He was born without a name, in a world that didn't care whether he lived or died. Abandoned on an orphanage's steps, he grew up in a place that provided food and shelter, but never warmth. The staff were overworked, donations were scarce, and kids learned early that love was a pleasure they couldn't afford.
From an early age, he was different. Before others could muster a simple word, he started speaking entire sentences, and ate school-level books by high school. Everything that could've made him remarkable only made him more alone. The care staff, unsure what to do with him, showed him off to potential donors, then treated him with disdain behind closed doors. The others branded him a freak, a know-it-all, and made a joke of pretending he didn't exist. Never once did he behave with superiority — and it didn't matter.
By his tenth birthday, he'd given up on friendship. He ate by himself at school, always at the back, by the busted radiator, surrounded by laughter he never joined. School operated no differently — teachers only took notice of him when it came time to discipline, and classmates envied his quiet performance. He kept his head down, floating through days that were identical and colorless, a cold beat of silence.
His only refuge was a crumby smartphone he managed to hold together with pure determination — a gift from an elderly junk shop couple. In return for sweeping floors and hauling boxes after school, the old man had handed him the phone, grumbling, "Kids your age need one." For that simple kindness, he couldn't put into words.
When he went back home, he made a beeline for the same park bench, using borrowed Wi-Fi to relive his beloved novel: The Reincarnated Assassin is a Genius Swordsman. Raon Zieghart was more than a character to him — a reflection and a lifeline. A broken boy who wouldn't stay broken. A sword learning what it meant to be human. And above all, Raon possessed something he never knew existed: a family like Sylvia. Kind, unbreakable, warm. He re-read those first chapters over and over, never for swords or plot, but for that kitchen table, that soft voice, that unconditional acceptance.
He did not fantasize about swords or pure brawn. He fantasized about hearing someone say "I'm proud of you" and mean it.
As the dying light seeped beneath rooftops and low-battery indicator glowed faintly in his screen, he regarded the face of Raon and Sylvia for a hair too long and mused silently, If only… if only… if only…
He didn't see it coming.
One moment, he was walking home from the park, his thoughts still tangled in the warmth of a fictional family. The next — headlights. A screech of tires. A burst of pain. Then… nothing. No dramatic farewell. No one to cry for him. Just darkness.
And then — light.
He gasped.
His lungs burned with unfamiliar air, his skin prickled with warmth, and his body — smaller, fragile — trembled against soft cloth. He couldn't move much, but he felt arms around him — gentle, protective — and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Then he heard it. A voice.
Soft. Warm. Loving.
"You're safe now… my little one."
He blinked slowly, vision hazy. The world was spinning, a blur of shapes and colors, but then something focused. Her face. He could feel the air shift around him, a wave of something overwhelming, something both comforting and foreign. And as his vision cleared, he saw her — not just anyone — but her.
It was the way she looked at him.
Her golden hair shone like sunlight, cascading in soft waves down her back. Her ruby-red eyes, though tired and worn, held a depth of love that pierced through him, a warmth he couldn't comprehend. It was a softness that pulled at something deep inside, something he hadn't known he was capable of feeling. Her smile, gentle and full of understanding, made something inside him crack open — an ache he had never known, the kind that comes from being wanted.
And then, there was the name. Sylvia Zieghart. He knew that name. He'd read about her in the quiet dark of forgotten nights. She was the mother figure in stories he had clung to, a woman of strength and kindness. He had memorized every detail of her appearance in the pages — the golden hair, the ruby eyes, the way she looked at her children with such profound love and care.
And now, here she was. Real. His mother.
His breath hitched. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't fiction. She was holding him, and he was alive in a way he'd never been before. He wasn't just seeing her through pages or memories anymore. She was here, her warmth radiating against his fragile form.
Beside him, a soft cry echoed. Another newborn.
Raon.
He didn't understand how or why — only that it was happening. He had been reborn as Raon Zieghart's younger twin. Into the very story that had once been his escape.
But before exhaustion took over his senses, his thoughts drifted back to the old couple from the junk shop. The man's gruff voice. The woman's quiet smile. The way they had seen him, even for just a moment, like he was worth something.
Thank you, he thought, barely conscious. For giving me the only piece of kindness I ever had.
And then — silence.
Warmth. Darkness. A heartbeat not his own.
He was no longer nameless. No longer alone.
He had a family now.
And he would never let it go.
He turned his head slightly. There, beside him, was Raon — his twin — still sleeping peacefully. The soft rise and fall of his chest was grounding. He wasn't alone.
But then, it happened.
Something shifted.
A flicker deep in his chest — not pain, not fear. Power. A warmth that swelled suddenly, threading through his limbs like fire and frost all at once.
And then — a screen appeared. Transparent, glowing faintly. The air shimmered around it, like the world itself had clicked into a new state.
System Panel
Name:Unnamed
Age: 0
Race: Human (Zieghart Bloodline)
Talents:
Heaven-Defying ComprehensionHeaven Rewards Diligence
Curse:
Curse of Frost — A cold rooted in the soul. Latent. Waiting.
He stared. The words didn't make sense at first, but he understood them anyway. As if they were being written into him, not just displayed.
System Panel
Name:Unnamed
Age: 0
Race: Human (Zieghart Bloodline)
Talents:
Heaven-Defying Comprehension — Grants the ability to understand and internalize any technique, art, or concept—be it martial, magical, spiritual, or otherwise—so long as he has sufficient exposure or insight into its foundation. Even foreign power systems can be decoded and made his own.Heaven Rewards Diligence — Once a technique or practice is grasped, it can be cultivated to its peak through relentless effort. No bottleneck is permanent—he can break through the natural limits of a system through pure perseverance, forging new stages and transcending design.
Curse:
Curse of Frost — A cold rooted in the soul. Latent. Waiting. It binds the body and spirit in silence until it awakens.
He blinked at the screen, the meaning of the words sinking in slowly—then all at once.
He could comprehend anything?
Not just learn. Not just mimic. But break apart the layers of an ability, understand its structure, its flow, its core principles—and rebuild it inside himself. Even systems he had no business touching. As long as he could understand how it worked, it could be his.
And then diligence. It didn't just say he could train hard. It promised that if he built a path, he could walk it to the end—and then keep going, past where the road was supposed to stop.
There were no shortcuts here. But there were no ceilings either.
The frost curled faintly at the edge of his consciousness again, the cold coiled in his chest like a sleeping beast. That curse... it was real. It was dangerous.
But these talents? They weren't just gifts.
They were weapons.
And someday, he'd wield them all.
Life settled into quiet rhythm.