Darkness.
Not the gentle darkness of sleep, but something deeper—a void that pulled at the edges of consciousness like a hungry tide. Min-Jun floated in that space between dreams and oblivion, his body fighting to recover from the cosmic fire that had burned through his veins three days ago.
The bracelet on his wrist pulsed steadily, working overtime to repair the damage his brief moment of true power had caused. Each pulse sent waves of healing energy through his nervous system, slowly knitting together the pathways that had been seared by forces beyond human comprehension.
But even in unconsciousness, the mark on his left arm remained active.
Visions came in waves, more vivid than ever before. The cosmic battlefield stretched endlessly in all directions, beings of pure light clashing against creatures of living void. But this time, the images had a clarity that made them feel less like dreams and more like memories.
A figure wreathed in starlight reached toward him across impossible distances. Behind that figure, others—warriors, guardians, beings of such power that reality bent around them like water. They were calling to him, their voices echoing across dimensions.
But it was the eyes that held him captive.
Ancient eyes, filled with wisdom and sorrow, looking back at him from the cosmic distance. Eyes that knew him, recognized him, mourned for him. Eyes that spoke of love and loss and a sacrifice that had torn the very fabric of existence.
You are not forgotten, a voice whispered through the void. You are not alone.
The mark on his arm blazed with responding fire, and for a moment, Min-Jun felt the full weight of what he truly was—not just a boy with suppressed power, but something far older, far more significant than his human life could contain.
The necklace around his throat grew warm, its infinity symbol glowing as it reinforced the bracelet's suppression. The voice spoke again, clearer now, filled with desperate love:
In the silence, may you find your voice.
The visions began to fade, but not before those ancient eyes looked directly at him one final time.
Soon, they seemed to say. Very soon.
Min-Jun's eyes snapped open to afternoon sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. His body ached as if he'd been hit by a truck, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. The digital clock on his nightstand read 2:47 PM, but the date made him blink in confusion.
Three days. He'd been unconscious for three days.
His phone lay on the nightstand, its screen dark but the notification light blinking frantically. Dozens of missed calls, text messages, voicemails. Min-Jun reached for it with shaking hands, his muscles protesting the simple movement.
The messages were all from his friends.
Jae-Wook - 47 messages
Min-Jun! We did it! All four of us passed!
The team combat was incredible. I led a group against Instructor Kang - you would have loved the tactical challenge.
Are you okay? You left so suddenly after the equipment thing.
I keep thinking about what my parents would say. They'd be so proud that I'm following in their footsteps.
This is our chance to make a real difference, you know? To save people like they did.
Please call me back. I'm worried about you.
Hye-Jin - 31 messages
Min-Jun, I hope you're alright. The testing was overwhelming but amazing.
I realized something during the team combat - I don't need to be perfect. I just need to be a beacon for others.
My parents are so proud. For the first time, I feel like I'm living up to the family name.
I want to be the kind of hero who brings light to dark places. Literally and figuratively.
We miss you. Please let us know you're safe.
Tae-Min - 23 messages
The strategic complexity of the academy tests was fascinating. I've already begun analyzing optimal training regimens.
I scored highest in tactical assessment. Turns out all those theory books actually matter.
I want to revolutionize hero work through better coordination and planning. No more heroes dying because of poor strategy.
Your absence feels wrong. We were supposed to do this together.
Call when you get this.
So-Young - 52 messages
I can't believe we all made it. Well, almost all of us.
My fire control impressed everyone. B-rank power output with A-rank control. I'm not weak anymore.
I keep thinking about my brother's face when he heard. He actually looked proud for once.
I want to prove that quiet people can be strong too. That you don't have to be loud to be powerful.
Min-Jun, I'm sorry if we pressured you too much about the academy. I just... I wanted us all to succeed together.
Please be okay.
Min-Jun scrolled through the messages, feeling a hollow ache in his chest that the bracelet couldn't quite suppress. Their excitement, their dreams, their concern for him—it all felt like it belonged to someone else's life.
He typed a simple response to the group chat: Sorry, been visiting grandparents in the mountains. No reception. Congratulations on passing.
The replies came immediately.
Jae-Wook: Thank god you're okay! We were so worried!
Hye-Jin: How long will you be away? We want to celebrate together.
Tae-Min: The academy orientation is next week. We should coordinate our preparations.
So-Young: Are you really okay? You seem... distant.
Min-Jun stared at So-Young's message for a long moment before typing: I'm fine. Just tired from the trip. Have fun at orientation.
He set the phone aside and dragged himself out of bed, his legs unsteady. The smell of cooking rice drifted up from the kitchen, along with the sound of the television.
Kitchen - 3:15 PM
"Min-Jun!" His mother looked up from the stove, relief flooding her face. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," he admitted, settling into his usual chair at the small dining table.
"The recoil was worse this time," she said quietly, glancing toward the living room where his father was watching the news. "Three days, sweetheart. We were so worried."
"The cover story?"
"Visiting your grandparents in Jirisan. No cell reception in the mountains." She placed a bowl of rice and soup in front of him. "Your friends called the house phone twice. I told them you were helping your grandfather with some repairs and would be back soon."
Min-Jun nodded, taking a careful sip of the soup. His throat still felt raw from the cosmic fire that had burned through him.
"—still no leads in the mysterious metahuman incident," the television reporter was saying. "The creature that terrorized Hanbit Park three days ago simply vanished, leaving authorities baffled."
His father looked up from his tablet. "Strangest thing I've ever heard. Metahumans don't just disappear."
On screen, the reporter stood outside the park where Min-Jun had saved the little girl. "We spoke with the only witness, six-year-old Park Min-Seo, who maintains that a 'nice boy' made the monster go away."
The camera cut to a small girl with pigtails, sitting beside her parents in what looked like their living room. Her voice was soft but clear: "He was wearing a school uniform. He had kind eyes. The scary monster was going to hurt me, but the nice boy made it stop."
"Child psychologists suggest this may be a trauma response," the reporter continued, "as no evidence of any intervention has been found."
Min-Jun continued eating, his expression unchanged, but inside he felt a flicker of warmth. The little girl was safe. That was what mattered.
"Poor kid," his father muttered. "Probably gave her nightmares for life."
"At least she's alive," his mother said quietly, her eyes finding Min-Jun's across the table.
The news report shifted, and the reporter's tone became more upbeat. "In other news, South Korea celebrates as nine exceptional students have been accepted to the prestigious Global Heroic Academy. Let's meet these future heroes."
Min-Jun's chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth.
"First, we have Kim Jae-Wook from Seoul, whose earth manipulation and leadership skills impressed academy instructors." Jae-Wook's face filled the screen, grinning widely as he stood outside the testing facility. "I want to honor my parents' legacy and protect people the way they did."
"Shin Hye-Jin, also from Seoul, demonstrated remarkable light manipulation abilities." Hye-Jin appeared next, her natural radiance making her glow even on camera. "I hope to be a beacon of hope for those in dark places."
"Park Tae-Min from Seoul showed exceptional tactical thinking and electrical manipulation." Tae-Min's interview was more composed, analytical. "Heroes need better coordination and strategy. I plan to revolutionize how we approach crisis response."
"Lee So-Young, Seoul, surprised everyone with her advanced fire control." So-Young's quiet voice carried clearly through the speakers. "I want to prove that strength doesn't always have to be loud."
Min-Jun felt his chest tighten as he watched his friends on national television, their dreams finally within reach.
"The remaining five students include Kang Seo-Jun from Busan, whose ice manipulation comes from a long line of heroes." A confident boy with sharp features appeared on screen. "The Kang family has protected Korea for three generations. I'll continue that tradition."
"Park Yeon-Hwa from Daegu demonstrated exceptional gravity control and strategic thinking." A quiet girl with intelligent eyes spoke softly to the camera. "Power without wisdom is dangerous. I want to be both strong and smart."
"Choi Min-Seok from Incheon, whose metal manipulation and determination impressed instructors." A boy with calloused hands and determined eyes. "I'm going to prove that heroes can come from anywhere, not just rich families."
"Jung Hae-Rin from Gwangju, whose psychic abilities are already drawing comparisons to legendary heroes." A mysterious girl with distant eyes who seemed to look through the camera rather than at it. "Some things are better left unsaid."
"And finally, Baek Do-Hyun from Ulsan, whose lightning abilities and natural leadership make him a student to watch." A charismatic boy with an easy smile. "Heroes inspire others to be better. That's what I want to do."
"These nine exceptional students will begin their journey at Global Heroic Academy next week, representing the future of heroism in South Korea."
Min-Jun's father whistled appreciatively. "Your friends made it on national TV. That's incredible."
"They've worked hard for this," Min-Jun replied, finishing his soup.
A sharp knock at the front door interrupted the moment.
"I'll get it," his father said, muting the television as he headed for the entrance.
Min-Jun heard the door open, followed by his father's sharp intake of breath.
"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Agent Park from Global Heroic Academy. I have a delivery for Lee Min-Jun."
Min-Jun's blood turned to ice. His mother's face went pale, her hand gripping the edge of the counter.
"I... there must be some mistake," his father stammered. "My son didn't... he wasn't accepted..."
"May I speak with Min-Jun, please?"
Through the doorway, Min-Jun could see his father's shocked expression, and beyond him, a tall man in a black suit with the Global Heroic Academy emblem on his chest. Behind the agent, Min-Jun caught glimpses of news vans and camera crews lining the street.
His mother looked at him with wide, terrified eyes. "Min-Jun..."
He stood up slowly, his legs still unsteady from three days of unconsciousness, and walked to the front door. The agent was exactly as his father had described—tall, professional, holding an official-looking envelope with the academy's seal.
"Lee Min-Jun?" the agent asked.
"Yes."
"Congratulations. You've been selected for admission to Global Heroic Academy, effective immediately."
Behind the agent, Min-Jun could see news reporters pushing forward, cameras focusing on their doorway. Microphones extended toward them like hungry mouths.
His father made a choking sound. His mother swayed on her feet, gripping the doorframe for support.
Min-Jun looked at the envelope—thick, official, bearing seals that represented everything his friends had worked toward. Everything he could never have.
Without a word, he took the envelope from the agent's hands.
And tore it in half.