The faint hum of Seoul's morning traffic drifted through the half-open window. Jihoon sat alone in his small apartment, the blinds casting pale stripes of light across the floor.
He hadn't bothered with breakfast; the leftover kimbap from last night still sat untouched on the counter.
It was his birthday.
Not that it mattered.
Birthdays had once meant celebrations, sparring exhibitions, laughter in dojangs filled with clashing bamboo swords.
Now it was just another reminder—of the hand wrapped loosely in white bandages, of the life he had been forced to leave behind.
Jihoon flexed his fingers slowly.
They still moved. The nerves still worked. But the pain was sharp, constant, unpredictable.
A kumdo champion needed perfect grip and precision. His grip had been shattered—not by accident, but by betrayal.
The memory bled into his thoughts like poison.
A match.
A rival.
And friends—his own teammates—whispering to the enemy's coach, arranging a "training accident."
One blow, aimed too precisely, too cruelly, had twisted his hand until it cracked.
The crowd never saw the truth. They only saw a young champion fall.
Jihoon closed his eyes, exhaling a long, heavy breath. He'd never forgive them. Trust was a sword, and his had been broken.
Knock! Knock!
"Uncle!"
The bright, muffled voice jolted him back to the present. A second later, the door rattled with impatient pounding.
He dragged himself to his feet, hiding the bitterness behind a calm expression before opening the door.
His niece, Nari, bounded inside like a whirlwind of energy, her schoolbag slung half-open over her shoulder.
"Happy birthday!" she announced, grinning ear to ear. In her hands was a small box wrapped in cheap but colorful paper.
Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You bought me something?"
"Of course! Don't act surprised. You're old, but you still deserve gifts."
He snorted, taking the box. "Old, huh? I'm 24, not eighty."
"That's ancient," she said matter-of-factly, plopping onto his couch.
Jihoon peeled away the paper carefully. Inside lay a sleek, curved headset with a faint silver sheen—the V-Lens. His brows rose.
"You… bought me this?"
"Not just bought!" Jiyoon puffed her chest proudly. "I saved up, and mom pitched in. Everyone's playing AR: Artificial Reality right now. You know—the new full-dive augmented reality game? Well, sort of full-dive. Not like those VR or anything dangerous. It overlays onto real streets and buildings. They say it feels like fighting in another world, even though you're standing in the middle of Seoul."
Jihoon turned the device over in his hands. It was lighter than he expected, smooth, like polished glass.
"You think I need a video game?" he asked quietly.
Her smile softened. "I think… you need a sword again."
The words struck deeper than she realized. Jihoon stared at the headset for a long moment, then let out a soft chuckle. "You're too smart for your age."
"That's what mom says," she beamed. "Now, try it! Please?"
Jihoon sighed, lowering himself onto the couch. "Fine. But only because you won't stop nagging."
He fitted the V-Lens over his eyes. A faint chime echoed in his ears, followed by a rush of digital static.
[SYSTEM BOOTING…]
Neural link established.
Calibration complete.
A soft chime echoed in his mind, followed by a cold but clear voice.
Welcome, Player.
You are now entering: Artificial Reality.
Then the world changed.
His apartment dissolved into glowing fragments, replaced by a wide plaza.
The floor beneath him stretched into gray stone tiles. The window became an archway opening into a vast, medieval city. Neon advertisements from the real Seoul hovered faintly like ghosts in the sky, reminders of the overlay.
Jihoon's breath caught. His injured hand clenched instinctively—and a weight filled it. He looked down.
A sword.
It gleamed, translucent yet solid, light bending along its blade. His grip was firm, steady, painless. He raised it slowly, marveling at how natural it felt.
The ground shook.
A guttural growl echoed across the plaza. A small goblin-like creature, no taller than his knees, clawed its way out of a glowing fissure in the stone. Its skin shimmered green, its teeth jagged.
Jihoon took a step back, instincts stirring. The goblin lunged.
His body moved before thought. Sword angled low, step sideways, pivot.
The goblin's claws sliced through empty air. Jihoon swung, the blade cutting clean across its torso. The creature screamed, flickering into shards of light before vanishing.
A soft chime rang in his ears.
[You have defeated a Lesser Goblin. +20 XP.]
Jihoon stood frozen for a moment. Then a laugh escaped him, short and disbelieving.
He tightened his grip on the sword. No pain. No trembling. Only power flowing through his stance, the way it had in the dojang years ago.
"Uncle?" Jiyoon's voice cut through faintly from the real world. She must've been watching through her phone's synced display.
He exhaled slowly. "I can still fight."
**
Later, when he re-entered the system, a faint screen flickered across his vision.
[Player: Jihoon]
Status: Beginner
Level: 1
XP: 20/50
Title: None
Jihoon sat at his desk, scrolling through the AR interface hovering in his vision. A translucent leaderboard floated above his apartment floor.
[Newcomer Ranking – Seoul District]
#Player : Jihoon - 20xp, unranked
He chuckled dryly.
As he examined the menus, a faint static ripple flickered across the HUD. For a moment, the words distorted—symbols he didn't recognize flashing across the interface before vanishing.
His brows furrowed. "Glitch?"
But the system returned to normal. He dismissed it with a shake of his head.
Jihoon leaned back, staring at his hand again. He remembered the laughter of his so-called teammates, the sly looks exchange . The betrayal.
No more teams.
No more trust.
This world—this game—was his alone.
He clenched the virtual sword at his side, eyes narrowing with renewed resolve.
If AR was going to give him back what he had lost, then he would carve his path alone.
No matter the cost.