I woke up to the smell of cooking.
Not the cheap ramen I'd been surviving on. Real food. Something savory and warm that made my stomach growl despite the pain radiating through my entire body.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Wrong ceiling. Again.
But this time it wasn't water-stained or falling apart. Clean white paint. A small light fixture.
I tried to sit up.
Pain exploded through my ribs. I gasped and fell back against the pillow.
"Don't move!"
A female voice. Footsteps rushed over.
Jung Hye-jin appeared in my vision, concern written across her face. She was wearing casual clothes—a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, hair down instead of her usual ponytail.
"Where am I?" I managed.
"My dorm room," she said. "I found you collapsed outside the engineering building around six-thirty. You looked half-dead."
Memories came back in fragments. The fight. Dae-jung's iron fist. The fire lance. Collapsing.
"How long was I out?"
"About three hours. It's almost ten PM now." She grabbed a pillow and helped prop me up carefully. "I was about to call an ambulance, but you started mumbling 'no hospitals' in your sleep."
Even unconscious, I refuse to go to the hospital, I can't afford the bill.
"Thank you," I said. "For bringing me here."
"What happened to you?" She sat on the edge of the bed—her bed, I realized. This was definitely a dorm room. Small, efficient, feminine. "You look like you got hit by a truck."
"Two C-rank students cornered me after class. Wanted to 'teach me a lesson' since I have no guild protection now."
Her eyes widened. "Two C-ranks? Su-ho, you're D-rank! Did you run? How did you get away?"
I hesitated. How much should I tell her?
"I fought them," I said carefully. "It... didn't go well."
"You fought them? Both of them?" She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "How are you alive?"
"Barely." I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. "I got lucky.They weren't expecting me to actually fight back."
"And you won?"
"I survived. They left. I'm calling that a win."
Hye-jin stared at me for a long moment. "Su-ho, you realize how insane that sounds? C-ranks are a full tier above you. Two of them should have destroyed you."
"They almost did."
She shook her head slowly. "You really are different now. I'd heard rumors, that if you were ever cornered you would just scream threats at the top of your lungs or cuss uncontrollably."
"Lets just say, my recent suspension, enlightened me."
She couldn't help but let a small chuckle slip out.
The smell of cooking intensified. Something was simmering on a small portable burner in the corner of the room—dorm rooms weren't supposed to have cooking equipment, but apparently Hye-jin bent that rule.
"I made stew," she said, standing up. "You need to eat. Your body needs fuel to heal."
She brought over a bowl—doenjang jjigae, Korean soybean paste stew with tofu, vegetables, and a bit of pork. The steam rising from it smelled like heaven.
She handed me the bowl and a spoon. "Careful, it's hot."
I took a spoonful.
The taste hit me like a physical force.
Rich. Savory. Perfectly seasoned. The kind of home cooking that came from practice and care.
And suddenly, without warning, tears started streaming down my face.
I tried to stop them. Couldn't.
"Suho?!" Hye-jin looked panicked. "What's wrong? Is it too hot? Did I—"
"No," I managed, voice cracking. "It's perfect."
But the tears wouldn't stop.
This wasn't me (Jin-woo) crying. This was Suho, or to be more specific, Suho's body—some deep muscle memory, some emotional imprint that I couldn't control.
The taste. The warmth. The care someone put into making this.
It tasted like his mother's cooking.
Kim Yeon-hee. Su-ho's mother. Dead for seven years. Car accident when he was twelve.
The last time this body had tasted food made with love.
I set the bowl down carefully, pressing my palms against my eyes. "Sorry. I don't—I can't—"
"It's okay." Hye-jin's voice was gentle. She sat beside me again, not touching, just present. "Take your time."
It took a minute for the tears to stop. For Su-ho's body to calm down.
"Your cooking," I said quietly. "It tastes like my mother's cooking."
Understanding crossed her face. "Your mother passed away, didn't she? When you were young?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"My mom taught me to cook," Hye-jin said softly. "She said it was important to be able to feed yourself and others. That cooking for someone was a way of showing you cared."
She picked up the bowl and held it out again. "So eat. Someone cares."
I took the bowl and ate.
Every spoonful was agony and comfort in equal measure. My body hurt. My ribs screamed with each breath. But the food was good, and I was starving, and somewhere in Suho's broken memories, this meant something.
Hye-jin made rice too. Let me eat in silence. Didn't ask questions or make it awkward.
When I finished, she took the empty bowl. "Better?"
"Much better. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She settled into the desk chair across from me. "So. Two C-ranks. Want to tell me what actually happened?"
I gave her the sanitized version—they cornered me, we fought, I used whatever I could to defend myself, they eventually left.
I didn't mention Fission splitting the water lance. Didn't mention copying Mana Lance through Isolation. Definitely didn't mention creating Fire Lance through Fusion.
Some things had to stay secret.
"They're going to come back," Hye-jin said. "People like that don't just give up."
"Let them." I shifted carefully, testing my ribs. Still broken, but the pain was manageable now. "I'm not running anymore."
"That's dumb."
"I'm dumb."
She smiled slightly. "Fair enough."
We talked for a while after that. Academy stuff mostly—which professors were strict, which classes were hardest, tips for surviving as a low-rank student in a place dominated by C-ranks and above.
Hye-jin was easy to talk to. No judgment, no hostility. Just genuine conversation.
"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked eventually. "Everyone else treats me like dirt. You know what I did."
She considered the question. "Frankly, its all hearsay to me. Maybe you've done a few bad things, but I don't believe you are a bad person."
"What makes you say that?"
"Everything. The way you talk. The way you look at me when we talk..." She leaned forward. "You're nothing like I heard at all."
"Maybe I'm just a good actor."
"Maybe. Or maybe you really did change." She shrugged. "Either way, you haven't done anything to me. So until you do, I'll treat you like a person."
"That's... remarkably fair."
I glanced at the window. Dark outside, lights from other dorm buildings visible. "What time is it?"
"Almost eleven."
"I should go."
"Suho, it's late. And you can barely move. Just sleep here—I'll sleep on the floor."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking. I'm offering." She grabbed a spare blanket from her closet. "Besides, if you collapse again on your way home, I'll feel responsible."
"I can handle myself."
"You could barely handle two guys jumping you."
"I believe I won." I pointed out.
"Barely" She put her hands on her hips. "Just stay. No one will know."
I wanted to argue. But the truth was, my body was wrecked. Walking back to my apartment—a good twenty-minute walk from campus, back to my apartment, would be hell.
Still.
"If anyone finds out a male student... to be more specific, Suho Park stayed over night..."
"Then don't get caught." She threw the blanket at me. "The bed is yours. I'll sleep on the floor."
"Absolutely not. This is your room. I'll take the floor."
"You have broken ribs."
"And you're a growing kid. You need rest"
We stared at each other.
"You sound like a geezer, how old are you?"
I stopped for a second remembering I am currently nineteen. Inhabiting the body of Suho Park.
"I'm nineteen."
"Well I'm older. So call me noona." She said with such a childish expression, that I forgot I was talking to an adult.
*For all of you from the english speaking majority. Noona is a term used in (South) Korea by a male to address an older female, meaning "older sister."*
"There's no way you're older than me. How old are you."
With a look of triumph she said. "Its impolite to ask a lady their age."
At this point I had given up.
Despite everything, I laughed. It hurt like hell, but I laughed.
"Fine. I'll take the bed. But I owe you."
"Just pass your classes and don't try to kill anyone else. We'll call it even."
Fair enough.
I left at 2 AM.
Hye-jin was asleep on the floor despite her insistence she'd be fine. I'd tried to switch with her around midnight, but she'd threatened to use her debuffs skills to physically force me back into bed.
Moving quietly in a strange room while injured was harder than expected. Every step had to be calculated. Every movement measured.
I made it to the door without waking her.
Left a note on her desk: Thank you for everything. I owe you more than food. - Suho-
Then I slipped out into the hallway.
The dorm was silent. Most students were asleep. A few lights under doors where late-night studiers were cramming.
I made my way down the stairs—elevators were too noisy—and out the side exit.
The campus at night was different. Empty. Almost peaceful.
My apartment was off-campus, in the cheap district where disowned students and failed hunters lived. I'd walked this route before but never injured, never at 2 AM.
Every step hurt. Every breath was careful.
But I made it.
Climbed the three flights to my apartment. Unlocked the door. Collapsed onto my floor mattress without even changing clothes.
Sleep came instantly.
Next Day - Class
Walking into class the next morning was an experience.
I'd wrapped my ribs with bandages from a first-aid kit, taken painkillers, and moved like I wasn't dying inside.
But people noticed.
"Is that Suho Park?"
"He looks like shit."
"Did someone finally beat his ass?"
I took my usual seat in the back corner of Dungeon Theory.
Five minutes later, Choi Dae-jung walked in.
He looked worse than me. Bandages visible under his uniform. Walking stiffly. Burns on his hands that he couldn't hide.
Our eyes met briefly. I saw rage there. Humiliation. Fear.
He looked away first.
Took a seat on the opposite side of the room.
Park Hyun-woo came in next. He looked fine physically—he'd run before getting hurt. But his eyes were haunted. He avoided looking at me entirely.
During the lecture, I heard whispers.
"Did you see Dae-jung and Hyun-woo?"
"They look fucked up. What happened?"
"Maybe they got in a fight?"
"With who?"
Someone glanced at me. "You don't think..."
"No way. Suho's D-rank. They're both C-rank."
"Then why do they look like they went through a dungeon boss fight?"
Later, someone asked Dae-jung directly what happened.
"Training accident," he muttered. "Sparring got intense."
"Both of you?"
"Yeah. Hyun-woo was there too."
"Looks like more than sparring."
"Drop it."
No one pushed.
And neither of them said a word about me.
Pride, probably. Admitting a D-rank beat them would be humiliating. Better to claim training accidents than confess defeat.
Fine by me.
Two Weeks Later
I fell back into routine.
Wake at 5 AM. Training regimen—lighter at first because of the ribs, but gradually increasing as I healed.
Classes. More stares, more whispers, but slowly people lost interest. I was just another student now.
Lunch, sometimes with Hye-jin when our schedules aligned. Other times alone. I didn't mind either way.
More classes. Study. Training.
Home. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
My ribs healed. My mana pool increased slowly through meditation. My stats crept upward through consistent effort.
Two Weeks Later.
[STATUS UPDATE ]
Strength: 26 → 28 (D → D+)
Agility: 28 → 30 (D+ → C-)
Endurance: 27 → 29 (D → D+)
Mana: 56/120 → 68/140 (D+ → C-)
Skills:
- Fire Lance: Mana cost reduced to 13 per use
- Basic Fire Manipulation:lvl 8
- Mana Lance (Incomplete): Still inefficient
Combat Ability: D → D+
Physical Condition: Almost fully Healed (Ribs recovered)
Nothing dramatic. Just steady improvement.
Dae-jung and Hyun-woo kept their distance. We'd see each other in hallways, in classes. But they never approached. Never spoke to me.
Their friends noticed. Started treating me differently. Not with respect—but with caution.
The violent failure who'd gotten disowned had somehow beaten two C-ranks.
People didn't know how. Didn't know the details.
But they knew enough to be careful.
Friday - Combat Theory Class
Professor Kang walked in looking unusually serious.
"Listen up," he barked. "The term evaluation assessments are coming up in three weeks."
The class went silent.
"For those of you who somehow forgot—this determines your rankings for the rest of the academic year. Your ranking affects everything: class placement, guild recruitment opportunities, scholarship qualifications, internship offers."
He pulled up a display on the projector.
"The format is simple: tournament style. Single elimination bracket. You'll be matched against students in your year across all rankings."
Murmurs spread through the classroom.
"D-ranks fighting A-ranks?"
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair," Professor Kang said flatly. "In real dungeons, you don't get to choose your opponents. You deal with what comes."
He continued. "Performance is what matters. Win or lose, we'll be evaluating combat ability, tactical thinking, skill usage, adaptability. A D-rank who puts up a good fight against a B-rank will rank higher than a C-rank who gets demolished by an A-rank."
Someone raised their hand. "What about injuries?"
"Medical staff will be on standby at all times. Serious injuries mean automatic loss. We're not trying to kill you—just test you."
Another hand. "How many matches?"
"Depends on how far you get. Minimum one match. Maximum five if you make it to finals." He smiled grimly. "Most of you won't make it past round two."
Han Min-jae spoke up. "Will this affect guild recruitment?"
"Absolutely. Guild scouts attend these assessments. Perform well, you get offers. Perform poorly, you get ignored." Professor Kang crossed his arms. "For some of you, this is your last chance to prove you belong here."
His eyes lingered on me for a moment.
Message received.
"Brackets will be posted next week. Use the time to train. Prepare. Don't embarrass yourselves." He turned off the projector. "Dismissed."
The classroom exploded into conversation the moment he left.
"Tournament arc? Seriously?"
"I need to train. I'm barely C-rank."
"If I get matched against an A-rank first round, I'm screwed."
"This is my chance to move up. I've been stuck at C-rank since I awakened."
I packed my bag slowly, thinking.
A tournament. Public fights. Evaluation by professors and guild scouts.
High risk. High reward.
If I performed well, I could Get scouted by a guild. Maybe even get recruitment offers despite my reputation. I need money.
If I performed badly, I'd cement my status as a failure. Possibly face expulsion.
And there was another factor: this would be perfect for testing my skills in real combat. Against trained opponents. With actual stakes.
I needed to rank up to B-rank within six months for the vengeance quest. A tournament was an accelerated path.
But it was also dangerous.
I'd be exposed. People would see my skills. Start asking questions.
Can't be helped. I need to advance.
As I walked out of class, I overheard conversations:
"I hope I don't get matched against Jung Hye-jin. She'd demolish me."
"Top rankers always make it to finals. It's rigged."
"Not always. Remember last year when that D-rank almost beat a B-rank?"
"Almost doesn't count."
I stepped outside into the afternoon sun.
Three weeks until the tournament.
Twenty-one days to prepare.
I pulled out my phone and opened my notes app. Started making a training plan.
Need to:- Improve Fire Lance efficiency- Acquire at least two more combat skills through Isolation- Increase mana pool- Practice Fission in combat scenarios- Study potential opponents
My phone buzzed. A message from Hye-jin.
Hye-jin:Heard about the tournament. Want to spar sometime? I can help you prepare.
I smiled slightly and typed back.
Me:Hell nah. You'd murder me on accident.
Hye-jin:Training Ground D, tomorrow morning 6 AM. Don't be late.
I sighed. She probably just wants to beat me up for leaving her room before dawn.
I pocketed my phone and headed toward the library.
Time to research every student in my year. Their skills, their fighting styles, their weaknesses.
Knowledge was power.
And I needed every advantage I could get.
The sun was setting as I left the library hours later, notebook full of information.
I thought about the tournament. About the bracket. About the possibility of facing Han Min-jae in the ring.
That would be... complicated.
But also an opportunity.
If I won, it might earn his respect. Might open the door for an actual apology.
If I lost gracefully, same result.
Either way, it was a chance.
I walked back to my apartment, mind racing with possibilities.
Three weeks.
Then everything changed.