Abyssal Monarch: Rebirth of the Forsaken

The door to the boys' dorm closed softly behind them as Jin-Su turned to Min-Ho, who had been quietly walking by his side. He gave his friend a nod, sensing the silent questions hanging between them after Kang-Woo's breakdown earlier.

"I'll come back soon, Min-Ho," Jin-Su said, his tone calm but steady. "Once I'm back, I'll help you with what we discussed earlier, okay?"

Min-Ho looked up, surprised but appreciative, a faint smile breaking through his usual uncertain expression. "Alright… I mean, thank you, Jin-Su. I'd appreciate that."

With a nod, Min-Ho turned down the hall toward his own room. Jin-Su thus left and went off. As he walked to through the corridor the sun had fully set and was gone. Causing a small ball of light to appear next to his shelter to light the way.

 Jin-Su standing in front of Kang-Woo's door. He raised his hand and knocked. 

The door opened slowly, and Kang-Woo's face appeared, shadowed and tense, his eyes narrowing with an edge of resentment as he took in Jin-Su's presence. The hollowness in his gaze was stark, as though he were staring down a ghost he couldn't escape.

Kang-Woo's lips curled slightly in disdain. "What do you want?" he muttered, stepping back but not inviting Jin-Su in. He slumped onto the edge of his bed, shoulders tense as he avoided Jin-Su's gaze.

Jin-Su paused before stepping inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He glanced around the room, noting the disarray—the scattered clothes, crumpled papers, and training gear strewn across the floor. The place had a distinct sense of isolation, accentuated by the lack of a roommate.

"You don't have a roommate?" Jin-Su asked softly, more as an observation than a question.

Kang-Woo gave him a sidelong glance, eyes hard. "No," he said flatly. "No one else."

Jin-Su considered his words He looked at Kang-Woo. And had a sudden thought. The way he cried and ran away. The way all the students have been acting and through many loops and gymnastics in his head, finally made a connection. It all connected at this moment.

 He's just a kid….They are all just children…am I the one who has been acting strange?

He thinks back to everything he's been doing since he woke up in the past. From the moment he arrived, he'd been rigid, cold, almost mechanical in his approach. He'd shown no weakness, expressed no emotions, avoided any communication he deemed unnecessary. Every interaction was efficient, calculated, stripped of anything he saw as irrelevant or distracting. If someone wasn't "important" to his goals, he barely acknowledged their presence, as though he were still in the hardened world he'd come from.

Mina had spoken to him first, and only then did he respond, gradually uncovering the unique power she held within her—a power that he now recognized he could have easily overlooked in his focus on his mission. Not only that, he should've checked onto her as soon as he had fended off Kang-Woo back then. It would have been the okay thing to do. But he completely threw her away. Min-Ho, he'd decided to talk to from the beginning, simply because of who Min-Ho had been to him in his past life, an ally forged through struggle and shared hardship. But now, looking back, he saw the absurdity in it all: Min-Ho was just a kid, kind and trusting, and the only reason he'd shown Jin-Su any warmth was because he simply… was like that. Min-Ho's kindness wasn't earned; it was freely given, untainted by any suspicion or expectation. He is just "some kid" who is being friendly because he is being friendly. In actuality Min-Ho doesn't even properly knows Jin-Su at all. More accurately, a kid who lives with me, first class in the semester just like me, is suddenly THE first student in the entire school? It must be absurd for that child.

And how had he responded? Like a stranger, watching them from a distance, standing on the outside with a wall of silence between them. Every smile, every friendly gesture extended to him had been met with a blank indifference, a mask he wore to keep himself separate. He'd told himself he was simply "doing what was necessary"—but necessary for whom? These were kids, young souls in the midst of discovery, lives just beginning, driven by dreams, not duty. They wanted to make friends, have adventures, explore who they were. And in his rigid urgency, he'd dismissed all that, reducing each of them to mere pieces in a strategy, assets and liabilities, as if he were still in a war that only he could see.

But now, looking at Kang-Woo, all he saw was a broken child—not a hardened soldier, not some future paladin buckling under the weight of war. This was just a boy, one forced to bear a burden he hadn't chosen. Jin-Su felt an urge to console him, to offer words that would somehow ease the pain, but his mind floundered. All he could think of were the harsh words he'd used on the battlefield, the commands he'd given to soldiers whose morale faltered: "Stand up. Move forward. Face the problem." But none of that was right here, none of it could bridge this gap. 

Then, a memory surfaced—of an ally from the future. He could no longer remember their face or their name, only the warmth they'd exuded, a kindness that had defied the coldest moments. He remembered their words, a quiet mantra they'd offered to those hurting.

"Kindness can soften the unyielding, even the hardest stone. Sometimes, it's the only thing that can. Even the toughest stone, when touched with gentleness, can become the hand that supports others."

The words resonated now, as though they were meant for this moment, meant to help him reach Kang-Woo in a way he hadn't reached anyone in this life so far.

"Kang-Woo," Jin-Su said gently, catching himself, "it looked like… something's been weighing on you. I don't mean to intrude, but if you wanted to share, I'm here to listen."

Kang-Woo's gaze hardened, his jaw clenching visibly as he glared at Jin-Su. "You think I'd tell you anything?" he scoffed, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "You're the reason I'm here, away from everything I ever knew."

Jin-Su's expression shifted, taking in the anger simmering beneath Kang-Woo's words. "I didn't mean for things to happen this way, Kang-Woo. I know that fight set off a lot of things, but I didn't—"

"You didn't what?" Kang-Woo cut him off, his voice cold. "You didn't mean for me to lose my family? To be tossed out like… like I was nothing?" He shook his head, his voice thick with anger. "Don't act like you understand."

Jin-Su felt the weight of Kang-Woo's words, the resentment laced in each syllable. He didn't push back, instead stepping back slightly, trying to approach more gently. "I'm not pretending to understand everything you're going through, but maybe sharing it could help."

Kang-Woo scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "There's nothing to share," he replied flatly, each word laced with defiance. "It's none of your business anyway."

Silence settled between them, heavy and thick. Jin-Su leaned against the wall, waiting, not rushing, giving Kang-Woo space. It's more than pride or ego. This is… deeper.

"Kang-Woo," Jin-Su said quietly, choosing his words carefully, "I'm not here to lecture you, just… listen, if you want to share."

Kang-Woo's eyes shifted to the floor, his fists clenched, his knuckles white. For a moment, he was silent, the anger fading from his face, replaced by something else—something deeper. "Fine," he said, his voice low and strained. "My family… the Vyrm-Sul clan."

Jin-Su's eyes flickered with recognition. Vyrm-Sul—the warrior family, known for their strength, discipline, and unbreakable pride. They're practically royalty. The last few families in the future who stood against the threat named The Sevenfold Shadow. Also, Kang-Woo was with their family? He never heard of the names together ever before.

Kang-Woo continued, his tone laced with bitterness. "They're a family of warriors, the kind that believe honor and pride come before anything else. They're strong, influential, and perfect." A hint of pride in his voice.

Jin-Su listened, his expression unreadable. "So… what happened?"

Kang-Woo's fists clenched harder, his voice filled with resentment. "They excommunicated me. Said I wasn't worthy of the family name." He paused, looking directly at Jin-Su, his voice dropping. "And I'm pretty sure they blame you as much as I do."

Jin-Su kept his face neutral, though his mind raced. Excommunication from the Vyrm-Sul clan… that's no small thing. But there has to be more to it.

"Being excommunicated wouldn't have hit you this hard, I've fought you myself. You wouldn't just care about excommunication." Jin-Su observed carefully. "It feels like there's… something else."

Kang-Woo's face twisted, a mix of anger and deep hurt flashing across his expression. "You want to know?" he challenged, his voice cracking. "Fine, I'll tell you. You are the reason all this happened." His fists clenched tighter, his knuckles white.

Jin-Su nodded, his tone soft but steady. "I'm listening."

Kang-Woo hesitated, his gaze shifting away, as though summoning the courage to continue. "It was my mother," he said, the words coming out in a strained whisper. "She's the one who… marked me. Said there was no room for weakness in the Vyrm-Sul clan."

Jin-Su's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, she marked you?"

Kang-Woo swallowed, his hand instinctively reaching toward his chest. "I… I didn't want to fight her. She said there was no room for surrender in our family, that weakness had no place. And when I didn't fight back, she told me…" His voice hardened, but pain flickered in his eyes. "She said, 'No Vyrm-Sul can be the lackey of some child of no renown or value. Her face was one of…anger. I had never seen her look at me like that before.'"

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, his tone thick with anger and hurt. "When I wouldn't fight her, she struck me, right here." His hand pressed over his chest, just above his heart. "It was a single punch. But as soon as she did, I felt something… tear. And then this mark just… appeared."

Jin-Su's eyes remained fixed on him, the dark, red-black scar, a brutal reminder of Kang-Woo's excommunication. A physical mark, summoned by his mother's blow—a mark that would forever signify his rejection from his own family.

Kang-Woo's gaze dropped to the floor, his voice breaking, a raw vulnerability escaping for just a moment. "She meant everything to me… my mother, my idol, my guiding light. I spent my whole life wanting to be like her, to make her proud, to be just like he, and in that moment… she looked at me like I was nothing." His voice cracked, the weight of those words heavy with despair. "She didn't even look back when she did it. She just turned away, leaving me there… discarded."

The tears fell freely now, his fists shaking with the force of his grief. And then, the ghostly apparition appeared again behind Kang-Woo, ethereal arms wrapping around him in a tender embrace, as though to console him, to offer him a silent comfort he could not feel. She glowed brighter than before, her form shimmering like mist touched by moonlight.

One half of her face was marred with age-old scars, faintly shadowed and softened with the look of someone who had witnessed and borne more than the world itself could hold. Her left eye, veiled in a cloudy haze, seemed dimmed by countless battles. The hair on that side fell in tangled, rough strands, strands that spoke of the countless trials she had endured and preserved. Yet on her other half, she was breathtakingly beautiful, her skin unblemished and radiant, and her right eye gleamed with a warm, golden light that held the kindness of a thousand lifetimes. Her hair there cascaded in smooth, flowing waves, catching the faintest light and making it dance with each unseen breeze.

The goddess' gaze softened as she looked down at Kang-Woo, and for a fleeting moment, Jin-Su felt as if she met his eyes, as if she saw him too. It was as though she understood both his past and his present, her dual expression offering both strength and gentleness. She was here to console, to witness, and to preserve him in this moment of vulnerability, a being who understood the endurance needed to survive yet held the warmth that could soothe the soul.

Kang-Woo's voice cracked, his words raw with despair. "I thought… if I stayed strong, maybe one day… maybe they'd see me differently. But they didn't even give me a chance. She just cast me aside."

The apparition seemed to tighten her embrace around him, her silent support echoing the pain he couldn't speak. To Jin-Su, she was a vision of preservation—of all things that last, no matter how fractured they may become. But Kang- Woo could not feel any of this. Nor the love of the goddess, nor the embrace. He felt none of it.

Jin-Su felt a heaviness settle in his chest, his own thoughts momentarily stilled. How could someone cast out their own child for a moment of vulnerability?

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, his tone thick with anger and hurt. "When I wouldn't fight her, she struck me, right here." His hand pressed over his chest, just above his heart. "It was a single punch. But as soon as she did, I felt something… tear. And then this mark just… appeared." Jin-Su's eyes remained fixed on him, imagining the dark, red-black scar, a brutal reminder of Kang-Woo's excommunication. A physical mark, summoned by his mother's blow—a mark that would forever signify his rejection from his own family.

Kang-Woo's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders tense with barely contained rage. "You don't get it, Jin-Su," he spat, his voice thick with resentment. "Who are you to say any of this? You're the reason I hit this bottom. Everything I had, everything I was, it's gone because of you."

Jin-Su's expression remained neutral, but he felt the sting of Kang-Woo's words. It was Kang-Woo who'd challenged him at the coronation, who'd picked the fight on stage. But he held his tongue, knowing that reminding Kang-Woo of that now would only deepen the wound.

"Who do you think you are, acting like you care?" Kang-Woo continued, his voice growing sharper. "You just stood there, watching as I lost everything. My family… my honor… my place. It's all gone, and you're at the center of it."

Kang-Woo's voice softened slightly, though the bitterness remained. "I don't need your sympathy, Jin-Su. You've done enough." He stood up, his gaze hard and unyielding, and took a step back, creating a visible distance between them.

Jin-Su looked at him quietly, nodding once more, acknowledging the gap between them that words couldn't bridge. He wanted to say something—anything—that might offer Kang-Woo solace, to ease the pain radiating from him like an open wound. But he knew now that whatever comfort he tried to offer would only make it worse. He couldn't be the one to reach Kang-Woo in this moment; his very presence was a reminder of all that had been taken from him.

As Jin-Su stepped into the hallway, his mind lingered on the story Kang-Woo had shared. Excommunication, just for a scuffle? It doesn't add up. For a family as influential as the Vyrm-Sul, cutting ties with their son for such a minor incident, which could be brought down to "children fought because children," would be an extreme measure—one that could just as easily tarnish their reputation as protect it. There's something deeper at play here.

And as he walked away, he felt the weight of that realization settle heavily on his shoulders: Kang-Woo would have to find his own way through this darkness, and Jin-Su could only hope that, in time, someone else could be the one to help him heal.