Coreborn: The First Core

Rain tapped steadily against the windowpane, a soft backdrop to the smell of reheated stew and cheap soy sauce.

The Han siblings sat at their tiny kitchen table — the same one they'd used since Nari was in middle school. It had dents and wobble spots from years of surviving off ramen and frozen dumplings, but tonight it held something better: real food. Jaemin had even let her pick up fried side dishes from the convenience store downstairs. A small reward for their latest brush with disaster.

"So."

Nari said, mouth half full.

"is that what being a Coreborn is like? Risk your life, wake up sore, eat cold rice?"

Jaemin gave a faint laugh.

"Yeah. Glamorous, right?"

"We're debt free?"

She asked suddenly, her voice light but not joking.

Jaemin blinked, then looked up.

"…Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

She set her spoon down slowly, brows drawn together.

"What about the medical bills? The utilities? My semester fees?"

Jaemin picked at his rice, keeping his eyes on the bowl.

"Handled."

"All of it?"

"Every last won."

Nari stared at him for a second longer, then leaned back, soup forgotten.

"And you're not… I don't know… dealing with a loan shark or something?"

Jaemin gave a soft scoff. "

No loans. No interest traps. I'm not that reckless."

"Then how…?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he raised his bowl and finished what was left, setting it down with a soft clink.

"You don't need to worry about it, Nari."

That silenced her. She looked down at her bowl, stirred it once, then pushed the pot a little closer to his side of the table.

Jaemin blinked.

"More?"

"You're skinny."

she said with a shrug.

He raised an eyebrow and looked down at his forearms — the lean muscle there was more defined now, especially when his sleeves were rolled up like they were.

"…Seriously?"

Nari just grinned and ladled more soup into his bowl.

"Let me have this moment, will you? I'm still your little sister. It's in the contract to call you skinny no matter how shredded you get."

Jaemin sighed through his nose, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He stirred the soup lazily, steam curling around his face.

"You know… you don't have to think about this stuff yet. Just focus on school."

She tilted her head slightly.

"I'm allowed to think. Especially when the house has actual food and the lights aren't flickering because of unpaid bills. You've been… holding all this together on your own, oppa."

The warmth in her voice made him freeze for a second.

He didn't respond — not out of coldness, but because he wasn't sure how.

Then Nari's voice lowered a little, softer now.

"What about Mom?"

Jaemin looked up slowly.

"How long will she… stay like this?"

The question hung in the air like the rain tapping the windows — soft, constant, unrelenting.

Jaemin's lips parted, then closed again. He set his chopsticks down, hands tightening slightly.

"I don't know."

Those three words felt heavier than any bill or wound.

His gaze drifted toward the living room, where their mother lay quietly on her care bed, her breathing steady, her eyes always closed.

"I really don't know, Nari."

Nari's expression shifted — not with sadness, but with something stronger.

"Then I'll find out."

She said suddenly, sitting up straighter.

"I'll figure it out, oppa. I'll become the best neurologist in the country. In the world. I'll treat her myself."

Her voice didn't waver, not even once.

Jaemin looked at her for a long second, watching the conviction in her eyes.

And for the first time in a while, he smiled — small and quiet, but real.

"…I'll be waiting for that, Nari."

Jaemin wiped the last drops of the broth from his lips and stood, pushing in his chair with a soft scrape.

"Anyways… I'm heading out."

He muttered, tucking his plain black T-shirt into his pants with practiced motion. He looped his belt snug around his waist, gave it a tug, then reached for the dark jacket hanging by the door.

Nari looked up, one eyebrow raised.

"To where? Don't tell me you're on the run again."

He chuckled faintly under his breath as he bent down to lace his shoes.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "Just don't turn the house upside down while I'm gone. Or I'll make you do the dishes. Three times. This week."

Nari rolled her eyes, but her lips curled at the edges.

"Be safe, oppa."

Jaemin didn't say anything more. Just nodded, pulled the jacket hood up loosely over his hair, and slipped out the door.

****

Outside, the rain had calmed to a light drizzle — the kind that didn't soak your clothes, just kissed the air with cold breath.

He walked with his hands in his pockets, hood pulled partway down as his bangs dampened slightly, sticking to his forehead.

The streets glistened beneath streetlights, puddles catching flickers of red and gold as cars passed by in the distance.

A quiet rhythm filled the silence — his boots against wet pavement, the hush of late-night Seoul, the rain whispering against his shoulders.

No one paid him any attention. Just another figure in the city, walking under gray skies.

After some time, he reached the looming glass and steel structure of the Coreborn Association — tall, stark, and so polished it seemed to repel the rain itself.

The lights inside glowed a sterile white, contrasting the dull blue of the cloudy sky behind it.

Jaemin stopped just under the entrance canopy, pulling out his phone.

Just as he unlocked the screen, a polite voice chimed behind him.

"Mr. Han Jaemin?"

He turned.

A woman stood there — young, early twenties maybe, dressed in a sleek dark suit with a Coreborn Association emblem pinned to her chest.

Tablet in hand, hair tied into a neat low ponytail.

"Yeah?"

He said, slipping his phone back into his jacket.

She smiled, tight and professional.

"Perfect. Mr. Minsoo has been awaiting your arrival for a few days now. Please follow me."

She turned briskly, not bothering to check if he complied.

Jaemin just shrugged inwardly and followed without a word.

They passed through wide glass doors into an immaculate lobby — floors so clean they reflected light like still water, elevators with no visible buttons, and holographic screens floating silently in midair, displaying Rift traffic and Coreborn rankings.

The further they walked, the colder the building seemed to get — not in temperature, but in tone. Like wealth, power, and silence were part of the air here.

They finally stopped in front of a sleek black door at the end of a long hall. The assistant turned and gave a slight bow.

"You may go in. He's expecting you."

Jaemin nodded once, then opened the door.

The office inside was enormous.

It looked more like the lounge of a five-star penthouse than anything official — floor-to-ceiling windows lining the far wall, giving a misted view of the city skyline.

Shelves of neatly organized files and old books lined one wall.

The other was a single slab of dark marble holding a minimalist desk — perfectly polished.

A white leather couch sat in the center beside a glass table, untouched.

Everything was pristine, quiet, expensive.

Cold.

Jaemin exhaled softly through his nose.

"So this is the kind of room you get when you wear the badge, huh…"

He stepped in fully, letting the door shut behind him with a whisper.

The moon cast fractured shadows through the blinds as Kim Minsoo stood by the tall glass window of his office, his hands folded behind his back.

The light refracted off dozens of awards, plaques, and commemorations lining the walls — tokens of a life lived in service, though few would guess at what still stirred behind those tired eyes.

He turned as the door opened.

"Finally, Mr. Han. I was starting to think you'd taken pity on this old man and decided I wasn't worth visiting after all."

A soft smile tugged at his lips — weary, but genuine.

"Sorry... Been... busy."

Minsoo nodded knowingly and gestured toward the couch near his desk — leather-bound, understated, comfortable. The kind of seat that invited quiet conversations and unspoken truths.

"Have a seat. You look like someone who could use something cold."

His assistant, wordless as always, appeared with two glasses of iced coffee. Jaemin didn't hesitate — his fingers curled instinctively around the chilled glass. The bitterness hit his tongue like a comfort he wasn't proud of.

"I think I'm starting to have a problem with this stuff."

"There are worse addictions. Coffee at least keeps your wits sharp. For now."

They sipped in silence for a beat. Then Minsoo leaned forward slightly, lacing his fingers together.

"So, Mr. Han… how may I be of assistance?"

Jaemin blinked. For a second, he wasn't sure if he heard correctly. That question — from him?

This was Kim Minsoo. Not just any Association official. A man whispered about even in the upper ranks. Veteran of the Old Fronts.

Trusted by the Chairman himself. If not for his refusal to take a leadership position, he'd be running the entire damn organization.

And here he was, asking him — a rookie, an outlier, a walking controversy — how he could help.

Jaemin cleared his throat, trying not to fidget.

"I… I wanted to know more about the Covenants. About the Rifts. When they started. Why."

Minsoo didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood, walked slowly to a shelf, and pulled down a worn black journal. He tapped it gently against his palm as he returned to his seat.

"Most people think the world changed the day the Rifts opened."

A pause.

"They're wrong."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, alert now.

"The real beginning was older than we'll ever know. Before the gates. Before the Associations. Before Coreborns. It started…"

He looked out the window, voice softening.

"With the Monolith."

Jaemin said nothing, letting the silence guide the story.

Minsoo leaned back, eyes sharpening beneath the weariness.

"Somewhere in the heart of ancient India… there was a temple. Buried beneath jungle and time. No maps. No name. No worshipers left."

"The ones who found it weren't looking for glory. They were called there — sages, guided by something ancient. They passed murals etched with wrath, descended beyond the sacred, beyond fear."

"And then… they found her. A goddess carved from silence and scream. Still, eternal, eyes locked in truth too great for words. She wasn't their destination though... She was far beyond of their reach."

"Beyond her… they found it."

Jaemin leaned forward unconsciously.

"A monolith. Towering, alive — not born, not built. It pulsed with energy that bled color into emotion. The moment they saw it, they knew."

"…The Core."

Minsoo gave a slow nod.

"The first. The root of everything that came after. It didn't speak — not in words. But it called to them. To all of us, eventually."

"That Monolith… it was never meant to be touched. Never meant to be awakened. But curiosity… faith… fear — those are powerful things."

He set the journal down gently on the table.

"From that day forward, the world changed. Rifts began to appear. Cracks in our reality — leaks from the source.

The first Coreborns emerged soon after. Warriors born not from training, but from resonance. They carried pieces of the Monolith inside them."

"…And the Covenants?"

"Formed out of necessity. Order forged from chaos. Most people think it was for peace. Unity. But really, it was survival. You've seen what lies beyond those gates, haven't you?"

Jaemin didn't answer. He didn't have to. The silence between them darkened.

Minsoo studied him for a moment longer — like he was seeing more than just the quiet boy in the black jacket.

"I've read the reports. About the Rift you survived. About what happened in there. The other Coreborns… gone."

"You don't have to explain it. I just want you to know...that the story is out and famous by now."

Jaemin looked away, gripping his coffee a little tighter.

"Can I ask something else?"

Jaemin said, voice low.

Minsoo nodded.

"Of course."

Jaemin's gaze sharpened—not intense, but genuinely curious now, cutting through the fog of exhaustion.

"These… Covenants," he began, carefully. "Why are they treated like royalty? Why do they hold so much power over Rifts? Earlier, I overheard someone say that certain Rifts are 'locked out' from others.

"How does that work? What gives them the right to own something like that?"

Minsoo blinked once, then chuckled lightly—not mockingly, but more like a teacher surprised at the sincerity of a question. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

"That... is a very good question. You're the first rookie to ask that without sounding like they're whining about it."

He said.

Jaemin waited.

Minsoo leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table, voice lowering into something deeper, more deliberate.

"Let's start from the beginning. There are three things you need to understand to make sense of all this: the origin of the Covenants, the economy behind the Rifts, and the law that governs both."

He began tracing invisible lines on the table with a finger, as if mapping the system.

"After the Second Corefall—roughly twenty-five years ago—when Tier 3 and higher Rifts started appearing in urban zones, governments panicked. Coreborn were powerful, yes, but unorganized.

Teams would rush in chaotically, stepping over each other, turning every Rift raid into a glorified feeding frenzy.

People died. Civilians, too. You couldn't secure neighborhoods or hospitals if ten different strike teams were fighting over loot rights while monsters poured out into the streets."

"So they created… guilds?"

Jaemin guessed.

Minsoo nodded.

"The Association proposed the Covenant Charter—a law that officially registered and ranked groups of Coreborn as legally recognized entities. In return for following strict oversight, these groups were given something called Jurisdictional Rights."

Jaemin frowned.

"Which means…?"

"They could claim a Rift. Own it. Protect it. Exploit it. Patrol the area around it, and in return, the government—through the Association—would recognize that territory as theirs. Think of it like a mining license meets military authorization."

"If a Rift opens up and it's on your territory, it's yours to handle. No one else is allowed in without permission."

Jaemin's eyebrows knit together.

"So... even if a Rift is dangerous and could cause a collapse or leak monsters, others can't step in unless the Covenant lets them?"

"That's right."

Minsoo said.

"Unless it's an Open-Class Rift, or a breach-level emergency, the jurisdiction belongs to the Covenant who claimed that district or Rift beacon. Even if another team is stronger or better equipped, they have to wait unless the Association steps in. That's happened… twice in the last decade."

"But why allow that at all?"

Jaemin asked, frustration slipping in.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to let the best team handle it every time?"

"In theory, yes."

Minsoo said quietly.

"But in practice, it's chaos. Power doesn't scale evenly. Stronger teams could monopolize everything, leaving entire cities defenseless. That's what was happening in the early years. The Covenant System, for all its flaws, forces structure."

"Think of it like a militarized zoning map. Every square kilometer of Rift territory is now accounted for. If something goes wrong, we know who's to blame. We know who's responsible."

Jaemin leaned back, letting it sink in.

Minsoo continued, voice steady, almost like he was reading out classified policy.

"There are currently 117 officially recognized Covenants in the East Korean Zone, each with a different size, power rating, and jurisdictional region. Of those, only about twenty control Tier 2 or higher Rifts. And of those twenty, ten are considered dominant. You've heard the names—Covenants: NOVA, CRUX, HALCYON, RAVENHOLD, STELLARIS, WARDEN,and the rest."

"Gatekeepers."

Jaemin murmured.

"Exactly."

Minsoo said.

"Each of them operates like a paramilitary company with their own internal hierarchies, training regimes, financing divisions, scouting teams, and more. The Association gives them autonomy—as long as they report data, meet safety quotas, and don't overstep their assigned jurisdiction."

"Which they do."

Jaemin said flatly.

"All the time."

Minsoo smiled faintly.

"Yes. But only if they can afford the political fallout."

There was a pause.

Jaemin's eyes flicked to the window, watching the faint shimmer of anti-Rift barriers humming across the upper skyline.

"So... what happens if someone like me, a Coreborn without a Covenant, wants to challenge a Rift?"

He asked.

Minsoo tapped the table once.

"You're allowed to—but only if the Rift is classified as Unclaimed, or if it's declared Emergency Tier and no responding Covenant is within proximity. Otherwise…"

He shrugged.

"You'd be arrested. Or worse—blacklisted."

Jaemin frowned.

"By the Association?"

"And the Covenants themselves."

Minsoo said.

"Some treat jurisdiction like sacred ground. Step into one of their 'sanctioned Rifts' and you're picking a fight with an entire private army. Doesn't matter if you win. You'll lose the long game."

"That's… stupid."

Jaemin muttered.

Minsoo didn't disagree.

"But it's how things work. You have to understand—Rifts are money. Cores harvested from Rift monsters power everything from industrial batteries to medical equipment. The economy would collapse without them."

"So when a Rift appears, it's not just a danger—it's a resource well. The Covenant who secures it gets first access to rare monsters, cores, weapons, and tech salvage. Ownership means wealth. Wealth means power. Power means influence."

Jaemin stayed quiet for a long moment.

"And here I thought I was just going to fight monsters."

He said, dryly.

Minsoo gave a quiet laugh.

"That's what they want you to think. But once you start climbing, you'll realize—the real battles happen before the Rifts even open."

Jaemin's fingers curled slightly.

"So if I want to help people—really help—I have to join a Covenant?"

"It's the easiest way."

Minsoo said.

"Or… create your own."

Jaemin blinked.

"You can do that?"

"It's hard."

Minsoo said, eyes gleaming slightly.

"But not impossible. You need at least five registered Coreborn, a designated combat and logistics lead, a sustainable funding model, and a signed permit from the Association. Most rookies try it and crash within a year.

But if you succeed… you get jurisdiction. Your own Rifts. Your own say in the chain of command."

Jaemin looked down, absorbing all of it.

The world was even more tangled than he thought.

Power wasn't just about strength. It was about structure. About the invisible chessboard behind every monster they fought.

"I'll ask something selfish."

He said at last, voice quiet.

"If a Rift appears… and I'm the only one who can handle it, but it's locked by jurisdiction—what should I do?"

Minsoo's expression darkened slightly.

"Then you do what's right. Handle it. Save who you can. But know this—they won't thank you. Not right away. You'll be labeled a violator, maybe even a threat. Because the system wasn't built to reward heroes. It was built to prevent chaos."

"And if I break the system?"

Minsoo studied him for a long beat. Then smiled—slowly, genuinely.

"Then you'd better have the strength to replace it."

"Mr. Kim."

He said quietly but with a new sharpness.

"what if I wanted to create my own Covenant? I mean, start something from scratch — my own team, my own name, my own territory. Is that even possible?"

Minsoo's eyes flickered with a trace of a smile, but it quickly faded into a look of serious contemplation.

"That's a long road, Mr Han. Longer and steeper than most imagine."

He pushed his cup aside, giving Jaemin his full attention.

"Creating a Covenant isn't like starting a club or a business. It's establishing a fully recognized legal entity within an incredibly complex system—one that governs the balance of power between nations, corporations, and Coreborn factions. There are dozens of laws, dozens of layers of bureaucracy, and even more regulations—all designed to prevent chaos."

Jaemin leaned forward.

"So… what's the process? How do you start?"

"First, you must register with the Coreborn Association."

Minsoo explained.

"This is the central authority that oversees all Covenants in Korea. Without their approval, your Covenant won't exist legally—no matter how many fighters you gather or how many Rifts you clear."

He paused, as if considering how much to reveal.

"Registration requires extensive documentation: your Covenant's intended purpose, leadership structure, roster of members, safety protocols, Rift engagement policies, and—most importantly—your funding plan. They won't approve anyone without a solid financial foundation."

Jaemin nodded slowly, already overwhelmed by the bureaucracy alone.

Minsoo continued.

"Once you register, you need to draft a Covenant's memorandum of Association—a detailed document outlining your Covenant's rules, goals, chain of command, training standards, and dispute resolution procedures."

"Sounds like a constitution."

"Exactly. This charter or MOA is scrutinized by Association lawyers and diplomats. If anything is ambiguous, contradictory, or potentially dangerous, they'll send it back for revision."

"After your charter, comes licensing."

Minsoo said grimly.

"Every Covenant needs licenses for combat operations, Rift explorations, resource extraction, and trade."

Jaemin blinked.

"Trade?"

"Yes. Rift cores, artifacts, and Abyssal materials are high-value commodities. The Association taxes these transactions heavily to prevent black markets and illegal smuggling."

"How heavy?"

"Depends on the scale, but expect to pay up to 47% in taxes for commercial Rift material sales."

Jaemin Exhaled softly.

Minsoo's expression darkened.

"Next, you must prove that your Covenant has adequate security and safety measures in place. Coreborn operations are dangerous, and the Association is liable for any negligence."

"You mean like insurance?"

"Yes. Covenants must purchase comprehensive insurance policies for their members. This covers injury, death, property damage, and Rift containment failures."

Jaemin shuddered at the thought.

Minsoo leaned closer.

"From start to finish, the average time to fully register and license a Covenant is five months to a year. That's a year's worth of paperwork, inspections, audits, and lobbying."

Jaemin swallowed hard.

"So it's not just fighting monsters. It's a bureaucratic war."

Minsoo's eyes locked onto Jaemin's.

"But the real barrier? Money. Lots of it."

He pulled out a tablet and tapped a few keys. The screen displayed an enormous figure.

"The minimum capital investment required to start a Covenant is 222.22 billion won — roughly 165 or so million USD."

Jaemin nearly choked on his next sip of his coffee.

"Why so much?"

Minsoo scrolled through the tablet.

"Let me break it down:

Coreborn Salaries and Training: 50 billion won annually to recruit and maintain skilled Coreborn operatives, trainers, and support staff.

Rift Operation Equipment: Specialized gear, weapons, and containment tech can cost upwards of 40 billion won initially.

Research and Development: 30 billion won for Rift study, Abyssal biology, and weapon innovation.

Legal and Administrative Fees: 20 billion won to cover registration, licenses, lobbying, and insurance.

Facilities and Infrastructure: 50 billion won for headquarters, training grounds, and Rift containment stations.

Emergency Reserves and Contingency Funds: 10 billion won held in reserve for crisis situations, member compensation, and unexpected Rift events."

Minsoo looked up at Jaemin.

"That's the bare minimum. And that doesn't guarantee approval."

Jaemin's mind reeled.

"But there's more."

Minsoo added.

"Political favors, black market deals, bribes—"

Jaemin's eyes narrowed.

"Isn't that illegal?"

"On paper, yes. In reality, it's part of the ecosystem. Some of the largest Covenants thrive on this grey zone."

Minsoo sighed.

"The system is designed to favor established powers. New Covenants must either be extraordinarily well-funded or backed by political heavyweights."

"But remember this."

Minsoo said, locking eyes with Jaemin.

"To create a Covenant is to paint a target on your back. You'll inherit enemies, debts, obligations. The bigger your name grows, the more the world watches you—and sometimes, hunts you."

Jaemin swallowed his doubts and nodded.

"The price of power."

He whispered.

The faint hum of the office seemed distant now, like a murmur from another world as Jaemin exhaled deeply. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of Minsoo's words pressed on his spine.

Minsoo watched him for a moment, voice low but steady.

"If you're thinking about making your own Covenant, I suggest you wait... a lot. Not just because of the work and effort—it's more than that."

He leaned forward, eyes sharp.

"Ask yourself if it's really worth it. I don't know what you're planning or what's running through your head to make you ask such a heavy question. But please... think it through. Creating a Covenant might pressure you to leave everything behind, maybe hibernate somewhere like the Himalayas just to escape it."

Jaemin said nothing. The silence hung between them like a thick fog.

"Thank you."

Jaemin finally said, voice quiet, almost hollow.

Minsoo gave a small nod, a rare softness creeping into his expression.

"Please, make yourself comfortable here. The door to my office is open anytime you need."

****

Jaemin stood slowly and left the building. The world outside was sharp and cold, but inside him, an invisible weight settled deep—heavier than any armor or burden he had ever worn.

His steps were slow, measured. The city noises blurred as his mind replayed Minsoo's words, the impossible numbers, the relentless laws. His dreams felt suddenly distant.

He pulled out his phone as he walked, fingers trembling slightly. The screen lit up with dozens of missed calls and messages.

He ignored them all.

For five days.

Most of the calls were from unknown numbers, persistent and unyielding like the world itself. Despite what happened last time—when he'd accepted a random call and it had turned into a tangled web of chaos—he still felt compelled to check.

The moment he finally answered a call, the shrill voice pierced through his quiet.

"HYUNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Jaemin flinched. There was only one person who shouted "hyung" like that with desperation and a hint of childish joy.

"Who is this?"

Jaemin asked, wary, lowering his voice.

The voice on the other end laughed nervously.

"It's me, the rando you helped in the Rift raid... Yoon Taeha."

Jaemin sighed, tension easing just a fraction.

"Yeah... What do you want from me, Taeha?"

"Hyung, let's meet up! :D"

Taeha's tone was hopeful, eager.

"No."

Jaemin said flatly, cutting the call before Taeha could argue.

He didn't hate anyone. He didn't want to be alone out of spite.

He was just cautious. Guarded. Wary.

He wasn't ready to face anyone—not yet.

Jaemin's phone buzzed relentlessly as he walked through the cold city streets. Calls here, texts there—Taeha was losing it, and the desperation spilled through every notification.

Finally, tired and annoyed, Jaemin tapped out and called

"Stop spamming me..."

Seconds later, the reply popped up instantly, urgent and pleading.

"Please hyung, just an hour, please. I'm really, really desperate... even 10 minutes. You won't have to walk much either, I'm literally at a small café in Central, around the Coreborn Association."

"I said no. Don't call me again. I'm not interested in anything you have for me."

Almost immediately, the reply came back, softer now, desperate in a way Jaemin hadn't heard before.

"Then please come for me at least. You saved my life, didn't you? Let me thank you, formal sir."

The words hit Jaemin like a sudden sting.

"No."

He said back, blunt.

The silence on the other end stretched thin, broken only by a single, heartbroken sigh from Taeha through the phone.

"It's okay, sir... guess I did bother you too much."

Before Jaemin could even consider a reply, he cut the call without a goodbye, slipping the phone into his pocket. Without looking back, he started walking away—his own path, heavy with the weight of refusal. 

****

Meanwhile, inside the small, cozy café in Central, Taeha sat alone at a corner table. His posture was slumped, the light from the window casting long shadows over his weary face. He fiddled absentmindedly with a cold cup of coffee, thoughts scattered and tangled.

He was a sack of sadness, worn thin by rejection and loneliness.

His mind was blank, but somewhere deep inside, something was trembling—maybe tears struggling to break free, maybe a swirling confusion no one else could understand.

SCRAPP!

The sudden SCRAPP! of a chair scraping loudly jolted Taeha from his spiraling thoughts.

He looked up to see a tall, good-looking man casually dressed but carrying an unmistakable air of quiet strength and confidence sliding into the seat opposite him.

"Hyung..."

Taeha muttered under his breath, barely able to contain the flood of joy rushing through him.

His heart pounded, excitement building so fast it was like a dam breaking inside. He felt like he could sprout wings and fly, maybe even fart unicorns.

For a moment, all the heaviness, the loneliness, the tiredness—all of it seemed to evaporate just because he was here.

Jaemin.