Like any other day, the streets were bustling with movement. Common citizens moved through their fast-paced routines, seemingly blind to their own actions. Men and women filled the streets, heading in every direction—some to work, others to school, and some to wherever life demanded they be.
Towering skyscrapers shimmered under the glow of countless LED displays. Neon signs in vibrant hues of pink, blue, and gold reflected off the glass facades, creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the streets below.
Large screens advertised fashion, beauty, entertainment, food—everything. Yet nobody truly paid attention, each person engrossed in their own thoughts and motions.
At a busy intersection, a man stood alone at the edge of the crosswalk. The red glow of the stoplight illuminated his bleak features, a stark contrast to the vibrant backdrop.
His dark hoodie hung loosely around his frame, his posture lifeless and dragging. His red, dry eyes bore dark circles beneath them, though no one noticed—especially with the cap pulled low over his head and the mask covering his nose and mouth. Nobody knew just how famous this man was, and even if they did, would they care? Either way, he was about to leave a lasting impression on everyone around him.
Seo Jun-ho was a computer science student at one of the most prestigious universities in Seoul, and in all of South Korea. He was part of the elite SKY lineup, attending SNU—a privilege reserved for the very best.
But that kind of acclaim didn't excite him as it did his peers. He had tasted a much greater high through his other identity as Phantom, a notorious and highly skilled hacker.
He stood at the stoplight, glancing at a particular screen as if expecting something. His latest project had kept him indoors for weeks. The fatigue from countless hours of typing and staring at glowing monitors was evident in his every movement. Now, he was about to reap the fruits of his labor.
But there was nothing. Not a peep. Not a single sign. Had his recent shakedown achieved nothing? His head drooped in disappointment. Did he need to make a bigger splash? What could possibly be bigger than this?
Then suddenly, the movement around him slowed. Men and women, breaking free from their daily sprint, paused. The news was enough.
[Breaking News: Phantom Strikes Again]
The screen flashed the announcement in bold, grabbing the crowd's attention. The news delved into the details of a dark scandal that had come to light—one involving members of a very famous K-pop group. Phantom was always on the hunt for injustices, from corrupt chaebols bending the law to the government abusing it. Even celebrities weren't safe from his reach. He despised how the strong oppressed the weak and did everything in his power to expose corruption and vile acts committed by the powerful. His latest project had focused on a horrifying sex-trafficking scandal.
When the faces of South Korea's most beautiful men appeared alongside their heinous deeds, he felt a sense of achievement. He had revealed the ugliness hidden beneath those angelic faces and charming voices. The droves of fans deserved to know the truth, he thought. A smile formed beneath his mask. His mission had been a success. Now, it was time to head home and celebrate.
He stared at the stoplight, waiting for it to turn green. When it finally did, all he saw was whiteness.
He didn't know how or when it had happened. All he remembered was the crunch of his bones and the sound of his blood splattering as it burst from his body. The last thing he saw was an expensive sedan speeding off as if nothing had happened.
Phantom had made plenty of enemies through his crusades. He had expected retaliation from the powerful—just not this swiftly.
The images shattered into pixelation as memories flooded back.
"SpEG5-31407C," a female voice vibrated through the room. "Head to the medical bay. I'll be there in a few."
A boy, who appeared no older than ten, stood silently, his eyes wide with confusion. His forehead throbbed from the previous tumble. Was this his past life? he wondered. He wiped the dirt from his fall and headed to the medical bay. Mother was the only one who could ensure his body returned to its pristine state.
The boy moved sluggishly, his kneecaps screaming in pain, but his small feet padded softly against the cold, metallic floor. His movement was unimpeded. He didn't register the pain—his head was still processing the new stream of data.
"SpEG5-31407C," the voice called again, sharper this time. "Your vitals show inconsistencies. Move faster."
The voice broke through his haze, his mind snapping back from the depths. The data sorting of this old life would have to wait.
He quickened his pace, rounding the final corner into the medical bay. The room was as immaculate as the rest of the station, its sterile white walls interrupted by rows of diagnostic pods and displays streaming streams of unintelligible data.
At the center of it all stood Mother.
"SpEG5-31407C," she addressed him. "Please, sit."
The boy complied, climbing onto the examination table. The woman began her assessment, her hands hovering over the patches of red. A wave of energy pulsed from her fingertips as she worked.
She scrutinized the wounds, ensuring there was no underlying damage. When she found nothing wrong internally, she deactivated her diagnostic tool and activated her healing gift. The bio-flux sterilized the wound before enhancing the body's natural healing abilities. Within seconds, the boy was as good as new.
"You fell again," she said, meeting his eyes. "How many times must I tell you to remain focused during your training?"
The boy shifted uncomfortably, his small hands gripping the edge of his tunic. "I'm sorry, Mother. I—"
"It's alright," she interrupted, her tone softening. "Just remain focused during training." She helped him up. "You're back to pristine condition. Go join the others."
"Thank you, Mother."
The boy climbed off the examination table and walked back to the training field. Tomorrow was the naming ceremony—his only chance to elevate his status from C-class to a higher level. Maybe he would receive a gift that would raise him to B-class or even A-class. But for now, he had to train. Train his body. Train his mind. The next 24 hours could be the difference between being a third-class citizen and becoming an elite.