Three Weeks Later
The morning air in the slums carried the smell of cooking fires and rusted metal. Jae-sung sat outside Ji-hye's tent, moving his left arm in slow circles. The wound in his side had healed—mostly—but the muscles still pulled wrong when he stretched too far.
'Twinge.' Pain shot through his ribs. He grimaced but kept moving. Dr. Choi said the scar tissue would loosen up with exercise. Said he was lucky to be alive.
Jae-sung didn't feel lucky.
Inside the tent, baby Yoo lay on a nest of blankets, eyes open, watching a crack in the tent ceiling where morning light leaked through. He'd been awake for an hour but hadn't cried once. Just... observed.
Analysis: Father figure's motor functions recovering at 73% expected rate. Scar tissue formation suboptimal. Recommendation: increased protein intake and targeted physical therapy.
'Like I can do anything about that,' Yoo thought. Three weeks old now—if you counted from his emergency self-birth—and still utterly helpless. He could think, analyze, plan... but his body wouldn't even roll over properly yet.
Ji-hye ducked into the tent, carrying a small pot of thin soup. "Breakfast," she said, settling down next to Yoo. She scooped some of the cooled broth onto her finger and let him suck it off. "There's a good boy."
The taste was bland—water with hints of dried vegetables and maybe a bit of beast meat if you were optimistic. But it was warm and it was food.
"Min-jun came back last night," Ji-hye said quietly, more to herself than to the baby. "Finally. Three days I didn't know if he was alive or..." She trailed off, wiping her eyes. "He made it to Bronze rank. Killed his first Fledgling Beast."
Yoo listened, absorbing information. Ji-hye's son was a hunter now. One more person in this broken world trying to survive by fighting monsters.
"He wants to join a hunting party. Says the pay is better than scavenging." Ji-hye's voice cracked. "But I saw the ones who came back from the eastern ruins. More dead than alive."
She fed Yoo another mouthful of soup, her hands shaking slightly. "What kind of world is this? Where children have to become killers just to eat?"
'The kind where cosmic entities play chess with reality,' Yoo thought bitterly. 'And nobody even knows they're doing it.'
---
Training Yard – Slums Outskirts
Mira's fists slammed into the training post. 'Thud! Thud! Thud!' Each impact sent vibrations up her arms, but she didn't stop. Sweat dripped down her face despite the cool morning air.
"Forty-seven... forty-eight... forty-nine..." she counted through gritted teeth.
"Your form's sloppy." Ka-jin's voice cut through her focus.
Mira didn't turn around. "Fifty!" She punched one more time, then bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard.
Ka-jin walked closer, his silver cloak catching the early light. In his hand was a crude weapon—a长柄锤 (long-handled hammer), the head made from a chunk of salvaged steel welded to a reinforced pipe. "You've been at this for two hours. You'll hurt yourself."
"Need to get stronger," Mira panted. "Can't stay Iron rank forever."
"Strength isn't just about punching things." Ka-jin held out the hammer. "Here. Try this."
Mira straightened, eyeing the weapon. "I don't use weapons."
"Then you're an idiot." Ka-jin's bluntness made her flinch. "Bare hands work fine against Fledgling Beasts. Awakened Beasts will tear your arms off. What then?"
Mira wanted to argue, but she'd seen it happen. A bare-handed fighter getting his arm ripped off by an Awakened Beast's claws, screaming as he bled out because he couldn't defend himself properly.
She took the hammer. It was heavier than she expected—easily fifteen kilograms. "How am I supposed to fight with this? It's too slow."
"Channel your Gi into it." Ka-jin moved behind her, adjusting her grip. "Not into your muscles—into the weapon itself. Feel the metal. Make it part of you."
Mira closed her eyes, reaching for the warmth inside her chest where her Gi pooled. She tried to push it down her arms, into her hands, into the—
The hammer suddenly felt lighter. Not physically lighter, but... easier to move. Like the weight had shifted somehow.
"There," Ka-jin said. "Now swing."
Mira swung. The hammer cut through the air with a *whoosh* and slammed into the training post. *CRACK!* The post split down the middle, chunks of wood flying.
"Holy..." Mira stared at the weapon, then at the destroyed post.
"Gi-infused weapons hit harder than bare fists," Ka-jin said. "And they keep your hands attached to your body. Remember that."
A voice called out from across the yard. "Hey! You're that girl who's been training every morning!"
Mira turned. Min-ho—the skinny kid from before—was running toward them, a makeshift spear in his hands. Not a real weapon, just a sharpened piece of rebar lashed to a wooden shaft, but he carried it like it was a sacred treasure.
"I did it!" Min-ho shouted, grinning. "I hit the post a thousand times like you said! Can you teach me now?"
Ka-jin raised an eyebrow. "Kid's persistent."
Mira couldn't help but smile. Something about his enthusiasm reminded her of her brother—before everything went to hell. "Alright, kid. Show me what you've got."
Min-ho's face lit up. He immediately dropped into a stance—terrible form, all wrong—and jabbed his spear at an imaginary enemy. "Hah! Hah!"
"Stop," Mira said. Min-ho froze. "Your feet are too close together. You'll lose your balance if anything hits you. Spread them wider."
Min-ho adjusted, wobbling slightly.
"Better. Now, don't just stab. The spear isn't a sword. Use the reach to keep your enemy at a distance." She demonstrated with her hand, showing the proper motion.
Min-ho's eyes were glued to her every movement. 'He's actually Listening' , Mira thought. 'When's the last time someone listened to me like that?'
"Again," she said. "Slower this time. Focus on form, not speed."
As Min-ho practiced, Ka-jin leaned against a broken wall, arms crossed. "You're good with him."
"I had a little brother once," Mira said quietly. "He wanted to be strong too."
Ka-jin didn't ask what happened. He didn't need to. Everyone in the slums had lost someone.