Chapter 2 - Parade of Shadows.
The smell of mold and old wood was the first thing Kang Taeyang noticed.
He blinked. The ceiling looked the same—faded paint curling like dead skin, a spiderweb hanging loose from the beam above his head. He lay on the floor, still in his school uniform from yesterday. His ribs ached when he tried to breathe deep. His mouth was dry. His fists were clenched, fingers stiff.
He was still alive.
No water. No electricity. No dinner. Same as always.
But something wasn't the same.
[ Mission: Strike one school bully with the skill Jab.
Reward: 1 Random Skill. ]
The glowing blue screen hovered silently in front of him like a ghost. It didn't flicker. It didn't vanish. And it certainly didn't care how confused or terrified he was.
Taeyang stared at it.
Yesterday... he'd jumped.
He'd jumped.
And now he was here.
Still breathing. Still sore. Still worthless?
He sat up slowly, pain pulsing from his lower back. "So it wasn't a dream," he muttered, voice dry like sandpaper. "I really got some... weird-ass game system."
He looked down at his hands—dirty, thin, fragile-looking fingers. They shook faintly.
He whispered the word, just to see if it was still there.
"Jab."
His right arm twitched, but didn't move fully. Maybe it was on cooldown. Maybe his body wasn't ready. Or maybe he was just scared.
He let the word fade out of his head and sat in the silence.
Time passed.
Eventually, he stood.
There was no mirror in the house anymore—he'd thrown it out two months ago after breaking it during a panic attack. But he didn't need to see himself to know how pathetic he looked.
Still, he walked to the corner where his bag waited like an obedient dog.
He reached for it. Paused.
His body ached. His mind was fogged. His heart was clawing at his chest like it wanted out.
But now… now, he had something. Even if he didn't understand what it was. Even if it made no sense.
He grabbed the bag and walked toward the door.
He didn't want to go to school.
But the mission wanted him to.
And for some reason, part of him wanted to follow it.
The city didn't change just because he did.
Cars still honked at the same cracked intersections. Vendors still yelled prices no one listened to. Steam still poured out of sidewalk vents like ghosts escaping the ground. Everything was normal. Which made it worse.
Taeyang walked with his shoulders hunched forward, like he always did. He looked down at the pavement, counting his steps like each one brought him closer to being invisible.
But he wasn't invisible anymore.
He felt it.
Every person he passed—every group of students in uniform, every businessman lighting a cigarette, every mother yanking her child across the street—looked different. Not their faces, but their presence. He was aware of them. Their movements. The space they occupied.
His skin tingled. Not from fear. From... readiness.
He passed a group of boys from another school. One of them bumped his shoulder—on purpose. Taeyang flinched, hard, instinctively pulling away.
The boy snorted and kept walking.
But this time, Taeyang didn't just feel shame.
He felt the word.
Jab.
It hovered in his mind like a hot coal he was too scared to touch, yet too drawn to ignore.
He didn't say it. Didn't activate it. But it was there—coiled like a spring just under his skin.
He walked faster. The school was two blocks away now. Students flooded the sidewalks, all dressed the same, all talking about nothing. None of them knew what was inside him.
He clenched his jaw. His mouth was dry. The sun felt too hot again.
He passed a convenience store. The reflection in the glass door showed him—thin, bruised, pale. No one would guess he could punch. No one would ever expect it.
And that... made it more powerful.
As the school gates came into view, so did the building. Tall, modern, cold. A monument to structure. A factory that molded students into obedient citizens or invisible casualties.
And somewhere inside it—his mission waited.
He tightened his grip on his bag.
This time, he wasn't walking into that building to survive.
He was walking in with a loaded skill.
The first thing he saw when he stepped into the classroom was their shoes.
Black, polished, perfect.
Do Jinhwan's pair rested lazily on top of a desk near the window, crossed at the ankles like he owned the air itself. Jongpil leaned against the whiteboard, arms crossed. Sangwoo sat backwards on his chair, arms draped over the backrest, chewing gum too loudly.
Taeyang's seat was in the corner—three desks away. Same spot he always chose. No one else sat near him. Like disease, his space was contagious.
He walked in silently.
Nobody said anything.
Yet.
He made it halfway to his desk when Jinhwan spoke—voice smooth, fake-friendly.
"Oya? Look who survived the weekend."
Taeyang didn't look up. He kept walking.
Jinhwan clicked his tongue. "I was half-sure he'd be fertilizer by now. Guess the trash always finds a way to float."
That got a few laughs.
Taeyang sat down.
Sangwoo twisted in his chair. "Yo, corpse boy. You bring our chem homework?"
Taeyang didn't answer.
Jongpil's voice came next—low, casual. "Maybe he needs a little reminder again."
Sangwoo stood up with a huff. His footsteps were heavy, like always—he wanted people to hear him coming. He reached Taeyang's desk and slapped the back of his head—hard enough to jolt his glasses crooked.
"Oi. I'm talking to you, you malnourished scarecrow."
Taeyang blinked slowly.
His jaw clenched.
Not in fear.
In restraint.
His mind was a battlefield. The word Jab flickered in the background of his thoughts like a flashing warning light. He could feel it behind his knuckles, pulsing like heat trapped under his skin.
He didn't move.
Not yet.
Jinhwan yawned theatrically. "If he forgot again, we'll just take him to the music room. Maybe hit him with a real instrument this time."
More laughter. Cruel. Familiar.
But Taeyang wasn't listening anymore.
He wasn't thinking about instruments.
He wasn't thinking about homework.
He was thinking about how close Sangwoo was standing.
About the way the weight shifted in Sangwoo's legs.
About the exact range between his chair and that smug, chewing mouth.
He didn't even realize his fingers were curling slowly around the edge of his desk.
The moment was building.
And something deep inside him—
—was ready to break.
Slap.
Another one. Right on the back of his head.
Sangwoo chuckled as Taeyang's glasses tilted again.
"Seriously, are your bones made of paper?" he mocked. "You gonna cry again?"
Taeyang's fingers twitched.
His breath was shallow, almost silent.
He thought it—just once.
'Jab.'
And in the next instant—
His right arm moved.
Not like normal. Not like panic.
It moved with clean, practiced speed. Angled just right. Elbow in. Wrist straight.
WHAP!
His fist hit Sangwoo square in the middle of the chest.
It wasn't a knockout punch.
It wasn't even that loud.
But it was real.
Sangwoo gasped and staggered back two full steps, stumbling into the desk behind him. His eyes shot open. The gum in his mouth fell out. His hands went to his chest like he couldn't believe it had happened.
Silence.
Every sound in the classroom died.
No one laughed. No one moved.
Jinhwan sat up straighter. Jongpil uncrossed his arms. A few other students turned from their phones, mouths slightly open.
And Taeyang… just stared.
His fist hung limp at his side. His breathing was fast, uneven.
He hadn't meant to do it.
Not exactly.
But he hadn't stopped it either.
It had felt—right.
A soft ding echoed in his mind.
[ Mission Complete.
Reward: 1 Random Skill Acquired. ]
His eyes widened slightly, but his face stayed still.
Sangwoo's lips trembled. He looked around, unsure if he was supposed to hit back, laugh, or shout. The rules of their universe had just shifted.
But Taeyang didn't give him time to reset.
He calmly sat back down, adjusted his glasses, and faced forward.
As if nothing had happened.
Inside, his heart was roaring.
Nobody said a word.
Not at first.
Sangwoo still hadn't moved from where he stumbled. His face was flushed, but not from pain—from humiliation. His mouth twitched like he wanted to curse, but couldn't find a target. Couldn't find the usual script.
Taeyang sat completely still.
He didn't look at anyone.
Not Sangwoo.
Not Jinhwan.
Not even the glowing blue text floating faintly in front of his vision:
[ Skill Unlocked: Dash (Common)
Description: Instantly burst forward up to 2 meters. Cooldown: 10 seconds. ]
Dash?
That wasn't what he needed right now. Not yet.
He swallowed hard, hoping no one could hear how dry it sounded.
The adrenaline was still screaming inside his bones, louder than his heartbeat, louder than the classroom.
He kept his eyes forward.
From the corner of his vision, he saw Jongpil tilt his head slightly.
Then look to Jinhwan.
Jinhwan didn't speak.
Didn't smirk.
He just... stared.
And that was somehow worse.
Jinhwan's eyes weren't angry.
They were calculating.
Cold. Focused. Reading him like a math problem with one unknown variable. The way a lion stares at another lion across the savannah—not afraid, but no longer unaware.
The silence stretched.
Then—
BRIIINGGGGG!
The bell screamed, shattering the tension. The teacher walked in, pushing the door open with a bored grunt and stack of papers.
The students scrambled to their seats like nothing had happened.
Except something had.
As chairs scraped and whispers returned, Kang Taeyang sat in his corner.
Breathing fast.
Still small. Still broken.
But for the first time...
he had moved first.
And no one—no one—had touched him afterward.