Damn.
She is still F‑Rank, but her gift was star-class.
But in Jang Iseul's case, it had been eighteen long, embarrassing years of nothing. A late bloomer. Until recently, she'd felt nothing—no burst, no surge, no psychic echo.
Then, two months ago, strange things began.
Small signs.
Small things, like once dreaming she was at the park with her siblings, wearing a beautiful black and baby blue dress with a polka-dotted bow in front. She had woken up in the exact dress—only to leap out of bed in panic and find herself still in pajamas. She'd thought she was dreaming again. The next incident happened during a nap with her youngest brother, Jang Yong-woo. She had dozed off beside him and woke up in his dream world.
Maybe flying cars or cartoons—but not this. Yong-woo, who once declared "Nonna, I'm 6 now, and I don't watch Zepoman anymore. That's baby stuff," was now in full costume, riding a dinosaur through a city, pretending to be Zepoman while roaring like a monster.
Iseul smiled at the thought. It was innocent, weird, and adorable.
She chuckled and imagined him riding his slypr-bike levitator. The dream around her shifted instantly—morphed into her thoughts. Confused, she stumbled, her body trembling. Before she could even process it, the world around her reshaped into exactly what she imagined.
She panicked and jolted awake, startling Yong-woo beside her. He woke up then next day telling her,
"I dreamed of you. You were in my dream."
That was the first time she realized her power was more than just a fluke. More than trick lighting or misplaced keys. It was something deeper—more dangerous.
She had practiced in secret since then.
Dreamwalking. Walking through her younger siblings' dreams. Pulling fragments of thoughts from their heads. Once, she even tried creating a small glass marble she saw in a dream. It had worked for a few seconds before crumbling into smoke.
Every attempt left her bleeding, shaking, and exhausted. But she kept going.
The scanner didn't know what she was. It couldn't detect the strange energy pulsing inside her. It had no record of a Gift like hers in the Gifter's Encyclopedia. The system had labeled her something—anything—because it couldn't handle the unknown.
Red‑Locked meant more than just blocked advancement—it meant social death.
She stared at the result, not very shocked.
A technician leaned forward and raised a brow.
"Star‑Class? But still F‑Rank?! How rare! But you're permanent Red‑Locked?! Sorry, bad luck, kid," he was flabbergasted as he looked at her sympathetically.
She already knew. The system refused to understand her Gift. It didn't just misclassify her—it locked her out.
Because it had never seen any gift quite like her.
Jang Iseul nodded without looking at him.
He tried to sound kind and find the right words.
"Well… better late than never. Happens sometimes. You might qualify for logistics or harvest support."
She stood silently. Not because she was powerless, but because she knew what to do next.
She walked out of the testing room and didn't look back.
She didn't know what she had expected—
She left the scanner room in silence.
Other students whispered as she walked past:
"She is still red?"
"Forever F‑Rank much, huh? Wow. Even at eighteen."
"She's done. No squads'll take her seriously now."
She didn't respond.
Didn't look back.
Didn't try to explain.
Because she'd seen what she could do in dreams.
And she knew she was close. So damn close.
She passed two seniors leaning against a vending drone. One of them, a girl with synthetic nails and neon hair, sneered without making eye contact.
"Hey, Jang Iseul. Who are you pretending to be now, queen of the losers F‑Ranks?"
Iseul didn't slow down. She didn't even turn her head.
But the girl moved aside anyway.
There was only one test left before she'd be defined—or discarded.
The Trial of Courage.
⸻
On the outer rim of the city, in a stacked housing block patched with code walls and decades‑old wiring, the Jang family's small rooftop glowed orange beneath flickering neon signs.
The skyline shimmered with hovercrafts and light-streaked towers plastered in Dominion logos or combat academy ads. Synthetic rain hissed against solar tarps overhead.
Iseul stepped quietly up the access ladder and pulled off her Academy-issued visor. Her brothers sat in a circle, steaming dumplings between them, laughing over a bootleg comic stream.
Jang Haneul looked up and immediately stood.
"Noona. You're back."
Jang Chang grinned, leaning back.
"So? Did you break the school again?"
Jang Hyun‑woo, adjusting his tablet glasses, scoffed.
"They didn't promote her. Her ZepeNet still says Soil‑Class."
Jang Beom‑seok gave a dramatic salute.
"She probably demolished a building and they'd still label her 'low yield.'"
She smiled faintly and sat down beside them without a word.
Then came the smallest voice.
Jang Yong-woo, still in his sleeping onesie, crawled onto her lap.
"You did okay though… right?"
Iseul brushed her hand across his hair.
"I dreamed," she murmured, almost to herself. "And it became real."
None of them understood—not yet. But one day, they would.
She named her gift: DreamWalker.
Her power didn't look like anyone else's.
No flame. No knockout punch. No halo glow.
Just traversing minds, mapping the unconscious, shaping shadows. And lately—just lately—when she willed hard enough, objects would flicker briefly into being.
A hairpin. A coin. Once, a ribbon—only for a second, before she collapsed shaking on the rooftop: bloody-nosed, nauseated, half-conscious.
Her Gift came at a cost.
But it was real.