Jaemin walked.
No destination. Just… forward. Away from the screams, the blood, the attention. His footsteps echoed hollowly through the quiet edge of the ruined city. Past collapsed fences, past rusting signs half-swallowed by vines. Past anything that reminded him he was still expected to keep going.
His breaths came hard. Shaky. Uneven. His hoodie clung to his back, soaked through with sweat and something else. His ribs ached — not from any fresh wound, but from something deeper. Older. As if every breath dragged along all the weight he'd been ignoring.
Mother in that bed. Nari with her tuition. Abyssals stronger than him, humans colder than them. No breaks. No choices. Just more to carry.
He didn't realize where he was until he heard it — the faint trickle of water. A low hiss from a cracked, half-buried pipe jutting out of a concrete wall.
He crouched in front of it. Not to study it. Not to think. Just… instinct.
Water ran out slow, clear enough to see his reflection in the puddle it made.
He didn't recognize the face staring back.
Hollow eyes. Blood crusted along one cheek. A twitch in the jaw that wouldn't stop. He reached out, let the water pool into his hand, then splashed it onto his face.
Again.
Again.
But he didn't wash the blood away. Didn't scrub the dirt off. He wasn't trying to feel clean.
He just didn't want the tears to be visible.
Because they kept falling. Quiet. Constant. No heaving sobs. Just… leaking. Like something inside cracked, and he didn't have the tools to fix it.
He kept his head down. Let the water run over his face, cooling skin that had seen too much heat. He clenched the pipe with one hand, knuckles bone-white.
The other gripped his own wrist like if he let go, he'd disappear.
No words. No breakdown. Just a moment — finally — where he didn't have to pretend.
The water kept running. And so did the tears.
But eventually, he pulled away. Sat back on his heels. Let the last drops fall off his chin.
His eyes were red but dry now. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his top stood up, and looked toward the city.
It was still broken. Still waiting for him.
He pulled his hood up. Took a breath. Another. Then he turned and walked back.
No one saw him cry.
No one needed to.
Jaemin's phone buzzed.
Taeha.
Message after message. Pings spaced out over the last hour, each one short.
"Hyung, free today?"
"Same café as last time?"
"I'll be waiting :)"
Jaemin didn't reply. Didn't react.
He just locked the screen, pulled on his hood on is jacket, and left.
****
The café was quiet, late afternoon crowd low. Taeha was already there—seated near the window, head down, flipping through printed papers with a pen tucked behind his ear like always.
Jaemin walked in and sat across from him.
No words.
Taeha glanced up instantly.
"Oh? Hyunggg!"
That usual grin.
No matter how silent Jaemin tried to be, Taeha always noticed.
Jaemin leaned back in his seat.
"What did you want to talk about?"
"Oh yeah."
Taeha said, holding up the papers.
"The paperwork's done. All completed."
Jaemin blinked.
"...Already?"
"Yup."
Taeha smiled.
It didn't add up. That paperwork—months of financial approvals, back-and-forths, and bureaucracy. Finished in under a week?
"How did you manage to do all this in just a week, Taeha?"
Taeha grinned.
"That's my power, boss. I can do anything quick."
He dug into his coat pocket and pulled something else out. A token. The same one Jaemin gave him weeks ago—meant to track progress. It was covered in tiny stamps now, nearly filled out.
He was grinding. Hard.
Still unable to use his unstable core properly. Still training twice as hard.
Still chasing him.
Jaemin looked at it for a long second.
"...Why are you trying so hard, Taeha?"
Taeha froze mid-sip of his iced Americano.
"???" his face practically said.
"You're putting yourself into trouble by following me."
Jaemin added, calm but straight.
"You don't need to do all this."
Taeha lowered his cup, fingers tightening slightly.
"That's exactly why, Hyung."
He said.
"I wanna follow you and learn. My life might have a deadline now... so I wanna make the most of it. So I can be proud of it."
Jaemin stayed quiet.
He looked down, not because he was upset—
—but to hide the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Now we have three steps left."
Taeha said.
Jaemin looked up again, face unreadable.
"Clearing ten rifts, establishing a license, and member scouting."
Taeha continued, ticking them off on his fingers.
"I have another proposition."
Jaemin said, a small smirk forming on his lips.
Taeha's eye twitched. That smirk never meant anything normal. The last time he heard those words, Jaemin had suggested scouting newly awakened Coreborns—from the hospital bed.
"Please tell me it's something nice this time..."
Taeha muttered, already bracing himself.
"It's more than nice."
Jaemin replied.
That made it worse. Taeha could feel his blood pressure rising.
"I'm going to clear the next rift."
Jaemin said.
"Alone."
Taeha blinked. Froze. Literally blinked twice like a broken animation frame.
"...What?"
"You heard me."
"Wait—you, alone? Not with the members we're supposed to be scouting??"
"Yeah."
"But—wait, that could work... I mean, if we're paying them, maybe they won't care..."
Taeha mumbled, trying to rationalize.
"But can we even clear a whole rift by ourselves?!"
"Ourselves?"
Jaemin raised a brow.
"You're staying out of this."
"WH—?!?!"
Taeha shot up from his seat.
"What do you mean I'm staying out?! Isn't the whole point of this to work together!?"
"Either you comply with my proposition…"
Jaemin said, sipping the last of his coffee.
"or I call the whole thing off."
Stone cold. No remorse. Not even a twitch in his expression.
It worked perfectly on Taeha, who slumped back down in defeat. "...You're bad..." he muttered.
Jaemin stood up, tossing the empty cup in the bin beside him.
"Keep doing the good work, Taeha."
He said.
That… that was the closest Taeha was ever going to get to a "bye."
And with that, Jaemin walked out of the cafe.
Outside, Seoul breathed under a dying sky.
The streets glowed in patches. Neon signs. Headlights. Reflections in puddles that never dried. Jaemin stood on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching a line of traffic crawl by like it had nowhere to go.
The wind brushed past him, but it wasn't cold.
It was heavy.
Weeks had passed since he retrieved the Core of Tempest. And yet, the weather hadn't changed. Still thick clouds. Still that crackling tension in the air—like thunder could drop at any moment, even when it didn't.
Even now, under the fake comfort of city lights, the sky felt like it was holding its breath.
The core was sealed. Contained.
But the aftermath refused to fade.
Jaemin looked up. No stars. Just layers of clouds, like a bruise that hadn't healed. A quiet reminder.
Special Cores didn't just end fights.
They changed things.
Permanently.
Near the edge of a towering skyscraper, Jaemin paused.
A massive digital billboard flickered overhead—crisp graphics, loud text.
"COREBORNS ASSOCIATION: SPECIAL TRAINING & RECRUITMENT – APPLY NOW."
The ad wasn't ordinary. This one was public but coded. Behind all the glamor and catchphrases, the real bait was buried in fine print.
Special meetings. Rifts with temporary open access. High-tier zones unlocked even under Covenant control. And most importantly—insider data.
But that was the problem.
As promising as it sounded, getting in was a whole other beast.
Rifts—no matter the tier—weren't jokes. Every inch of one was a death sentence if you didn't know what you were doing. You needed permission. Clearance. And above all, a sponsor—someone already recognized by the Association. A registered Coreborn with pull.
Jaemin clenched his jaw.
He wanted in. He needed the intel. But without a sponsor… it was like banging your head against reinforced steel.
"Ahh."
A voice behind him said, calm and precise.
"The meeting that happens every year... Want to get in, I see."
Jaemin turned his head slightly.
A man in his 30s stood behind him, posture straight, calm as if the chill in the air didn't touch him. Black suit, sleek, no wrinkles. But what stood out was the pin on his chest—a silver badge engraved with the Coreborns Association crest.
Certified. High-ranking.
"You are?"
Jaemin asked, keeping his tone neutral.
The man smiled and extended his hand.
"Im Gyeongmin."
A rare name. Clean pronunciation, almost forgotten outside formal circles.
The kind of name you'd find buried in old rosters or official lists—someone with a legacy. Someone who had already made it.
And now… someone who was talking to him.
"Han Jaemin."
He said, reaching out and shaking the man's hand.
The contact hit different.
A sharp chill traced up Jaemin's arm—controlled, not painful, but definitely not normal. This wasn't just a Coreborn. The man had an elemental imprint. And not just any kind—Cryo.
"You have an imprint."
Jaemin said, tone flat.
Gyeongmin chuckled.
"Woah? Quite a perceptive man, are you."
He didn't deny it.
"So."
He continued.
"as I was saying… are you planning on trying the meet?"
"No."
Jaemin answered immediately.
"Oh?"
Gyeongmin tilted his head.
"You seemed like you were interested. Watching it from afar like that."
"I am."
Jaemin replied.
"But being interested and applying are two different things."
That caught Gyeongmin's attention more than anything else.
Most would've just begged for a shot. But not this one.
Jaemin looked young, quiet, rough around the edges—but his words weren't rookie-level. That mindset wasn't something you picked up from books. It was lived.
"And I'm just an eleven."
Jaemin added casually.
"So it's of no use."
"No use?"
Gyeongmin raised an eyebrow.
"You can increase your core ranking with experience. Get strong enough to wield an imprint yourself."
"Maybe."
Jaemin said.
"but right now, that's not the point."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No arrogance either. Just focus.
Gyeongmin gave him a long look.
This kid wasn't aiming for strength the way most people did.
"Here's my card."
Gyeongmin said, slipping it from his coat pocket with two fingers.
"It has my number. And the location of my office."
He handed it over casually, like it was nothing.
Jaemin took it, but the moment his eyes dropped to the print, he felt a dryness in his throat. He swallowed, slow.
Im Gyeongmin Director of Tactical Operations – Coreborns Association, Korea Division.
That title wasn't for show. It was the kind of position that operated right below executive command. A man like that didn't move without purpose. Didn't talk without weighing every word.
And he was talking to him.
"It was a pleasure seeing you, young man."
With that, Gyeongmin turned and walked away—calm, unhurried.
Jaemin didn't even get a chance to reply.
He just stood there, gripping the card tight as the man disappeared into the night crowd, coat swaying with each quiet step.
****
The sky had darkened by the time Jaemin got home.
His coat hung on the wall hook, damp from the late-evening mist. He toed off his boots, stepped over Nari's college notes strewn across the hallway, and headed straight for his room. No training tonight. No noise. Just silence.
He sat on the floor beside his low table, the city's glow spilling through the window.
And pulled out the card.
Im Gyeongmin Director of Tactical Operations – Coreborns Association, Korea Division.
Office: Room 14B, Tower 3, Guro HQ Complex, Seoul
"Im Gyeongmin."
Click.
He searched the core.Net to see articles about him.
...
Search results flooded in.
Headlines. Archive footage. Forum theories. Even poorly made documentaries. But they all said the same thing:
"Out of 200 active Coreborns, only 47 returned. 25 were assigned to the eastern support rift. One survived. Im Gyeongmin."
That was the Max Raid. Ulleungdo Island.
The operation that scarred an entire generation of Coreborns.
No one's allowed there anymore. Not civilians. Not guilds. Not even Association teams.
The place was quiet. Frozen in time. Like it refused to be touched again.
Jaemin leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"He made it out of that? Alone?"
It wasn't the kind of fame that came from shining too bright.It was the kind that lingered in shadows.
What the hell did that kind of man want with him?
He stared at the card again, flipping it once.
It almost felt like it stared back.
Jaemin was no stranger to the Ulleungdo incident.
Everyone in the scene had heard about it—The Abyssal Apes. The blackout in comms. The brutal slaughter. 200 Coreborn entered that day, the largest deployment in recorded history. Only 47 walked out. Most of them barely breathing.
But there was something worse than just the numbers.
Im Gyeongmin.
His name stood alone on the report from the eastern rift support team. Twenty-five assigned. One survivor. Not a scratch on him. No limp. No bandages. Nothing.
And when recovery units arrived hours later—after the rift was finally sealed—they didn't find corpses. Not even blood. The team had vanished like they were never there to begin with.
Some say the boss inside that rift didn't just kill his team. It erased them. But it still died.
That was the terrifying part.
The Rift Boss died—but not without leaving a message.The kind of message you don't write with words.
Jaemin's jaw tensed as he leaned back in his chair.
This man had walked out of that. Alone.
And now he'd handed Jaemin his card.