The blade entered cleanly.
No hesitation. No warning.
Kang Seo-jun felt it slide between his ribs, precise and deliberate, like the hand guiding it had practiced the motion a thousand times before. For a moment, there was no pain—only pressure, a strange fullness spreading through his chest as if something inside him had been displaced.
Then came the heat.
It surged outward from the wound, flooding his veins, igniting every nerve with a burning that refused to be ignored. His breath caught halfway, lungs refusing to obey, and the world tilted just enough for him to realize something was very wrong.
He looked down.
The sword was still there.
Embedded.
His blood dripped along the steel in slow, steady lines, each drop striking the cracked pavement below with a soft, mocking rhythm. The sound felt louder than the battlefield that surrounded him.
Strange.
Seo-jun's fingers tightened around the hilt of his own weapon, though his grip had already begun to weaken. His mind moved faster than his failing body, piecing together the truth long before he could bring himself to accept it.
He had been stabbed.
Not by a monster.
Not by some mindless creature from the abyss.
By a human.
A quiet laugh escaped his lips, hoarse and broken, almost lost beneath the distant screams echoing across the ruined city.
"So… it's like that."
The man behind him didn't respond immediately. That silence said more than words ever could. Seo-jun didn't need to turn to recognize him.
He already knew.
He had trusted that voice. Followed it through collapsing dungeons and blood-soaked streets. Shared food when there was barely enough. Watched each other's backs when death came hunting in the dark.
And now
Now that same presence stood behind him, holding the blade that would end everything.
"You should've known," the man finally said, tone low, almost regretful. "You had it. That item… You knew what it meant."
Seo-jun exhaled slowly.
The artifact.
Of course.
His free hand tightened instinctively around it, fingers brushing the cold, smooth surface tucked against his side. Even now, it pulsed faintly, as if alive, as if aware of the blood being spilled for its sake.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
"Yeah… I knew."
That was the problem.
He knew too much. About the system. About the future. About the fragile balance holding humanity together by threads already fraying beyond repair.
And about people.
Especially people.
Trust had always been a luxury. Once he convinced himself he could afford it again.
He was wrong.
The blade twisted.
Pain exploded.
This time, there was no delay—no numbness to shield him. It tore through him, raw and unforgiving, forcing a choked gasp from his throat. His knees buckled, strength draining faster than he could fight to keep it.
Behind him, the man shifted, leaning closer.
"You climbed too fast," he murmured. "People notice that. They start asking questions."
Seo-jun's vision blurred at the edges.
Figures moved in the distance, other players, some watching, others pretending not to. None stepped forward. None intervened.
Of course they wouldn't.
This wasn't unusual.
Not anymore.
Monsters had changed the world. Humans had simply adapted.
"We needed it," the man continued. "That item could push us higher. Build something real. A force strong enough to survive."
Seo-jun almost laughed again.
"We?" he whispered.
The word tasted wrong.
Another twist of the blade silenced him.
Blood filled his mouth, thick and metallic, spilling past his lips as he struggled to remain upright. His fingers loosened at last, his weapon slipping free and clattering uselessly against the ground.
The sound echoed.
Final.
"I'm sorry," the man said, though the apology carried no weight.
Seo-jun believed that part, at least.
Regret existed.
It just didn't change anything.
His grip on the artifact weakened.
The faint glow dimmed.
He could feel it now, the pull. Something was dragging at him from beneath the surface of consciousness, urging him downward, into the quiet dark waiting just beyond the pain.
So this was how it ended.
Not in glory.
Not in some desperate final stand against an impossible enemy.
But like this.
Alone.
Betrayed.
Forgotten.
His head dipped forward, chin brushing against his chest as his strength finally gave out. The world tilted further, the sky above fractured into blurred streaks of gray and ash.
Yet even then
Even at the edge of death
Memories surged.
Faces.
Voices.
Fragments of a life already lost.
His sister's laugh, bright and unguarded.
A promise he failed to keep.
A friend who died screaming in a collapsing dungeon.
A city swallowed whole because he arrived too late.
Mistakes.
So many mistakes.
Seo-jun's breathing slowed.
Each inhale grew shallower than the last, each exhale lingering longer, as if reluctant to release what little remained of him.
If he had one more chance
The thought came unbidden.
Unwelcome.
Cruel.
Because chances like that didn't exist.
Not in this world.
Not in this system.
"You should've just handed it over," the man behind him said softly, almost to himself.
Seo-jun's lips moved.
No sound came out at first.
Then, barely audible
"…next time."
The words were faint.
Broken.
But they carried something the other man didn't understand.
A promise.
Or maybe a curse.
The blade withdrew.
His body collapsed.
Cold concrete rushed up to meet him, though he barely felt the impact. The world dimmed rapidly, colors draining into shadow, sound fading into distant echoes that no longer held meaning.
And then
Nothing.
Darkness lingered.
Not the kind born from closed eyes or the absence of light.
This was different.
Complete.
Endless.
Seo-jun floated within it, aware in a way that made no sense, thoughts drifting without form or direction. Time didn't pass. Or maybe it did, stretching infinitely in all directions until it became irrelevant.
He should've been gone.
Erased.
Yet something held him there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Then
A sound.
Soft.
Mechanical.
Unfamiliar, yet oddly clear.
[You have died.]
The voice echoed through the void, emotionless and precise.
Seo-jun's thoughts sharpened instantly.
System.
[Evaluating conditions…]
A pause followed.
Not long.
But long enough to feel deliberate.
[Hidden requirement fulfilled.]
Something shifted.
The darkness trembled.
Cracks formed not physical, but conceptual, like the space around him was beginning to fracture under pressure it could no longer contain.
Seo-jun's awareness tightened.
Focused.
On what?
He didn't know.
Yet instinct told him this mattered.
More than anything.
[Regression condition met.]
Silence.
Then
[Returning user to designated point.]
The void shattered.
Air rushed into his lungs.
Sharp.
Cold.
Alive.
Seo-jun jerked upright, breath tearing through him as if he'd been drowning and finally broke the surface. His chest heaved violently, heart slamming against his ribs with a force that bordered on painful.
Light flooded his vision.
Too bright.
Too clean.
He blinked rapidly, struggling to adjust, hands gripping the edge of something solid beneath him.
A desk.
Smooth.
Unbroken.
Intact.
The realization struck before he fully processed what he was seeing.
He wasn't on the ground anymore.
He wasn't bleeding.
Slowly, cautiously, Seo-jun lowered his gaze.
No wound.
No blood.
No sword.
Just
Clothes.
Simple.
Familiar.
His fingers trembled as they moved across his chest, pressing against where the blade had entered, expecting resistance, pain, anything to confirm what he remembered.
Nothing.
Only the steady rhythm of a living heartbeat.
"…what…"
His voice came out rough, unused.
Around him, noise filled the air.
Not screams.
Not the distant roar of monsters.
Voices.
Normal.
Casual.
Unaware.
Seo-jun froze.
Then he looked up.
Rows of desks.
Students were seated quietly, some paying attention, others distracted. A professor stood at the front of the room, speaking in a steady monotone, words blending together into meaningless background noise.
A classroom.
His classroom.
His breathing slowed.
Not from calm.
From shock.
This
This was impossible.
He knew this place.
Every detail.
The faint crack along the wall near the window. The chipped edge of the desk in front of him. The way sunlight filtered through the blinds at an angle that always made it hard to focus during afternoon lectures.
He had sat here before.
Years ago.
Before everything changed.
"No…"
The word slipped out under his breath.
Too quiet for anyone to notice.
Seo-jun's hands clenched into fists.
His mind raced.
He remembered dying.
He remembered the blade.
The betrayal.
The system message.
Regression.
His head snapped toward the front of the room.
The professor continued speaking, oblivious.
Seo-jun didn't hear a single word.
Instead, something else echoed in his thoughts.
A date.
A time.
A moment burned into his memory so deeply it might as well have been carved into his bones.
The day before it all began.
The day before the world ended.
His pulse spiked.
Slowly, almost mechanically, he reached into his pocket.
His phone.
It felt heavier than it should have.
Familiar.
Dangerously normal.
His fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second before unlocking the screen.
The date stared back at him.
Unchanged.
Unmistakable.
Seo-jun's breath caught.
"…I'm back."
The words felt unreal.
Like saying them might break whatever fragile illusion held this moment together.
But it wasn't an illusion.
He could feel it.
The weight of his body.
The air fills his lungs.
The steady rhythm of life that had been ripped away from him only moments ago.
This was real.
He had returned.
A sudden noise snapped him out of his thoughts.
Laughter.
From the row behind him.
Seo-jun turned slightly, gaze shifting just enough to catch a glimpse.
Familiar faces.
People he hadn't seen in years.
Some of them would die within days.
Others would last longer.
A few
A very small few
Would become monsters in their own right.
His eyes lingered.
Memories surfaced.
Not pleasant ones.
Blood.
Screams.
Desperation.
He forced himself to look away.
Too early.
It was all too early.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Outside, the world looked… peaceful.
Cars moved along the street.
People walked without fear.
The sky stretched endlessly, untouched by the shadows that would soon claim it.
For a moment.
Just a moment.
It felt like nothing had changed.
Like everything he experienced had been nothing more than a nightmare.
But Seo-jun knew better.
Because he remembered what came next.
A low vibration hummed through the air.
So faint it might've gone unnoticed by anyone else.
Seo-jun stiffened.
His eyes widened slightly.
No one else reacted.
Not yet.
But he felt it.
He knew this sensation.
The beginning.
The very first sign.
His grip tightened around the edge of the desk.
"Not yet…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
Too soon.
It wasn't supposed to happen this early.
Or
No.
He paused.
A thought formed.
Sharp.
Unsettling.
What if
What if things had already started to change?
His heart sank.
Because if that was true
Then, the future he relied on
The one advantage he had
Might already be slipping away.
The vibration grew stronger.
A faint crack echoed somewhere in the distance.
This time, a few students glanced around, confused.
The professor stopped mid-sentence.
"What was that?"
No one answered.
Seo-jun didn't move.
He didn't need to.
He already knew.
The world held its breath.
And then
The sky split open.
A blinding light tore across the horizon, cutting through the clouds like a blade through flesh. It spread unnaturally fast, warping the space around it, bending reality into something unrecognizable.
Screams erupted outside.
Loud.
Panicked.
Real.
Students rushed to the windows, confusion turning into fear as they stared at the impossible scene unfolding before them.
"What is that?!"
"Is this some kind of explosion?"
"No, no, that's not"
The round shook.
Violently.
Desks rattled.
Glass cracked.
Seo-jun remained seated.
His expression hardened.
He had seen this before.
He knew what came after.
The Descent.
It had begun.
But something was wrong.
The timing.
The intensity.
The way the sky fractured
It wasn't the same.
Not exactly.
A deep, guttural roar echoed from above, shaking the air itself.
Students screamed.
Some fell to the ground.
Others tried to run, only to stumble as the building trembled beneath them.
Seo-jun stood slowly.
His movements were controlled.
Deliberate.
Because panic wouldn't save anyone.
Not this time.
Not ever.
His gaze locked onto the sky beyond the shattered glass.
Something moved within the light.
Massive.
Winged.
Watching.
His breath slowed.
Then
For the first time since returning
Kang Seo-jun felt it.
Uncertainty.
Because that
That creature
Wasn't supposed to appear yet.
Not for weeks.
Not in this location.
Not
"…already?"
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Above the collapsing world
A shadow descended.
And this time
It wasn't part of the future he remembered.