The room was small, cramped, and dimly lit.
At its center stood a narrow bed, its metal frame slightly rusted at the edges. A boy lay sprawled atop it, wrapped tightly in a faded pink blanket, sleeping deeply as if the world had nothing left to demand from him.
This was Alex.
His complexion was neither fair nor dark—an ordinary, muted tone, the kind that blended easily into crowds. His features were far from handsome: a broad nose, slightly protruding lips, and messy black hair that stuck out in stubborn directions no matter how often it was combed. There was a dull tiredness clinging to his face, as if exhaustion had long since become a part of him.
Just a few steps away, near the corner of the room, stood a small window. Pale morning light slipped through its dusty glass panes, falling upon another boy seated on a cheap plastic chair beside a cluttered table.
Books were spread before him.
This boy was Maxel.
Their ages were nearly the same—both around fifteen—but unlike Alex, Maxel sat upright, alert, his eyes moving swiftly across the pages. He paused, reached into his pocket, and checked the time on his phone.
7:08 a.m.
His expression tightened.
With a sigh, Maxel pushed the chair back and stood up, walking straight to the bed. He grabbed Alex by the shoulder and shook him roughly.
"Hey—Alex," he said loudly. "Aren't you going to college today?"
Alex groaned. His eyes cracked open just a little, unfocused and heavy with sleep.
"College… so early?" he muttered. "It starts at nine, doesn't it?"
He was already drifting back toward sleep, eyelids sinking shut again.
Maxel frowned. "Yeah, college isn't right now. But you still need to eat before going, don't you?" He shook Alex again. "And today's your turn to cook. I've been making food for the past two days."
That did it.
Alex finally opened his eyes fully, staring at the ceiling in frustration. "Ah, Maxel… you woke me up at the worst possible time," he complained. "I was having a really important dream—and now it's gone."
Maxel returned to his chair, sitting down calmly. "It was just a dream. You can see it again tomorrow," he said flatly. "What matters is college. Exams. Tests. Good marks."
He tapped the book in front of him.
"That's what gets us somewhere. Good grades lead to a degree. A degree leads to a job. Dreams don't give you any of that."
Alex let out a long sigh.
"…Yeah. Fine," he said aloud, his voice flat.
But inside, his thoughts spiraled unchecked.
Everyone studies just to get a job, he thought.
But why do people even want jobs? To earn money. Why earn money? To live. And to live… all you really need is food.
I could eat even by doing small, meaningless work.
I don't have dreams like you people,
his gaze drifted toward the cracked ceiling.
No dream of earning money to buy good clothes, a big house, a car. No dream of getting a girlfriend, marrying a 'good family' girl, having children…
And even then, you'll keep working. Because you'll convince yourself it's for your children's future.
His lips curled faintly, not quite a smile.
You'll keep running like that until you grow old.
And then one day, you'll die.
Gone.
No one will truly know you. No one will remember what you felt.
Alex's eyes grew dull, almost hollow.
Does this world even have meaning?
Everyone is just trying to create an identity—to prove they're better than someone else.
Why do they keep doing such foolish things…
In the end, everything disappears.
Fake smiles.
Fake happiness.
Fake lives.
Slowly, Alex pushed the blanket aside and sat up on the bed.
The pink fabric slipped down to his waist as his feet touched the cold floor.
Alex walked out through the door, muttering under his breath,
"…It's fine. As long as I'm alive, I'll have to endure it anyway. People say you only find peace after death."
He stopped at the basin and splashed cold water onto his face.
Droplets slid down his cheeks as he wiped them away and slowly raised his head.
His reflection stared back at him from the cracked mirror.
Alex looked into his own eyes and thought,
Yeah… I don't know how I keep going back to the same dream again and again.
His fingers tightened against the edge of the basin.
But somehow… I've started to like that world.
A faint, conflicted emotion surfaced in his chest.
I just don't want it to disappear like all the other dreams.
For a brief second, the reflection in the mirror seemed to waver—
as if another pair of eyes, colder and calmer, were gazing back from somewhere far deeper.
Alex blinked.
The mirror returned to normal.
He washed his face, tied his messy black hair loosely, and stepped into the narrow kitchen. The kitchen was not a separate place.
It existed within the same small room where they slept and studied—
a cramped corner beside the bed, marked only by a low table, a single-burner stove, and a few worn utensils stacked carelessly against the wall.
Alex stepped toward it in silence.
He turned on the stove.
The faint click was followed by a weak blue flame, barely strong enough to light the bottom of the pan.. He moved without urgency—cutting vegetables, lighting the stove, stirring the pan as if following a routine his body remembered better than his mind.
Maxel leaned against the doorway, scrolling through his phone.
"Eggs again?" he asked.
Alex replied flatly, "Food is food."
They ate in silence.
The taste barely registered.
College
By the time they reached college, the sun had climbed high. Students filled the corridors with noise—laughter, complaints, dreams spoken too loudly.
Alex sat in class, staring at the blackboard.
Numbers, formulas, notes—
everything entered his eyes, yet nothing stayed.
Maxel took notes seriously, occasionally nudging Alex when the professor asked a question. Alex answered when required, precise enough to avoid trouble, indifferent enough to forget it.
moments later.
Hours passed.
No moment stood out.
Evening Return
By evening, they were back in their room.
The door closed. The noise of the world stayed outside.
Alex dropped his bag onto the floor and stared at the ceiling for a brief moment, feeling a strange heaviness settle in his chest—an unexplainable fatigue that had nothing to do with the day.
They cooked dinner again.
Rice. Vegetables. Simple food.
They ate.
They studied.
Pages turned. Pens moved.
Time passed.
Alex lay on the bed, a book resting against his chest.
His fingers turned the pages slowly, one after another.
From time to time, he paused to jot something down, the pen scratching softly against the paper.
The room was quiet.
Then—
A sudden ringing shattered the stillness.
The phone lying beside him vibrated against the mattress.
Alex turned his head and glanced at the screen.
Dad.
The name glowed faintly in the dim light.
Alex hesitated for a moment before picking up the phone.
"Hello… yes, Dad."
Dad: "Have you eaten?"
Alex: "Yeah."
Dad: "Everything fine there? You still have the money I sent, right?"
Alex: "Yeah… I still have it, but—"
Dad: "But what happened?"
Alex:
"The rent date is getting close. The landlord came asking for the payment."
There was a brief pause on the other end of the call.
Dad: "Didn't I send you money recently?"
His voice carried a hint of disappointment.
Alex spoke more carefully now.
"Yes… but that was only enough for one month. The rent has to be paid before the 10th."
Dad: "I see. How much do you need?"
Alex:
"I have about four dollars left right now, so if you could send twenty-five dollars, it should cover the rent and food."
Another pause.
Dad: "Twenty-five dollars…"
Then, more softly,
"Alright. I'll send it tomorrow. Take care of yourself. Focus on your studies. Don't get into fights."
He exhaled lightly.
"Here, talk to your mother."
The phone changed hands.
Mom: "Alex… did you eat properly?"
Alex's grip on the phone tightened slightly.
"Yes, Mom. I did."
Mom: "You're not skipping meals again, are you?"
He forced a small smile she couldn't see.
"No… I'm fine."
There was a brief silence, then her voice softened.
Mom: "You sound tired."
Alex looked at the dim ceiling above his bed.
"Just studying a lot."
Mom:
"Don't push yourself too hard. You don't have to carry everything alone, okay?"
His throat felt a little tight.
"Yeah… I know."
Mom:
"Wear warm clothes at night. And sleep on time."
Alex nodded instinctively.
"I will."
She hesitated, then said quietly,
"We're proud of you."
Alex closed his eyes for a second.
"…Thanks, Mom."
Mom: "Alright. Study well. Call when you have time."
"Okay."
The call ended.
Alex stared at the dark screen for a long moment, then placed the phone beside him—
his chest feeling heavier than before, yet strangely warm.
Alex thought to himself—
Rent… food… daily expenses… notebooks, books.
In a big city like this, money disappeared far too easily.
He knew it.
Deep down, he had always known.
His parents wouldn't be able to send money like this forever.
Just to send him here, they had already borrowed from several relatives.
Here, his expenses were limited to rent and food.
There was no college fee—he had earned his place by passing the entrance examination.
This was one of Bihar's government engineering colleges, a place where only those who cleared the exam could study.
Then why…
Why did they place so much hope on him?
Hope that he would easily get a job.
Hope that their sacrifices would be rewarded.
Maybe it was because he was the first in his family to study so far away from home.
Or maybe because they kept hearing others say—
"If you study there, you'll definitely get a good job somewhere."
Alex found that thought strangely empty.
He had never planned to come here.
He hadn't even wanted to.
It was his maternal uncle who had told him to give the entrance exam—
so he did, without expectations.
And somehow…
out of millions of candidates across the state, he ranked 30th.
That rank had opened this door for him.
A door he wasn't sure he wanted to walk through.
Silently, Alex placed his book on the bench beside the bed.
Then he lay down, turning his back to the dim light of the room.
Alex murmured to himself, his voice barely above a breath—
"They only say those things… because once, I wanted the same as everyone else.
To get a job.
To earn a lot of money.
To buy land.
To travel freely…"
His fingers tightened slightly against the blanket.
"But that desire isn't inside me anymore.
That hunger… has already burned out."
Once, he had studied as if his life depended on it—
as if everything in the world existed only for grades and rankings.
That person…
he no longer knew where that version of himself had gone.
It felt as if it had quietly vanished from within him.
Alex slowly closed his eyes.
"Maybe… in that other world," he whispered,
"I'll find that hunger again.
The drive I had in high school—
the urge to stand ahead of everyone,
to grow sharper,
to push myself to the limit."
The room fell silent.
As Alex drifted into sleep, his consciousness did not sink into darkness.
Instead, it fell inward.
The world around him peeled away—
the room, the bed, the weight of his body—
all of it faded as if it had never existed.
What remained was his soul.
It was formless, yet aware.
Light, yet burdened with memories.
Guided by an unseen pull, Alex felt himself being dragged across an immeasurable distance.
Space twisted.
Time lost meaning.
Then—
he saw it.
A body.
Fang Lin.
Lying still within a dim, unfamiliar world, surrounded by faint traces of spiritual energy.
The body felt close… unbearably close.
Alex's soul rushed forward.
The moment he tried to merge—
Resistance.
Not the gentle rejection of an empty vessel,
but something solid.
Absolute.
It was as if an invisible wall stood between his soul and that body.
Alex pushed harder.
His soul strained, trembling as he tried to force his way in—
again and again.
But each attempt was repelled.
Not violently.
Not cruelly.
Simply… denied.
A strange sensation washed over him.
That body was not empty.
It was already occupied.
Not by flesh.
Not by instinct.
But by a presence—
deep, anchored, and unmistakably alive.
Alex felt it.
Another consciousness.
Another soul.
Firmly rooted within Fang Lin's body, as if it had never left,
as if it had already claimed that existence long ago.
No matter how much Alex struggled,
no matter how desperately his soul pressed forward—
there was no opening.
Only silence.
Only the cold truth.
This was not a body waiting for reincarnation.
This was not a vessel for the taking.
It already belonged to someone else.
And as that realization sank in,
the pull weakened.
Alex's soul was slowly pushed back—
back through the void,
back toward his sleeping body.
Alex abruptly threw the blanket aside and sat up, irritation written clearly on his face.
"Why is everything going wrong today…" he muttered under his breath.
"Before, I could go there so easily. But this time… no matter what I do, I just can't."
Maxel, who was still sitting at the table with a book open in front of him, glanced sideways at Alex with a puzzled look.
"Go where?" he asked. "You should be sleeping right now, shouldn't you?"
Alex had already stood up. He walked toward the door, trying to keep his voice steady.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said casually.
"I just felt restless. Thought I'd get some fresh air—it's hard to sleep like this."
Maxel studied him for a brief second, then gave a small nod, unconvinced but unwilling to press further.
"Yeah… fine," he said, lowering his head back to his book.
Alex stepped closer to the door.
But inside, his thoughts were anything but calm.
Something has changed, he realized.
That world… it's no longer responding to me the same way.
And for the first time since the Martial Dream began,
a faint sense of unease crept into his heart.