The classroom clock ticked with agonizing slowness. Rain pattered against the windows, casting the room in a gloomy half-light perfect for shadow manipulation. Not that I could risk practicing here. Twenty-nine classmates plus one eagle-eyed teacher meant twenty-nine possibilities for exposure.
"And so," Mrs. Kim continued, chalking mathematical formulas onto the blackboard, "when we multiply fractions..."
Her voice faded into background noise as I discreetly opened my notebook to the back pages. What looked like innocent doodles to any casual observer was actually a meticulous record of my progress. Three weeks had passed since the voice had spoken to me at Lotte World. Three weeks of relentless practice, pushing beyond my previous limitations each night.
My range for maintaining shadow constructs now extended to nearly two hundred meters—the entire length of my apartment building and halfway down the block. I could sustain up to fifteen small constructs simultaneously, though complex ones like my shadow cat still taxed me severely. And I'd discovered something new just two nights ago: I could extract shadows from living things.
It had happened by accident. A cockroach had skittered across my bedroom floor during practice. On instinct, I'd reached out with my power, intending to create a shadow construct to trap it. Instead, something different occurred. I felt a connection form between my consciousness and the insect's shadow. With a mental tug, I'd pulled—and the shadow had separated from the cockroach, becoming a distinct entity under my control.
The cockroach itself had frozen, then twitched violently before lying still, dead. Its extracted shadow, however, retained the exact shape and movements of the living insect, scurrying across my floor at my command.
The implications had kept me awake until dawn. If I could extract shadows from living creatures, turning them into servants while killing their hosts...
"Lee Jun-ho!"
Mrs. Kim's voice shattered my reflection. I looked up, blinking.
"Since you're clearly too engrossed in your notes to need my lesson, perhaps you'd like to solve this problem for the class?" She gestured to a complex fraction equation on the board.
Twenty-nine pairs of eyes turned toward me. In the back row, Park Min-jae smirked, anticipating my humiliation. He'd kept his distance since our first encounter, but his animosity remained palpable.
I stood slowly, approaching the board. Math had never been my strong suit in any of my lives. But something had changed since my power awakened—not just physically, but mentally. Numbers seemed clearer, patterns more obvious.
I took the chalk from Mrs. Kim's outstretched hand and solved the problem methodically, adding intermediate steps she hadn't covered yet. When I finished, I turned to find her staring at me with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.
"That's... correct," she said slowly. "Though we haven't covered the distributive property with fractions yet." She peered at me over her glasses. "Have you been studying ahead, Jun-ho?"
I shook my head. "It just seemed logical."
More like instinctual. As if knowledge locked away in some shadowy corner of my mind had suddenly become accessible.
Mrs. Kim pursed her lips. "Well... good work. Please pay attention for the rest of the lesson."
I returned to my seat, aware of the changed quality of the stares following me. No longer dismissive—now curious, even wary. Min-jae's smirk had vanished, replaced by a scowl.
When the lunch bell rang, I gathered my things slowly, intending to eat alone as usual. But before I could leave, a girl approached my desk. Choi Soo-jin, who sat two rows ahead of me. Pretty, popular, and until now, someone who'd never acknowledged my existence.
"That was impressive," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Mrs. Kim never calls on me for the hard problems."
I looked up, momentarily speechless. In my previous lives, girls like Soo-jin had never given me a second glance.
"Thanks," I managed.
"Some of us are eating lunch together," she continued, gesturing toward a group of students hovering by the door. "You should join us."
Before I could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Why invite the freak?" Park Min-jae pushed his way forward, eyes narrowed. "Just because he got lucky with one math problem?"
Soo-jin frowned. "Don't be a jerk, Min-jae."
"You didn't see what he did," Min-jae insisted, jabbing a finger in my direction. "That first day. He did something... weird."
"What are you talking about?" another boy asked.
Min-jae faltered, realizing how it would sound if he described shadows moving at my command. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just... stay away from him."
The classroom had grown quiet, the other students watching our exchange with undisguised interest. I stood slowly, gathering my lunch.
"It's fine," I told Soo-jin. "I prefer eating alone."
I brushed past Min-jae, deliberately bumping his shoulder—something the old Jun-ho would never have dared. He stumbled back, startled by my strength.
"Watch it, freak," he hissed, but quietly, without his usual confidence.
I smiled slightly. "You should be careful, Min-jae. There are worse things than freaks in this world."
His face paled. He remembered. The shadow around his wrist, even if he didn't understand what he'd seen.
I left the classroom, not heading for my usual isolated spot in the library but for somewhere new—the boiler room in the school basement. The janitor had forgotten to lock it last week, and I'd discovered it during one of my shadow-construct scouting missions. Dark, warm, and private. Perfect for what I needed to test.
The basement corridor was deserted during lunch. I slipped into the boiler room, closing the door behind me. The only illumination came from a small, dust-covered window near the ceiling and the blinking lights of the ancient boiler itself.
I sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, placing my lunch beside me untouched. Then I closed my eyes, extending my senses into the shadows that filled the room.
They responded immediately, swirling around me like eager pets. But I wasn't here to practice construct creation. I had a different objective.
I reached out with my consciousness, searching. There—in the corner near the pipes. Rats. At least three of them, their tiny shadows flickering as they scurried about, unaware of my presence.
I focused on the largest one, establishing the same connection I'd formed with the cockroach. The shadow and the living creature were bound together, but not inseparably. There was a seam, a metaphysical joint where they connected. All I needed to do was find the edge and pull.
It was like trying to separate two sheets of paper stuck together with static electricity—difficult at first, then suddenly yielding. The rat's shadow detached, leaving its body rigid. Unlike the cockroach, the rat didn't die instantly. It convulsed, squeaking in distress before falling silent.
The extracted shadow, however, retained perfect form—a three-dimensional silhouette of a rat, darker than the natural shadows around it, moving with fluid grace. I directed it toward me, marveling at the detail. Even the whiskers were perfectly defined, twitching as the shadow-rat nosed around my feet.
I repeated the process with the other two rats. Each extraction became easier, requiring less concentration. Their shadows joined the first, forming a small patrol that circled me obediently.
What made this different from simply creating shadow constructs was specificity. When I created a shadow cat or mouse from scratch, it was a rough approximation—detailed enough to be recognizable, but generic. These extracted shadows, however, were perfect copies of their original hosts, down to individual markings and behaviors.
And there was something else—a faint connection between me and these shadows that felt different from my constructed ones. Almost as if some essence of the original creatures had transferred to me during extraction.
I held out my hand, and the shadow-rats climbed onto my palm, weightless but visibly present. "Return," I commanded softly.
They dissolved, but instead of simply dissipating back into ordinary darkness, I felt them flow into me—tiny streams of shadow energy adding to my reserve. The sensation was exhilarating, like drinking cool water after hours of thirst.
My shadow reserve felt slightly larger than before. Not dramatically—these were just rats, after all—but noticeably expanded.
The bell signaling the end of lunch startled me. I'd lost track of time, something that happened increasingly often during my practice sessions. I gathered my untouched lunch and hurried back upstairs, my mind racing with implications.
If extracting shadows from small creatures could incrementally increase my power, what about larger animals? Or...
I shut down that thought immediately. I wouldn't cross that line. Not yet, anyway.
The afternoon classes passed in a blur. When the final bell rang, I declined Soo-jin's renewed invitation to walk home together—partly from habit, partly because I had plans that couldn't include witnesses.
Seoul's Bukhansan National Park bordered our neighborhood, a sprawling wilderness of forests and mountains. I'd never ventured far into it in any of my lives, my weak constitution making even gentle hikes challenging. But now, with my strengthened body and abilities, the park represented opportunity.
I told my mother I was studying at the library, a lie she accepted without question—her sickly, studious son suddenly developing an interest in the outdoors would have raised far more suspicion than extended study hours.
The park was relatively empty on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. I followed a trail for about twenty minutes, then deliberately stepped off it, heading deeper into the forest where the trees grew dense enough to block much of the rain.
Perfect isolation.
I found a small clearing and set down my backpack, which contained not books but supplies—a flashlight, a small tarp to sit on, energy bars, and a thermos of hot tea. I'd learned that using my shadow abilities depleted not just my shadow reserve but my physical energy as well.
Setting up the tarp beneath a broad pine tree, I sat and closed my eyes, extending my senses outward. The forest teemed with life—birds roosting in the rain, squirrels huddled in tree hollows, probably larger animals deeper in.
I started small, extracting shadows from insects I sensed in the undergrowth. Each tiny addition to my reserve emboldened me to reach further, try larger targets. A squirrel. Then another. Their shadows flowed into me, lending their essence to my growing power.
Two hours passed as I systematically harvested shadows from the forest creatures around me. My reserve swelled noticeably, and with it came heightened sensitivity. I could sense life forms at greater distances, distinguish between species by the quality of their shadows alone.
Then I felt it—something larger moving through the trees about fifty meters away. A deer, based on the shadow's shape and movement patterns. This would be my largest extraction yet.
I focused my concentration, establishing the connection despite the distance. The deer's shadow was substantial, deeply integrated with its physical form. Extracting it would require more force than anything I'd attempted so far.
I pulled.
The connection resisted, then strained. I could feel the deer freeze in place, instinctively aware that something unnatural was happening. I pulled harder, gritting my teeth with effort.
With a sensation like elastic finally snapping, the shadow tore free. Through my connection, I felt the deer collapse. But unlike the smaller creatures, something unexpected happened—the dying deer's terror, its final moments of consciousness, flashed through my mind. A brief, vivid impression of panic and confusion before darkness.
I gasped, nearly losing control of the extracted shadow. It wavered, threatening to dissipate, before I reasserted my will. The shadow-deer solidified, standing motionless before me in the clearing—a perfect silhouette of the animal I'd just killed.
"Come," I whispered.
The shadow-deer approached, moving with the same grace as its living counterpart had. I reached out, placing my hand where its muzzle would be. Though it had no physical substance, I felt a connection—deeper than with my constructed shadows.
"Return."
As the shadow-deer flowed into me, the influx of energy was substantial—like going from hungry to comfortably full in an instant. My shadow reserve expanded dramatically, and with it came something unexpected: fragments of memory. Flashing images of forest paths, the taste of specific plants, the sensation of running through underbrush.
I sat back, breathing heavily. The deer's death had transferred more than just shadow energy—it had given me slivers of its experiences, its knowledge of the forest.
The rain had stopped, I realized. Twilight approached, the forest darkening around me. I should head home soon. But first, I wanted to test my enhanced reserve.
Standing in the center of the clearing, I held out both hands. "Arise," I commanded.
Shadows erupted from every direction—not just the natural darkness beneath trees and rocks, but extracted from the very air itself. They coalesced into forms around me—first one, then three, then seven humanoid figures, each roughly my size and shape.
Seven shadow soldiers, standing at attention in a circle around me. Detailed enough to distinguish facial features, though their eyes remained empty voids. I had never managed more than two such complex constructs before.
"Move," I ordered, pointing toward the trees.
They responded as one, walking with fluid grace to the forest's edge. I sent mental commands, making them perform synchronized movements—jumping, crawling, mimicking combat stances I'd seen in movies.
The strain was present but manageable. I could maintain this small army for at least half an hour, I estimated. And they were so much more detailed than my previous attempts—almost solid-looking despite their darkness.
A twig snapped somewhere behind me.
I spun, the shadow soldiers instantly moving to surround me protectively. Through the trees, I glimpsed a human figure retreating rapidly—someone who had been watching.
"Capture," I commanded instinctively.
Two shadow soldiers broke from the circle, moving with frightening speed through the trees. I heard a startled cry, then the sounds of struggle.
Moments later, my shadows returned, dragging a terrified Park Min-jae between them.
"Let me go!" he screamed, thrashing against their grip. His feet barely touched the ground as they held him by his arms. "Please! I'm sorry!"
I stared at him, momentarily stunned. Had he followed me from school? How long had he been watching?
"Min-jae," I said, struggling to keep my voice calm. "What are you doing here?"
His eyes were wide with terror, darting between me and the shadow figures holding him. "I—I knew you were a freak," he stammered. "I followed you to prove it. To get evidence."
He'd been stalking me, then. Planning to what—expose me? Blackmail me? The old Jun-ho might have panicked at being discovered. But I felt oddly detached, analytical.
"Evidence of what, exactly?"
He gestured frantically at the shadow soldiers. "This! Whatever this is! You're some kind of—of monster!"
The word should have hurt. Instead, it amused me. If he thought this display made me a monster, he understood nothing of what I was becoming.
I approached him slowly, the remaining shadow soldiers following in perfect formation. "And what were you planning to do with this... evidence?"
"I don't know," he admitted, his bravado crumbling. "Tell someone. The principal. Or—or post it online."
I laughed softly. "Who would believe you? A video of shadows in a dark forest? They'd say it was edited. A prank."
Relief flickered across his face. "So... you'll let me go?"
I studied him thoughtfully. Min-jae represented a problem—not because anyone would believe his wild claims, but because he now knew to watch me, to look for evidence more concrete than forest shadows.
I had options. Terrify him into silence. Extract a promise. Or...
My gaze fell on his shadow, stark against the forest floor in the fading light. A third option presented itself—one that would solve the Min-jae problem permanently while potentially adding substantially to my reserve.
The thought should have horrified me. In my previous lives, I'd been gentle, bookish, incapable of harming others. But those versions of me had died weak and unfulfilled. This Jun-ho—the Shadow Monarch—operated by different rules.
I reached out with my power, establishing the connection to Min-jae's shadow. His eyes widened further, some instinctive part of him sensing what was happening.
"What are you doing?" he whispered. "Something feels wrong."
I hesitated, my hand half-raised. This was a boundary I hadn't crossed yet—extracting a shadow from a human. Not just an animal, but a person. A classmate. There would be no going back from this.
As I stood frozen with indecision, a familiar voice spoke in my mind:
*"Hesitation is the luxury of the powerful, not the birthright of the weak. You have died twice from hesitating to seize power. Will you die a third time without ever truly living?"*
The original Shadow Monarch's voice, clear as if standing beside me.
Min-jae was still struggling, his panic growing as he felt the connection between himself and his shadow straining. "Please," he begged. "I won't tell anyone. I swear!"
I looked into his eyes—the eyes of my tormentor, the boy who had made my brief time at Seoul Academy miserable, who had followed me intending to expose and humiliate me.
My hand closed into a fist.
And I pulled.