Lee Si-woo had asked a simple question, one that should not have been difficult to answer—how far could he grow? Yet Do Min-jun faltered, stammering as if wrestling with something far heavier than words. Si-woo frowned, puzzled at his hesitation, until his chest tightened.
Through their bond, he felt it—Min-jun's emotions seeping into him. A shiver coursed through his veins. Fear. Min-jun, of all people, was afraid.
That alone was enough to turn Si-woo serious. He pressed, demanding the truth, and Min-jun's sorrow finally spilled forth.
The story that followed painted a tragic portrait. Min-jun revealed that in the vast magical empire of Phantauros, he had once been no ordinary prince but the foremost heir—the crown jewel of the imperial bloodline, ranked first among his brothers. Born with staggering energy, he should have ascended as a figure of legend. Yet that same overwhelming power betrayed him. His body had been unable to bear the torrent of force within, leaving him crippled, unable to harness the very gift that made him special.
Because he could not endure, he had fallen. From the highest rank to a forgotten shadow, discarded by those who once praised him. The mighty had no patience for failure.
Si-woo's chest ached as he listened, and he could not stop himself from placing a hand on Min-jun's back. To rise as the brightest only to plummet into obscurity—how could such a burden not break someone?
Yet there was more. Min-jun linked his downfall to Si-woo's question. The prince explained that when Si-woo absorbed his blood, he inherited fragments of that overwhelming power. If Si-woo continued to grow, he too would feel the backlash—the sharp, unrelenting pain of trying to contain energy beyond his vessel's limits.
And indeed, Si-woo remembered. His first step into a gate had been agony, his body wracked as if torn apart. Later, when he ascended to D-rank during a desperate battle, the torment had returned, searing every bone and vein. It had nearly broken him, but he endured.
Where Si-woo had clawed forward through agony, Min-jun had faltered. He admitted with downcast eyes that he had failed to endure those trials. Each time growth demanded suffering, he had recoiled, unable to embrace the torment. His great gift became his great curse.
Tears welled in Min-jun's eyes. Once, he had sought his father's recognition, embarking on adventures to prove himself worthy. Instead, he had erred, stumbled, and been cast into this world with his mana heart shattered. The once-brilliant heir of Phantauros now stood as a broken exile.
Si-woo's heart tightened at the sight of his tears. A prince of unmatched potential, reduced to a discarded child craving acknowledgment. There were no words to mend such wounds, so Si-woo simply patted his shoulder, offering quiet comfort.
That evening, after sharing a quiet meal, Si-woo turned to his computer. His fingers flew across the keys, sorting data and piecing together reports. Today had brought a breakthrough—the location of the Black Market's entrance. Such fortune should have filled him with triumph. Yet thoughts of Min-jun lingered.
He considered the boy's tragic tale, his broken mana heart, and the empire now besieged by enemies eager to see Phantauros burn. How could Min-jun not long for home, even if returning seemed impossible?
There was only one solution. To mend a mana heart required rare, impossibly expensive materials, many not even found on Earth. Only an S-rank Hunter could gather such treasures. Which meant Si-woo himself had to rise to that level, face monstrous beasts, and rip from their bodies the very resources Min-jun needed to live.
He clenched his fist. To grow stronger, to repay Min-jun for his help, and above all, to take vengeance on Kang Myung-jun—he had no choice but to press forward without hesitation.
The next morning, Si-woo arrived at the Pyeongtaek Gate. Familiar hunters greeted him warmly, offering sweetened coffee in old thermoses and sharing casual banter. They were simple collection hunters, men who did not chase glory or riches but strove to provide for their families. Their sincerity reminded Si-woo that not all hunters were tainted by greed.
Yet nearby, a darker scene played out. The voice of Son Woo-joo, sub-manager of the Outsider Café, cut through the air like a whip. He berated two familiar figures—Yeon Ji-young and Yeon Jong-seok, the siblings who had confessed their admiration to Si-woo only yesterday. His words were venomous, laced with arrogance and cruelty, mocking their attempt at sincerity.
Si-woo observed quietly. Woo-joo's nature became clear: a man fierce only to the weak, quick to shrink when faced with someone unpredictable. Their eyes met briefly, and Woo-joo flinched, breaking contact in an instant before redirecting his fury on the siblings.
Si-woo sighed and turned away. This was not his battle, though the sight of Ji-young's tearful eyes carved at his conscience.
Later, after completing his collection work, Si-woo returned home. Jin-ho had already left for the training hall, unaware of the deadly encounter Si-woo had faced days ago. Only Min-jun remained in the living room, his spirit steadier than before.
The boy raised his hand, summoning a spell circle with painstaking care. Days of research had corrected his mistakes, and his eyes gleamed with determination. A brilliant blue rift blossomed in the air—his magic stable at last.
Si-woo gripped his blade and nodded. With a steady step, he entered the gate.