A few days passed.
The quiet chime of the system was almost drowned out by the thud of a barbell settling into its rack.
[You have spent all your Vigor. Cooldown time: 20 minutes.]
Han Joon‑seong sat up on the bench, chest heaving, sweat tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. His arms trembled and burned with the deep ache of a body well trained, and the Auto Pilot let him slump forward just enough to catch his breath. Beside him, Seok‑ju folded his thick arms and shook his head.
"Easy, kid. You don't need to finish the set that fast," the trainer said. "Slow it down. Rushing through reps is how you get hurt."
Han Joon‑seong nodded, but the gesture was hollow. His gaze flicked toward the mirrored wall without really seeing it. Up above, Ervin floated in his usual spot, biting an imaginary thumbnail. His attention was fixed on the transparent cooldown timer, and his thoughts were a single repeated loop: 'Come on. Come on. Recover already. Recover. Recover.'
It had been three days since the warehouse collection. And ever since the new mission had been dropped in his lap by the system, Ervin had not known a single moment of true calm.
[Carnage — Survive the Galsaek‑pa's Executive attack — Reward: 200 Points]
The word choice was what worried him. So far the system had used things like "defeat" or "dismantle," which implied he had the capacity to do them, however improbable. But using the word "survive" said that, in his next encounter, he wouldn't be fighting; he would be scrambling not to be put down. Intuition told him, too, that in this one he most likely would not even have the slightest chance of defeating the enemy. The last mission had pitted him against a no‑name lieutenant in a cheap warehouse, and he had walked away with a fractured shoulder and ribs that still ached. That had been a nobody. This was an Executive. The only executive he had any measure of was Han Do‑yun—a man whose casual kick had nearly shattered his arm and whom the system itself, through Adaptation's silence, had deemed unbeatable. If this Galsaek‑pa Executive was anything close to that level, then Ervin was in serious danger.
So for three days, he had lived with his guard pulled tight as a wire. The first day, the very morning after the mission appeared, he had bought a Recovery Pill without hesitation and fed it to Han Joon‑seong's sleeping body. The wounds had vanished. Then he had stayed inside the apartment, never leaving, waiting for an attack that never came. The second day, he had grown restless and forced himself to train, but every stranger on the street had been a potential threat, every shadow a hiding place. He had trained, come straight home, and locked the door. Now, on the third day, he was training again, and the anxiety had settled into a constant hum; every moment his nerves grew tauter.
Ervin pulled up the status window to distract himself.
[[System]
Player: Ervin Mandor
Character 1; Han Joon‑seong
[Characteristics:
Adaptation(Perfect)
Talent(Perfect)
Auto Pilot(Perfect)
Money(Perfect|Middle‑class)
Intuition (Lvl. 1)
Looks(Lvl. 5)
Speed(Lvl. 4)(13/80)
Strength (Lvl. 4)(37/80)
Endurance (Lvl. 5)(60/160)
Vigor (Lvl. 5)(25/160)
Intelligence (Lvl. 3)(24/40)
[Tasks:
[Carnage — Survive the Galsaek‑pa's Executive attack — Reward: 200 Points]]
The numbers had climbed, but not nearly enough to make him feel safe. Twelve points of Strength, fourteen Endurance, fifteen Vigor, and eleven Intelligence across the past few days of grinding. It was progress. It was also, if he was being honest, nowhere near the kind of leap he would need to face someone like Han Do‑yun.
Seok‑ju's voice broke through his thoughts. "You alright? You've been off all morning."
Han Joon‑seong shook himself slightly, the motion automatic. "Sorry, coach. I'm just a little anxious today."
Seok‑ju studied him for a moment, then sighed. "If you're anxious, maybe you should be at home. Training like this, distracted, pushing too fast—that's exactly how injuries happen. Trust me, I've been working here for ages. Happens all the time."
Han Joon‑seong looked at him, and for a moment it seemed like the words didn't quite land. Then he nodded again, the same hollow nod. "I'll take a short break. Go downstairs, get something from the café."
Seok‑ju sighed. "Fine. Go. When you're ready, we'll finish up."
Han Joon‑seong stood, towel slung over his shoulder, and made his way down the stairs to the ground floor. Ascent Athletic Club's lounge area was more than just a juice bar; a small café counter had been tucked near the front windows, offering sleek protein bars, pressed juices, and the kind of overpriced health snacks that fit the clientele. It was quiet at this hour, only a few patrons scattered across the sofas.
The woman behind the counter looked up as he approached, and a small smile spread across her face. Her name was Yoo‑jung; Han Joon‑seong had come to know her name after a few visits to this stand. She had short, dark hair that framed a pretty face, and a kind of easygoing vibe, supported by her confidence, which was supported by her stunning looks wearing the club's fitted polo shirt. She had also, over the past week, made a point of learning Han Joon‑seong's name.
"Good morning, Mr. Han," she said, her voice carrying just a shade more warmth than strictly professional. "The usual?"
"Good morning, Miss Yoo‑jung." Han Joon‑seong returned the smile with polite ease. "Please."
She turned to prepare his order—a cold‑pressed green juice and a protein bar—and spoke over her shoulder as she worked. "You've been training hard lately. Honestly, I don't know how you keep that up every single day. Most people burn out after a week."
"Consistency," Han Joon‑seong said; the word came out flat from Auto Pilot's input, but carried enough warmth not to be rude. "It's all about consistency."
Yoo‑jung laughed, a light, practiced sound. "Right, right. Well, it's definitely working for you. You look..." She let the pause hang just long enough to be noticed, then handed him the juice and the bar with a small flourish. "...like you're taking very good care of yourself."
Han Joon‑seong accepted the items with a gracious nod. "Thank you. That's kind of you to say."
He leaned against the counter and took a sip of the juice. The conversation drifted into idle small talk—how busy the club had been, the new equipment on the third floor, the weather—and Yoo‑jung carried most of it, her tone light and teasing. After a few minutes, a faint flush crept up her cheeks, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"So," she said, her voice dropping into something slightly more tentative, "this weekend. Do you have any plans? There's a new restaurant that opened near my apartment. I was thinking of checking it out, and I thought maybe..." She trailed off, her smile turning a little hopeful.
Ervin, watching from above, felt a surge of approval. 'Nice. A woman with initiative. Respect.'
Han Joon‑seong gave her an apologetic smile, gentle and practiced. "Ah. I'm not sure I'll be free this weekend, unfortunately. Things are a little... complicated right now. But if I find the time, I'll let you know."
Yoo‑jung's expression flickered with disappointment, but she recovered quickly. "Oh, of course! I understand. You're probably very busy. Well—next time, maybe."
"Maybe," Han Joon‑seong said. He finished his juice, thanked her again, and turned to head back upstairs.
Ervin exhaled a long, imaginary sigh. 'What a shame. If my life weren't currently being threatened, it wouldn't be too bad to start going out with a few girls.' He let his gaze drift over Yoo‑jung as she busied herself behind the counter. She was pretty. Her figure was nice—her bust not quite as generous as Lee Hye‑jin's, but honestly, nothing to complain about. 'Damn executives,' he thought. 'Ruining my chances.'
The rest of the training session passed without incident. Seok‑ju guided him through the remaining sets, and when the workout was done, Han Joon‑seong showered, changed, and stepped out into the afternoon light. He jogged home as always, but his eyes swept the streets continuously. Every alley. Every parked car. Every face.
His phone buzzed. A message from Han Do‑yun.
"New job. Advertising firm near Centum City. Owner borrowed heavily, missed three payments. Interested?"
Han Joon‑seong typed a single word: "Rejected."
This was the third offer in three days. He had turned down every one. Walking into unknown situations when an Executive might be hunting him was idiotic, and besides, he had no interest in becoming the Juhwang‑pa's personal enforcer. Let Han Do‑yun find someone else.
He reached the apartment, locked the door behind him, and stood for a moment in the quiet. Home was supposed to feel secure, wasn't it? But right in this moment, Ervin felt nothing like it; actually the place felt even more suffocating than the outside. Staying in one place doing nothing—maybe the executive was already on his way to his location, and he could be attacked at any minute. Maybe right now.
Ervin took a breath and calmed himself down. 'Gotta occupy my mind... this stress is killing me.' He sat down at his PC, opened his game library, and launched a first‑person shooter just to have something to do. Something simple, just to pass the time. It had been forever since he opened a game anyway; he might as well see how it felt now.
The match started. Han Joon‑seong's character spawned, rifle in hand. Ervin watched the screen with the vague expectation of a few casual kills. An enemy popped out from behind a crate.
Before Ervin could even register the movement, Han Joon‑seong's crosshair snapped to the target. The rifle cracked. Headshot.
"What?"
Another enemy rounded a corner. Headshot. A third tried to flank from the left. Headshot. The Auto Pilot was controlling the aim completely, reacting faster than conscious thought, turning every encounter into a single, perfect execution. The match ended. Han Joon‑seong sat at the top of the scoreboard with a flawless K/D ratio, and Ervin felt absolutely nothing; the kills were so fast and easy, it didn't even register in the brain to release dopamine.
He stared at the screen, his expression perfectly flat. "This is pointless," he muttered through Han Joon‑seong's mouth. He closed the game.
There was no dopamine in this, and it was so easy he felt no satisfaction. The body could perform flawlessly, but the mind—his mind—had no challenge to latch onto. He might as well have been watching a video of someone else playing.
He sighed, and Ervin's thoughts echoed the sound. "Fine. If I'm stuck inside anyway, I'll train Intelligence."
He pulled up a dense scientific paper—something about neuroplasticity and synaptic pruning, science stuff he didn't remotely understand—and set Han Joon‑seong to reading. The Auto Pilot kept the eyes moving across the screen, line by line, while Ervin drifted near the ceiling and let time blur into an abstract, mounting, unrecognizable haze. Four hours passed.
[Intelligence has gained experience (31/40)]
Seven more points. Good. Every bit helped.
His phone buzzed again. He expected another message from Han Do‑yun, another job to reject. He picked it up.
The notification was from Lee Hye‑jin.
Ervin felt a small, pleased jolt. They had been exchanging messages occasionally over the past days—nothing deep, just the normal exchanges, tentative conversations of two people feeling out the edges of an acquaintance. He had initiated most of it, knowing that if he wanted the relationship to progress, he had to put in the effort. She rarely messaged first. The fact that she had now felt like a small victory.
He opened the message.
"Help."
The word sat alone in the chat log, stark against the white background. Han Joon‑seong's posture changed instantly. The easy calm of a body at rest vanished, replaced by something dangerous and cold. The air around him seemed to drop in temperature.
Another message appeared.
"Captured. Executive."
Ervin stared at the words. Immediately the boredom evaporated, and what took its place was the calculating cold gaze of a murderer. Han Joon‑seong's grip tightened, and his hands began crushing the armrest of his chair. 'So that's how they want to do it,' he thought. 'They're using her to lure me out.'
It was a trap. Obviously it was a trap. They had taken Lee Hye‑jin, knowing—or at least hoping—that he would come for her. And the most infuriating part was that it was going to work.
Before Ervin had even finished the thought, Han Joon‑seong was already on his feet, pulling on a dark jacket, his movements quick and precise. The expression on his face was perfectly, utterly cold, and the faintest suggestion of a dark aura seemed to bleed from his silhouette like heat distortion.
The phone buzzed a third time. A location pin. Somewhere on the edge of the old market district—a closed‑down department store with a multi‑story parking garage attached, the kind of place where nobody would look twice at a commotion.
Han Joon‑seong pocketed the phone and walked out the door.