Chapter 3 – No One is Coming to Save Us

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12:03 AM – Seoul, South Korea

The air inside the underground safehouse was thick. Not just with the scent of dust, blood, and the lingering stench of burnt flesh wafting from the outside world—but with the kind of silence that spoke of unspeakable dread.

A silence not of peace, but of fragile, desperate survival.

No one spoke.

Not out of choice, but out of fear.

Every word felt like it might shatter what little composure they had left, like a final straw holding back the crushing weight of the reality they now lived in.

Han Kyung-min sat against the cold concrete wall, his breath finally slowing after what felt like an eternity of running. His fingers trembled—not from cold, but from the sheer, suffocating aftermath of coming inches away from death itself.

The realization that he was still alive hadn't fully settled in.

He had been lucky.

Too lucky.

Across the dimly lit room, the silver-haired girl leaned against a rusted metal shelf, her pistol resting lightly on her thigh. Unlike the rest, she wasn't frozen in fear. Her gaze remained sharp, methodical, constantly shifting between the survivors huddled together like cornered rats.

Observing. Calculating. Judging.

She was a stranger—an enigma wrapped in steel resolve. Yet, she had saved his life.

For now, that was enough.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale. Kyung-min turned his head, scanning the faces in the room. And then—

His eyes locked onto two familiar figures approaching from the shadows.

Seok-hoon. Min-jun.

His friends.

A flood of relief crashed over him like a breaking tide. They were alive.

He opened his mouth to speak—to confirm the reality before him—

But before he could, Seok-hoon stepped forward, his voice breaking the tense quiet.

"Kyung-min…?"

It was quiet, disbelieving. As if the sight of him standing there was something impossible.

Kyung-min blinked. "I—Yeah, I—"

Seok-hoon moved first.

Without warning, he grabbed Kyung-min in a rough, almost desperate embrace.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "I thought you were dead."

Kyung-min stiffened, caught completely off guard.

Seok-hoon had always been the reckless one—the one who laughed in the face of danger, who charged headfirst into fights without hesitation.

But now…

Now, his grip was tight. Too tight.

His body trembled slightly, as if he were afraid that if he let go, Kyung-min might vanish.

Kyung-min exhaled, hesitating before finally patting his back.

"…I thought I was too," he admitted.

Seok-hoon pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. The usual playfulness was gone, replaced by something heavier. Something raw.

"The whole city…" Seok-hoon trailed off, his voice hollow. "It's all gone. This isn't like the manhwa and novels we used to read together. This isn't some game. This is—"

Kyung-min didn't need to hear the rest.

He already knew.

Seoul had fallen.

There was no one coming to save them.

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12:10 AM – The Awakening of Survivors

Fourteen people.

That was all that remained in the safehouse.

A far cry from the hundreds, the thousands, that once walked the streets above.

They had gathered in a rough circle around a dust-covered wooden table in the back of the underground parking lot—now their last refuge. The space was cramped, the walls lined with rusted shelves, long-abandoned tools, and cracked concrete.

This place had once been nothing more than a maintenance storage area. Now, it was all that stood between them and oblivion.

Min-jun adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. "We need to figure out what we know."

Seok-hoon nodded, rubbing his temple. "Agreed. We should start by checking if everyone—"

Then, it happened.

A flickering glow appeared in the air before them.

A system notification.

[System Notice: Status Window Now Accessible.]

"You have survived the first hour of the Merging. You may now check your awakening status."

The air turned suffocating.

No one spoke.

Then—

"…Status Window."

The whisper barely left someone's lips before multiple glowing screens materialized before every survivor.

Their breath hitched.

Eyes scanned. Words were read.

And then—

A chuckle.

Low. Amused.

A tall, broad-shouldered man—his uniform tattered and bloodstained—grinned. His name tag read Jung Tae-sik.

"Well, damn," he muttered. "I got a combat class."

Kyung-min turned toward him, his stomach twisting.

"What did you get?" Seok-hoon asked.

Tae-sik's grin widened.

"Berserker."

Murmurs spread through the group.

Then, another voice.

A younger girl, barely in her twenties, hesitated before raising her trembling hand. "I—I think I got something good too…" She swallowed, glancing at her glowing screen. "Windstalker."

A rogue-type class.

One by one, the survivors spoke.

Jung Tae-sik – Berserker (C-Rank, Combat Type)

Son Ji-hye – Windstalker (C-Rank, Assassin Type)

Kim Joon-hyuk – Pyromancer (B-Rank, Mage Type)

Park Do-yoon – Warden (B-Rank, Tank Type)

Seok-hoon whistled lowly. "Two B-Ranks already?"

Even in normal dungeon standards, B-Rank Hunters were rare. But here? In the middle of this nightmare?

They were their best chance at survival.

Kyung-min swallowed.

Because he knew what was coming next.

Seok-hoon turned to him. "What about you?"

The room stilled.

Kyung-min hesitated. Exhaled. Then, with a slow movement, he swiped his fingers through the air—his status window appearing before him.

A single phrase burned into his retinas.

[Han Kyung-min – Soul Archivist (E-Rank, Support-Type)]

A long, stretching silence followed.

Jung Tae-sik furrowed his brow. "What the hell is a Soul Archivist?"

Seok-hoon's jaw tightened. "…It's a non-combat class."

The shift was immediate.

A subtle change in posture. A silent judgment.

Even Min-jun, who rarely showed emotion, looked troubled.

"…Maybe it has some hidden ability?" Ji-hye offered weakly.

Kim Joon-hyuk scoffed.

A cold realization settled over Kyung-min.

They thought he was useless.

And in this world, being useless meant being dead.

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