The sunlight spilled faintly through the narrow window slats of the barracks, painting thin stripes across the wooden floor.
Park Jimsoo sat on his bed for a long moment, still trying to come to terms with the impossible. His pulse was steady now, his thoughts clearer, but disbelief lingered like smoke in his mind.
He had gone back in time.
The memories were too vivid to be a dream — the battlefield, the light, the voice, the dice. His Crest of Fate still glowed faintly on the back of his right hand, its faint white rune pulsing like a heartbeat.
He flexed his fingers. The weakest Crest or not… it's real.
Jimsoo inhaled deeply, stood up, and straightened his uniform. "Alright," he muttered, his voice low but firm. "If this really is my second chance, I'm not wasting it."
He stepped outside.
---
The air of the training camp hit him with a wave of nostalgia.
The scent of gun oil, the faint rumble of armored vehicles in the distance, the rhythmic shouts of soldiers drilling in formation — it was all exactly as he remembered.
For a moment, he closed his eyes. In his past life, this base would fall within a year during the first wave of the Demon Incursion. Most of the men here… would die.
Not this time, he thought grimly.
As he made his way through the yard, a familiar voice called out.
"Hey! Jimsoo!"
He turned and blinked.
There, adjusting his crooked glasses with an awkward grin, stood Gilbert Han, the squad's logistics officer — a lanky man with messy brown hair and the posture of someone more suited for a library than a battlefield.
In his past life, Gilbert had been the one who stayed behind to cover Jimsoo's retreat. He'd died buying him precious seconds. Seeing him alive again hit Jimsoo harder than he expected.
"Gilbert…" he murmured softly, almost like he was saying a name from a dream.
The nerdy man waved with a friendly smile. "What's up, Jimsoo! You look like you saw a ghost."
Jimsoo hesitated, then forced a grin. "What's up, Gilbert? Long time no see."
Gilbert blinked, clearly confused. "Long time no see? What are you talking about? We've been friends for ten years!"
Jimsoo froze. Right… to him, nothing's changed.
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, forcing a laugh. "Oh, right, right. I must've lost track of time. Been up all night again. Heh—heh…"
Sweat trickled down his temple. Gilbert narrowed his eyes, suspicion flickering across his face. "You didn't do something bad again, did you?"
Jimsoo straightened, hands raised. "No! Of course not!"
Gilbert smirked. "You sure? Because last time you said that, we ended up scrubbing the mess hall for two weeks."
Jimsoo's face flushed. "I said no!"
Gilbert burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. "Hahaha! You totally did something bad, didn't you?"
Before Jimsoo could retort, a heavy slap landed on the back of Gilbert's head.
"Ouch!" Gilbert yelped, rubbing the spot and spinning around. "What the hell—"
Behind him stood a broad-shouldered soldier with slick black hair, his uniform half unbuttoned and his Crest badge gleaming faintly on his arm — the mark of a D-Tier user.
The man's grin was wide and cruel. "You two again. The clowns of the barracks."
Jimsoo's eyes narrowed. He recognized that sneer. Lee Doyun.
A punk with a Crest of Steel, famous for bullying weaker recruits. In the previous timeline, he had died early — and Jimsoo hadn't felt an ounce of pity then.
"Still picking on people, huh, Doyun?" Jimsoo said coldly.
Doyun raised a brow, his grin widening. "Watch your mouth, Jimsoo. You might've been hot stuff in training, but I'm ranked higher than you now. Don't go barking just because you have your little friend to back you up."
Gilbert stepped back nervously. "Hey, Doyun, come on, it's early—"
"Quiet, nerd." Doyun shoved Gilbert aside, making him stumble. "The adults are talking."
Jimsoo's temper flared. He clenched his fists, jaw tight.
"You're the one acting like a clown," he said, voice icy.
Doyun's smirk faded. "What did you just say?"
"I said…" Jimsoo's eyes locked with his. "You're the one who's the clown."
For a second, silence fell between them — the kind that comes right before a storm.
Then Doyun's expression twisted with rage. He grabbed Jimsoo by the collar and yanked him forward.
"You little bastard!"
Jimsoo didn't resist — not yet. He was calculating. In the past, I avoided fights to keep peace… but this time, I can't afford weakness.
Doyun's fist drew back. Gilbert shouted, "Wait, stop!"
But it was too late.
The punch came crashing toward Jimsoo's face—
—and missed.
Jimsoo had ducked, smoothly twisting Doyun's arm and driving his shoulder into the man's chest. It wasn't magic, just pure military technique — fast, efficient, and painful.
Doyun stumbled back, grunting. "You… bastard!"
Before he could react, Jimsoo swept his leg, knocking the bigger man off balance. Doyun fell hard, hitting the ground with a thud that echoed through the yard.
Gasps came from the nearby recruits.
"Is that Jimsoo fighting with Doyun?"
"Holy crap, he actually took him down!"
The commotion spread fast. Within moments, one of the nearby students — a young recruit with a trainee crest — ran off shouting, "There's a fight going on in the barracks courtyard!"
Jimsoo stood over Doyun, breathing evenly. His instincts from years of war still guided every move.
Doyun spat blood, glaring up at him. "You think this is over?"
Jimsoo's expression didn't change. "It's over when I say it is."
For a moment, the two stared each other down — soldier versus soldier, power against experience.
Then, faintly, Jimsoo's Crest glowed.
A small flicker of white light pulsed on his right hand — faint but noticeable. The air shimmered for a brief second, and a transparent dice materialized between them, floating silently.
The onlookers gasped.
"Wait, that's his Crest?"
"A dice? What the hell kind of ability is that?"
Jimsoo himself stared for a second. It activated on its own?
The dice began to roll midair — spinning fast, then slowing until it landed on a 2.
A strange ripple passed through the air. Doyun suddenly slipped as if his boots lost traction, falling back into the mud.
The crowd erupted into laughter.
Gilbert clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to burst out. "Oh man, Doyun! You look like you tripped on your own pride!"
Doyun's face went red. "Shut up! This isn't over, Jimsoo!"
He scrambled to his feet, glaring murderously at Jimsoo before storming off, cursing under his breath.
Jimsoo watched him go, then turned his gaze to the faintly fading dice mark on his hand.
"So that's how it works…" he muttered. "Completely random outcomes."
Gilbert came over, still grinning. "Dude, that was insane! You took him down like a pro! But… what was that? Your Crest looks kind of weird."
Jimsoo smirked faintly. "Yeah, weird is one word for it."
"Still," Gilbert said, nudging him playfully, "you sure you're okay? Doyun's not the type to forget a loss."
Jimsoo's smile faded a little. He glanced toward the horizon — where the faint outline of the mountains loomed in the distance.
"I know," he said quietly. "And next time, he won't just be a bully. None of us will stay the same."
Gilbert frowned, puzzled. "You're talking weird again, man."
Jimsoo gave a short laugh and patted his shoulder. "Maybe. But you'll understand soon."
---
That night, after the incident was reported and the barracks fell silent, Jimsoo sat alone on his bed again, staring at the dice symbol glowing softly on his hand.
He reached out, whispering, "Roll of Destiny."
The dice shimmered faintly, then vanished, as if waiting for the right moment.
Jimsoo leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
In my last life, I ran from fate. This time, I'll roll it my way.
Outside, the wind howled faintly against the window. Tomorrow would bring questions, maybe punishment — but also opportunity.
Because now, Park Jimsoo knew something that no one else did.
The war, the fall, the demons — everything was coming again.
And this time, he'd be ready.