Monday didn't wait.
Neither did reality.
Yoon Taesung woke up to the sound of his alarm low, buzzing, and stubborn. He didn't snooze it. Just stared at the ceiling for a second longer than usual before rolling out of bed and heading straight for the sink.
Cold water. Two splashes. Eyes open.
He didn't feel different.
Even after what happened near the river.
Even after Harin had looked at him with something almost like recognition.
Still just him.
Still just a C.
The light in the bathroom flickered once and then steadied. It always did that. Like the apartment needed to remind him it was still barely holding together. He brushed his teeth in silence, the way people did when they had nothing important to do but still felt like they should move anyway.
The city was grey again.
Clouds heavy, pressing down like they were trying to flatten the skyline. No snow yet, but the wind was hinting at it sharp, dry, a little mean.
Taesung wore his oldest jacket, the one with the loose thread at the cuff he always forgot to cut. There was something comforting about old things. Things that didn't change.
The bus was half-full.
No chatter today. Everyone looked tired. Faces pressed to windows, heads bowed to phones, thoughts somewhere else entirely.
He found a seat near the back, opened his phone, and scrolled through the news without really reading.
New Rift Activity Detected Near Incheon. Minor Breach Contained in Eastern Region. Guild Recruitment Slows for Winter Season.
Nothing surprising.
Nothing helpful.
He closed the app and stared out the window, where the buildings flicked past like afterthoughts.
The store felt colder today.
Maybe it was the broken heater in the back room. Maybe it was the way the light didn't reach all the corners. Or maybe it was just Taesung, still sitting with the memory of something that didn't make sense.
Mr. Han handed him the clipboard without looking up. "Glove orders came in wrong again. Check the sizes. Put the smalls on discount."
Taesung nodded.
Routine. He liked routine.
Until recently.
Now, it just made him think about the things he didn't understand.
Like what Harin had seen.
"Your eyes changed."
He hadn't seen it himself. Couldn't even feel it when it happened. But something had shifted. Something real enough that she noticed it without trying.
He wanted to believe it meant something.
But believing things didn't make them true.
He stocked the gloves. Counted the shelves twice. Tried not to let his thoughts wander.
Tried and failed.
He didn't go straight home after work.
Not to the river this time, either.
Just walked.
The sun was already low, streaks of gold barely slipping through the clouds. The wind cut harder here too many alleys, too many turns. This part of town was older, full of cracked sidewalks and signs that hadn't lit up in years.
He passed a closed-down café, a pawn shop, two convenience stores.
Then a voice:
"Hey."
He turned.
Harin was leaning against the wall near one of the alley intersections, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes half-lidded like she'd been waiting.
"You following me now?" he said, mostly joking.
She shrugged. "You're predictable."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"It's not a bad thing."
He didn't answer.
She pushed off the wall and started walking. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Somewhere quiet."
He hesitated.
Then followed.
The place she brought him wasn't far.
An old rooftop, five stories up, with a rusted chain-link fence around the edge and a view of the train lines below. Empty soda cans, cigarette butts, someone's broken lawn chair.
But quiet.
She sat on the ledge like it wasn't a big deal. He stayed a few steps back.
"Still thinking about it?" she asked.
He didn't pretend not to know what she meant.
"Yeah."
"I looked it up."
He blinked. "Looked what up?"
"Null Read skills. Rare ones. Undefined abilities the system can't classify. Most of them don't manifest until stress triggers them. Or trauma. Sometimes never."
Taesung frowned. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No. It's just what I found."
He looked out at the tracks. No trains. Just silence.
"I didn't feel anything," he said. "When I tried. Nothing happened."
"Your eyes said different."
"Even if it did what does it matter? It's not like I can use it."
"Yet."
He gave her a look. "That's optimistic for someone who barely knows me."
She smiled slightly. "I'm not optimistic. Just curious."
They were quiet for a while.
A bird landed on the edge of the fence, stared at them, then flew off again.
"Do you ever wonder," Taesung said eventually, "if maybe you just weren't meant for any of this?"
Harin didn't answer right away.
Then: "Yeah. Sometimes. But then I think what if it's the system that's wrong?"
He turned toward her.
She met his gaze without flinching.
"What if the way they measure people isn't enough?" she said. "What if they're not looking in the right places?"
That stuck with him.
Not because it answered anything.
But because it sounded like the kind of question he didn't know how to ask until now.
He didn't go back to the rooftop after that.
But he did go home with a different kind of silence inside him.
Not the heavy kind. Not the quiet that comes from giving up.
Something else.
Like the silence before something begins.
That night, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror.
Just stood there.
He remembered what Harin said. About focus.
So he tried again.
Breathed deep.
Let his thoughts still.
He didn't feel anything at first.
Then something.
A flicker.
Not power. Not magic. Just… awareness.
Like a thread brushing against the edge of his thoughts. Like something almost waking up.
He leaned forward.
And for the briefest moment, he saw it.
Not a reflection.
A distortion.
A shimmer behind his eyes, like the world was folding in just slightly, like something beneath the surface was watching back.
Then it was gone.
But it had been there.
He gripped the sink.
His heart was steady.
Too steady.
Elsewhere in the city, deep under the foundations where old tunnels twisted through forgotten service lines, a sensor lit up.
Just one.
Then nothing.
The system registered a spike. Unreadable. Unclassified.
But not unknown.
And someone, somewhere, took notice.