Phase Shift

The Seoul skyline shimmered wrong.

Han Minwoo pressed his palm against the reinforced glass of VALORANT Protocol headquarters, watching the city blur between what was and what could be. It had been three days since the convergence. It had been three days since he had torn himself apart and pieced reality back together. It has been three days since he first saw the apparition.

No—not double. Layered.

Where others saw a single metropolis sprawling beneath morning fog, Minwoo saw Seoul and Ω-Seoul bleeding together like watercolors in rain. The familiar towers of Alpha Earth stood solid, but beneath them, through them, he caught glimpses of Omega's industrial scars. A building here bore both pristine glass and rust-eaten metal. A park existed simultaneously green and grey.

His reflection stared back from the window—one face, two truths. The wind stirred around him without his calling, responding to dimensional currents only he could feel.

"Still getting used to it?"

Sage's voice carried that particular softness she reserved for the wounded. Minwoo didn't turn. In his peripheral vision, he saw her approach—and she did not approach, standing instead at a terminal three rooms away. Both are true. Both now.

"Which 'it' are we discussing?" His voice came out rougher than intended. Speaking required choosing which reality to acknowledge, and the choice grew harder each day.

"All of it." She moved to stand beside him, her reflection joining his in the glass. "The medical scans are... unprecedented."

"That's one word for it."

"Would you prefer 'miraculous'?" Or perhaps 'concerning'?"

Now he did turn, studying her face. In this dimension, worry creased her brow. In another, she smiled with quiet pride. He blinked hard, forcing focus. "What do the scans say?"

"Come. I'll show you."

The medical bay thrummed with more equipment than usual. Sage had requisitioned additional monitors, scanners, anything that might help decode what Minwoo had become. He settled onto the examination table, watching her work with practiced efficiency.

"Your cellular structure shows dimensional phasing at the quantum level," she began, pulling up holographic displays. The images meant nothing to him—abstract patterns of light and shadow. "Similar to what we observed in Jett during her injuries, but... stable. Integrated."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you exist partially in multiple dimensions simultaneously. Not torn between them, but present in all." She gestured to a readout showing his vital signs—except there were three sets, slightly offset. "Your body has adapted to process multiple dimensional states as a single experience."

Minwoo flexed his fingers, watching wind curl around them. In another layer, the wind moved differently, responding to Omega's denser atmosphere. "So I'm... what? Not human anymore?"

"You're human. Just... more." Sage's orb pulsed as she ran another scan. "Your consciousness has expanded to perceive what was always there. The question is whether you can maintain cognitive coherence while processing multiple realities."

"That's a fancy way of asking if I will lose my sanity."

"I prefer 'maintain psychological stability.'" But her smile held warmth. "How are you managing? Honestly."

He considered lying. He contemplated providing a simple response that would alleviate her concern. Instead: "It's like trying to watch three movies at once on the same screen. Occasionally they sync up. Occasionally they don't. And I can't turn any of them off."

"The disorientation will likely persist until you learn to filter the input. Think of it as... developing a new sense. Infants don't immediately understand vision. You're learning to see in dimensions."

"Comforting." He slid off the table as she finished her scans. "What's your prognosis, Doctor?"

Sage studied her displays, then him. "You're healthy. Remarkably so. But you're also something unprecedented. We'll need to monitor you closely, especially during dimensional transitions."

"Lucky me."

Her hand found his shoulder, grounding him in this reality, this moment. "You saved both worlds, Minwoo. The cost may be high, but the alternative was unthinkable."

He covered her hand with his, drawing comfort from the simple human contact. In another dimension, this conversation happened differently. In another, it didn't happen at all. He chose to focus on this dimension, where her concern felt like an anchor.

"Thank you," he said simply.

She squeezed gently before stepping back. "The others are gathering in the common area. Phoenix has been particularly worried."

"I'll head there now."

But first, he stopped by the window again, drawn to the layered view. Somewhere out there, Hanna was waking up, unaware that her boyfriend could see the ghost of another Seoul superimposed over their city. The thought of her—singular, solid, real—made the multiple dimensions feel less overwhelming.

He'd figure the mystery out. For her. He would figure the matter out for all of them.

The common area buzzed with forced normalcy. Phoenix sprawled on a couch, scrolling through his phone with studied casualness. Jett perched on the arm of a chair, cleaning her knives with movements too precise to be truly relaxed. Cypher hunched over a laptop, but Minwoo caught him glancing up every few seconds.

They were worried. They attempted to conceal their worry.

"Look who's back from the land of the living," Phoenix called out, his grin not quite reaching his eyes. "Or should I say lands, plural?"

"Funny." Minwoo grabbed a water bottle, noting how Phoenix tracked his movement. "Miss me?"

"I'm not sure if we should update your file photo," Minwoo said. You know, in case you're looking particularly interdimensional these days."

Jett smacked Phoenix's shoulder. "Ignore him. He's been making bad jokes all morning to cover his feelings."

"I don't have feelings. I have fire and style."

"You literally cried when Minwoo stabilized the convergence."

"Smoke in my eyes!"

Their banter felt rehearsed, a performance for his benefit. Minwoo played along, settling into a chair where he could see everyone—all versions of everyone. The feeling of disorientation was reduced in this place, where familiar voices surrounded him.

"How are you holding up?" Jett asked, abandoning pretense. Her concern transcended dimensions, remaining constant in every reality.

"I'm..." He paused, trying to find a way to express his honesty without causing alarm. "Adjusting. Everything's just more now. It feels as if someone has turned up the volume on reality.

"Can you... turn it down?" Phoenix leaned forward, genuine worry breaking through his facade.

"Working on it." Minwoo demonstrated his ability by creating a small windspout in his palm. In this dimension, it spun clockwise. In another dimension, it rotated in a counterclockwise direction. He forced them to sync, the effort bringing sweat to his brow. "It's about choosing which input to prioritize."

"That looks exhausting," Cypher observed, fingers pausing over his keyboard.

"It is." The admission came easier than expected. "But it's getting better. Slowly."

Jett moved to sit beside him, her presence warm and solid. "You know you don't have to pretend everything's fine, right? We're family. We can handle the truth."

He met her eyes, which were constant across dimensions and always showed concern for her brother. "The truth is I'm figuring it out. The truth is it's challenging but not impossible. The truth is having you all here makes it easier."

"Sappy," Phoenix muttered, but his relief was obvious.

"Says the man who ugly-cried three days ago," Jett shot back.

"Artistic tears! Very different thing!"

Their argument continued, comfortable and familiar. Minwoo let it wash over him, using their voices to anchor himself in this reality. Cypher caught his eye and nodded slightly—understanding without words that sometimes the best support was simple normalcy.

An alert chimed from Cypher's laptop, shattering the moment.

"What is it?" Jett asked, noting his sudden tension.

"Dimensional monitoring station is picking up... structured signals." Cypher's fingers flew across keys. "Not random fluctuations. Communication."

Minwoo stood, his enhanced senses already reaching out. The dimensional static revealed a deliberate and repetitive pattern. "It's from Omega Earth."

"Hostile?" Phoenix was on his feet, flames flickering.

"No." Minwoo could feel the signal's intent, layered with... gratitude? Desperation? "They're trying to talk."

The command center had transformed into a dimensional monitoring station since the convergence. Banks of equipment tracked fluctuations between realities, most of it barely comprehensible even to the Protocol's scientists. Brimstone stood at the center, reviewing data with Viper and Sage.

"Report," he commanded as they entered.

Cypher moved to a terminal, pulling up the signal analysis. "Structured communication from Omega Earth began seventeen minutes ago. The signal features a repeating pattern in multiple languages, all conveying essentially the same message.

"Which is?"

"'We need to talk.'" Cypher highlighted the translation matrix. "They're specifically requesting dialogue with 'the bridge'—presumably Minwoo."

All eyes turned to him. Minwoo felt the weight of their attention across multiple dimensions, each version of this moment playing out slightly differently. He focused on the prime reality, where Brimstone's expression mixed calculation with concern.

"Can you make contact safely?" Brimstone asked.

"I think so." Minwoo approached the monitors, letting his enhanced perception extend toward the signal. "They're not trying to hide. It feels... urgent. Desperate, maybe."

"It could be a trap," Viper interjected, her skepticism sharper than ever.

"After what happened? I doubt it." Sage moved to stand beside Minwoo. "The convergence affected them as much as us. Perhaps more."

Brimstone weighed options with the expression of a man carrying too many responsibilities. Finally: "We proceed carefully. Minwoo, can you establish limited contact without fully crossing over?"

"I can try."

He reached out with senses that didn't quite belong to this dimension anymore. The signal clarified, resolving into words that bypassed language entirely. Images flooded through—Omega Seoul rebuilding, survivors struggling with damaged infrastructure, gratitude mixed with pride mixed with need.

"They're... thanking us," he said slowly, processing the information flow. "But the damage to their world is severe." We underestimated the extent of the damage. They need help."

"What kind of help?" Brimstone's tactical mind was already working.

"Technical. Medical. Basic infrastructure support." Minwoo pulled back from the connection, head spinning slightly. "They're proposing formal diplomatic contact. An exchange of resources and knowledge."

"Between dimensions," Viper said flatly. "Because that's gone so well historically."

"We stabilized the convergence together," Sage reminded her. "Perhaps cooperation is possible."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps they're playing a longer game."

"Only one way to find out." Brimstone turned to Minwoo. "Are you willing to serve as liaison? You're the only one who can safely travel between dimensions now."

The weight of it settled on his shoulders—another responsibility, another way his transformation separated him from normal life. But in every dimension, the need was real.

"Yes," he said simply.

Jett's hand found his, squeezing support. Phoenix clapped his shoulder. Even Viper nodded slightly. They understood what he was accepting and what it might cost.

"We'll start with limited contact," Brimstone decided. "Build trust slowly. Cypher, please collaborate with Minwoo to establish communication protocols. Sage, please monitor his health closely at all times. If there is any sign of deterioration, we will pull back.

"Understood," they responded in unison.

As the briefing continued, Minwoo felt the path of his new life crystallizing. He was no longer just a soldier or agent but a bridge between worlds. He was becoming a bridge in truth.

The question was whether he could bear the weight of connection without losing himself in the space between.

The enhanced training facility had been Yoru's idea. "If you're going to play with dimensions," he'd said, "might as well do it somewhere designed to take the punishment."

Now Minwoo stood in the center of the reinforced chamber, Yoru observing from behind safety barriers. Between them, reality rippled like heat mirages.

"Show me what you can do now," Yoru called out. "And I mean really do. Not the careful stuff you've been managing upstairs."

Minwoo hesitated. Since the convergence, he'd kept his abilities tightly controlled, afraid of what might happen if he truly let go. But Yoru was right—he needed to understand his limits.

He exhaled and stopped holding back.

Reality folded.

Previously, he had opened rifts—tears between dimensions—but now he was creating bridges. Stable passages that connected without destroying. The air split in three places, each portal showing a different view of the same room from Omega Earth's perspective. Through them, the training facility's reflection looked harsher, more militaristic.

"Holy shit," Yoru breathed. "You're not tearing anymore. You're... weaving."

That was precisely how it felt. Instead of forcing rifts open, Minwoo guided dimensional layers to overlap naturally. His wind powers had evolved too, responding to currents that existed between realities rather than within them.

"Can you move through them?" Yoru asked, professional interest overcoming surprise.

Minwoo stepped toward the nearest bridge. The transition was smooth—one moment in Alpha's facility, the next in Omega's. The air tasted different here, tinged with industrial processing. He moved to another bridge, stepping back to Alpha but in a different position, essentially teleporting through dimensional space.

"The energy cost?" Yoru was taking notes now, fully in instructor mode.

"Less than forcing rifts. It's like..." Minwoo searched for words. "Like swimming with the current instead of against it. The dimensions want to connect. I'm just facilitating."

He demonstrated by creating a single large bridge, stable enough that Yoru could peer through safely. On the other side, Omega's training facility bore scars of harder use—blast marks, reinforced barriers, and the evidence of a world at constant war.

"This changes everything," Yoru said quietly. "Stable dimensional travel. Do you understand what this means?"

"That I'm everyone's favorite interdimensional taxi service?"

"That you're the key to actual cooperation between worlds." Yoru's usual cockiness had vanished entirely. "Wars have been fought over less advantage than what you represent."

The weight of it pressed down again. Minwoo closed the bridges, reality snapping back to singular focus. The effort left him drained in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

"There's a cost," he admitted. "Each crossing... I feel less connected to this dimension. Like I'm spreading thinner."

Yoru's expression grew concerned. "How thin?"

"I don't know. That's what scares me."

They stood in silence, the implications hanging between them. Finally, Yoru spoke: "We'll figure it out. Let's set limits and establish protocols. You're not doing this alone."

"Thanks," Minwoo said, meaning it.

"Besides," Yoru's smirk returned, "I can't have you getting lost between dimensions." Who else would I get to test my theories on?"

Despite everything, Minwoo laughed. Trust Yoru to find the practical angle in cosmic transformation.

Evening settled over Seoul as Minwoo made his way to the rooftop. He needed air, a sky, and something that felt constant across dimensions. What he found was Jett, already there, legs dangling over the edge as she watched the city lights.

"I anticipated your arrival here," she stated without shifting her gaze. "You always did like high places when you needed to think."

He settled beside her, their shoulders touching. "That predictable?"

"That human." She glanced at him, assessing. "Which is what you're worried about losing, isn't it?"

Occasionally her perceptiveness still surprised him. "How did you—"

"Because I know you, dummy. My brother, who overthinks everything and carries everyone else's problems like they're his own." Her voice softened. "Who's becoming something impossible and pretending it doesn't terrify him."

"It does terrify me." The admission came easier here, with the night wind carrying it away. "Every time I bridge dimensions, I feel less... me. More scattered. Like I'm becoming the space between things instead of a person."

Jett's hand grasped his, feeling warm and solid. "You know what I see? I see my brother, who still makes terrible jokes at breakfast. Who still gets that little furrow between his eyebrows when he's concentrating? Who still tries to protect everyone, even when he's the one who needs protecting?"

"Jett—"

"I'm not satisfied." She squeezed his hand harder. "You're changing. We all see it. But changing doesn't mean disappearing. You're still you, just... more."

"What if more becomes too much? What if I spread so thin across dimensions that there's nothing left here?"

She paused in silence for a moment, deep in thought. Then: "Remember when we were kids? Do you remember that time when you got lost in the shopping district?

The memory surfaced across multiple dimensions—different versions, but the core remained. "You found me."

"Because I knew where to look. You were at that electronics store, playing the demo games." She smiled at the memory. "You said you weren't lost because you were precisely where you wanted to be."

"Your point?"

"My argument is that you've never truly felt lost." You've always known who you are, even when everything else changed." She turned to face him fully. "Reincarnation didn't erase you. Becoming VALORANT's cosmic bridge won't either. At your core, you are still the same kid who finds a sense of home in the strangest places.

The truth of it hit him across dimensions. In every reality, in every version of this conversation, Jett's faith remained constant. It anchored him more than any physical force could.

"When did you get so wise?" he asked, managing a small smile.

"Someone had to be the smart twin." She bumped his shoulder. "You were too busy being the mysterious reincarnated one."

They sat in comfortable silence, watching Seoul pulse with life below. In the distance, an aurora that shouldn't exist at this latitude painted the sky—dimensional bleed-through, beautiful and wrong.

"I'll always find you," Jett said quietly. "No matter how far between dimensions you drift. That's what family does."

Minwoo pulled her into a side hug, grateful beyond words. "I know."

"Good. Now stop being mopey. Hanna's been texting me asking if you're okay, and I'm running out of creative reassurances."

The mention of Hanna sent warmth through him. Hanna's presence serves as an additional anchor and a reminder to remain rooted in this reality. "I should go see her."

"You should. But first..." Jett pulled out her phone. "Selfie with the dimensional aurora. Phoenix, bet me twenty thousand won you wouldn't do anything normal for a week."

"That's cheating."

"That's winning." She held up the phone, grinning. "Say 'interdimensional crisis!'"

Despite everything, Minwoo found himself laughing as they took the photo. Maybe Jett was right. Maybe changing didn't mean losing himself.

Maybe it just meant becoming more of who he'd always been.

The following morning, Minwoo embarked on his first official diplomatic mission to Omega Earth. He stood in the dimensional chamber, checking equipment while the team gathered to see him off. The portal shimmered before him, stable but alien.

"Remember," Brimstone instructed, "observation first. We need to understand their situation before committing resources."

"Communications stay open," Cypher added, tapping the modified earpiece that should work across dimensions. "Any sign of trouble, you return immediately."

"I'll monitor your vitals throughout," Sage promised. "The moment I see concerning changes, I'm pulling you back."

Their concern was touching and slightly overwhelming. Minwoo nodded to each, then turned to Jett and Phoenix.

"Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone," he said.

"That was once," Phoenix protested.

"Three times," Jett corrected. "But who's counting?"

Their banter eased the pre-mission tension. Minwoo took a breath, centered himself, and stepped through the portal.

The transition was smooth—Alpha's sterile chamber giving way to Omega's scarred equivalent. The air hit him first, thick with industrial processing and the lingering taste of dimensional damage. Through reinforced windows, Ω-Seoul sprawled beneath perpetual smog.

A delegation waited: three figures in military-style uniforms, faces hard but not hostile. The woman in the center stepped forward, offering a crisp salute.

"Agent Han. I'm Commander Yura Park, Omega Earth Defense Corps. Thank you for answering our call."

He returned the salute, noting how their protocol differed from VALORANT's less formal structure. "Commander. I'm here to listen and observe, as agreed."

"Of course. If you'll follow me, I'll show you why we need your help."

They moved through corridors that felt familiar yet wrong. While Alpha's facilities prioritized research and response, Omega's structures exuded military efficiency. Every surface bore the marks of tough use, constant readiness for threats that never stopped coming.

"The convergence event damaged more than our infrastructure," Commander Park explained as they walked. "Our dimensional barriers were already strained from decades of radianite extraction. When the realities merged..."

She gestured to a window. Outside, Minwoo saw what she meant. Parts of the city simply... weren't. Buildings ended mid-structure, their matter scattered across dimensional space. Streets terminated in voids. The damage was far worse than Alpha's observers had realized.

"Casualties?" he asked quietly.

"Thousands in the initial event. More on infrastructure collapse after." Her voice remained professionally neutral, but he caught the undercurrent of pain. "We've stabilized what we can, but without proper dimensional manipulation..."

"You can't repair the gaps," Minwoo finished.

"Precisely. Your abilities, specifically your ability to bridge rather than tear, could save what remains of our civilization."

The weight of it settled on him. It was not just about diplomatic relations but also about survival itself. He thought of Alpha Earth's relative stability, the luxury of their concerns, and felt the inequality keenly.

"I need to see more," he said. "Understand the full scope."

"Of course. We've prepared a full tour."

The next step involved a meticulous examination of a world that had reached its limits. Omega Seoul bore the scars of decades of exploitation—radianite mining that had stripped the dimensional boundaries thin, military infrastructure that spoke of constant conflict, and a population that had learned to survive rather than thrive.

But also: resilience. Innovation emerged from the need to survive. Technology adapted to impossible circumstances. These people hadn't just endured—they'd evolved.

"Minwoo noted that the dimensional resonance scanners you have are impressive, as he studied a piece of equipment." "The sensitivity is beyond anything Alpha Earth has developed."

"When your reality threatens to dissolve daily, you learn to read the warning signs," Commander Park replied. "We've become experts at survival. We lack the capacity to genuinely mend the damage we've caused.

The tour concluded at a medical facility that treated dimensional injuries. Patients phased in and out of visibility, their bodies struggling to maintain coherent form. Medical staff worked with desperate efficiency, using radianite-powered equipment to anchor people to reality.

"This is why we need help," Park said simply. "We do not seek conquest or resources for war. Just... help."

Minwoo watched a child flickering between dimensions and doctors fighting to stabilize her and made his decision.

"I'll recommend full cooperation to VALORANT leadership," he said. "Technical exchange, medical support, whatever we can provide."

Relief cracked Park's professional facade. "Thank you. You don't know what this means—"

Alarms suddenly blared. Every screen in the facility flashed red. Park's expression went from relief to horror in an instant.

"What is it?" Minwoo demanded.

"It's a deep dimensional probe," she said, already moving. "Something's testing our barriers from... below."

"Below?"

"Lower dimensions. Realities we don't access, we can't access safely." They reached a monitoring station where technicians worked frantically. "Ever since the convergence, we've detected probes from deeper layers. Entities that shouldn't exist shouldn't be aware of us."

On the screens, Minwoo saw it—not with his eyes but with his dimensional sense. A vast and erroneous force was straining against the boundaries separating realities. It was not exactly malevolent, but it was alien in ways that made his enhanced perception recoil.

"How long has this been happening?"

"Three days. Since you stabilized the convergence." Park met his eyes. "We think saving both our worlds attracted attention from things that feed on dimensional instability. And now they're curious about what stopped their feast."

The implications crashed over him. In saving two worlds, had they awakened something worse?

"I need to report the incident immediately," he said.

"Please do. And Agent Han?" Park's professional mask had returned, but underneath lay genuine fear. "Whatever's down there in the deep dimensions... I don't think either of our worlds can face it alone."

The return to Alpha Earth felt like surfacing from deep water. Minwoo stumbled slightly as he emerged from the portal, multiple realities settling back into singular focus. The team waited, concern evident as they took in his expression.

"Report," Brimstone ordered, though his tone suggested he already knew it wasn't positive news.

Minwoo shared everything—Omega's desperate state, their advanced survival technology, the medical crisis, and, most crucially, the deep dimensional probes. As he spoke, he watched understanding dawn on each face.

"Something from lower dimensions," Sage repeated slowly. "Entities that exist in realities beneath our own."

"Beneath being relative," Cypher interjected, fingers flying over his keyboard. "But if these signals match what Omega's detecting..."

"Then we have a bigger problem than interdimensional diplomacy," Viper finished.

"We need full cooperation with Omega Earth," Minwoo said firmly. "Not just for humanitarian reasons, but strategic necessity. They have detection technology we lack. We have resources they need. And whatever's probing our realities doesn't care about the difference between Alpha and Omega."

Brimstone absorbed this information while visibly burdened by the weight of his options. "You're recommending complete technological and resource exchange."

"I'm recommending we stop thinking in terms of two worlds and start thinking in terms of survival," Minwoo replied. "Because whatever's coming from the deep dimensions, it's coming for both of us."

Silence stretched as the implications sank in. Finally, Brimstone nodded. "I'll contact global leadership. If we proceed with this, let's ensure we do it correctly. Full diplomatic protocols, structured exchange, joint defense planning."

"And Minwoo?" Sage stepped forward. "Your role in the future will be crucial but taxing. We need to establish limits, rotation schedules, health monitoring—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "But this is what I became... for. To bridge worlds when they need it most."

Jett moved to his side, silent support. Phoenix flanked his other side. Even Viper nodded approval. They understood the weight he was accepting, and they'd help him carry it.

"Alright," Brimstone decided. "We move forward. We proceed cautiously yet resolutely. The age of dimensional isolation is over."

As the team dispersed to begin preparations, Minwoo caught Jett's arm.

"I need to see Hanna," he said quietly. "I need to... ground myself before this gets more complicated."

She squeezed his arm. "Go. I'll cover the initial planning sessions. Please make sure to stay in touch with us, alright? Any of us."

"Never," he promised, genuinely meaning it in every possible way.

The PC bang in Gangnam hummed with familiar energy—clicking keyboards, frustrated gamers, and the electronic symphony of digital worlds. Minwoo found their usual corner, relief flooding through him at the sight of Hanna already there, oversized hoodie hiding her face as she dominated a League match.

"You're late," she said without looking up, fingers dancing across keys. "I'm already two games up on you."

"Busy saving the dimensional multiverse," he replied, sliding into the seat beside her. "You know how it is."

"Uh-huh. Excuses." But she paused the game, turning to really look at him. Her expression shifted from playful to concerned in an instant. "You look... different."

He'd wondered if she'd notice. Most people saw what they expected, but Hanna had always perceived more than she should. Her radiant abilities were subtle—emotional resonance through sound—but they gave her insight that cut deep.

"Different how?" he asked carefully.

She studied him, head tilted. "Like you're... more. You seem to possess facets that were absent previously. It's hard to explain." Her hand found his, providing warmth and a sense of grounding. "Are you okay?"

"I'm figuring it out," he said honestly. "The convergence changed things. Changed me. I can see... more now. Experience dimensions simultaneously. It's—"

"Overwhelming," she finished. "I can feel it in your resonance. Like you're broadcasting on multiple frequencies at once."

He squeezed her hand, grateful for understanding that didn't require a full explanation. "But you still sound like home."

"Cheesy." But she smiled, some tension leaving her shoulders. "Want to talk about it or just play?"

"Play. Definitely play."

They queued together, falling into a familiar rhythm. Her support play complemented his aggressive style perfectly, two pieces of a well-worn puzzle. For precious minutes, the weight of dimensional responsibility faded. He was just Min, playing games with his girlfriend, pretending the world wasn't fundamentally more complex than a week ago.

But even here, he couldn't fully escape. His enhanced perception kept catching glimpses of other realities—versions where they'd never met, where the convergence had gone differently, where the deep dimensional entities had already broken through. He forced focus on this reality, this moment, this game.

"You're playing differently," Hanna observed during a loading screen. "More... predictive. It's as if you know what will happen before it actually does.

"Sorry, I—"

"No, it's fascinating." She turned to face him fully. "You're integrating it. Whatever happened to you, you're finding ways to use it even here. That's very... you."

"What do you mean?"

"You always adapt. Reincarnation, radiant powers, dimensional bridges—you take impossible things and make them part of your rhythm." She pulled back her hood, revealing fond exasperation. "It's simultaneously impressive and concerning."

"Which one are you feeling right now?"

"Both. Always both with you." She started to say more, then stopped. "There's something else, isn't there? Something you haven't told me yet."

He looked at her—really looked. In every dimension where they existed, this moment of truth waited. "There are things coming. They are coming from dimensions that are deeper than our own. The convergence... attracted attention."

She absorbed the scene with surprising calm. "How bad?"

"We don't know yet. The situation is severe enough for Alpha and Omega Earth to collaborate. Bad enough that I'll be traveling between dimensions regularly, trying to coordinate defenses."

"This means that you will be spreading yourself thinner." The question didn't arise.

"Yes."

They sat with that truth between them, the PC bang's noise fading to background static. Finally, Hanna spoke: "Then we make the most of the moments we have. Play games when you can. Share meals when possible. And I'll be here, broadcasting on whatever frequency you need to find your way home."

"Hanna—"

"No tragic speeches." She loaded another game, determination replacing worry. "We're not those people. We are the ones who overcome insurmountable challenges and emerge victorious. Right?"

"Right," he agreed, throat tight with emotion.

"Good. Now help me demolish these kids. I've got a reputation to maintain."

They played until the dimensional aurora became visible through the windows, painting Seoul's night sky in impossible colors. This served as a sharp reminder that their world had undergone irreversible transformation. But sitting beside Hanna, feeling her presence anchor him across multiple realities, Minwoo thought maybe—just maybe—they could navigate whatever came next.

The deep dimensions could probe all they wanted. He had reasons to fight, to stay grounded, and to bridge worlds without losing himself.

He had family. He had love. He had purpose.

And occasionally, that was enough to face even cosmic horror.

As they walked home through streets painted by dimensional light, Hanna's hand in his, Minwoo felt the weight of his transformation settle into something bearable. It was never comfortable, but it was sustainable.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. He faced the intricacies of diplomacy, the dangers of dimensions, and the gradual deterioration of his essentially human existence. But tonight, he was just Min, walking his girlfriend home while the universe painted impossible colors overhead.

In every dimension, across every reality, this moment was perfect.

And that, he decided, was worth fighting for.