A sharp, dry cough tore from Song Eun-woo's throat, making his head pound in protest.
"Medicine in this day and age is so advanced, so why is there still no proper cure for the common cold?" he muttered to himself, voice thick and raspy.
He stared miserably at the handful of generic cold and anti-inflammatory pills in his palm. With a resigned sigh, he was about to toss them into his mouth when—they vanished.
The pills simply disappeared from his hand.
At the same instant, a crisp, mechanical prompt echoed in his feverish mind.
[Host's will acknowledged. Decomposition and Reconstruction System activating…]
[Activation complete.]
[Host has reclaimed one portion of 'Common Cold Medicine.' Deconstructing… Reconstructing…]
[Host has obtained: 'Specialized Cold Suppressant Capsules' x2.]
Eun-woo stood frozen in the middle of his small bedroom, eyes wide. The sudden silence was broken only by the sound of his own congested breathing.
"Did… did I just hallucinate from the fever?"
His question was answered as he looked down. Where there had been loose pills, now two sleek, unmarked capsules rested on his palm. He blinked rapidly.
This… this is for real?
As an avid consumer of webnovels, the concept of a 'system' was far from strange. But for it to appear in his own, very ordinary life?
"Eun-woo-ya! What are you dawdling for? Today is the last practice exam before the Suneung! Take your medicine and go! Appa and I aren't asking for a SKY university, but can't you at least get into a university? Hurry up!"
His mother's voice, sharp with familiar exasperation, sliced through his shock. The system could wait; the threat of her ggot slipper could not.
Moving on instinct, Eun-woo popped one of the mysterious capsules into his mouth, swallowing it dry. He shoved the other into his school blazer pocket, grabbed his backpack, and bolted out the door.
As he swung his leg over his bicycle, a strange sensation began to spread through his body. The heavy, aching fog in his head… was clearing. The raw scrape in his throat softened. The persistent chill in his bones receded, replaced by a steady warmth.
"No way…," he whispered, pedaling away from the apartment complex. "The cold capsule? It actually works? It really works!"
A grin spread across his face. He focused inward, tentatively calling out in his mind. System? Are you there? Explain yourself.
The mechanical voice responded promptly.
[Query acknowledged.]
[System Designation: Decomposition and Reconstruction System.]
[Core Function: Can deconstruct any object within host's possession and reconstruct it into a new item of random, but usually superior, classification. Host may suggest a desired category for reconstruction. Note: If the value disparity between deconstructed and reconstructed items is minor, the system will supplement the difference.]
[Current System Level: 1.]
[Daily Reconstruction Limit: 1.]
Eun-woo's mind raced, the last of his lethargy burned away by exhilarating possibility.
This is insane! If I get my hands on a totaled European import… could I turn it into a brand-new model?
Visions flashed before his eyes: acing the Suneung, a summer of miraculous "repairs," rolling up to his university campus in a sleek, black Genesis…
"Song Eun-woo! If you're still loitering down there, I'm coming down right now!"
His mother's shout from their third-floor window shattered the daydream. He flinched, then pushed down hard on the pedals, his bicycle shooting toward the main road.
Back in the apartment, his mother turned from the window, fixing a glare on her husband, who was serenely sipping his miyeok-guk at the table.
"Yah! Look at that son of yours! All he does is daydream! While other students are studying, what does he do? He'll be lucky to get into a technical college at this rate! And you, all you do is fiddle with those old radios!"
---
As usual, Eun-woo slid into his seat at the very back corner of the classroom just as the final bell chimed.
"Hyung, you look… different. Weren't you dying from a cold yesterday?" whispered Kim Do-hyun, his best friend and deskmate, peering at him.
Before Eun-woo could answer, the classroom door slid open with a sharp whoosh. Their homeroom teacher, Mr. Park—nicknamed "Park the Pruner" for his ruthless academic standards—marched in, a thick stack of test papers clutched in his hand like a weapon.
"Silence. Clear your desks. This is your final mock exam. Show me the fruits of your three years of labor. I want to see your true potential," Mr. Park intoned, his gaze sweeping the room like a searchlight.
A tense quiet fell, broken only by the rustle of papers being distributed. Then, a harsh, stifled cough erupted from the front row.
It was followed by another, more desperate one.
All eyes, annoyed and impatient, flicked toward the source. In the front corner seat sat Han Soo-jin. Tall and perpetually slouched, she was a ghost in the classroom—always buried in books, her face hidden behind long, unstyled hair and large, old-fashioned glasses. Her oversized school uniform seemed to swallow her frame. Orphaned young and living with a frail grandmother, her only standout feature was her consistent rank at the very top of the entire grade.
The coughing fit continued, shaking her slender shoulders. She pressed a hand tightly over her mouth, her ears burning red with humiliation as she tried to muffle the sound. Whispers of irritation began to rise around her.
Mr. Park frowned, his stern expression softening slightly as he looked at his top student. "Han Soo-jin-ssi, if you are unwell, you may step outside for some water. You cannot afford to let this affect your performance."
Soo-jin merely shook her lowered head, shoulders hunching further.
From the back of the room, Eun-woo's fingers brushed against the capsule in his blazer pocket. He remembered the instant relief it had brought him, the miraculous clearing of the fog. He looked at the girl trembling as she tried to suppress another cough, an island of misery in the silent sea of test-takers.
An impulse, reckless and uncharacteristic, took hold.
He raised his hand.
"Mr. Park."
Every head in the classroom swiveled to stare at Song Eun-woo, the perpetual underachiever in the last row.
"I, uh, happen to have some cough medicine left over," he said, his voice cutting through the tense silence. He pulled the single, unmarked capsule from his pocket and held it up. "Maybe Han Soo-jin could take it?"
A beat of stunned silence filled the room. Mr. Park's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. Kim Do-hyun gaped beside him. And Han Soo-jin, for the first time, slowly turned her head just enough for one wide, surprised eye to be visible through the curtain of her hair, looking directly at him.
[To be continued…]