Jin-Woo woke to cold seeping up through his back.
Not sharp enough to hurt, just enough to be noticed. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the unfamiliar angles of the room slowly coming into focus. No bed. No blankets. Just the hard floor and the quiet weight of an empty house settling around him.
He sat up, rolling his shoulders once, feeling the stiffness ease. His breath fogged faintly in front of him. The house hadn't been lived in for a while, and without heat running, the cold had claimed it overnight. Still, it was manageable. Honest cold. The kind that could be worked with.
He reached for his phone.
A notification blinked on the screen. One message.
Min-Seok: Morning. I'll send the documents digitally. Sign whenever. No rush.
Jin-Woo exhaled quietly. Good.
He opened the files, skimmed them carefully, then signed where needed. The confirmation came back almost immediately. Simple. Clean. Done.
The phone slipped back into his pocket.
He stood, stretching once more, and took stock of himself. No panic. No doubt. His thoughts were clear, aligned. The haze that had followed him since waking up in that apartment days ago was gone now, replaced by something steadier.
The plan didn't need refining. It needed execution.
After a quick wash in the sink he grabbed his coat and headed out.
The town was already awake.
Mid-morning light spilled over the streets, soft and unassuming. Shops were open, doors propped wide, chalk signs out front advertising daily specials. People walked at an unhurried pace, chatting, carrying bags, living lives that still believed in tomorrow.
Jin-Woo moved among them quietly.
This was how it always was, right before everything broke. Normal right up until it wasn't.
He started with the general store.
Canned food first. Lots of it. Soups, beans, vegetables, anything sealed and durable. Dry goods next, rice, pasta, flour. Salt in bulk. Cooking oil. Sugar. He didn't linger over brands or prices. He picked with intent, filling his cart steadily.
The cashier raised an eyebrow as the pile grew. "Stocking up?"
"Something like that," Jin-Woo replied.
By the time he moved on, his arms ached slightly from carrying boxes out to the waiting delivery service he'd arranged on the spot. The cost barely registered. He swiped his card and didn't look back.
The butcher shop was next.
That was where the looks started.
He asked for meat, specific cuts, large quantities. Beef first, then pork, then chicken. The butcher paused halfway through writing it down, pen hovering uncertainly.
"You planning a big event?" the man asked.
Jin-Woo shook his head. "Just preparing."
The butcher chuckled, half-amused, half-impressed. "Wish more people prepared like this."
They worked through the order together. When the total came up, it was high enough to make the cashier blink.
Jin-Woo paid without hesitation.
Before heading back, he stopped at the hardware store.
He didn't browse. Went straight to the tools, scanned the rack, and selected an axe. Solid handle. Good weight. Nothing fancy.
At the counter, the clerk glanced at it and nodded toward the forested hills beyond town. "Most folks just cut their own. Saves money."
"I figured," Jin-Woo said.
He paid and added it to the growing list of deliveries scheduled for the house. Wood could wait. This was enough for today.
Back at the property, the house greeted him with the same quiet it had that morning. The deliveries arrived in steady intervals, boxes and packages stacked carefully just inside the door.
Jin-Woo moved through the work without rushing.
Cans lined up along one wall, organized by type. Dry goods stacked high and tight, sealed against moisture. He chose a room deeper in the house for storage, one with fewer windows and thicker walls, where the air already felt cooler.
Another room, adjacent but separate, he designated for cold preservation. He stood there for a while, paying attention to how the air moved, where the chill settled naturally. No adjustments yet. Just observation.
Everything had its place.
By the time the last box was put away, the house felt different. Still empty. Still cold. But no longer unclaimed.
Jin-Woo wiped his hands on his coat and stepped back, surveying the space not as a home, but as a structure.
This would work.
He picked up the axe from where he'd leaned it against the wall and carried it into the adjacent room—the one he'd chosen for cold storage. It was already cooler than the rest of the house, tucked farther from the exterior walls, the air heavier and still.
He didn't have a knife yet. That was fine.
He set a wrapped slab of meat on the bare floor, adjusted his grip on the axe, and brought it down carefully. The blade bit through with a dull thud. Not clean, but effective. He cut again, smaller this time, separating a manageable piece.
It was always best to start small when learning to use system given abilities.
He crouched, focused, and reached inward.
The cold answered immediately.
The temperature around his hand dropped smoothly, obediently, like a dial being turned rather than a switch being flipped. Frost crept across the surface of the meat, spreading evenly as he guided it, layer by layer.
Freezing was easy.
That surprised him less than he expected. Ice wanted to exist. It wanted to settle, to still things, to stop motion. He didn't have to force it like he did with fire, he just had to tell it where to go.
Within moments, the meat was solid, encased in a clean shell of frost. No cracks. No uneven patches.
He stood and waited.
Minutes passed. The room grew quieter, colder. His breath fogged thicker now.
Defrosting, he found, was harder.
He tried pulling the cold back the same way he'd pushed it out, but the ice resisted, clinging stubbornly. When it did release, it did so unevenly, leaving the surface slick in some places and rigid in others. He frowned, adjusted his approach, slowed down.
Precision, he learned was absolutely neccessary when it came to ice manipulation.
He closed his eyes, pictured the temperature rather than the ice itself. Not shape, not texture, just the degrees increasing slowly.
This time, he eased the cold away gradually, letting warmth return in controlled increments. The frost thinned. Melted. Slid away without tearing at the meat beneath.
He leaned in and inspected it.
The texture was right. No discoloration. No smell beyond what it should have been. He tore a small piece free with his fingers, rubbed it between them, then set it aside.
It worked.
Jin-Woo exhaled, tension he hadn't realized he was holding leaving his shoulders.
He tried again.
Another cut. Another freeze. Another thaw. Each time, his control sharpened. The mental effort was different from Fire, not weaker, just narrower. Fire responded to emotion and was easy to lose control of. Ice demanded restraint which he didn't exactly have alot of but that would change soon with practice.
An hour passed. Then another.
By the time he straightened, his legs stiff from crouching, the room had noticeably changed. The air pressed in on him now, cool and steady. Frost clung faintly to the corners of the walls where it hadn't before.
That was enough proof that his power was growing.
He didn't hesitate.
Jin-Woo moved methodically, freezing the rest of the meat in stages. Not all at once, never all at once that made it harder to defrost. He layered them carefully, spacing them so the cold could circulate evenly. He marked mental paths for access, imagined which cuts he'd need first, which could stay buried longer.
The ice built up naturally, reinforcing itself, settling into a stable cold that didn't fluctuate when he stepped back. The room became something else entirely, a controlled environment, that was created with his own hands.
No electricity needed which meant he wouldnt fall apart when electricity left.
He stood in the doorway, looking in.
Rows of preserved food rested in clean, orderly stacks, locked in a quiet stillness. The cold was deep now, but not hostile. It held rather than bit.
Jin-Woo felt a small, unfamiliar sensation settle in his chest.
Satisfaction.
Not relief. Not pride.
Just confirmation.
This would last.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
The sound cut sharply through the quiet.
He pulled it out, screen lighting the dim hallway.
Hye-Rin.
The name sat there, blinking patiently.
Jin-Woo stared at it for a long moment, then turned back toward the storage room, committing the image to memory, the ice, the food, the future he was building piece by piece.
The phone kept ringing.