"Look straight ahead for me," the nurse said, raising a small flashlight.
Jae-hui kept her eyes forward while the light passed across them, first one side and then the other. The nurse watched her pupils for a moment before clicking the light off and stepping back.
"Any dizziness right now?"
"A little," Jae-hui said.
The nurse made a small sound of acknowledgment and reached for a clipboard on the desk behind her, writing something down without much concern. Min-ji was sitting in a chair near the door with her arms crossed watching the whole thing.
"Headache?" the nurse asked.
"No."
"Nausea?"
"No."
The nurse glanced at her again, then set the clipboard down and leaned against the desk. "You stood up too fast in class?"
Jae-hui nodded once.
"That's it? Nothing else?"
"I think so."
The nurse studied her for a second longer, then sighed and picked up the clipboard again. "Your temperature's normal and your pupils are fine, so you're probably okay. Just take it easy for a bit and don't stand up so quickly next time."
Jae-hui didn't say anything. She kept her hands in her lap and stayed still while the nurse finished writing, but something felt off in a way she couldn't name yet. Her vision was clear enough, but there was a faint awareness at the edge of her attention that hadn't been there before.
She lifted one hand without thinking and touched her face lightly. Her fingers brushed against something thin on the bridge of her nose, and she paused.
She was wearing glasses.
Her hand stayed there for a second before she lowered it again slowly.
She hadn't noticed until now.
The nurse glanced at her. "Your vision okay with those?"
Jae-hui looked up. "Yes."
"Good. Keep them on, especially if you're feeling off."
Jae-hui nodded again, and the nurse turned back to finish her notes. Min-ji shifted in her chair and leaned forward slightly, still watching her with that same concerned expression from earlier.
"Can I use the bathroom?" Jae-hui asked suddenly.
The nurse looked over her shoulder. "You feel sick?"
"No. I just need to go."
The nurse nodded toward the door. "It's just down the hall."
Jae-hui stood up carefully and walked toward the door without looking at Min-ji. She could feel Min-ji's eyes following her the whole way out.
She walked slowly at first, keeping her steps even and controlled until she reached the bathroom door and pushed it open.
The space inside was empty and smelled faintly of soap. A row of sinks lined one wall, with a long mirror hanging above them, and the fluorescent lights overhead made everything too bright and sharp.
Jae-hui stopped in front of the mirror and looked at her reflection.
The face staring back at her was familiar in the way a childhood photograph might be, something she recognized but didn't quite connect to anymore. The features were hers, younger and softer than she remembered. Her hair was longer too, pulled into a side braid that rested over one shoulder.
And the glasses.
She reached up slowly and touched the frames again, tracing the thin edge with her fingertips. They sat perfectly on her face, and when she tried to remember the last time she'd worn them, the memory didn't come.
Jae-hui hadn't worn glasses in years. Her vision had been fine for so long she had almost forgotten what it felt like to need them.
But this body did.
Jae-hui pulled the glasses off carefully and held them in one hand as she looked at herself again. The reflection blurred slightly, and she blinked a few times as if that might fix it.
It didn't.
She put the glasses back on, and everything sharpened again.
Her hands moved to the sink, gripping the edge tightly while she stared at the girl in the mirror. The face was familiar. The body, the clothes, the hair, even the glasses, all of it should have been hers.
But it didn't feel right.
She stood there for a long time without moving, just looking at the stranger wearing her face, until footsteps echoed faintly in the hallway outside and she finally pulled herself away from the mirror.
When she stepped back into the hall, Min-ji was waiting near the nurse's office door with her arms crossed again.
"You okay?" Min-ji asked.
Jae-hui nodded once. "Yeah."
Min-ji didn't look convinced, but she didn't push it either. She just fell into step beside Jae-hui as they started walking back toward the classroom together.
"You really scared me earlier," Min-ji said after a moment. "You looked like you didn't even know where you were."
Jae-hui glanced at her but didn't say anything.
"Do you feel better now at least?"
"A little."
Min-ji frowned slightly but seemed to accept the answer. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and when they reached the classroom door, Min-ji pushed it open without hesitation.
The teacher looked up from the board as they entered, and a few students turned to glance at them before going back to their notes. Jae-hui walked to her desk quietly and sat down while Min-ji slid into the seat beside her.
The lesson continued like nothing had happened.
Jae-hui stared at the board without really seeing it. The teacher kept talking, but she couldn't follow any of it. Her eyes drifted to the textbook in front of her, but the words didn't sink in. Her hands rested on the desk, and she noticed again how soft they were, how wrong they felt.
Min-ji glanced at her a few times during class but didn't say anything.
The minutes dragged on slowly until the bell finally rang and students started packing their bags. Jae-hui moved automatically, putting her things away without thinking about it, and when she stood up Min-ji was already waiting beside her desk.
"You heading home?" Min-ji asked.
Jae-hui nodded.
"Want me to walk with you?"
"No. I'll be fine."
Min-ji hesitated like she wanted to argue but didn't. "Okay. Just text me later, alright?"
"Alright."
Min-ji gave her one last worried look before turning to join a group of students near the door. Jae-hui watched her go for a second, then picked up her bag and left the classroom.
The hallway was crowded with students heading in different directions, their voices filling the space with noise that felt too loud. Jae-hui kept her head down and walked toward the exit without stopping.
The streets outside were busier than she expected, with people moving past each other in steady streams and cars filling the roads. The air smelled faintly of exhaust and street food.
Jae-hui kept her head down and walked until she found a quieter side street. She turned onto it and let herself breathe a little easier. The noise faded behind her, replaced by softer, everyday sounds. An older woman swept the pavement in front of a small shop, and a cat sat in a window with half-closed eyes.
Jae-hui kept walking until she reached a corner she recognized. Her house was just a few blocks away now, and the closer she got, the heavier the weight in her chest became.
The house looked exactly the same as she remembered. A small two-story building with a dark gate and a narrow front yard, the kind of modest home that filled entire neighborhoods in this part of Seoul. The gate was slightly rusted at the corners, and the mailbox beside it still sat at a crooked angle like it always had.
She stopped at the gate and stared at the front door for a long moment before pushing it open and walking up to the entrance. Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the door handle and opened it.
"Jae-hui-ya?"
The voice came from inside, familiar and warm, and Jae-hui's breath caught in her throat.
It was her mother.
A voice she thought she'd never hear again.
"You're back early," her mother continued from the kitchen. "Your father came home early too, so come eat with us."
Jae-hui stepped inside slowly, still frozen by the sound of that voice. The entryway was exactly how she remembered it. Shoes lined up neatly by the door, a small table with keys and mail sitting on top, and the faint smell of home that she couldn't quite describe but knew instantly.
Footsteps approached, and her mother appeared in the hallway wiping her hands on a dish towel. She smiled when she saw her, the same warm expression Jae-hui remembered from years ago, and something inside her chest cracked.
"Did you have a good day at school?" her mother asked, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Come on, the food's getting cold."
Jae-hui didn't move right away. She just stood there staring at her mother's back until she managed to take off her shoes and follow.
The kitchen was small, with the table already set for three. Her father sat at his usual spot with a newspaper folded in front of him, and he glanced up when she entered.
"You're home," he said simply, then went back to reading.
Jae-hui pulled out a chair and sat down slowly. Her mother placed a bowl of rice in front of her and started setting out side dishes while talking about something that happened at work, but Jae-hui wasn't listening.
She stared at the table, at the food, at her mother's hands as she moved around the kitchen, and felt something rising in her throat that she couldn't push back down.
Her mother sat down across from her and picked up her chopsticks. "Eat before it gets cold," she said, then paused. "Jae-hui-ya?"
Jae-hui looked up at her, and the tears came before she could stop them.
They slid down her cheeks silently at first, then kept coming, and she couldn't make them stop. She pressed her hands against her face, trying to hold it together, but her shoulders started shaking anyway.
Her mother's expression shifted immediately. "What's wrong?" She stood up and moved around the table quickly, crouching beside Jae-hui's chair. "What happened? Did something happen at school?"
Her father lowered the newspaper and looked over with concern.
Jae-hui shook her head, still covering her face with her hands. She couldn't explain it, couldn't put into words what was wrong, because how could she tell them she had died, and yet they were here like nothing had happened?
"I just..." Her voice came out broken. "I missed you."
Her mother went quiet for a second, then pulled her into a hug without saying anything else. Jae-hui pressed her face against her mother's shoulder and cried harder, the sobs coming one after another without stopping.
Her father stood up and walked over, resting a hand on her head without speaking.
They stayed like that for a while, until the tears finally slowed and Jae-hui could breathe again. Her mother pulled back and brushed the hair out of her face, looking at her with worried eyes.
"Are you okay now?" she asked softly.
Jae-hui nodded, wiping at her face with her sleeve.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She shook her head.
Her mother studied her for a moment longer, then nodded and stood up. "Okay. But if something's bothering you, you can tell us anytime."
Jae-hui nodded again and picked up her chopsticks with trembling hands.
They ate quietly after that, her parents exchanging glances but not pushing her to explain. The food was warm and simple, the kind of home cooking she hadn't tasted in years, and she had to keep her head down so they wouldn't see her eyes watering again. When the meal was finally over, she excused herself and went upstairs.
She stopped in front of a bedroom door and stared at it for a moment before reaching for the handle and pushing it open. Her hand found the light switch automatically, and the room lit up around her.
Shelves lined one wall, packed with textbooks and novels whose titles she didn't quite recognize. Posters hung above the desk showing faces she couldn't name, idol groups that might have been familiar once but weren't anymore. A desktop computer sat on the desk surrounded by school supplies and stacks of notebooks, and the bed was neatly made with pillows arranged.
Jae-hui stepped inside slowly and closed the door behind her.
She walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, then lay back without bothering to change. The mattress was soft in a way she'd forgotten mattresses could be, and the pillow cradled her head perfectly. It was comfortable. Too comfortable.
She stared up at the ceiling and let out a slow breath.
She really was home.
The thought settled over her slowly and she kept staring at the blank white surface above her without moving.
She was in Korea. In Seoul. On Earth.
Not in Erden.
Erden, where she'd gone from a scared girl who didn't know how to hold a sword to someone who could stand on a battlefield without flinching. Where she'd fought beside the Company and trusted them with her life.
Erden, where she'd died.
The memory tried to surface, but before it could settle, she heard her own voice instead.
"What's a gate?"
"It's a gate." Min-ji had stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "You know, where monsters come from? Dungeons? Hunters go in and clear them before they break?"
"Monsters?"
"Yes, monsters. Are you seriously asking me this right now?"
"I don't understand."
"Jae-hui, what's going on with you? You're scaring me."
Jae-hui closed her eyes and let the memory fade.
She still didn't know what any of it meant.
◇◇◇
Jae-hui sat at her desk with her hands resting on the keyboard, staring at the computer screen. The monitor had taken a moment to warm up, the old desktop humming quietly as it loaded, the taskbar clock reading 6:47 PM, March 2020.
She typed in a single word.
Gates.
The search results loaded instantly, filling the screen with links and headlines. She stared at them for a moment, then clicked on the first result.
Gates: What You Need to Know - Korean Hunter Association
The page loaded with a clean layout and official-looking headers. Jae-hui scrolled down slowly, reading each line carefully.
Gates are rifts that appear across the world, connecting our reality to environments filled with hostile creatures commonly referred to as monsters. The first gate appeared in February 2010, and since then, gates have been appearing globally at an increasing rate.
Gates are classified by color and tier based on their threat level:
Blue (Epsilon) - Low threat
Green (Delta) - Moderate threat
Yellow (Gamma) - High threat
Red (Beta) - Severe threat
Black (Alpha) - Critical threat
Each gate has a break window. If the gate is not cleared before this window expires, the gate will collapse outward and release all contained monsters into the surrounding area.
February 2010.
She stared at the date.
That was from when she was still in elementary school.
Her memory of that time was hazy, but she knew there had been no gates. Not then. Not ever.
She closed the tab and typed again.
Gate break incident.
The results came back different this time, mostly news articles with photographs. She clicked the first one.
Delta Gate Break in Busan - 47 Casualties
The photograph showed a street torn open with debris scattered across the road and emergency vehicles lining both sides. She looked at it for a moment before reading.
The article described a clearing team that had run out of time. Goblins, it said, emerging two hours after the break window expired. Military and hunter response within twenty minutes. Civilian casualties unavoidable due to population density.
She scrolled down. More articles loaded with more photographs and more numbers. A collapsed building in Incheon. A highway closure in Daegu. A photograph of something large and dark at the edge of a tree line that the caption called a beast-type monster.
She sat back.
What in the world happened while I was gone?