines protecting the city. Outside those walls lay the apocalypse—beasts born from corrupted mana, undead legions, and gods that fed on despair.
Inside, life pretended to be normal.
Jin exhaled slowly and sat up. His uniform jacket hung neatly on a chair, the emblem of Yoshooha High School stitched on the chest. He had worn that emblem longer than anyone else his age.
Seventeen years.
Most students came and went in five.
"Still here," Jin muttered with a faint smile.
He wasn't weak. Everyone knew that. His body was honed through relentless training, his techniques refined to near perfection.
But in this world, effort was never enough.
At fifteen, people awakened talents.
At sixteen, prodigies bloomed.
At eighteen—when Jin finally awakened—it was already too late.
Still, when his talent had appeared, it had shocked the evaluators.
Martial Saint.
A rare combat talent that granted instinctive understanding of martial techniques, movements, and battle flow. His instructors had stared at the results in stunned silence.
Then they sighed.
"What a waste."
Jin never argued.
He trained harder.
On the training grounds, his fists cut through the air with clean, precise arcs. Every movement corrected itself mid-motion, every flaw erased before it could form.
A hush spread suddenly.
Jin felt it before he saw her.
Authority pressed down like gravity.
Yooha Arin walked across the field, long coat swaying. Conversations died instantly. Students straightened. Teachers bowed their heads slightly.
The Monster God Slayer.
His sister.
The prodigy who had slain a lich—an undead god—and etched her name into history.
Her eyes met his.
"You're still pushing yourself," she said.
Jin shrugged. "Habit."
"You don't need to prove anything," Arin replied.
He smiled politely.
She didn't understand. And maybe she never would.
As she walked away, Jin clenched his fist.
I'll walk my own path.
He didn't know yet—
—but the world had already marked him for death.