Somewhere in Seoul, August 2025.
Blood.
His blood spread across the cracked tiles, dripping down the edge of the bathtub in sluggish, uneven rivulets.
The air stank of iron and old porcelain, a suffocating scent that clung to his lungs like dust in na abandoned room.
Han Jaemin lay half-submerged, eyes fixed on the flickering bathroom light above. His breathing came in slow, deliberate drags, not because he wanted to live, but because his body refused to stop, clinging to life on instinct alone.
Another failure.
"…Again," he muttered, voice raspy, more irritation than despair. "It's always another failure."
The water around him was dark, almost black under the weak bulb, but his vision remained painfully sharp. No dizziness, no fading warmth. Just the same steady heartbeat, stubborn as ever, mocking him in the silence of his own thoughts.
With a sigh, he pushed himself upright. Blood slid down his arms and dripped onto the floor. His wounds were already sealing shut, pale lines knitting where deep gashes had been only moments before.
He stood, socks sticking briefly to the wet floor. The mirror above the sink was streaked and fogged at the edges, yet his reflection still stared back at him with irritating clarity.
Messy black hair fell across his eyebrows, stubborn strands clinging to his cheek. His skin was pale, not with the frailty of illness, but from years of avoiding sunlight. Dark brown eyes stared out of a face that might've looked younger, if not for the faint lines carved there by sleepless nights.
His shirt, once plain white, clung damply to his frame, revealing a body lean but still built, the kind forged in battles rather than gyms. He hadn't trained in years, yet his physique stubbornly held its shape.
If he tilted his head just right, he could almost see the faint white lines crisscrossing his skin, scars that never faded, no matter how many times his flesh regenerated.
He leaned closer to the mirror, studying himself as if he were a stranger.
"…You're still here," he whispered.
The corner of his lip twitched, but it wasn't a smile.
He glanced past his reflection, catching the faint shadow of the living room beyond the bathroom door.
Dust coated everything in sight. A broken coffee table. A couch with fabric torn at the seams. Faded photographs still hung crooked on the wall, their glass cracked.
In one of them, he and another man smiled, arms thrown over each other's shoulders, the other's face cut from the picture.
This had once been their apartment.
Now, it was just another hollow space in the Prohibited Zone, part of the city abandoned after repeated Rift appearances had made it uninhabitable.
A place no one bothered to patrol anymore.
Without another glance, he grabbed a towel, wiped the worst of the blood from his arms, and stepped toward the entrance.
If he lingered any longer, he'd be late.
By the time he left the building, the morning sky had already brightened into the washed-out gray of a city that never truly slept.
It was barely 6:50 AM. The streets buzzed with traffic, boots striking pavement, and the faint static hum of massive LED billboards strung between skyscrapers.
People were already awake, some rushing to work, others walking their children to school, and a few heading home after long nights out.
As he walked down the street, a news broadcast played across one of the billboards, drawing Jaemin's attention, if not for the content, then for the crowd gathered beneath it.
[Breaking News — Rank S Rift Break in San Francisco, USA. Government deploys half the nation's Hunters in response...]
The anchor's voice was steady, but the tremor in the background audio, the distant sirens, the muffled screams, betrayed the chaos on the other side of the screen.
Jaemin's gaze lingered on the scene: armored Hunters sprinting past the camera, the shimmering glow of the Rift's edge sparking to life, distorted silhouettes shifting back and forth beyond it. He knew what awaited them. Knew it far too well.
Portals, or Rifts, as the System named them, had first appeared twenty-five years ago. They tore through the fabric of reality like claws dragging across soaked paper, carrying with them humanity's greatest terror.
Monsters.
At first, many believed the Rifts were natural disasters, like earthquakes or tsunamis. Some even speculated tectonic shifts, anything that could rationalize those oval distortions floating in the air like holograms.
But when the first creatures emerged, humanity quickly learned they weren't holograms.
They were beings of impossible anatomy. Some massive enough to crush buildings beneath their weight, others small and swift enough to slip through alleyways like living shadows. Each Rift carried its own environment, its own rules, its own predators.
To fight back, certain humans awakened, their bodies and minds rewritten by the mana leaking from these tears. The System appeared alongside them, a presence that everyone could hear and see, ranking, classifying, and guiding those it named Hunters.
Ranks stretched from the weakest, F, to the near-mythical S. But beyond that, there were Hunters and Rifts so powerful their level was simply marked Unknown.
Jaemin turned away from the screen and kept walking.
The crowd seemed to part before him, not out of respect, but because of the dark stains still visible on his clothes. The faint metallic tang of dried blood clung to him, subtle but impossible to ignore.
A mother pulled her child closer. A man muttered something under his breath and stepped aside.
Jaemin didn't care. He simply continued on his way home.
His loft was a single cramped room on the edge of the district bordering the Prohibited Zone. The paint had long since peeled from the walls, and the ceiling bore dark water stains, or something else, he'd never bothered to identify.
Still, it was quiet. And no one asked questions. The neighbors didn't care who lived next door, and that was enough.
Jaemin dropped his bag onto the worn futon, stripped off his bloodstained clothes, and headed straight for the shower.
Hot water struck his skin, running red for a few seconds before clearing. Beneath it, his body was a map of pale scars: thin lines across his ribs, jagged marks on his arms, a faded gash stretching from collarbone to hip.
Every scar carried a story, though few were worth telling.
Eyes closed, he let the water run over him, the heat seeping into old aches that never truly faded. Too often, his mind played tricks on him, making him hear sounds, laughter, or even feel the warmth of someone who was no longer there.
He forced the memory shut and reached for the soap. If he lingered any longer, he wasn't sure he'd step out at all.
***
The steam thinned, curling into the dim air as he shut off the water. He stood there for a moment, dripping, watching condensation bead along the cracked tiles.
For most people, nearly bleeding out in a bathtub would be shocking.
Jaemin felt… indifferent.
Not because he was immune to pain, if anything, he welcomed it, though that thought might have seemed twisted. No, he simply no longer saw any reason to react. He'd grown used to it.
He stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and crossed the room with slow, unhurried steps. The apartment was small enough that he could see the front door from the bathroom.
A pair of boots waited near it, their soles worn thin. Cheap, but sturdy enough for the long walks he sometimes took at night. Running, like oil painting, was one of the few small habits that still kept his thoughts quiet.
On the low counter by the window sat a chipped black mug. He poured the last of the instant coffee into it, the bitter scent mixing with the faint trace of blood that still lingered in the air from his discarded clothes. He didn't bother adding sugar.
Outside, the streets were already alive. Vendors shouted, engines rumbled, and once in a while a voice rose in anger. Life went on, even in the shadow of the Prohibited Zone.
One of the places where Rift appearances were at their highest. A lawless stretch of city, no police, no government and no healthcare. Those without money to leave simply stayed, praying each day that a portal wouldn't open over their heads.
Jaemin sipped the coffee, watching two children dart past, laughing as they chased each other. Their energy, their noise, it all felt like a world he no longer belonged to.
Maybe he never had.
He pulled on a clean shirt, plain and dark, loose enough to hide the stiffness in his shoulders, then laced his boots. His wallet, a set of keys, and a half-broken flip phone went into his pocket.
It still worked, despite its age. Not that anyone ever called.
Locking the door behind him, his gaze swept the hallway. Flaking paint clung to the walls, dust coated the weak light fixtures, and above, water dripped steadily into a rusted bucket. The building, much like him, remained standing for no reason other than it hadn't collapsed yet.
His phone buzzed twice in his pocket.
He didn't need to check the caller ID. Only one person ever still bothered to send him messages.
With a sigh, Jaemin flipped the phone open.
The screen displayed a short message, typed in haste.
[Where the hell are you? The morning batch isn't going to bake itself.]
He stared at the words for a few seconds before replying with one hand, still walking.
[Got delayed.]
The answer came almost instantly.
[Delayed by what? The apocalypse? Because I hope that's the case, otherwise, you're fired!]
A dry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
[Something like that.]
He shut the phone before another message could arrive and slid it back into his pocket.
Jaemin worked at a small neighborhood bakery, the kind that spread the scent of sugar and yeast a block away. He'd been there for nearly two years, not out of passion. Kneading dough, frosting cakes… it was simple, repetitive, and, more importantly, no one asked questions about his past.
Still, on certain mornings, the aroma of fresh vanilla or melting chocolate managed to catch him off guard.
Not that he'd ever admit why.
Jaemin was already halfway across the small plaza when the air shifted. Just like that, suddenly.
It wasn't mere wind, it was heavier, a cold, vibrating pull strong enough to make his shirt cling to his skin and rattle the metal posts along the street.
People slowed, confusion written across their faces. Someone's water bottle slipped from their hand, the hollow clatter echoing too loudly in the sudden hush.
Then, with a sound like fabric tearing over bone, reality split apart in the center of the plaza.
A shimmering distortion spiraled outward, expanding in seconds into a warped oval as tall as a four-story building. Its edges glowed a dull orange, mana crackling and hissing as it spread.
A Rift.
The crowd reacted too late. The suction burst outward like a silent explosion, pulling loose papers, bags, and even people off their feet. Screams tore through the air. A man stumbled near Jaemin, fingernails scraping the pavement as he was dragged toward the vortex.
Jaemin's gaze swept the chaos until it landed on a small figure ahead.
A boy, no older than eight, frozen in place, staring at the Rift as though it might vanish if he blinked. Jaemin recognized him immediately, the kid lived two buildings down, always running errands for his grandmother.
The suction caught him a second later, yanking him off his feet.
Jaemin muttered under his breath.
"Of course it had to be you."
Without hesitation, he surged forward, boots pounding against the stone as the air warped tighter.
The pull grew stronger. The distorted oval churned with colors that didn't belong in this world, bending light in a way that made his head throb.
The boy was seconds from being swallowed whole.
Jaemin lunged, one hand catching the back of the child's shirt. The force nearly dragged them both in, his boots skidding across the stone tiles. With a sharp pull, he yanked the boy into his arms and turned his back to the Rift.
Too late.
The ground vanished beneath them, and the world dissolved into white noise.
***
When sensation returned, the first thing Jaemin noticed was the silence.
Dizziness hit him next. Side effects weren't uncommon for civilians or even Hunters who hadn't entered a Rift in some time. But the floor itself seemed to pull at him, swallowing him deeper each time he tried to stand.
When he finally pushed himself upright, he realized they were inside a cavern vast enough to swallow a cathedral whole.
The ceiling vanished into shadow far above, crowned with stalactites that looked as though they had been sharpening themselves for centuries, waiting for the perfect moment to impale someone below. Somewhere in that darkness, water dripped at a petty, almost mocking pace, each splash echoing like a slow, deliberate countdown.
Jaemin lowered his gaze, scanning the area, searching for the unlucky ones who had been dragged in with him.
And there they were,crouched low, hands over their heads.
"Perfect. Just what I needed."
There's something most people don't understand about Rifts.
Entering one isn't just a change of scenery, it's a complete shift in reality.
The density of mana here was dozens of times higher than outside. The human body recognized it as hostile, even if the mind didn't. Muscles seized, vision narrowed, breathing grew shallow.
And then came the Presence. That invisible pressure radiating from the dimension itself, the kind that made your bones feel like they were being ground slowly into the floor. Even the unawakened could sense it. It wasn't something you could see or touch, your instincts simply screamed that you had stepped into a place where you were no longer at the top of the food chain.
Most first-timers collapsed on the spot, unable to move.
Just like now.
Not a single one of them could lift their head. Some crouched with their faces buried against their knees, others pressed themselves against the walls, trembling.
Maybe that's why none of them noticed the massive shadow breaking through the fog ahead.
It moved on four limbs, its gait uneven and jerky, like its joints had been twisted into angles they were never meant to hold.
Black, sinewy muscle clung to its bones in uneven patches, skin torn open where pale ribs jutted through. Its elongated head split into a lower jaw of twin mandibles, slick with dark saliva and a tongue that split into two.
Rows of clouded gray eyes blinked out of sync, each one focusing in a different direction before locking on the nearest prey.
It was a Bone Mauler.
Jaemin exhaled slowly.
"…Ugly as ever."
The creature lunged, claws carving deep grooves into the cracked ground. It moved with a speed fast enough to shred any unprepared Hunter before a scream could escape.
Jaemin stepped into the charge.
His left hand shot forward, gripping one of its forelimbs mid-swipe. Bone snapped easily under his fingers with a wet crack. He twisted, dragging the creature's head down, and his knee shot up, shattering several teeth in one strike.
Before it could stagger back, his right hand hooked into the side of its skull. Jaws and claws snapped uselessly in the air. With one sharp motion, he drove its head into the stone floor.
The ground split on impact.
The Bone Mauler twitched once, then went still, its clouded eyes staring blankly into nothing.
Jaemin wiped the back of his hand across his cheek, smearing away a streak of dark blood that wasn't his. His gaze shifted from the corpse to the cowering figures further back, still pressed against the rocks.
"Get up," he ordered, stepping closer.
A few heads lifted. Cautious eyes met his, full of uncertainty.
"I said get up. Now. All of you."
One by one, they rose. Some stumbled forward, relief breaking through their shock.
A young man in his twenties was the first to speak, fear giving way to hope.
"You're a Hunter, right? We're safe now!"
"Safe?" Jaemin arched a brow. "If by 'safe' you mean 'minutes away from being torn apart,' then sure."
A woman hurried forward, dragging na older man by the arm.
"Please, you can get us out, can't you? You know the way?"
From the back, a man barked out, "Wait, who the hell even are you?"
Jaemin's gaze flicked to him.
"Han Jaemin."
The name earned only blank stares. One man frowned.
"Never heard of you."
He didn't blink.
"Good. That means my enemies won't either. Now move. Before more of these things find us."
Not everyone obeyed. Two people remained crouched low, shaking their heads. One muttered,
"We should stay here. If we wait, the Rift will close on its own. Hunters will come."
Jaemin let out a short breath that wasn't quite a laugh.
"That's not how it works. The only way a Rift closes is when the boss dies. Until then, more of these things will keep spawning."
Na older man crossed his arms, trying to sound confident.
"So? We can just hide. Let the boss wander off or–"
"The air here is toxic for you unawakened. And if that doesn't kill you, the spawn rate will bury us before anyone outside even sets foot through the gate. This Rift is Rank B. That means faster spawns, stronger mobs, and enough teeth to strip you to the bone before you can scream."
That was enough to silence him.
Jaemin's gaze swept the group, making sure they all understood.
"You can sit here and wait for death, or follow me, and maybe make it out alive. Your choice."
One of the hopeful women stepped forward immediately.
"I'm going with him."
Another followed, muttering, "Better than rotting here."
The hesitant ones exchanged uneasy glances. Some finally rose, others stayed behind.
While they decided, Jaemin looked for the boy who had been dragged in.
He was huddled a little farther back, small hands pressed over his head, unnoticed by the others in their panic.
Jaemin approached, crouching low and extending his arms, his voice gentler than it had been all day.
"Come on, don't be afraid. It's over."
The boy's trembling hands clutched at him, and he ran straight into Jaemin's embrace.
"M-My grandma! I want my grandma!"
His eyes brimmed with tears he was trying, and failing, to hold back.
"We'll get out first, and then you'll see her again. Alright?"
The boy only nodded, burying his face in Jaemin's shoulder.
"There. No tears. I've got you."
Jaemin lifted him with ease, one arm under the boy's legs, the other steadying his back with light pats.
When he turned, the others were staring at him, their expressions caught somewhere between surprise and pity. Seeing a child in this nightmare was… a different kind of wound.
"Stay close. Don't split up. If something happens, hide and let me handle it."
Without waiting for their answer, Jaemin started walking. Time was against them, any delay here could mean death. Hesitant footsteps followed, though not all of them.
From behind, a woman's voice rang out, sharp and accusing. She had chosen to stay.
"How can you just leave us here? You're a Hunter! Isn't your job to protect people?"
Jaemin stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder.
"My job?" His tone was dry, almost amused. "My job is whatever I decide it is."
His eyes fell to the small boy clutching silently at his chest.
"The only one I'll be saving is him. The rest of you…" His gaze swept over the faces still pressed to the wall. "…if you want to stay here and die, that's your choice."
Without another word, he turned and walked into the thickening fog.
The survivors who chose to follow him exchanged uneasy looks, but in the end, their feet carried them after him. Because even if his words were cold, he was still the only one moving toward a way out.