Chapter 3
The original plan was like this: Stay at Taesung’s place, make plans together, visit gates using Taesung’s connections, quietly complete awakened registration, and prevent the foundation for the monster wave.
And along the way, collect the “anomalies” that others had discovered.
But now Taesung couldn’t remember anything from before the return, and Lee Hwan had suddenly become a suspicious unregistered awakened person who’d just enjoyed a nice toasty fire.
By March 8th, he should have already taken the mana response test and been hired as a supporter for the Naru Group. If his memory was correct, in exactly one week—on March 15th—he was scheduled to start work there.
‘I’m screwed.’
Lee Hwan was a college dropout with nowhere to run. He had no parents, and what little money he’d saved was barely enough to get by.
Lee Hwan had survived on convenience store food for the first month until his paycheck arrived. In a situation where just getting by was difficult, there was no way he could stop anyone or fix anything to save the world.
‘I was going to eat steak for dinner.’
Tears flowed from the corners of Lee Hwan’s eyes.
Taesung had always been a reliable and caring friend to him. Sometimes even annoyingly so. He knew well that Lee Hwan loved steak and would often grill it himself whenever he had the chance. Lee Hwan particularly enjoyed the rich buttery flavor and those mysterious exotic spices.
But to think that same face would be so coldly hardened. That gaze looking at him as if he were some perverse stalker or assassin. Trying to roast him instead of steak.
It felt like his heart was being carved out. He’d expected only good things after returning. He’d used that skill risking death with that hope. Where was that person now?
His arm—gripped by that strong hand—still seemed to hurt. Of course, with the rapid healing characteristic of awakened ones, that shouldn’t be the case, but it felt that way.
“That bastard… ugh…”
Lee Hwan finally spat out the blood he’d swallowed earlier.
He didn’t know how much time had passed. His spinning vision returned to normal, and his churning stomach calmed down.
Lee Hwan got up with a pale face and thought. He wanted to rest. He was so confused that he wanted to sleep for three or four days. But he knew that if he just ran away and ended it here, he’d truly be doomed.
Lee Hwan didn’t know when Kang Dongha’s schemes had started. Honestly, when he’d been lounging at home waiting, he’d thought Taesung would take care of everything.
He’d figured he could efficiently handle visiting gates and external matters, while thinking, “As for your family drama, you handle it yourself.”
But without Taesung’s memories, it was impossible to expect the level of action he’d hoped for. Lee Hwan took a deep breath. He needed to put emotions aside and consider what was most necessary first.
One. He needed to stop Kang Dongha.
He didn’t know exactly what that bastard was thinking, how he’d done it, or why he’d messed with the gates, but he knew Dongha was the main reason the world had been chopped to pieces.
In the past, destruction had approached very quickly. Monsters had officially started destroying the human world one year before the return, but looking further back, there seemed to have been problems from about a year earlier. Those problems originated from Kang Dongha.
Two. He needed to prevent all events that could serve as the foundation for the monster wave.
He had more than enough industry knowledge and memories. Just listing the strange or suspicious incidents would help find the starting point.
And three. Training was necessary for this.
It was fortunate that his abilities had come with him, but his body was far too deteriorated for using them. Especially this soft, flexible waist…
What he needed most was money and connections, which meant a place by Kang Taesung’s side.
But waiting another 4 years until the day he’d first met Taesung would be too late, and their first meeting had already been a complete disaster. Kang Taesung wouldn’t forget his face.
‘I wish I could turn back time once more.’
After much contemplation, Lee Hwan suddenly had a thought. As they say, a chicken instead of a pheasant. Since the primary goal was to stop Kang Dongha’s bullshit, he should meet him first.
Lee Hwan had memories from the future. This meant he had at least some information that would be enticing to the other party.
Besides, thinking about it, Kang Dongha was also a member of the Naru Group. With less security and pathetic abilities, though.
***
Back in his single room after great hardship, Lee Hwan lay still on the bed, looking at his skill window.
- EX Broken Wind-up Clock (0 uses)
- Return to a time point desired by the user.
- User can designate a target for 2 people □□ □□□□.
- ! □□ □□□□ □□□□ □□.
- ! □□□□ □□ □□□ □□□□.
He didn’t think those hidden spaces would exactly match the number of characters. The system wasn’t that kind, and he didn’t even think it was speaking Korean, though it appeared in readable characters to his eyes.
Perhaps there was nothing in those hidden spaces. It wouldn’t be surprising if the system said those were just Korean spacing—that was the way of the unidentifiable system.
Even his spatial control skill had such an unhelpful explanation that he’d struggled terribly to understand it at the beginning.
- B Spatial Control (☆)
- Control and adjust the designated space.
A pointless explanation. Because of this, as soon as Lee Hwan awakened, he’d tried to use it like telekinesis on his entire room and ended up gushing a nosebleed.
‘It’s not like they’re trying to mess with me on purpose.’
What he slowly realized through practice was that, naturally, the larger the designated space, the more strain it caused. Slightly raising or lowering the temperature wasn’t a problem, but freely moving everything inside, forcibly going against something’s will, or rejecting the entry of living beings invariably caused damage.
Moving objects could be a superior version of telekinesis. And telekinesis penalties were generally not severe.
Nevertheless, when Lee Hwan used his ability the same way, penalties followed as if he was using it incorrectly. It was truly an unpopular ability.
So he designated only as much space as necessary. He achieved similar effects by using abilities that would strain him, but in roundabout ways.
For example, when a monster charged, instead of designating space to stop the monster’s movement, Lee Hwan would slightly pinch and release the space at the monster’s feet.
As the monster tumbled and rolled with a crash, he’d either stab its neck with a weapon, or his waiting companion, Kang Taesung, would roast it nicely.
Lee Hwan rarely used the space around his body as a barrier unless absolutely necessary. He’d quickly grab the surrounding space and slightly twist it to make incoming attacks miss him.
For sudden attacks, he’d increase the density of space in a shield form to push back or block, and sometimes he’d create a space with suddenly lowered density in a straight line between him and the opponent, running as if using an acceleration skill.
He called it density, but he didn’t actually know what kind of density it was. Lee Hwan roughly called it air density. What else could be there besides air?
This made monsters—with their clear attack patterns—easier to deal with than unregistered criminals. With the same skills that got him into a prestigious university without a single academy, Lee Hwan had memorized the characteristics and weaknesses of all existing major monsters, even to the point of nosebleeds. So that if there was a mock exam for all awakened individuals nationwide, he could confidently claim the top 1 percent.
‘I worked my ass off…’
Thus, his combat involved designating and releasing space in the right places according to the gate environment and monster situation.
Combat didn’t end in just one or two attacks. Energy distribution was paramount, as battles could last from a few hours to days. Therefore, Lee Hwan’s true value was demonstrated in supportive activities rather than direct attacks.
Bluntly speaking, if Lee Hwan could withstand penalties indefinitely, there’d be no need for tanks or dealers. He could just designate a space and wither all living beings within it.
But there was a reason his skill was B-class. It was questionable how long he could maintain such power, and enduring the penalties was initially impossible.
Lee Hwan generally approached combat by using various abilities shallowly and broadly, supporting the battles of surrounding hunters.
Countless training sessions had led to this point. The 22-year-old returned Lee Hwan immediately needed the delicate control he couldn’t use yet. The reason he’d stupidly jumped from the penthouse and designated the entire space was precisely that. The tingling taste of blood still remained in his mouth.
‘Anyway, so…’
Was there something different about the return skill?
Lee Hwan couldn’t give a definite answer. It was a skill discovered in a chaotic moment. He’d used it without much thought due to lack of time. The exclamation marks he only now noticed seemed ominous, not indicating any specific changes.
However, with Kang Taesung’s voice from before the return still lingering, he could pick out one slightly changed explanation.
‘If it’s a return, when—when would we go back to…?’
I don’t know. That’s how Lee Hwan had answered. But the skill window in front of him now said a time point “desired by the user.”
‘Did I desire this time?’
On the positive side, it was the point when he’d become a “mana responder,” not susceptible to mana poisoning from inside gates. At that time, Lee Hwan had shouted madly in celebration, thinking his life had finally taken a turn for the better.
However, out of those 7 years, there were plenty of times he could have returned to and lived comfortably—not necessarily now. If he’d gone back just 3 years, Kang Taesung would have been his friend. Then he wouldn’t have had to face such humiliation.
‘The desired time point…’
When using the skill, Lee Hwan had wanted to save Kang Taesung. Of course, he’d wanted to live too. And he’d also wanted to prevent this situation so they wouldn’t die again. So this time fulfilled all three conditions.
‘They clearly said Kang Dongha messed with the gate 3 years before the wave.’
It seemed there was something deeply rooted that neither he nor Taesung knew about.
