[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Threshold Progression: 12.3%
Observation Mode: ACTIVE
Warning: Candidate's body approaching critical fragility. Risk of collapse: HIGH.
Continue exposure to hostile stimuli.
Bloodline Status: Dormant | Pressure Increasing.
---
The next day at Guryong Academy felt colder.
Maybe it was just the cracked ribs.
Maybe it was the whisper that followed him like rot in the air.
> "Hey, that's the cub. The Lion reject."
"He got folded by East End Crew again, right?"
"If I were him, I'd just disappear."
Kitae walked through it all with his hoodie up, eyes hollow. Each breath hurt. Each step was war.
Still, he kept moving.
Pain was better than silence.
---
By lunch, he found himself on the rooftop again.
He had no food. No money. Just the buzz of an almost-dead phone and the throb in his ribs.
Then—
A shadow.
He didn't need to look to know who it was.
She always moved like silence itself.
Cynthia.
Her uniform was pristine. Her gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
She didn't speak right away. Just leaned against the railing, arms crossed, golden hair glinting in the sunlight.
Finally:
> "You lasted longer this time."
Kitae scoffed, still seated. "Yeah. Managed to stay conscious."
> "Not what I meant."
He looked up. Her eyes weren't mocking.
They were measuring.
> "The System's watching you now, isn't it?"
That froze him.
> "How—?"
> "Because it watched me the same way. Like a god waiting to be entertained."
"It doesn't care about potential. It wants spectacle. Suffering. Struggle."
She walked toward him, slow.
> "And you? You're bleeding just right."
Kitae tried to stand.
Failed.
She crouched in front of him, tilting his chin up with one finger.
> "You want to live? Stop crawling. You want to awaken? Then break. Shatter. Burn."
"But whatever you do—don't stay half-alive like this."
---
Later that evening, in a dingy gym near the outskirts of town, Kitae wrapped his hands.
The underground ring smelled of old sweat, rotting ambition, and adrenaline.
The old man at the front desk didn't ask questions.
"Pick a match, kid," he grunted. "We got a fresh one just outta juvie. Big. Fast. Mean."
Kitae didn't hesitate.
"I'll take him."
---
He didn't win.
Not even close.
The guy—Tae-Gun—was a monster.
Former gang enforcer. 6'3". Arms like steel cables. No technique, just raw violence.
Kitae lasted thirty-nine seconds.
Broke his shoulder. Lost three teeth. Blacked out from a liver shot that felt like it cracked time itself.
---
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
Vital Signs: Unstable
Pain Index: 93%
Bloodline Reaction: Faint—Heartbeat Spike Detected
Threshold Progression: 19.7%
Status: Candidate approaches rupture.
---
When he woke up hours later in the locker room, face swollen, body screaming, he found a sticky note taped to his bare chest.
One word.
> "Closer."
No signature.
But the writing was unmistakably hers.
---
Somewhere beneath the city, in an underground lounge filled with cameras and monitors, a man in a white suit watched a replay of Kitae's fight.
He sipped from a glass of crimson wine.
"He's still crawling," the man said. "But the cub's spine is showing."
Beside him, a girl with fox-like eyes whispered, "Should we notify the others?"
He smiled.
> "Not yet. Let's see how loud his roar gets before we open the cage."
---
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Next Hostile Encounter Inbound: 18 Hours
Threat Class: B-Rank
Recommendation: Survive.
---