The apartment was quiet after Hana left, the click of the lock fading into stillness. I sat at the table long after the eggs had gone cold, staring at my half-empty plate.
Every muscle in my body throbbed. My thighs burned just sitting down, my arms felt like lead, and my lungs still carried the echo of last night's run. It was worse than any dungeon crawl I'd ever done, and I hadn't even fought a monster. Just myself.
I leaned back, pressing a hand over my face. "This is insane."
The System had demanded a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups, a hundred squats, ten kilometers, and something called mana breathing—all in one day. And the kicker? A twenty-four-hour time limit with the promise of a penalty zone if I failed.
Penalty zone. Even thinking the words made my stomach twist.
I'd survived a dungeon that should've killed me. I'd been stabbed through the chest and dragged back to life against all logic. I should've been grateful—thrilled, even—that I'd been given a second chance. But instead, I was staring at invisible notifications that treated my body like a training regimen.
Could I even keep this up? A hundred of everything, every single day? My body wasn't built for this. I wasn't a frontline fighter—I was a researcher, a support. My strengths had always been knowledge, analysis, utility. Not brute stamina. Not endless grind.
I rubbed at my sore legs. If last night was just the beginning, then what came next? What if the penalties got worse? What if I slipped once, just once, and the System punished me the same way it had threatened to?
And yet… I couldn't ignore it.
The small stat boost I'd chosen—three points into stamina—was real. My body still hurt, but underneath the soreness, there was a steadiness I hadn't felt before. Like my lungs were stronger, my balance firmer. If I'd pushed through without that boost, I wasn't sure I'd even be able to stand this morning.
I exhaled slowly, dragging myself to my feet. The dishes clinked as I carried them to the sink, the ordinary sound clashing with the weight of everything else in my head. Hana's teasing, her chatter about school, the way she'd giggled about Dr. Min—it was all so normal.
And maybe that was the cruelest part. Because I couldn't live normally anymore. Not with the System tethered to me, watching, waiting.
I leaned on the counter, eyes slipping shut. "Can I really keep up with this?" I whispered into the empty room.
At the edge of my vision, the faint green shimmer of a new notification pulsed, patient and insistent.
I shut my eyes, inhaled once, then said softly:
"Status open."
The air shifted.
---
[Name: Freya Seo-Hallrún]
Class: Celestial Druid (Unassigned Summoner)
Role: Keeper of the Balance
Level: 1
Stats
Strength: 11
Agility: 10
Stamina: 22 (+3)
Intelligence: 14
Sense: 15
Unassigned Stat Points: 0
---
My stomach flipped. It was real. Tangible. Numbers assigned to me like I was nothing more than a game character.
Before I could process the details, another window unfurled.
---
[Daily Quest: Prepare the Vessel]
Time Limit: 24 Hours
Objectives:
100 Push-ups
100 Sit-ups
100 Squats
Run/Walk 10 Kilometers
30 Minutes of Mana Breathing
Rewards:
+3 Stat Points
+1 Random Loot Box
+1 Status Recovery
Failure Penalty:
Penalty Zone
---
The same as yesterday. Relentless. No rest day.
My hands trembled. If this was going to repeat every morning, then my body would either break… or change. The thought chilled me.
But then I remembered Dr. Min's words, spoken with that sharp, no-nonsense certainty: Don't mistake recovery for invincibility.
Maybe she was right. Maybe this was the only way I wouldn't collapse again when the gates demanded more of me.
I straightened slowly, ignoring the soreness, and whispered, "Alright. Then let's see how far I can go."
I started with push-ups.
The first one was agony. My arms shook under my weight, the soreness from yesterday's hundred still raw. By the fifteenth, my elbows wobbled. Sweat dripped onto the floor, and every nerve screamed at me to stop.
At twenty-five, I collapsed flat, chest pressed to the floor. My breath came ragged, harsh in the quiet apartment.
But the quest counter in the corner of my vision ticked mercilessly: 25/100.
"Damn it," I muttered, forcing myself back up.
It wasn't strength anymore—it was stubbornness. Ten at a time, then collapsing. Ten more, then collapsing again. By the ninetieth, my arms had gone numb. The hundredth left me trembling so hard I barely rolled onto my back for sit-ups.
If push-ups were fire, sit-ups were knives. My abs burned with every pull, my bruised ribs protesting louder each time. I dug my nails into the floorboards for leverage, gritting my teeth. I couldn't even keep count properly—my vision blurred too often. But the counter did it for me, ticking upward one by one.
By ninety, I wanted to vomit. By one hundred, I lay flat, gasping for air like I'd just fought a boss monster.
I dragged myself upright for squats. My thighs felt like sandbags, every motion stiff and painful. At fifty, my knees buckled and I caught myself on the edge of the bed. At eighty, I nearly fell. At a hundred, I collapsed onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling with blurry eyes.
And I still had ten kilometers to go.
I sat there, drenched in sweat, staring at the window as if it might take pity on me. It didn't. The objectives still glowed, waiting.
"I'll just walk it," I whispered, dragging myself upright. Running was impossible, but maybe walking would count.
I laced my shoes again and slipped outside. The streets were busier in the morning, but I ignored the looks from strangers as I forced my body forward, step by step. Every block felt like a mile. By the third kilometer, my legs were jelly. By the seventh, I was leaning on lampposts. But the counter climbed, one number at a time, until finally—finally—10/10 km blinked complete.
I staggered home, collapsing on the floor. Only one thing left: mana breathing.
I sat cross-legged, hands resting on my knees. Closing my eyes, I drew in a slow breath, focusing on the knot in my chest. It pulsed in time with my inhale, heat spreading through my veins. My exhale smoothed the pain, just slightly, like water poured over burning coals.
[Mana Breathing Progress: 3%... 14%... 29%...]
The glow rose steadily until the counter hit thirty minutes. Then the window blinked.
[Daily Quest Complete.]
Rewards Available.
---
I slumped sideways, too tired to even celebrate. My body throbbed with pain, but beneath it, there was a strange… steadiness. Like my core had strengthened, even if the rest of me felt like I'd been run over.
I dragged myself into bed, half-conscious. Tomorrow it would come again. The same quest. The same grind.
I wasn't sure how long I could keep this up.
The glowing text hung in the air above me as I lay sprawled across the bed, every joint screaming.
---
[Daily Quest Complete.]
Reward options available:
+3 Stat Points
+1 Random Loot Box
+1 Status Recovery
---
Yesterday I'd picked the stat points, desperate to make the burn less brutal. It had helped—barely—but I was still half-dead from another round of squats, push-ups, and that damned run. And unlike yesterday, I didn't have the luxury of collapsing the entire evening.
The apartment wasn't going to clean itself. Dinner wouldn't magically cook, no matter how much Hana pretended instant ramen counted as a meal.
I exhaled sharply and tapped the last option.
"Status Recovery."
---
[Status Recovery Activated.]
A soft warmth spread through me, flooding my limbs in a slow wave. The ache in my thighs loosened. The burn in my shoulders faded. The stabbing pull in my ribs eased into nothing more than a faint throb. By the time the glow ebbed away, I sat up straight, blinking in disbelief.
I didn't feel fresh, exactly, but compared to five minutes ago, I was a different person. My body didn't scream at me anymore. It almost felt… normal.
---
I swung my legs off the bed and stood without groaning. That alone felt like a miracle.
Hana would be home in a few hours, tired and hungry, expecting me to act like nothing had changed. If she saw me staggering around like an old woman again, she'd never let me hear the end of it. Worse—she'd threaten to tell Dr. Min.
I stretched my arms, flexed my fingers. Normal. Manageable.
"Alright," I muttered, pushing myself toward the kitchen. "Dinner first. Then cleaning."
The System window faded from view, leaving me with my own thoughts.
The refrigerator door creaked open, releasing a faint chill. I stared inside at the near-empty shelves. A lonely bottle of soy sauce, a half-empty carton of milk, and a single withered apple sat in the corner like survivors of a forgotten war.
I sighed, shutting the door. "Great. Nothing."
The thought of eating instant noodles again made my stomach turn. Hana might live on them happily, but I wasn't about to let her grow up thinking that counted as a balanced diet. I grabbed my jacket and the worn canvas bag by the door.
The air outside was warm, touched by the faint smell of grilled food from a street vendor setting up shop at the corner. I pulled my jacket tighter around me anyway, more out of habit than cold, and started the walk down to the market. The evening rush was already spilling into the streets—students in uniforms laughing with arms full of snacks, salarymen shuffling toward home with weary faces, mothers tugging children past storefronts.
The market itself was bustling, the chatter of vendors weaving together into a low hum. I grabbed a basket near the entrance and let my steps slow as I passed each aisle. What to make tonight? Hana would expect something better than noodles after all the groceries I'd lugged home.
Something simple, I decided. Something filling. A chicken and vegetable stir-fry. Rice on the side. Nothing fancy, but warm enough to count as home-cooked.
I cut down the fresh produce aisle first, weaving past a family debating over bundles of spinach. My hand hovered over the broccoli when someone else's reached for it at the same time.
I looked up.
"Freya Seo-Hallrún," came the familiar, even voice.
Dr. Min stood there, her white coat traded for a dark blouse and slacks, her hair tied up neatly, glasses perched low on her nose. Off the clock, she looked less severe—still sharp, still disciplined, but softened by the casual wear.
"Doctor Min," I said automatically, blinking.
Her mouth quirked. "I'm off the clock, so it's just Rhea."
I blinked again, trying not to feel awkward as we both reached for separate bundles of vegetables. "Right. Rhea, then."
Before I could think of something else to say, another voice chimed in.
"There you are! I told you the carrots looked fresher on this side."
A woman about the same age as Rhea approached, wearing a nurse's uniform half-covered by a cardigan. She had short, neat hair and a playful smile. Her gaze flicked between me and Rhea before she raised a brow.
"And who's this?"
Rhea answered calmly, "One of my patients. Freya Seo-Hallrún, this is Ara Kim, a colleague of mine."
Ara's smile widened as she held out her hand. "Colleague? Don't let her fool you—I'm her favorite work friend. Nice to meet you."
I hesitated, then shook her hand. "Freya."
Ara's eyes glinted, sharp with humor. "Ahh, so you're the one who made our ice queen stay late last night, hmm?"
I coughed, looking away. "I didn't—"
Rhea cut in smoothly. "Ara." Her tone held a warning edge.
Ara just laughed, picking up a bundle of green onions. "Relax. I'm teasing." She leaned toward me with a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't mind her—she doesn't know how to relax unless someone makes her."
"Enough," Rhea said, but there was no real heat behind it.
I clutched the broccoli in my basket and nodded awkwardly. "Well, I should finish up. My sister should be home soon and I still need to cook dinner."
"Oh? May I ask what you plan to make? Nothing too hearty, I hope?" Rhea asked suddenly, glancing at my basket.
I blinked. "…No, nothing like that. It's just chicken-stir fry."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Good choice. Simple, but balanced."
Ara elbowed her lightly. "Look at you, giving cooking approval. Next you'll be writing recipes."
Rhea ignored her. I mumbled a quick goodbye and turned down the aisle quickly, eager to put distance between myself and the two women who suddenly made the vegetable section feel too small. My pulse still hadn't settled by the time their voices faded.
Behind me, I could still hear Ara chuckling and Rhea's low murmur in reply.
---
Ara watched Freya disappear around the corner of the aisle, her braid swaying lightly as she walked away with her basket. The mischievous smile that had been tugging at Ara's lips finally bloomed into a full grin.
"Well, well," she murmured, tossing the green onions into her basket. "Our good doctor actually smiled at a patient. What is the world coming to?"
Rhea gave her a flat look, reaching for carrots. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Ara leaned an elbow on the cart, eyes gleaming. "The great Dr. Min Seo-jin, who never softens for anyone, suddenly approves of chicken stir-fry and tells a girl to call her Rhea. That's not imagination, that's history in the making."
Rhea's lips pressed into a thin line. "Don't start."
Ara chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm not starting, I'm observing. There's a difference. And what I observed was a young hunter who couldn't take her eyes off you."
"She's barely out of the hospital," Rhea said curtly. "Her vitals are still unstable. That's all."
Ara smirked. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. But you don't linger on a resonance scan for hours because a patient's vitals are unstable. You linger because something about them… unsettles you."
Rhea picked up a bag of spinach with more force than necessary. "Drop it."
Ara raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin never fading. "Fine. But between you and me, I like her. She's got that quiet, stubborn look, like she'd rather bite her tongue off than admit weakness. Reminds me of someone else I know."
Rhea gave her a sidelong glance. Ara only whistled innocently and pushed the cart forward, clearly satisfied she'd gotten under her friend's skin.
---
I kept my head down as I moved further into the produce section, clutching the broccoli like it was a lifeline. My pulse still hadn't settled from bumping into Dr. Min—no, Rhea. Off the clock, she'd said. Just Rhea.
Why did that feel heavier than anything she'd said to me in the hospital?
I shook the thought off and focused on my basket. Onions, carrots, a bundle of bok choy. The weight grew steadily as I made my way through the aisles, picking up soy sauce, a bottle of sesame oil, a pack of chicken thighs. By the time I reached the rice section, the basket was digging into my arm.
What was wrong with me, anyway? She was my doctor. She was supposed to be stern, distant, professional. Not… someone who made me forget what I was doing in the middle of the vegetable aisle.
I huffed, muttering under my breath, "Chicken stir-fry. That's all. Focus on dinner."
Still, the words she'd said lingered: Good choice. Simple, but balanced.
Balanced. The same word the System had used. The same word that had been hanging over me since that night in the dungeon.
I adjusted the basket and moved toward the checkout, trying to push the thought away. Ordinary. Dinner. Hana. That was what mattered right now.
The cashier rang me up quickly, and I slipped back into the cool evening air, groceries in hand. The chatter of the market faded behind me as I made the walk home, forcing myself not to think about sharp eyes behind glasses or Ara's knowing smile.
For now, it was just dinner. Ordinary life. And I was going to hold onto it as long as I could.
By the time I pushed open the apartment door, my arms ached from the weight of the groceries. Hana's voice floated out from the living room before I'd even set the bags down.
"You actually went shopping?!" she called, her tone half-disbelief, half-teasing.
I dropped the bags onto the counter with a sigh. "Yes, believe it or not, I am capable of more than instant noodles."
Hana padded in, still in her uniform, phone in hand. She peeked into the grocery bag, eyes widening. "Fresh vegetables? Chicken?Jasmine rice? Who are you and what have you done with my søster?"
"Go change out of your uniform and set the table," I muttered, rolling up my sleeves. "I'll start dinner."
She lingered a moment, eyes narrowing mischievously. "You're blushing. Did something happen at the market?"
My shoulders stiffened. "No."
"Ohhh." She leaned in, grin widening. "You totally bumped into someone. Was it Dr. Min?"
I froze mid-chop, the knife pressing into the onion. Hana gasped. "It was! You're turning red! Syrra, you've got it bad."
I shot her a glare. "Don't you have homework to do?"
She only giggled, dancing out of reach before I could swat her with the dish towel. "Fine, fine. I'll set the table. But you're telling me later if she smiled at you."
I shook my head and focused on the onion, chopping it more forcefully than necessary. The scent stung my eyes, but it wasn't just the onion making them water.
By the time Hana returned, the chicken and vegetables were sizzling in the pan, the air filling with the savory scent of soy sauce and garlic. She flopped into a chair, chin propped in her hands, watching me work.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "if you keep cooking like this, Dr. Min really will want to marry you."
"Start your homework before you annoy me and I make you cook next time," I grumbled, but the warmth in her laughter softened the edges of the day.
For a while, it was just us—the sound of sizzling in the pan, the steam curling upward, Hana's chatter blending with the clink of plates. Ordinary. Comforting.
And beneath it all, I could almost forget the System's glow waiting for me in the corner of my vision. Almost.