The void collapsed and stretched, folding into a battlefield that seemed infinite.
Mountains, rooftops, abandoned cities, underground arenas—landscapes shifted and bled into each other like dreams colliding. This was not a world of peace. It was a graveyard for the weak.
Jinwoo stood alone, staring into the endless horizon. His sharp eyes reflected neither fear nor hesitation.
"So this is the place where you want me to suffer, God?"
The divine voice echoed like rolling thunder:
"This capsule bends time. What feels like decades to you will be but a minute outside. You wished to learn what your past life denied you—battle, survival, blood. This is where you shall earn it."
A cruel smirk cut across Jinwoo's lips.
"Good. If I die here, then it means I was never worthy to begin with."
The air shifted. And then the storm of war began.
---
The Assassins of the Order
The first shadow came like a cannon.
Sakamoto Taro—a man built like a mountain, but moving faster than bullets. His fists slammed into Jinwoo's chest, bones cracking like dry branches. The air was ripped apart with every swing.
"Too stiff," Sakamoto muttered coldly as Jinwoo coughed blood. "With that rigidity, you'll die before you can land a strike."
And die he did—hundreds of times. Each spar ended with Jinwoo's skull crushed, his ribs shattered, his body a mangled heap. But each time, the capsule's cruel mercy revived him. And each time, he adapted.
Weeks turned to months. His feet learned to step in anticipation of Sakamoto's blur. His muscles learned to brace before impact. His vision sharpened, catching the faint twitch of a shoulder before the punch followed.
The day came when Jinwoo's trembling arm rose and deflected a punch that would have caved his skull. For the first time, Sakamoto's eyes widened.
"…Not bad, kid."
---
Then came the fox-like grin of Nagumo Kyohei. His movements were unpredictable, his tricks endless. One moment he was in front of Jinwoo, the next behind, striking with a blade that appeared from nowhere.
"You can't read me?" Nagumo sneered. "Then you're already dead."
Every day, Jinwoo fell for traps—poison in his drink, wires across doorways, fake smiles hiding sudden stabs. But slowly, his mind sharpened. He began to predict lies, feel the weight of footsteps, sense the shift in air.
Nagumo's grin grew sharper. "Oh? You've started to see the shadows between my words. Good. Adapt, or be forgotten."
---
The blade of death came next. Yoichi Yotsumura, his katana gleaming with quiet precision. His strikes were perfect—one cut, one kill.
"You hesitate," Yoichi said coldly as Jinwoo collapsed again and again, his throat opened, his chest split. "And hesitation is weakness."
For years, Jinwoo trained under Yoichi's merciless cuts. His grip tightened, his guard hardened, his reactions sharpened until his sword could rise with instinct alone. He learned to step where no blade could reach, to swing where no guard could block.
The day he finally parried Yoichi's killing slash, the stoic swordsman gave a rare nod. "Your hesitation is gone. Now you are a blade."
---
Rion was next—graceful, deadly, every motion like a dancer's step. She cut through Jinwoo not with brute force, but with elegance, speed, and deception.
"You're too rigid," she said, smiling as her blade slid past his guard and into his chest. "Strength means nothing without flow."
Rion broke his reliance on raw force. She taught him to weave like water, to turn defense into offense, to become unpredictable yet controlled. He bled a thousand times under her graceful assaults, but rose each time, until his own movements began to mirror hers—fluid, effortless, merciless.
---
Then came the genius of cruelty—Kei Uzuki. Unlike the others, Kei never fought Jinwoo directly at first. Instead, he trapped him. Ambushes in alleys, assassins waiting in the dark, poisoned meals, collapsing buildings.
"This is reality," Kei whispered with a smile as Jinwoo gasped for air under rubble. "Skill is worthless without the mind to wield it."
Kei broke Jinwoo's arrogance. Every weakness was exposed, every misstep punished. But Jinwoo endured, adapting to Kei's endless psychological games. He learned to see traps before they were sprung, to manipulate the battlefield, to weaponize every environment.
When Jinwoo finally turned one of Kei's ambushes against him, forcing the genius into a corner, Kei laughed cruelly. "Excellent. You've learned the most important skill—how to be a monster."
---
And finally came madness itself.
Takamura.
The drunken swordsman's blade carved through Jinwoo in a frenzy of chaos. No rhythm. No pattern. Just death in every wild swing.
Jinwoo screamed, bled, died a hundred times. Nothing worked. Logic failed. Precision failed. Takamura's style was insanity given form.
But slowly, through the endless bloodshed, Jinwoo's instincts bent. His body stopped fighting Takamura with logic and began fighting with madness. His strikes grew erratic, his counters unpredictable. He abandoned rhythm, flowing with insanity.
One day, Jinwoo's blade met Takamura's mid-swing. The drunken master froze, then threw his head back in laughter.
"Hah! You finally get it! True swordsmanship is chaos mastered!"
---
The Killers of Castle
When Jinwoo's body was already hardened, the monsters of Castle arrived.
Kim Shin's relentless fists shattered him day after day until Jinwoo's bones hardened like steel.
Sarokoa's sadism forced him to endure torture without breaking.
Ryu Jihak hunted him across endless forests, sharpening his instincts to those of a predator.
Baek Do Chan manipulated him into traps, forcing Jinwoo to counter schemes with schemes.
Ma Haekyoung's brute strength broke him until his body was conditioned to withstand impossible blows.
---
The Shadows of Gotham
From Seoul's gangs to Gotham's shadows, the training grew harsher.
Batman taught discipline, turning Jinwoo's movements flawless and efficient.
Deathstroke carved him apart with merciless tactics, showing him the cruelty of efficiency.
Lady Shiva demanded perfection—no wasted motion, no hesitation.
Green Arrow's arrows rained from afar, forcing Jinwoo to sharpen his timing under death's pressure.
---
The Hunters of Marvel
And then came hunters from another world.
Captain America tested his willpower and tactics, forcing Jinwoo to endure until he could fight with unbreakable spirit.
Black Widow broke him in close combat, teaching him joint locks, reversals, and submission holds until he could counter her every move.
Kraven the Hunter unleashed wild hunts, forcing Jinwoo to survive with nothing but instinct.
And then the invisible assassin came—Ghost Master.
Ghost Master killed Jinwoo more than anyone else. Stabbed in the dark, poisoned in silence, suffocated in shadows. Again and again. Until Jinwoo learned the art of stillness, of silence, of becoming a ghost himself.
When Jinwoo finally slit Ghost Master's throat in silence, the assassin only whispered as he vanished:
"Now… you are unseen."
---
The Emperor Forged
Decades passed inside the capsule.
Jinwoo's once-cold businessman's gaze was gone, replaced by the calm of a predator. His blade flowed with Takamura's chaos, his stance with Yoichi's precision, his mind with Kei's brilliance, his body with Kim Shin's durability, his silence with Ghost Master's shadow.
The masters all stood before him one last time.
Sakamoto crossed his arms. "You're no longer a child of business. You're a warrior."
Batman's voice was firm. "You've surpassed what mortals should be capable of."
Ghost Master's whisper echoed from the dark. "You are ready to rule the world of shadows."
Jinwoo clenched his fists. Every scar, every lesson, every death was carved into his soul.
"No," he said, his voice cold as steel. "Not rule the shadows. I'll rule the world. This is only the beginning."
The capsule shattered. God's light returned.
"Decades for you," God said, "but outside, only a single minute has passed. You are prepared."
Jinwoo's cruel smirk cut through the light.
"Good. Send me. My empire begins now."
And the world swallowed him whole.
---