The scent of blood still lingered in the air.
Lee Aseok dragged himself forward—if it could even be called dragging. One ruined step, then another, across scorched earth and shattered stone. Behind him, the monster’s colossal corpse lay twisted and broken, wings torn, horns snapped, its hulking frame collapsed under its own weight.
Dead.
Finally.
A gaping hole tore through his chest, carved clean through bone and flesh. His uniform clung to him in stiff, dried sheets of blood. No mana. No weapon. Not even the strength to stand properly.
Only silence.
His right leg trembled with every movement, but he forced it forward again and again. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to see them—his teammates, the people he once trusted, the ones whose blades had sunk into his back long before the monster could.
Pity? Regret? Relief?
Let them keep whatever faces they wore.
Aseok no longer cared.
His vision wavered, the world blurring at the edges. Sleep tugged at him, soft and warm. It would be so easy to just… stop.
He lifted a hand to brush the hair from his eyes.
The tips of his fingers flaked away.
golden-silver dust dust drifted upward, weightless, like ash in slow motion. His forearm cracked next, splitting along invisible lines, crumbling grain by grain.
So this is what it looks like when a body disappears.
Someone shouted his name behind him—or maybe just a word, maybe nothing. The sound came from far away, too distant to matter.
His steps faltered.
His body grew light.
And then—
He smiled faintly.
Not from joy.
Not from relief.
Just… resignation.
There would be no funeral.
No incense.
No tears.
Maybe the world would even celebrate.
Maybe it would breathe easier without Lee Aseok in it.
He closed his eyes.
And everything went quiet.
Warmth.
Soft, gentle warmth beneath his cheek.
Aseok’s eyes snapped open.
A white ceiling.
Dim sunlight leaking through a dusty curtain.
A cracked wardrobe leaning against a peeling wall.
A small desk.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Old books.
The faint smell of detergent and age.
Home.
Aseok sat up sharply. The bed creaked beneath him. His hands flew to his chest—skin, whole and warm. No gaping wound. No blood. No pain.
His pulse hammered.
This can’t be…
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Aseok! You useless brat! You’re not skipping chores just because you finished that dumb exam!”
That voice.
His cousin’s voice.
Aseok froze, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and nausea. The door slammed open a heartbeat later, and a familiar figure stepped in—taller than him, sharper voice, that same permanent sneer carved across his face.
“Still sleeping? Tch. What a useless freeloader. At least do the dishes before noon.”
The words landed with the same casual cruelty they always had.
But Aseok didn’t respond.
He just stared.
Not out of fear—just stunned disbelief.
His cousin clicked his tongue, muttered something under his breath, and walked away, slamming the door behind him.
The silence that followed felt unreal.
Slowly, Aseok reached for the phone on his nightstand. His fingers trembled as he pressed the power button.
The screen lit up.
[June 23, 20XX]
The breath left his lungs.
Seven years ago.
The day after his college entrance exam.
Before his Awakening.
Before the gates.
Before the fall.
Before the betrayal.
Before his death.
The phone slipped from his hand and thudded softly onto the blanket.
His mind spun.
Cold.
Chaotic.
Unsteady.
He stumbled out of bed and toward the bathroom. His legs felt too light, too young, too unfamiliar. He flicked on the light switch with a shaking hand.
The mirror didn’t lie.
Staring back at him was an eighteen-year-old face—softer, smaller, untouched by ruin.
His breath hitched.
Slowly, he grabbed his shirt’s hem and pulled it over his head.
There, etched into his chest, glowed a jagged golden mark.
A wound carved through time.
A scar he should not have.
A scar his past self had never carried.
Aseok sucked in a sharp breath.
His mind reached instinctively for the system.
A faint window flickered into existence.
[Skill: ???]
A broken laugh escaped him—dry, hollow, soundless.
Of course.
Of course it followed him.
His knees buckled.
Aseok slid down the cold tile until he sat curled against the wall, knees drawn up, head bowed. His arms hung limp at his sides, fingers trembling against the floor.
No thoughts.
No goals.
No purpose.
He was here again.
In this house.
In this body.
In this world.
And he didn’t want to be.
Not again.
Not like this.
Not ever.
He curled inward, shaking silently.
Not from fear.
From exhaustion so deep it lived in his bones.
Lee Aseok didn’t want to become anything.
He just wanted to disappear quietly—the way he was supposed to.
