A day had passed since the dungeon incident.
Min-ho stood outside the hospital, the morning air cool against his skin. His wounds had healed enough to move, and at a glance, he looked fine maybe even stronger than before. But inside, guilt gnawed at him like a poison.
The memories refused to fade. Sung-min's final scream. Min-ji collapsing under the dragon's flames. The first nameless hunter who fell before the battle even began.
If I had been stronger… Min-ho clenched his fists. If I had been strong enough to fight, they would still be alive.
He looked down at his reflection in the hospital's glass doors. His black eyes, sharp yet trembling, stared back at him. He hated what he saw not because of weakness in body, but because of the fear that had chained him during that battle.
Min-ho left the hospital with heavy steps, his mind replaying the battle over and over again like a cursed film reel. The dragon's roar still echoed in his ears. The suffocating heat of the flames still burned against his skin, even though the wounds had already healed.
Every shadow on the street felt like the dragon's claw reaching for him. Every car horn sounded like a dying scream. He tugged his jacket tighter, but no layer of cloth could protect him from the weight pressing down on his chest.
He wasn't just weak he was terrified.
As he walked through the busy streets of Seoul, no one else noticed the storm inside him. People laughed, cars rushed past, life moved on. But for Min-ho, time felt stuck at that moment when Min-ji was burned alive in front of him.
Why couldn't I move? Why was I frozen?
The thought haunted him with every step toward home.
When Min-ho finally reached home, the small apartment was quiet. His mother was already gone for her shift just as he expected. He dropped his bag near the door and stood in silence for a moment, the emptiness pressing down on him.
Heading straight to the bathroom, he turned on the shower. Warm water flowed over his body, washing away the smell of the hospital and the faint traces of smoke he still imagined clinging to his skin. But no matter how long he stood under it, the weight in his chest wouldn't fade.
"I couldn't save them… I didn't even fight properly."
After drying off, he sat on his bed, staring at his hands. They were trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from anger anger at himself.
"Never again. I won't just stand there. I'll become strong enough that no one dies in front of me."
The words echoed in his mind, like an oath carved into stone.
Min-ho sat cross legged on the floor of his small room, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching him. He closed his eyes, forcing his trembling hands to still. For the first time in his life, he tried meditation.
The silence pressed down on him, but inside his mind was chaos the screams of his fallen teammates, the blazing fire of the Red Dragon, Min-ji's last desperate stand.
"If I don't change… if I don't get stronger… I'll just watch more people die."
He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm within. With every breath, he imagined his weakness burning away. With every exhale, he pictured strength taking its place.
It wasn't easy his body was sore, his heart heavy but this was the only way he could begin.
Just as Min-ho tried to steady his mind, a sudden pulse of energy filled the room. His eyes snapped open.
Right there, in the middle of his small apartment, space itself began to twist and ripple. A dark crack appeared, glowing faintly with red and purple light.
"A… dungeon gate? Here?!" Min-ho's heart pounded.
The crack widened until it formed a small gate barely his own height, unlike the massive ones he had seen before. But even so, the ominous energy leaking from it made his skin crawl.
He stumbled to his feet, unsure whether to run or stay. This shouldn't even be possible gates didn't just open inside someone's home.
The dungeon's eerie aura filled the room, whispering like something was calling only to him.
Min-ho's breath grew heavy as memories of the Red Dragon flashed before his eyes—Min-ji's sacrifice, Sung-min's screams, the hunters who never made it out. His whole body trembled.
Every instinct told him to run. To call the authorities. To hide.
But then, another thought cut through the fear.
"If I keep running… if I stay weak… more people will die in front of me."
He clenched his fists. His heartbeat steadied.
Step by step, Min-ho walked toward the shimmering crack. The dungeon's air licked against his skin like fire and ice at once, making his body shiver.
And then—without hesitation—he stepped inside.
The moment Min-ho crossed the gate, his breath caught in his throat.
No walls. No monsters. No sky. No ground.
Just… endless white.
It stretched in every direction, an infinite horizon of nothingness. Even his footsteps made no sound, as if the world itself was swallowing every trace of him.
"This… isn't a normal dungeon," Min-ho muttered under his breath, his voice echoing strangely before vanishing into the void.
He turned, and behind him the gate still shimmered faintly in the whiteness—a reminder that he could step out if he wished. Yet the endless void ahead pulled at him, silent and unnerving, daring him to take another step.
For the first time, he felt true isolation—not from danger, not from enemies, but from the weight of being utterly alone in a world that shouldn't exist.
—End of Chapter 4—
A day had passed since the dungeon incident.
Min-ho stood outside the hospital, the morning air cool against his skin. His wounds had healed enough to move, and at a glance, he looked fine maybe even stronger than before. But inside, guilt gnawed at him like a poison.
The memories refused to fade. Sung-min's final scream. Min-ji collapsing under the dragon's flames. The first nameless hunter who fell before the battle even began.
If I had been stronger… Min-ho clenched his fists. If I had been strong enough to fight, they would still be alive.
He looked down at his reflection in the hospital's glass doors. His black eyes, sharp yet trembling, stared back at him. He hated what he saw not because of weakness in body, but because of the fear that had chained him during that battle.
Min-ho left the hospital with heavy steps, his mind replaying the battle over and over again like a cursed film reel. The dragon's roar still echoed in his ears. The suffocating heat of the flames still burned against his skin, even though the wounds had already healed.
Every shadow on the street felt like the dragon's claw reaching for him. Every car horn sounded like a dying scream. He tugged his jacket tighter, but no layer of cloth could protect him from the weight pressing down on his chest.
He wasn't just weak he was terrified.
As he walked through the busy streets of Seoul, no one else noticed the storm inside him. People laughed, cars rushed past, life moved on. But for Min-ho, time felt stuck at that moment when Min-ji was burned alive in front of him.
Why couldn't I move? Why was I frozen?
The thought haunted him with every step toward home.
When Min-ho finally reached home, the small apartment was quiet. His mother was already gone for her shift just as he expected. He dropped his bag near the door and stood in silence for a moment, the emptiness pressing down on him.
Heading straight to the bathroom, he turned on the shower. Warm water flowed over his body, washing away the smell of the hospital and the faint traces of smoke he still imagined clinging to his skin. But no matter how long he stood under it, the weight in his chest wouldn't fade.
"I couldn't save them… I didn't even fight properly."
After drying off, he sat on his bed, staring at his hands. They were trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from anger anger at himself.
"Never again. I won't just stand there. I'll become strong enough that no one dies in front of me."
The words echoed in his mind, like an oath carved into stone.
Min-ho sat cross legged on the floor of his small room, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching him. He closed his eyes, forcing his trembling hands to still. For the first time in his life, he tried meditation.
The silence pressed down on him, but inside his mind was chaos the screams of his fallen teammates, the blazing fire of the Red Dragon, Min-ji's last desperate stand.
"If I don't change… if I don't get stronger… I'll just watch more people die."
He inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm within. With every breath, he imagined his weakness burning away. With every exhale, he pictured strength taking its place.
It wasn't easy his body was sore, his heart heavy but this was the only way he could begin.
Just as Min-ho tried to steady his mind, a sudden pulse of energy filled the room. His eyes snapped open.
Right there, in the middle of his small apartment, space itself began to twist and ripple. A dark crack appeared, glowing faintly with red and purple light.
"A… dungeon gate? Here?!" Min-ho's heart pounded.
The crack widened until it formed a small gate barely his own height, unlike the massive ones he had seen before. But even so, the ominous energy leaking from it made his skin crawl.
He stumbled to his feet, unsure whether to run or stay. This shouldn't even be possible gates didn't just open inside someone's home.
The dungeon's eerie aura filled the room, whispering like something was calling only to him.
Min-ho's breath grew heavy as memories of the Red Dragon flashed before his eyes—Min-ji's sacrifice, Sung-min's screams, the hunters who never made it out. His whole body trembled.
Every instinct told him to run. To call the authorities. To hide.
But then, another thought cut through the fear.
"If I keep running… if I stay weak… more people will die in front of me."
He clenched his fists. His heartbeat steadied.
Step by step, Min-ho walked toward the shimmering crack. The dungeon's air licked against his skin like fire and ice at once, making his body shiver.
And then—without hesitation—he stepped inside.
The moment Min-ho crossed the gate, his breath caught in his throat.
No walls. No monsters. No sky. No ground.
Just… endless white.
It stretched in every direction, an infinite horizon of nothingness. Even his footsteps made no sound, as if the world itself was swallowing every trace of him.
"This… isn't a normal dungeon," Min-ho muttered under his breath, his voice echoing strangely before vanishing into the void.
He turned, and behind him the gate still shimmered faintly in the whiteness—a reminder that he could step out if he wished. Yet the endless void ahead pulled at him, silent and unnerving, daring him to take another step.
For the first time, he felt true isolation—not from danger, not from enemies, but from the weight of being utterly alone in a world that shouldn't exist.
—End of Chapter 4—