Jihwan Ryu's life was a meticulously crafted facade. From the outside, he appeared to have everything anyone could wish for—wealth, status, and a family that seemed the embodiment of success. His father, Ryu Jongseok, was a prominent businessman, celebrated for his strategic mind and connections in Seoul's elite circles. His mother, Minyoung, a graceful and refined woman, held her own in high society, attending charity events and luncheons that made their family the envy of the social scene.

Their mansion, perched on a hill overlooking the glittering Han River, was a testament to their wealth. Expansive gardens, a fleet of luxury cars, and designer clothes were staples of Jihwan's everyday life. His room, filled with the latest gadgets, looked like a teenager's dream. But for Jihwan, these luxuries were a cage, trapping him in a life where appearances were more important than truth.

Every morning, Jihwan donned his school uniform—an immaculate blazer and neatly pressed pants that bore the emblem of his prestigious private school. He would step out of the front door, greeted by the family chauffeur who drove him in a sleek black sedan, a symbol of his family's status. And every morning, the knot of dread in his stomach would tighten as they drew closer to the imposing gates of his school.

Jihwan's classmates were not friends; they were tormentors. His life at school was a nightmare hidden behind a thin veneer of fake smiles. On the surface, he was surrounded by people who claimed to be his friends—boys from similarly affluent families who shared his social status. But beneath that surface lay cruelty and manipulation. They would mock him, take his money, and when he resisted, they humiliated him further. The bullying was subtle at first—snide comments, teasing—but it escalated quickly. Now, they extorted money from him, and the torment had become more insidious.

His so-called friends had captured compromising photos of him, taken during moments when they forced him into degrading situations. They had become a weapon, used to keep him under control, to force him to comply with their whims. The fear of those images being leaked terrified him. He couldn't bear the thought of his parents finding out, of the shame it would bring upon them. And so, Jihwan endured, day after day, the weight of his secret growing heavier with each passing moment.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Jihwan stood outside the classroom, pretending to search for something in his locker. He could feel their eyes on him—Jinho, Taeho, and Seokjin—his tormentors. Their laughter echoed down the hallway, sending a shiver of dread down his spine.

"Ryu," Jinho's voice called out, dripping with condescension. "You got the cash for us today, right?"

Jihwan stiffened, his hand gripping the edge of the locker. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. "I... I don't have much today. I'll bring more tomorrow."

Taeho smirked, leaning in closer. "Come on, man. You know how this works. If you don't bring the money, maybe those pictures will end up in the wrong hands."

Seokjin chuckled, pulling out his phone. "Maybe we should just give him a preview."

Jihwan's heart raced as the images flashed in his mind. He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of anger and helplessness. Why couldn't he do anything? Why couldn't he stand up to them?

"I'll get the money," he muttered, the defeat in his voice obvious.

The boys laughed again, satisfied with his compliance. "Good. Don't forget," Jinho sneered, before turning to leave.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, Jihwan going through the motions of attending classes, but his mind was elsewhere. By the time the final bell rang, he was numb. He walked out of the school gates, shoulders slumped, the weight of his torment pressing down on him like a physical force.

When he arrived home, the contrast between his two worlds was stark. Inside the mansion, everything was pristine and perfect. His mother greeted him at the door with a warm smile.

"Hey, son! How was your day?" Minyoung asked, her voice soft and caring, though Jihwan knew it was superficial. She never really listened to his answer.

"It was fine," Jihwan lied, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

His father, as always, was on a business call, only offering a distracted nod in acknowledgment of his presence. To them, Jihwan's life was perfect, just like theirs. They couldn't fathom that behind the luxurious walls of their home, their son was drowning in fear and humiliation.

Jihwan excused himself quickly, retreating to the sanctuary of his bedroom. Once inside, he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. The tension of the day weighed heavily on him. His gaze wandered to the large window that overlooked the sprawling cityscape below. The city was alive with lights, but Jihwan felt nothing but darkness.

Sinking onto his bed, he stared up at the ceiling. The tears he had been holding back all day began to spill over, silent and uncontrollable. He wiped them away furiously, ashamed of his weakness.

"Why can't I have the power to stand up to them?" he whispered into the emptiness. "Just once, I want to show them I'm not a coward."

But the answer never came. Exhaustion took over, and Jihwan's body gave in to sleep, the world around him fading into oblivion.

Hours passed, and in the depths of his slumber, Jihwan's mind began to drift. At first, it was peaceful—a soft, dreamlike state filled with fragments of his childhood. He remembered simpler days, when his parents were more than just distant figures in his life. They used to laugh together, play together. His father would lift him high into the air, his mother would kiss his forehead and tell him he was brave, that he could be anything he wanted.

But as his dreams deepened, they grew darker. His subconscious mind took over, pulling him further into a strange, unfamiliar place. It was as if he were being dragged through a vortex, a spiraling tunnel of shadows and memories.

When Jihwan finally opened his eyes, everything had changed.

He was no longer lying in his bed. Instead, he found himself sprawled on the cold, hard ground. Panic surged through him as he sat up abruptly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body felt... wrong. Too small, too weak.

Jihwan glanced down at himself, his heart pounding wildly. His once tall, teenage frame was now that of a five-year-old child. His skin was covered in bruises, and his limbs ached as if he had been beaten. Confusion and terror gripped him.

Where am I? What happened?

The air around him was damp and cold, carrying the pungent scent of earth and mold. He was inside a cave, dimly lit by the faintest of light filtering through cracks in the stone. Struggling to his feet, he stumbled toward the source of the light, desperate for answers.

As he stepped out of the cave, the sunlight blinded him momentarily. Blinking, he slowly adjusted to his surroundings. The world before him was utterly alien. Gone were the towering skyscrapers and modern streets of Seoul. Instead, he was greeted by a village that looked like it had been plucked from a historical drama. The buildings were made of wood and stone, with thatched roofs and simple designs. People walked the dirt paths, dressed in traditional robes and tunics, carrying baskets or practicing martial arts in open courtyards.

Jihwan's heart raced, his mind reeling from the impossibility of it all. Was this a dream? Some twisted nightmare? He stumbled forward, unsure of what to do, when a voice called out to him.

"Hey, young one! What's your name?"

Jihwan turned to see an old man approaching him, his face weathered and his eyes sharp with curiosity.

"I... I'm Jihwan Ryu," he stammered, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

The old man's gaze narrowed at the mention of his name. "Ryu, eh? You're from the Ryu clan? We'll see about that."

Before Jihwan could respond, the old man grabbed him by the arm and began leading him toward the village.

And so, Jihwan's journey in the Murim World began.