Sirens still screamed, from police cruisers crushed beneath fallen concrete, from armored vehicles split open like hollow shells, but no one answered them anymore. Their lights spun endlessly, casting red and blue across the ruins of the port city, over streets that no longer led anywhere. Towers leaned at impossible angles, their glass blown out, steel ribs exposed to the smoke, choked sky. Fires burned unchecked, reflected faintly in the waters beyond the harbor.
No warning had come.
No signal, no announcement, no sign that the world was about to fracture. One moment humanity moved through its routines; the next, reality tore open and allowed something else to step through. Later, survivors would struggle to name the moment, calling it an invasion, a catastrophe, a punishment, but in truth, it began with something far simpler.
Two figures appeared.
Only two.
They bore the same rough shape as humans, upright, symmetrical, familiar enough to invite hesitation. From a distance, they could be mistaken for people standing amid the chaos. But closer inspection betrayed the lie. Their skin held no warmth. Their expressions rested too easily on their faces. Their eyes observed the devastation not with shock or anger, but with quiet certainty.
They were not human.They never had been.
Across a ruined street near the harbor, a boy dropped to his knees beside a fallen body. His voice broke as he shouted his uncle's name, again and again, the sound cracking against shattered buildings that no longer listened. His hands trembled as he reached toward the man lying motionless on the asphalt.
There was a hole through the uncle's torso, perfectly clean, impossibly large. No torn flesh, no chaos. Just absence, as if something had passed through him and erased what it touched. Life had left him instantly. He had never felt pain.
The boy did not know that.
He only knew that the man who had protected him, who had pulled him away from danger moments before, would not open his eyes.
Grief consumed him fully, raw and unshielded.
One of the figures watched.
It stood amid the remains of a collapsed office building, posture relaxed, head tilted slightly as if examining a curiosity. When its gaze settled on the boy, something within it responded, not hunger, not anger, but recognition. It understood what the boy was feeling. It understood the weight of loss, the sharp fracture forming in the child's future.
And it smiled.
The smile was small. Controlled. Deliberate. It carried no warmth, only satisfaction. Then, from its throat came a sound utterly out of place in the ruins of a dying city.
Laughter.
Light. Amused.
The boy froze, his cries faltering as the sound reached him. Terror mixed with grief as his eyes lifted, meeting the creature's gaze. Across the street, the second figure remained silent, unmoving, observing the scene with equal detachment, as though this moment had been anticipated, rehearsed, perhaps even desired.
The city burned around them.
And though the boy could not yet understand it, the truth was already written into the ruins of Incheon
These beings had not come to rule humanity.They had come to watch it break.
The boy's fingers closed around a jagged stone, its edge slick with dust and blood.
Something inside him snapped.
With a raw scream torn from his chest, rage, grief, fear, all tangled together, he lunged forward. His small body surged across the broken asphalt, the sharp rock raised high, his vision blurred by tears and smoke. He did not think. He did not hesitate. All that existed was the creature in front of him and the unbearable weight in his chest.
The distance vanished in an instant.
Before the stone could fall, the creature moved.
Its hand shot out effortlessly and wrapped around the boy's throat.
The impact lifted him off the ground.
Air vanished from his lungs as his feet kicked uselessly, the rock slipping from his fingers and clattering onto the street below. His hands clawed at the creature's arm, but it might as well have been iron. The grip tightened slowly, deliberately, as if savoring each second.
The creature leaned closer.
Up close, its face was perfect, too perfect. Human in every detail except for the eyes, which held nothing but cold amusement. Its lips curled upward again, that same cruel smile stretching wider as the boy's struggles weakened.
"You tried," it seemed to say without words.
Darkness crept in from the edges of the boy's vision. The sirens dulled. The flames dimmed. His uncle's face faded from his mind as the pressure on his neck grew heavier, his thoughts scattering like ash.
Then-
Hyun-Jae jolted upright.
His breath tore violently into his lungs as if he had been drowning. His body lurched forward, hands gripping the sheets beneath him, fingers digging in as his chest rose and fell in ragged gasps. Sweat soaked his hair, clung to his neck, and dampened his clothes, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.
"…Hah… hah…"
For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was.
The image of ruined streets and laughing eyes lingered too vividly behind his eyelids. His throat burned as if something had truly been squeezing it. He lifted a trembling hand and pressed it against his neck, half-expecting to feel fingers still there.
Nothing.
Slowly, painfully, reality settled back in.
Hyun-Jae lowered his head, breathing deeply, forcing the rhythm to slow. Inhale. Exhale. Again. The pounding in his ears gradually softened, replaced by the familiar quiet of his surroundings.
"…Just a dream," he muttered hoarsely.
But even as he said it, the weight in his chest refused to fade.
He wiped the sweat from his face and sat there in silence, eyes unfocused, the remnants of the nightmare clinging stubbornly to his thoughts.
As if it were just a memory he didn't fully understand yet.
And somewhere deep inside him, something stirred.
Hyun-Jae let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as his breathing finally steadied. The sheets were damp with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his back, but he didn't bother moving. The remnants of the dream still pressed against his thoughts, heavy and unwelcome.
Just as he closed his eyes again,
The door slid open.
"Hyun-Jae," a familiar voice said flatly. "Get up."
He didn't respond.
His older sister, Yumi, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Mom already made breakfast. If you don't come now, it's going to get cold."
"…Go away," Hyun-Jae muttered into his pillow.
There was a brief pause.
Then, thump.
Pain blossomed against the back of his head as something soft but heavy smacked into him.
"-Hey!" He jolted upright just in time to see his pillow bounce off the wall and land on the floor.
Yumi smiled sweetly, far too pleased with herself. "Five minutes. Or Mom is coming herself."
The door slid shut before he could argue.
Hyun-Jae stared at the closed door for a long moment, then sighed deeply.
"…Tch."
Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. The harsh white light flicked on, instantly banishing the last shadows of sleep. He leaned forward, gripping the sink, then slowly raised his head to face the mirror.
The reflection staring back at him was… ordinary.
Average height. Average build. No sharp definition, no visible strength, just the body of a normal high school boy. He turned slightly, flexed his arm out of habit, then scoffed.
"…Great."
No matter how much he trained.No matter how hard he pushed himself.
Nothing changed.
For years, he had run farther, trained longer, ignored the pain and exhaustion others warned him about. And yet, this was it. This was all he had to show for it. Teachers, coaches, even doctors had said the same thing.
You've already reached your limit.
Hyun-Jae clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing at his reflection.
"Like hell I have."
If this was his limit, then it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Something inside him refused to accept it, an irritation that had followed him for as long as he could remember.
He turned away from the mirror and began his routine. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Stretching. Controlled breathing. Each movement was practiced, ingrained into his mornings like instinct. His muscles burned faintly, familiar and disappointing all at once.
When he finished, he washed up, changed into his uniform, and grabbed his bag.
As he stepped out of the bathroom, the weight of the day settled onto his shoulders.
His name was Seo Hyun-Jae.
And he is currently attending high school.
In the kitchen, his mother stood at the stove like she always did, apron tied neatly around her waist as she stirred a pan with practiced ease. The sound of sizzling oil mixed with the low hum of the ventilation fan. She glanced over her shoulder the moment she noticed him.
"You're up," she said, relief flickering briefly across her face. "Go sit. I'll bring your food."
At the dining table, his father was already halfway through breakfast, reading something on his phone with his usual serious expression. Across from him sat Harin, her feet swinging back and forth beneath the chair as she ate, completely focused on her bowl. She looked up when she noticed Hyun-Jae.
"Oppa!" she said brightly, cheeks puffed out. "You're late."
"Not that late," Hyun-Jae replied and pats her head, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
His father glanced up briefly. "Don't skip breakfast," he said, tone calm but firm. "You'll regret it by second period."
"I know," Hyun-Jae answered.
His mother soon placed a plate in front of him, steam rising gently from the food. Everything felt normal, comfortingly so. The clink of utensils, Harin humming quietly to herself, his father muttering under his breath at whatever he was reading. It was the kind of morning that repeated itself endlessly, unchanged.
Hyun-Jae ate in silence.
When he finished, he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm heading out."
"Study hard," his mother said automatically.
"Be careful," Harin added, grinning.
Hyun-Jae nodded once and stepped outside.
The walk to school took him through streets that were still healing.
Cranes loomed over half-rebuilt buildings, their steel arms stretching across the sky like skeletal fingers. Construction barriers lined the sidewalks, and patches of fresh concrete stood out against older, cracked pavement. New glass reflected the morning sun where broken windows had once been boarded up.
Most people walked past it all like it was normal now.
Hyun-Jae did the same.
Soon, the school gates came into view. Students poured in from every direction, laughter and chatter filling the air. He slipped inside with the crowd, unnoticed, just another face among many.
Inside the classroom, the usual noise greeted him, chairs scraping, voices overlapping, someone arguing loudly in the back. Hyun-Jae made his way to his seat near the window and sat down.
No one spared him a second glance.
"Yo."
Minseok dropped into the seat beside him, already mid-conversation without waiting for permission. "Did you see the new update? They finally added ranked duos. It's actually insane."
Hyun-Jae nodded, resting his chin on his hand.
"Mm."
"I stayed up way too late playing," Minseok continued, grinning. "Totally worth it though. You should try it sometime."
"Maybe," Hyun-Jae replied vaguely.
He didn't play video games much. He never really had the time, or the interest. While others relaxed, he trained. While they slept, he pushed himself. Always preparing. Always chasing something just out of reach.
Preparing for the,
Riiing-
The bell cut sharply through the classroom noise.
Students scrambled back to their seats as the chatter died down, replaced by the dull rhythm of another school day beginning. Hyun-Jae straightened slightly, eyes forward, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere as class started.
The rest of the classes passed without leaving much of an impression on him.
Lectures blended together, teachers' voices fading into background noise as Hyun-Jae copied notes out of habit rather than focus. He answered when called on, flipped pages when everyone else did, and waited. By the time the final bell before lunch rang, his body was already restless.
Special Period was next.
Ever since the incident, physical education had been removed from the curriculum. In its place came something far more serious, mandatory training meant to prepare students for what everyone refused to name out loud.
Preparation for the inevitable.
The gym had been converted into a training hall. Mats covered the floor. Weights lined the walls. Cones marked running lanes, and first-aid kits were stacked in every corner. Instructors, some with military posture, others with the tired eyes of survivors, watched over the students as if expecting something to go wrong at any moment.
"Warm-up laps. Ten minutes," one of them barked.
Groans echoed immediately.
Students jogged lazily around the track, chatting, complaining, cutting corners when the instructors weren't looking. Some slowed to a walk within minutes, hands on their knees, breathing exaggeratedly.
Hyun-Jae didn't.
He ran.
One lap became two. Then three. His breathing stayed controlled, arms swinging in steady rhythm. Heat built in his chest, sweat forming along his brow, but he didn't slow down.
Not yet.
When the conditioning drills began, push-ups, squats, planks, most students stopped the moment their muscles started to ache.
"Good enough," someone muttered, collapsing onto the mat.
Hyun-Jae kept going.
His arms shook violently as he pushed himself up again and again, teeth clenched as the burn spread through his muscles. His vision blurred slightly, sweat dripping onto the floor beneath him.
"Dude, what's his problem?" someone whispered.
"Trying to be a hero or something?"
"He's ridiculous."
The words reached him, but he ignored them. Scorn, irritation, mockery, it didn't matter. It never had.
When it came time for running drills, he pushed harder.
Again.
And again.
Each step felt heavier than the last. His lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, and a sharp ache crawled up his spine. His body begged him to stop, to slow down, to rest like everyone else.
He tried to listen.
Stop, a voice in his head warned.
Just give up on now and make it easier for yourself.
But his feet kept moving.
Because he had to get stronger.
Because weakness had taken something from him once.
Because never again would he-
The ground lurched.
Hyun-Jae's vision darkened suddenly, the world tilting as his legs finally gave out beneath him. The last thing he felt was the hard floor rushing up to meet him, followed by distant shouts echoing somewhere far away.
Then everything went black.