It's a Good Day (1)
"Kick him!"
"You filthy bastard!"
The children swarmed him, surrounding him in a loose circle and kicking without mercy. They looked younger than their age—hollow-cheeked, thin-limbed, bodies stunted by hunger.
"Huff… huff…"
They tired quickly. Their kicks slowed, breaths ragged.
"…Tch."
"What even is this guy?"
They exchanged annoyed glances as they looked down at him.
"…Let's go."
"Just like that?"
"You want to kill him?"
Silence followed. Conflict flickered briefly in their eyes—then vanished.
"…Let's go."
"Damn it. What a lousy day."
Spitting onto the dirt, they turned away. Even as they left, something unreadable lingered in their eyes.
"…Are we starving again today?"
"If those bastards weren't waging war, we could at least beg."
"Beg? More than ten people starved in the lower village. Not even beggars—normal folk. What do you think they'll give us?"
"…Damn it."
They walked on, shoulders slumped. Whether it was despair, fear, or numb resignation, even they no longer knew.
The powerful shook the world.
The powerless were crushed beneath it.
Long after the children disappeared—
Rustle.
The one left behind stirred.
A tiny, withered body staggered upright. Even without the beating, he looked ready to collapse at any moment.
The child pressed a trembling hand into the dirt.
Clothes that could no longer be called rags. Hair matted and wild. Less human than animal.
"Ugh."
He spat bloody saliva. The metallic taste lingered.
Glancing around like a cornered beast, he finally reached into his clothes.
What he pulled out was a single dumpling—flattened, blackened, filthy—protected more fiercely than his own body.
With shaking fingers, he tore off a piece and stuffed it into his mouth.
It tasted revolting. Blood. Dirt. Rot.
He chewed anyway. Slowly. Carefully. Almost reverently.
Another piece.
He did not resent the beating.
Being beaten was better than starving.
He understood his reality.
People died every day. Some of the children who kicked him would be dead within days. Without food, people died—children especially.
The price of survival was pain.
As he wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve, a voice spoke.
"Are you alright?"
The child shoved the dumpling back into his clothes and bared his teeth.
A hunched posture. A feral glare.
The beggar who had spoken froze.
"No… I was just worried."
Concern. Real concern.
In this world, it was almost obscene.
The child answered with nothing but cold eyes.
Still, the beggar approached.
"Don't be so tense. If you sleep out here in that state, you'll freeze to death. I—"
He stopped.
The child had drawn a blade.
Not food. Steel.
Confusion flickered across the beggar's face.
Then the mask cracked.
"You little bastard…"
His face twisted viciously. After weighing the risk, he stepped back.
"Do you think you'll survive a few more days like this?"
"…."
"You're already dying. When you do, I'll eat you."
Spitting curses, the beggar fled.
The child remained on guard long after he was gone.
Only then did he stand.
Limping, he climbed toward the mountain.
Night fell.
Halfway up the dangerous slope, the child dug into fallen leaves with practiced movements. A hollow appeared—barely enough space for a curled body.
He crawled inside.
Exhaustion dragged at his consciousness, but before sleep could claim him, he retrieved the dumpling again.
He ate slowly.
His expression was not that of a child.
From the mountain, he looked down at the world.
A hell.
Life's value was never equal.
In peace, life was priceless.
Here, it was worth less than half a stale dumpling.
A child's life was worth even less.
In the most wretched place, the weakest were pushed where no one else could live.
Below, lights flickered.
A village. Still too far. Still terrifying.
Lights marked the boundary between people and beasts.
They trembled, fragile—but beautiful.
The child ate while staring at them.
Dirt filled his mouth. Rot filled his nose.
His gaze shifted farther.
Brighter lights. Grand lights.
Places he could never reach.
Those who lived there were stronger. They had taken the light of others and made it their own.
The child stretched out his thin hand.
The lights looked close enough to grasp.
Warm.
But his hand touched nothing.
Only cold.
Yet he did not despair.
He understood.
Those lights were not given. They were stolen.
If others could take them—
So could he.
Like the dumpling today.
The light in his eyes grew.
The world flooded with brilliance. Boundaries vanished. Everything burned bright.
He reached out—
Crack.
The world split.
Warm red light fractured, spilling dark blood.
The child's eyes shook.
Blood drowned everything.
No warmth.
Only cold void.
"Ah…"
A sound escaped him for the first time.
Not words.
A wounded animal's cry.
"Aaah… Aaah…"
The world turned black.
"Aaaaaaah!"
❀ ❀ ❀
"Ryeonju."
"…."
"Ryeonju?"
Long lashes trembled. Pale eyes opened.
They took in the room.
"Everything is prepared."
He looked down.
Crimson robes. Golden dragons. Rings heavy with power.
Reality.
Not rags.
He turned his hand.
Cold sweat drenched his palm.
"…The mirror."
A bronze mirror was raised.
The face within was unfamiliar.
Painted. Adult. Pale. Beautiful. Hollow.
Different from the beast-child.
Had he changed?
He rose.
Servants adjusted his attire, unnoticed.
Step. Step.
At the door, he paused.
— Do you understand?
The question remained unanswered.
Perhaps forever.
The door flew open.
Bang.
Beyond stood countless followers.
Eyes sharp as blades.
Waiting only for him.
Jang Ilso smiled.
He met Ho Gamyeong's gaze. Ho Gamyeong bowed deeply.
"Everything is ready, Ryeonju."
Jang Ilso looked to the sky.
Clear. Blue.
The sun rose.
"It's a good day."
The gaze of a starving child flickered within him.
Still reaching.
Still wanting.
"Let's go."
Step.
A crescent smile curved his lips.
"For now… Henan."
"To seize the world."
"Yes!"
The blade finally fell.
And it would not stop.