The silence in the infirmary was heavier than the noise that had preceded it. Dr. Ian was staring at the heart monitor as if it were a glitch in the matrix, while the school doctor had backed into a corner, his face as white as his lab coat.
Choyun—the new Choyun—lay on the thin mattress. My lungs burned with every intake of oxygen, and my mind was a chaotic storm of two lives clashing together. I remembered the cold pavement of New Delhi, the smell of rain on asphalt, and the screech of tires. Then, like a secondary film overlaying my vision, I saw the face of Myeonghoo and the feeling of this body's heart stopping in a dark school corridor.
"Choyun? Choyun-ah!"
A pair of arms wrapped around me with such desperation that I felt my bruised ribs protest. The scent of floral perfume and salt from tears filled my senses. His mother. She was shaking, her sobs racking her small frame as she buried her face in my neck, clutching me as if I might evaporate if she let go.
I felt a surge of discomfort. In India, as Arya, I hadn't been a "huggy" type. I was a guy who kept his circle small and his emotions tucked away. But as I felt this woman's tears soaking into the hospital gown, a strange, phantom ache pulled at my heart. This wasn't my mother, yet the body I was in recognized her warmth.
The old Choyun was cold because he didn't know how to be human.
But I wasn't like him , I used to be kind atleast to peoples I talk but I know I need to change that mindset of mine
In this world, being good is a luxury.
I've seen how it ends for people like that—Seongji Yuk, Jichang Kwak… good people who met terrible endings. This world doesn't reward kindness. It rewards strength. And only the lucky few—the so-called protagonists—get to survive without paying the price.
I don't have that kind of luck.
So in this life, I'll do whatever it takes to become strong. Not for glory or pride.
But to protect the only family I have left and to survive and conquer this cruel world .
I still have memories of my mother… and it's strange. After living as an orphan for so long, having a mother again feels unfamiliar—almost unreal.
But I suppose that's only natural.
After all, I was reborn, and what could be more supernatural than this
Slowly, hesitatingly, I raised a hand. I didn't hug her back fully—that would be too much, too fast—but I rested my palm on her shoulder for a brief second before pulling it away. A small, stiff gesture of comfort.
"I'm... okay," I rasped. My voice was sandpaper, but it carried a steady, icy calm that wasn't there before.
The mother pulled back, her eyes red and puffy, searching my face. She froze. The old Choyun would have avoided her gaze, I looked straight at her. My eyes were like deep, still water—cold to the world, but unmistakably present for her.
"You... you look different," she whispered, her voice trembling. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "You're different fro..."
I didn't let her finish. I cut her off before the words could leave her mouth.
"I just died M...Mom," I said, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "A person only truly changes after seeing death up close—especially when it's their own.."
She nodded frantically, her mind racing. "Yes... yes, of course. The trauma... it doesn't matter. You're here. You're back."
A heavy footstep echoed against the linoleum floor. I looked past her to the man standing at the foot of the bed. The grandfather.
The air in the room shifted instantly. The mother's posture stiffened. She didn't look at her father with love; she looked at him with a mix of resentment and forced obligation. It was clear now—she hadn't spoken to this man in years. She had swallowed her pride and crawled back to a man she likely hated, all for the sake of the boy lying on this bed.
The grandfather, a man whose very presence felt like a mountain pressing down on the room, looked at me. He didn't offer a hug or a smile. He simply stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes scanning me like he was inspecting a piece of property that had almost been lost.
"You survived," the old man said. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.
"Seems so," I replied. No stutter or fear just a cold reply to his cold words.
The grandfather's eyes narrowed slightly. He was used to people trembling in his presence, especially his "disappointment" of a grandson. The boy in front of him was different. The weakness was gone, replaced by a chilling composure.
"Your mother called me," the grandfather said, his gaze flicking momentarily to his daughter, who refused to meet his eyes. "She was desperate. It's been a long time since I've seen her that... pathetic."
The mother flinched as if she'd been slapped.
I felt a spark of cold irritation. I didn't care about the history between them, but I didn't like the tone. I looked the old man dead in the eye. "She did what she had to do. Don't mistake her love for weakness."
The room went dead silent. The bodyguards in the hallway actually shifted their weight, shocked by the audacity of the kid.
The grandfather stared at me for a long beat. Then, a ghost of a smirk appeared on his granite-like face. "You have a tongue now. Good. Maybe that near death experience knocked some of your father's 'commoner' blood out of you."
He turned to his secretary. "Prepare the private wing at the hospital. I want the best specialists watching him 24/7. And clear the school's records. As far as the public is concerned, Choyun had a minor fainting spell. If I hear the word 'death' again, someone's head will roll."
"Wait," I said, my voice cutting through the old man's commands.
The grandfather stopped at the door, turning his head slightly.
"I don't need a private wing. I'm going home with my mother," I stated. It wasn't a request; it was an ultimatum.
The mother looked at me, her mouth agape. "Choyun-ah... your grandfather's doctors, they're the best... you need—"
"I need my own bed," I interrupted, my voice softening just a fraction when I looked at her. "And I need your cooking. Not hospital food."
It was a small olive branch—the small affection I allowed myself to show. The mother's eyes filled with tears again, but this time, they weren't purely from grief. She felt the change in me. I was colder, yes. Harder. But for the first time, I felt like a son who could stand on his own two feet.
The grandfather looked at the two of us—the daughter who hated him and the grandson who no longer feared him. He gave a sharp, single nod.
"Fine. Do as you wish. But don't think this changes anything," the old man said, though his eyes lingered on me a second longer than usual. "You owe me your life, boy. Make sure this time… you don't squander it.."
As the black suits filed out and the sirens faded into the distance, I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I looked out the window at the darkening streets of Gangbuk.
I had a powerful, terrifying grandfather. A mother who would burn the world for me. And a body that was finally, truly mine.
Now the Real game begins.
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