Pain.
That was the first thing Seo-joon felt as he drifted back into consciousness. A sharp, gnawing pain in his ribs, his face swollen, his stomach twisted into knots. He groaned, opening his eyes to the dim light of morning. His body lay sprawled in the mud beside a wooden shack, the spot where the thugs had left him like garbage.
His lips were dry. His stomach growled painfully. He tried to move, but every muscle screamed in protest.
"Damn it…" he croaked, clutching his side.
The people of the slums walked past him without a glance. A beggar lying half-dead on the ground was nothing unusual here. He wasn't special. He was just another hungry mouth.
Seo-joon dragged himself upright, using the shack wall for support. His vision blurred as he stumbled down the narrow dirt path between huts. The smell of smoke, sweat, and waste filled his nose. Chickens squawked. Children laughed as they kicked a ragged ball of cloth past him, ignoring the bleeding man clutching his ribs.
He wanted to scream at them, to demand an explanation, but his throat was too dry. His stomach growled louder, stabbing him with hunger pangs. He hadn't eaten since… when? The night of the accident? Maybe longer.
Water, he thought desperately. I need water.
He followed the sound of trickling until he found a shallow ditch where people scooped brownish water into gourds. The stench made him gag, but thirst overpowered disgust. He cupped his hands, dipped them into the murky stream, and drank.
The water was warm, bitter, filled with grit. But it was enough to soothe his throat, at least for a moment.
Seo-joon staggered back, wiping his mouth. His head throbbed. His body ached. He wanted to believe this was just a dream, but every sip, every bruise, every ache told him otherwise.
"This isn't real… it can't be real," he whispered. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were lies.
Days blurred together. He slept where he could—under broken roofs, beneath wagons, in alleys that smelled of piss. Hunger gnawed at him constantly. Sometimes he found scraps of rice left behind by others, but it was never enough.
The thugs came by once, sneering at him, but decided he wasn't worth the effort. He was nothing, just another stray.
By the third day, Seo-joon could barely stand. His legs shook as he wandered out of the slums. The sky grew dark with storm clouds, thunder rumbling in the distance. Rain began to fall, cold and relentless.
He stumbled toward the foothills beyond the shacks, searching for shelter. His body felt like it would collapse at any second. Then, through the curtain of rain, he spotted it—a dark opening in the hillside. A cave.
Seo-joon dragged himself inside, collapsing against the damp stone floor. The rain hammered outside, echoing faintly through the cave mouth. He curled into himself, shivering. His stomach growled again, louder than before, like some cruel reminder.
"Why me?" His voice cracked. "Why the hell me?"
He slammed his fist weakly against the dirt, tears stinging his eyes. He had been a failure in his world, and now he was nothing in this one. Not even a person—just an animal, crawling in the mud.
He struck the ground again. Pain shot up his hand as his knuckles scraped something hard buried beneath the soil.
"Hah… great. Even the ground's laughing at me."
But then, curiosity overpowered despair. He pushed himself up weakly and brushed away the dirt. His fingers traced something metallic, cold even in the damp soil.
"What…?"
Driven by instinct, he dug furiously. Pain shot through his ribs, his nails filled with mud, but he kept clawing. Dirt piled around him until finally, with a grunt, he unearthed it—a round object with a handle.
A pot.
Seo-joon blinked in disbelief. It wasn't some rusty iron pan. It was stainless steel, gleaming even in the dim light of the cave, as though it didn't belong in this world. On the bottom, faint etchings were carved in old Korean script.
"'Add one, get two… and you'll find what you're looking for,'" Seo-joon read aloud slowly, squinting to make out the faded characters.
He frowned. The letters were strange, old-fashioned, but still readable enough. His mind buzzed.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?"
He turned the pot over in his hands. It looked… ordinary. Too ordinary, in fact. Like something straight from his mother's kitchen back in Seoul.
Thunder rumbled outside. Seo-joon sat back against the cave wall, the pot resting in his lap. He laughed bitterly. "Great. I'm starving to death, and the universe gives me a cooking pot. Real funny."
His stomach growled again. He glanced at the pot.
Add one, get two.
The words itched at the back of his mind. He looked around the cave, then picked up a small twig from the ground.
"…what do I have to lose?"
He dropped the twig into the pot.
A faint glow shimmered inside. Seo-joon blinked, leaning closer. Before his eyes, another twig appeared—identical, perfectly copied.
The pot now held two.
Seo-joon froze. His heart skipped a beat.
"No way," he whispered.
His hands shook as he picked up both twigs. They were solid. Real. He dropped one again. The pot glowed, and once more—two.
His breath quickened. He laughed, a choked, disbelieving laugh. "This… this is impossible."
But there it was. The proof.
Seo-joon stared at the pot, his mind racing.
If it worked with twigs, what about food? What about coins? What about… anything?
The possibilities flooded his thoughts, dizzying him. He could eat. He could survive. He could thrive.
For the first time since arriving in this nightmare, a spark lit in his chest—hope.
Seo-joon clutched the pot tightly, his lips trembling. "This… this is it. My way out. My chance."
Thunder boomed outside, but it no longer sounded so menacing. His tears now were not of despair, but of something new—determination.
Seo-joon wiped his face, grinning through the pain.
He didn't know why this pot had come to him. He didn't know if it was fate, a gift, or a curse. But he knew one thing for certain.
He was going to use it.
He was going to climb out of this hellhole, no matter what it took.
And with this pot in his hands, he swore he would rise higher than anyone in this strange world had ever dreamed.