The dim light of the Rift's exit flickered as Jaemin stepped out, his breath ragged and uneven. His black jacket hung loosely, its pockets bulging awkwardly with shards of glowing Rift crystals, remnants of the chaotic battle inside.
A growing crowd of Coreborn and onlookers had gathered at the perimeter, their murmurs swelling into whispers of disbelief.
"How… how did you get out alive?"
A gruff voice cut through the crowd.
Jaemin barely glanced their way, his dark eyes shadowed beneath his long hair. The leader of the backup team, a stern man clad in tactical gear, stepped forward, his tone sharp with a mix of frustration and amazement.
"There was a full squad inside. We were ready for anything. How did you finish the entire Rift alone?"
Jaemin's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't answer. Instead, he kept walking, head low, shoulders tight, exuding a quiet that spoke volumes.
Around him, the crowd's shocked silence stretched heavy — the impossible had happened, but Jaemin showed no sign of pride or explanation.
His jacket swayed slightly with each step, the Rift crystals pulsing faintly as if still alive with the Rift's lingering energy.
Jaemin disappeared into the city's shadow, leaving only questions behind.
****
The vending machines inside the Coreborn outpost hummed quietly, the soft glow of fluorescent light bouncing off Jaemin's worn-out jacket, the pockets sagging under the weight of Rift crystals.
He stepped up to the exchange counter, still silent.
The Coreborn official behind the glass — probably used to seeing bruised squads and injured returns — blinked when she saw him alone. No squad. No scratches. Just a black jacket and a cold stare.
"...Is this all from the Tier 3 Rift?"
Jaemin simply placed the sack of crystals on the tray. Not a word.
Beep. Whirr. Ding.
Moments later, the machine tallied the crystals. A modest amount of credit, not enough to make someone rich — but more than enough to cover another month's rent and groceries.
He collected the bills, stuffed them in the inner pocket of his Jacket, and left without a glance back.
By the time he reached home, the sun was low in the sky, bleeding gold through the blinds.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside quietly. The hallway light was on. The apartment was still.
As he moved toward the kitchen, a faint warmth touched his expression.
A bowl of soup sat waiting on the table — still faintly warm — with a small folded note next to it in neat handwriting:
"Don't starve yourself to death <3."
Nari's handwriting.
Jaemin blinked. Then smiled.
It was small. Soft. Real.
He sat down, lifted the bowl slowly, and drank.
No words. Just silence and warmth.
Nari was probably already asleep — she always turned in early for her morning classes.
****
The room was quiet, lit only by the soft orange glow leaking in through the window blinds. Jaemin lay on the mattress, one arm resting over his eyes, the other across his chest. His body ached faintly — not from injury, but from something else. A heaviness he couldn't name.
Sleep came slowly.
His thoughts did not.
"Precision Cores don't move like that, they don't leap stories high or sprint across broken ground like wind."
He remembered the moment — the way his body had reacted before he even knew what to do. How instinct had taken over.
He ran faster than sound, tanked blows that should've shattered bones, and healed wounds that no Coreborn should've been able to.
Then there was the other thing.
"Telekinesis."
The word lingered in his mind, cold and strange.
He had pulled a sword to his hand from ten meters away without lifting a finger.
Not even a Flux Core could do that — and Flux Cores were the only ones who came close. But even they had limits: retrieving thrown weapons or gear with violet aura channels. Nothing like what he had done.
"I'm not Flux."
"If I was... my aura would've been violet."
He'd seen it clearly — the color of his aura when he first ignited it.
Orange
Sunrise Orange, to be exact, does not belong to any of the standard five types. It felt heavier and deeper.
"And even Flux can't heal like that… Can't take that much damage without going down."
It was like pieces of every core type were stitched inside him, but even that didn't explain what he was becoming.
He turned on his side slowly, eyes half-closed.
"...What am I?"
The question didn't echo.
It just stayed with him in the silence, as the city lights flickered quietly outside.
****
The faint clatter of a pan and the soft rustle of pages stirred through the apartment like a breeze. Nari was already up, mumbling lines from her textbook under her breath as she flipped through pages, trying not to be loud.
Her lips moved quickly, eyes darting from one highlighted paragraph to the next.
She paced between the tiny kitchen counter and the table, multitasking breakfast and mental formulas.
Jaemin was still asleep — or so she thought.
After plating up some rice and a fried egg, she carefully packed the breakfast into a small plastic container. Her fingers fumbled a bit as she sealed the lid; her anxiety was creeping in. This exam mattered. Everything mattered.
In her rush, she nearly dropped the lunchbox.
"Crap—!"
She gasped, catching it just in time, and putting it in the fridge.
Then she felt it — a light pat on her shoulder.
She turned around.
"Good luck, Nari. Do well."
Jaemin said, his voice soft but awake, standing there in the doorway.
She blinked. He was dressed in an old tracksuit — faded navy, with the logo peeling off one sleeve. She hadn't seen him wear that in a long time. It clung to him a little differently now.
"You're up early..."
She said, trying to mask her surprise.
"Yeah."
He replied casually, glancing out the window.
"Thought I'd go for a run."
"Did you pack your lunch?"
"Nope. I'm running late."
She said, stuffing her notebook into her bag with one hand and slipping into her shoes.
Jaemin reached into his pocket, pulled out a few bills, and quietly slid them into her bag.
"Grab something on the way. Don't starve yourself the whole day."
She stared at the cash, stunned.
"Wait—where did you even get money...?"
Then, squinting with mock suspicion, she narrowed her eyes.
"I know we were behind on bills, but I didn't think it got so bad you had to steal."
"I DIDN'T steal money!"
Jaemin snapped, voice cracking slightly in defence
Nari grinned. Teasing always worked.
"Take care of yourself, okay?"
She said more softly this time, fixing her backpack.
"Don't do anything stupid... I mean it."
He met her eyes for a second. In her voice, beneath the teasing and the exam panic, there was something else. Fear. Not of failing a test — but of losing him.
"I will. Go safely."
"See ya."
She called, pulling the door open.
"See ya."
He then added, just loud enough for her to hear as she stepped out.
"You got this!!"
****
The sky had brightened to a soft amber when Jaemin returned.
Sweat clung to his back, soaking through the worn-out tracksuit. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythms—controlled, despite the fifteen kilometers he had just pushed through. His muscles ached, especially after bumping his push-up count to two hundred. But he welcomed the pain. It meant he was getting stronger.
He exhaled, long and deep, then sat down on the steps outside the apartment building to cool off.
"Recover...?"
The thought passed his mind like a breeze. A part of him wanted to activate it—to wash away the soreness, to make things easier.
But he didn't.
"What if I need it later? What if me or someone else gets hurt, and I can't waste it on a few sore legs?"
Jaemin stood and headed up, still breathing heavily. The familiar creak of the apartment door greeted him. He stripped out of the drenched tracksuit and made his way to the bathroom.
The warmth of the shower steamed up the mirror, and for a moment, all the aches faded behind the fog.
Clean and dry, he slipped into a faded black T-shirt and some old sweats. Comfortable. Quiet.
He collapsed onto the bed, stretching out.
The springs groaned under him. Reaching over, he grabbed his phone and opened the RiftBoard app again.
Job listings loaded with a flicker. Most were grey-tagged, locked.
[Covenant Authorisation Required][Restricted Zone - Tier 3+][Priority Access: CRUX | NOVA | RAVENHOLD]
He sighed. Again.
"Still blocked out."
He muttered under his breath, scrolling past another string of jobs with bright banners and locked status.
It was always like this.
Even after what he'd done.
Even after walking out of that Rift alone.
He turned the screen off and let his arm fall over his eyes. The ceiling felt too quiet.
His body was still recovering, but his mind wouldn't quiet down.
Coffee...That damn coffee...
Bitter, burnt, and somehow perfect. He hadn't stopped thinking about it since the last time. The warmth, the aftertaste—it was like his body craved it now.
"I need to get a grip."
He muttered.
His eyes drifted shut, ready to doze off, just for a bit—
BRRRR-RING!
His phone blared beside him.
Jaemin jolted up.
His heart skipped—way too loud.
He reached for the screen with a frown.
"Unknown Caller ID."
His thumb hovered for a second. He should've ignored it.But something in his gut said otherwise.
He answered.
"...Hello?"
"Han Jaemin, right? Just wanted to confirm. I got your contact from someone reliable."
Jaemin's eyes narrowed.
"...Sure. What's this about?"
"We're putting together a small raid team. Tier 3 Rift—freelance, not under any Covenant jurisdiction."
Jaemin sat up, alert now.
Freelance? That explained the unknown number.
"About the pay?"
The caller laughed.
"Straight to the point—I like it. Don't worry, you'll get your cut properly. No middlemen, no deductions. Just clean split based on performance. Up for it?"
Jaemin paused. He didn't like vague promises, but he couldn't ignore how broke they were either.
"...Location?"
"Ah—so you're interested."
The voice sounded pleased.
"The window's tight, though. You'll need to show up in two hours."
There was a short silence.
Jaemin exhaled quietly, weighing the offer.
A Tier 3 freelancing job without oversight? Risky. But also... an opportunity.
"I'll be there."
"Perfect. Sending the coordinates now. Don't be late."
The call clicked off.
A few seconds later, his phone buzzed—location pinned.
Jaemin stared at No team name. No sender name. Just a red marker on the map, near an old logistics district.
"...Guess we're doing this."
Jaemin stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. The conversation still echoed faintly in his head.
He moved without overthinking, slipping into something comfortable—dark jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a jacket. Nothing flashy.
Just enough to blend in. Before stepping out, he slung a small black sling bag over his shoulder—big enough for a water bottle and... two canned coffees.
"Tch."
He muttered, stuffing them in.
"I've got a problem."
Lacing up his worn sneakers, he crouched by the door, tying the last knot tight. For a moment, his eyes drifted toward the apartment.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt... fragile.
Nari's textbooks were still scattered on the table. The plates were washed and dried by the sink. The faint smell of the soup from last night still lingered.
He exhaled through his nose and stood.
Something felt off. He couldn't place it. A weight in his chest—not fear, but a kind of instinct tugging at him.
He shook his head once, sharply.
"Get it together."
He told himself under his breath.
Then, without another look back, he opened the door and stepped out.
****
Jaemin stepped off the last bus stop near the old logistics district, a place long forgotten by the newer-tech cities that rose around it.
The sky was a soft grey, overcast but dry. Wind rustled the thin chain fences, and broken-down warehouses lined the street—empty, rusting, quiet.
He checked the location on his phone.
You have arrived.
He pocketed it and looked up.
No one else in sight.
Not yet, anyway.
Jaemin walked a little further down the cracked pavement, past the half-collapsed fences and rusted metal barrels. The air smelled faintly of old oil and dust.
That's when he saw them—A small group gathered near the entrance of a ruined warehouse, casually standing around like they'd done this plenty of times before.
Only six of them, including the one who stood slightly ahead of the rest.
Broad shoulders, scarred arms, a sleeveless tactical vest that had clearly seen better days. He had a square jaw, a short buzzcut, and an absolutely feral body odor that hit Jaemin like a gut punch from ten feet away.
"Yo wassap, champ! Han Jaemin, right?"
The man stepped forward with a grin that showed a chipped canine golden tooth. His voice boomed, easy and loud, like someone who didn't know the meaning of subtle.
Jaemin gave a small nod, keeping his expression unreadable.
"Yeah."
"Nice. Name's Park Doyun."
The man thumped his chest with a thick fist.
"Bastion core. I take hits, you deal hits. We'll get along just fine."
He laughed at his own words. No one else did.
Jaemin's eyes flicked to the others—some leaning against a wall, a few glancing his way and whispering among themselves. Their expressions were mixed. Cautious. Curious. Maybe even a little amused.
Park Doyun stepped aside and motioned toward the warehouse behind him.
"Let's not waste time then. Once the last guy arrives, we move."
Jaemin didn't answer. He just followed.
Quietly alert.
Park Doyun reached into his weathered duffel bag and pulled out a thin, folded document—crisp and clean, in contrast to everything else about him.
"Here."
He said, handing it over.
"Money-sharing contract. Freelancers, yeah, but we do fair play. Everyone gets an equal distribution, aye?"
He grinned again, a wide-toothed smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Jaemin took the paper. His fingers brushed over the surface, eyes scanning the basic clauses.
Tier 3 Rift. Estimated duration: 3–5 hours. Eight participants. No Covenant involvement.Equal payout—no rankings, no kill-based weighting.
It was… generous.
Too generous.
Equal split with this few people wasn't common. Usually, the top damage dealers or core types with higher risk (like the front-liners) negotiated better cuts.
Especially Bastion cores. Yet here the tank—the tank—was offering to split it evenly?
Jaemin glanced back at Doyun, whose grin hadn't changed.
He wasn't sure if the man was dumb, kind, or hiding something.
But for now, he simply nodded and tucked the contract into his bag.
"Alright."
They were freelancers.
Which meant trust was currency.
And Jaemin had none to spare.
"I'm hereeee!!!!"
Everyone turned at once.
From the alley's bend came a boy who looked barely younger than Jaemin. Maybe an inch shorter. Messy brown hair, a windbreaker two sizes too big, and a grin so wide it practically lit the dust-filled air.
He stopped near the group, a little breathless but not winded. And—oddly enough—he didn't smell like rust or sweat or anything remotely Rift-related.
"Yoon Taeha here! Called me, remember?"
Park Doyun's grin grew even wider as he stepped forward and clapped a massive palm on Taeha's back—so hard the poor guy stumbled forward a step.
"Welcome to the club, sunshine."
Doyun said.
A few of the other freelancers chuckled. One snorted. Taeha just rubbed his back with an awkward smile, oblivious to the unspoken tension in the air.
"Equal pay here, so don't worry much."
Doyun added, gesturing lazily toward Jaemin.
"Stick to your DPS friend. We might be freelancers, but most of us here are already a team. So we're gonna put you both together for better team play, yay!"
He even raised his arms in mock celebration. No one joined him.
Jaemin just stared at Doyun for a beat. This whole thing was weird.
Team synergy was important, sure—but it felt like Doyun just wanted the two newcomers paired off without real reason.
Still, Jaemin let out a small sigh. Not worth the fight.
Taeha, meanwhile, stepped up beside him with a boyish beam.
"Guess we're partners now, huh?"
Jaemin looked him over. Clean gear. No visible weapons. No visible nerves either.
"…Yeah."
Jaemin muttered.
This was definitely a first.
"I'm Yoon Taeha, pleasure to meet you!" the boy said, grinning as he extended his hand.
Jaemin took it and gave it a firm shake. Taeha's grip was solid but not aggressive—confident in the way that only someone untouched by real fear could manage.
"I'm a Flux Core, so don't worry—I can cover both speed and precision."
Taeha added proudly as he slung on a lightweight armor vest.
"So you've got nothing to worry about."
He said it with the kind of earnest pride that made Jaemin blink. The sword Taeha pulled from his gear bag was elegant—well-balanced, forged with clear craftsmanship. A polished hilt, runic grooves down the blade.
Nothing like the mismatched weapons freelancers usually carried. It was a bit over budget, especially for someone Jaemin assumed was new.
And strange. Most Flux Cores preferred daggers or chakrams—light, throwable weapons that made the most of their agility and aura recall abilities. A sword wasn't impossible… just rare.
Still, Jaemin gave him a slight smile.
"Well… that's good to know."
Taeha beamed, sheathing the sword with a casual spin.
Jaemin studied him quietly. His aura—though unlit—felt clean. No jagged edges, no turbulence. Just pure, youthful confidence.
He looked away before he stared too long. He didn't really know how you were supposed to approach that kind of sunshine energy.
Jaemin's gaze drifted over the assembled group.
Eight people...
Three DPS. Two supports. One tank. Then him... and Taeha.
His brows furrowed slightly.
A full squad was usually twelve. That was the standard for any Tier . Not a rule—but a silent understanding.
A wisdom born of blood and loss. Yet here they were, barely scraping two-thirds of a formation.
His eyes flicked toward the Rift, pulsing faintly in the distance like a wound in space. His instincts screamed louder the longer he stared.
He walked over, pretended to stretch, and double-checked the Rift scanner propped up nearby.
Tier 3.
Still said Tier 3.
But something in his chest clenched.
He remembered Tier 3s too well. That was the point the Abyss stopped behaving like a corrupted ecosystem… and began acting like it had a will of its own.
Tier 3 was the line.
The point where Abyssals stopped being instinct-driven monsters—and became monsters with purpose. With cruelty. With plans.
Where the rulers of the Abyss began to take hold.
His throat tightened as a name flickered across his thoughts like a shadow at the corner of his eye.
The Mirror Warmaiden.
Even now, thinking about her made his back tense. If this Rift had been misclassified—if it was actually Tier 2, somehow—then escape would be…
He exhaled slowly.
Impossible.
Not even he could guarantee survival if that kind of entity was waiting on the other side.
And the worst part? Nobody else here seemed concerned. Not Doyun, not the supports, not the DPS trio cracking jokes off to the side. Everyone looked far too casual.
His spine itched with unease.
He glanced at Taeha, who was humming something and adjusting the straps on his arm guard, completely unaware.
Jaemin looked away.
Maybe he was overthinking.
But something felt off.
And he'd learned to trust that feeling.
Jaemin took a slow breath, letting the chill air fill his lungs.
"It's fine, Even if they're careless… even if they treat this like another payday…"
He glanced around again—Doyun laughing too loud, one of the DPS guys twirling a blade like it was a toy, and Taeha stretching with the grace of someone who'd never seen a real fight.
His jaw tightened.
"They don't get it. They haven't seen what I've seen."
His eyes fell to the Rift again. It pulsed faintly, the edges warping like glass under heat. Beautiful and wrong.
"But that doesn't mean I'll let them die."
No matter how casual they acted.
No matter how bad they smelled.
No matter how grating their optimism was.
He couldn't shake the memory of his last squad—the way their screams echoed in his ears days after the Rift closed. How he'd walked out alone.
How no one else ever would.
He clenched a fist at his side, subtle, unnoticed.
Not again.