It was supposed to be the final breakthrough.
Chun Ma had trained harder than anyone in the history of Murim. He had shattered bones to rebuild them. Starved to silence the hunger of distraction. He had sat, motionless, in meditation for ten days straight, without water, food, or even a blink of the eye.
This was it. The moment he would ascend beyond human limits.
His qi pulsed.
His soul strained.
And then… everything stopped.
There was no flash. No heaven-opening thunder. No divine fanfare.
Just silence.
And death.
A man who conquered dozens of sects died sitting upright, alone, because he forgot the human body still needed water.
Something was humming.
A soft, low vibration, like an old refrigerator buzzing in the distance.
Chun Ma's eyes opened slowly. His vision was blurry. Shapes floated in and out. White ceiling. A spinning object. Blades?
He blinked. The spinning slowed.
A fan. Ceiling fan.
The air was warm. Not the sharp mountain chill he knew. The light was soft, too—no sunbeams through forest leaves, just pale electric light.
His head throbbed. Not from qi imbalance or poison, but dull and tired, like he had slept for a year and still wasn't done.
Where was he?
He sat up, groaning, and felt an unfamiliar creak in his joints. His hands came into view—pale, thin, with fingers too long and delicate.
These weren't his hands.
He looked down. His chest was flat. His arms were noodle-thin. His legs stuck out from under a wrinkled blanket like skinny tree branches.
And then he saw them—glasses. Perched on the end of his nose. Tilted, smudged.
"What…"
His voice was weak. It cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"…Where… is this?"
He scanned the room. Small. Cramped. Clothes on a chair. A desk buried in books. Posters of strange boys with makeup and colorful hair lined one wall. The air smelled like instant noodles and dust.
This was no sect. No cave. No temple.
This… was a child's room.
A screen flickered beside his bed. Not a formation scroll. Not a jade tablet. A… monitor?
Glowing letters suddenly blinked in front of him, floating mid-air.
⎛Welcome, User.⎠
He flinched. Looked around.
No one was there.
The letters hovered calmly.
⎛System initializing…⎠
"…What?"
⎛Reincarnation successful.⎠
⎛Current identity: Kim Min-jun. Age: 17.⎠
⎛Condition: Alive, barely.⎠
"What sorcery is this?"
He reached out to touch the letters. His fingers passed through the glowing words. No warmth. No resistance.
Just light.
He looked around again, slower this time. There were things he couldn't name. A blinking box on the desk. Wires. A tiny fan spinning on the floor. Strange books stacked in corners.
He moved to stand up—but pain shot through his body. His back ached. His knees wobbled. His neck cracked like an old tree.
He sat down again, panting softly.
"…Am I dreaming?"
A voice echoed outside the room. A woman's voice.
"Min-jun! Are you up? You're gonna be late for school!"
Footsteps padded down a hallway.
He turned toward the door slowly.
Min-jun.
That was the name the floating box had given him. Was that who he was now?
Was that… this body?
The door creaked open.
A woman peeked inside. She looked tired, maybe in her late thirties. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. She wore a sweater with a cat printed on it and held a coffee mug in one hand.
She saw him sitting up and smiled.
"Wow, you're actually up early today," she said. "Did your alarm finally work, or did you get possessed by a ghost?"
Chun Ma stared.
She paused.
"…Min-jun? You okay?"
He blinked at her. "You are…"
"I'm your mom?" she said slowly, walking in. "Seriously, did you hit your head or something?"
He looked at her again. Her presence wasn't threatening. Her voice wasn't sharp. She didn't carry a sword or radiate killing intent. Just… warmth. Familiarity.
Mother.
In his last life, he had no memory of his parents. Taken in by a wandering monk as a child, he had grown up in sects, caves, and battlefields. Family was a word without meaning.
And now someone stood before him, calling herself his mother.
"I don't understand," he said quietly.
She tilted her head. "You've been acting strange lately, but this is a new level. Eat something. You look like a vampire."
She left the room.
The door clicked shut.
Chun Ma sat still for a while, staring at nothing.
"I died," he whispered. "I died… and woke up in a new world. A weak body. Strange clothes. Strange objects. And someone calling me 'son'."
He leaned back, feeling the unfamiliar bed beneath him.
"This is no illusion," he said. "Too real. Too sharp."
The glowing letters blinked again.
⎛System advice: Go to school. You have a math test.⎠
He scoffed. "I fought wars, and you want me to take a… math test?"
The system box didn't reply.
He sighed and stood again, slowly this time. His body complained, but he stayed upright. The clothes from the chair were a uniform—white shirt, black pants, and a blazer with a school emblem on the chest.
He dressed in silence. The clothes were loose. He was thinner than he realized.
In the cracked mirror above the desk, he saw his new face.
Thin. Soft. Pale. The kind of face that never saw sunlight. Glasses. Dark hair hanging in his eyes.
He didn't look like a demon.
He looked like a high schooler.
"…So be it."
He picked up the school bag, took one step, and almost tripped on the carpet.
"This body needs work."
The streets were crowded. Cars honked. Phones buzzed. People rushed past with earbuds in and coffee cups swinging.
Chun Ma—or Min-jun—walked slowly, absorbing the chaos. The tall buildings, the moving signs, the sheer volume of sound and life.
So much metal. So many colors.
He passed a shop window and saw a reflection of himself. His thin frame. His slouched shoulders.
How had he gone from martial god… to this?
The school gate loomed ahead.
A sign read: Daehan High School.
He didn't even know what "high school" meant.
But the system pinged again.
⎛Quest: Survive your first day.⎠
⎛Reward: System activation Level 1⎠
He sighed.
"So I have to play along."