The first thing Takahiro Kurogane became aware of was the sound.
A steady, rhythmic beeping, faint but insistent, like a metronome marking the passage of time.
The second was the smell — antiseptic, sharp and clean, the scent of a place where life and death brushed shoulders every day.
He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above him was white, the light overhead muted by a thin plastic cover. For a moment, he didn't move. His body felt heavy, as though gravity had doubled.
Then the memories came.
The stone chamber.
The statues.
The music.
Jin‑Woo's voice, ragged and defiant: Together.
His own answer: Always.
The world freezing. The golden codex opening before him. The voice that had spoken without sound.
Takahiro turned his head.
In the bed beside him, Sung Jin‑Woo lay still, his face pale. An IV line trailed from his arm to a bag of clear fluid. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
Takahiro's gaze dropped to his own hands. They looked the same — pale, calloused from training — but he could still see them wrapped in golden light, the runes spiraling around his fingers.
A groan broke the silence. Jin‑Woo stirred, his eyes fluttering open.
"You're awake," Takahiro said quietly.
Jin‑Woo turned his head, wincing. "We… made it?"
Takahiro's lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Somehow."
Jin‑Woo's eyes unfocused for a moment, as if looking at something Takahiro couldn't see. His lips moved slightly, reading words that weren't there for anyone else.
"You see it too," Takahiro said.
Jin‑Woo hesitated. "…Blue window. It's giving me… quests?"
Takahiro exhaled slowly. "Mine's different. Golden. A book made of light. It's… talking to me."
They fell silent, the weight of what had happened pressing down on them.
The curtain rattled as it was pulled aside.
Lee Joo‑Hee stepped in, her eyes widening when she saw them both awake. "You're—! Oh, thank God…" She hurried to Jin‑Woo's side, checking his vitals with trembling hands. "You were both… we thought—" Her voice broke.
Song Chi‑Yul followed her in, his expression a mixture of relief and disbelief. "You're lucky to be alive. I've never seen anyone take that kind of beating and wake up again."
Kim Sang‑Shik lingered in the doorway, guilt written across his face. "If it weren't for you two staying behind…" He trailed off, unable to finish.
Takahiro forced a small smile. "We made a promise."
Song studied them both for a long moment. "Rest. You'll need it. The Association will want statements, but for now… just breathe."
They left, the curtain swaying shut behind them.
The room was quiet again.
Jin‑Woo sat up slowly, his eyes narrowing. "It's still here. The window. It says… 'Daily Quests.'"
Takahiro leaned back against his pillow. "Mine's giving me something called 'Prime Directives.' First one says: Rewrite a single law of reality for sixty seconds."
Jin‑Woo stared at him. "…That's insane."
"Feels insane," Takahiro admitted. "But it's real. Whatever happened in that dungeon… it wasn't just survival."
Jin‑Woo's gaze hardened. "Then we keep this between us. No one else can know. Not yet."
Takahiro nodded. "Agreed. We figure it out first. Together."
That night, long after the ward had gone quiet, Takahiro lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the statues again — the moment the world froze, the golden codex opening before him, the voice that had spoken without sound.
[Directive One Complete: Survival Achieved]
[Directive Two Pending: Synchronize with the Monarch's System]
He turned his head. Jin‑Woo was asleep, his breathing steady. But even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, as if the weight of his own system pressed on him too.
Takahiro closed his eyes again.
Whatever these powers were, they had been given for a reason.
And he had the feeling that reason was coming for them sooner than either of them was ready for.
The next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the blinds. Jin‑Woo was already awake, sitting up in bed.
"It's making me do push‑ups," he said flatly.
Takahiro blinked. "…What?"
"Daily Quest. If I don't do it, there's a penalty."
Takahiro frowned. "What kind of penalty?"
Jin‑Woo's expression darkened. "I don't want to find out."
Takahiro's own codex had been silent until now. Then, without warning, golden runes flared into view.
[Prime Directive: Assist the Monarch's Growth]
[Sub‑Directive: Alter environmental variables to increase challenge efficiency by 15%]
He stared at the words. "It wants me to… make things harder for you?"
Jin‑Woo gave him a look. "That's messed up."
"Not harder to kill you," Takahiro clarified. "Harder to make you stronger. It's… like it's trying to speed up your training."
Jin‑Woo considered that. "Then maybe it's on our side."
"Or it's playing a longer game," Takahiro said quietly.
By the time the nurse came in with their breakfast, Jin‑Woo had already finished his push‑ups and squats, muttering under his breath about the absurdity of doing calisthenics in a hospital gown.
Takahiro watched him, the codex's runes flickering faintly in his peripheral vision. He could feel the system's quiet hum, like a second heartbeat.
Whatever this was, it had bound them together in ways neither of them fully understood.
And somewhere, deep in the golden light of the codex, a new line of text appeared:
[Synchronization: 3%]