Far away from the noise and speculation, in the middle of the overgrown west ruins, a collapsed five-story building stood silently under the moonlight.

  Inside, Lee Aseok tossed his bloodied iron rod into the corner.

  His breath was even. Calm.

  He had just returned from clearing another dungeon, one of many. The core’s energy still pulsed faintly within his body, settling into his veins like it had always belonged there.

  Without a word, Lee Aseok peeled off his shirt, his fingers moving mechanically. He stepped into the shower, letting cold water rinse away dried monster blood and ash.

  When he came out, the air smelled faintly of leftover rice and pickled vegetables. He ate without taste, without expression, as if eating were simply another task to tick off.

  Then, quietly, he lay down on his narrow mattress. The building groaned slightly as the wind passed through the broken windows, but Lee Aseok barely noticed.

  He didn’t check his phone. He didn’t turn on the news.

  He didn’t need to.

  He already knew.

  Lying still, staring at the cracked ceiling, a faint thought slipped into his mind.

  “It’s too early.”

  The holy sword had appeared three years earlier than it did in his previous life.

  Lee Aseok’s brows furrowed slightly.

  In his past life, the holy object emerged later, closer to the brink of the dungeon's breaks forming. It had followed a timeline. A pattern. But now...

  Why?

  Anxiety curled faintly in his chest. Not fear. Not yet.

  But unease.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He turned over, pulling the thin blanket to his chest.

  “Whatever happens, I won’t go through that again.”

  Even if the world changed.

  Even if things deviated.

  Even if everything was rewritten…

  He wouldn’t care.

  He refused to care.

  His thoughts drifted again. To the official ceremony.

  In the past, Mu Yichen had been chosen by the holy sword.

  He had stood on the stage, sword in hand, bathed in light, while the world worshipped him.

  Of course, Lee Aseok thought. Mu Yichen’ll be chosen again.

  Even in this new timeline, Mu Yichen was powerful, admired, and flawless.

  There was no reason to believe the sword would deny him.

  Lee Aseok closed his eyes.

  "It has nothing to do with me anymore."

  His fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.

  He didn’t even notice.

  The wind howled faintly outside.

  And Lee Aseok sank into sleep, silent, cold, and distant from a world that unknowingly searched for him.

  The next day arrived slowly, like all the others before it.

  Lee Aseok woke late, disheveled and bleary-eyed. He cooked himself the simplest meal, instant soup and rice and sat in front of the cracked tablet screen to watch his usual children’s cartoons.

  They were loud, exaggerated, and filled with colorful nonsense.

  But more importantly, they weren’t real.

  He preferred them.

  With a sigh, Lee Aseok reached for the remote and switched to the news. He expected the same headlines. Cheers. Parade announcements. People praised Mu Yichen, crowned once again by destiny.

  But what he saw—

  “HOLY SWORD REJECTS ALL CANDIDATES, INCLUDING MU YICHEN.”

  “World Left in Confusion as Hero's Son Turned Away.”

  “Who Is the True Chosen One?”

  The remote slipped from his hand.

  The bowl of rice clattered to the floor.

  For a moment, Lee Aseok just stared. His breath grew unsteady as he leaned forward and read, again and again.

  Mu Yichen… was rejected?

  His hands trembled. His chest grew tight. Words blurred together on the screen.

  Panic swelled.

  Something deep within him, something buried and locked away, began to claw its way out.

  With shaky fingers, Lee Aseok opened the live broadcast recording from the previous day. He scrubbed through the hours of battles, skipping over names and faces, skipping over the endless noise—until he reached the moment.

  There, in perfect HD:

  Mu Yichen, calm and confident, stepped into the glowing ring of light that surrounded the holy sword.

  Lee Aseok didn’t blink. He barely breathed.

  The screen showed it clearly.

  Mu Yichen stepped within five meters.

  The crowd held its breath.

  He reached out …And was thrown back by the sword’s divine force.

  Lee Aseok’s eyes widened.

  His body jerked slightly in place, then froze.

  No…

  Mu Yichen tried again, the second time.

  The sword repelled him harder the second time.

  Lee Aseok’s hands gripped the edge of the broken table. His nails dug into the wood. His body shook, violently now, as if his bones remembered something his mind refused to accept.

  Old pain. New confusion.

  Everything came rushing together in a wave of sharp, unbearable pressure.

  His breath hitched.

  His heart pounded in his ears like war drums.

  The weight of two timelines crashed into him at once, but nothing made sense anymore. This shouldn’t be happening. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Why?

  Why had the holy sword refused Mu Yichen?

  Why did the timeline change?

  Why was everything unraveling?

  Why… was his heart racing so violently?

  Lee Aseok didn’t move at first.

  He stared at the flickering screen, watched the moment of Mu Yichen’s rejection loop in his mind, and then…

  His body began to tremble.

  First his hands.

  Then his shoulders.

  Then his entire frame as if his bones had forgotten how to stay still.

  Old memories bled into new ones. Echoes of a time that shouldn’t exist overlapped with the timeline he lived now. His mind, already a fractured mess, cracked deeper under the pressure.

  The headache hit like a steel rod to the skull.

  Lee Aseok collapsed to the floor and curled up tightly like a child desperate for the world to disappear.

  Minutes passed.

  Hours, maybe.

  And then…

  He laughed.

  Not a laugh of joy. Not of sorrow.

  It was hollow, completely devoid of life. A sound that didn’t belong to the living or the dead.

  Just a laugh.

  Empty and echoing within the cracked walls of the collapsed building.

  When the sound finally died, Lee Aseok slowly sat up.

  He picked up the broken bowl.

  Swept the spilled rice.

  Washed the dishes with the same calm as if nothing had happened.

  Because for him, nothing had.

  The world could burn.

  The holy sword could vanish.

  Even Mu Yichen could disappear into dust.

  It wouldn’t matter.

  Lee Aseok had made up his mind the moment he opened his eyes in this second chance at life. He wouldn’t get involved. With anyone.

  He didn’t want salvation.

  He didn’t want revenge.

  He didn’t want hope.

  He had already died once with the weight of the world’s hatred crushing him.

  In this life, he would carry nothing.

  Owed nothing.

  Want nothing.

  He would simply exist.

  Like a ghost no one could see.

  Meanwhile, across the city

  Mu Yichen’s car pulled into the gated Mu estate.

  The mansion, once home to the former Hero Mu Tianchi, stood solemn and grand under the twilight sky. Its presence felt heavier than ever.

  “Why here?” Seo MinHyun asked, trailing behind him. “You usually stay at your own apartment.”

  Mu Yichen didn’t answer at first. He walked steadily up the stairs, each step deliberate, his expression unreadable.

  At the top of the stairs, he finally spoke.

  “My father… used to wield a holy object,” he said quietly. “That was the whip. Not the same as the holy sword, but still from the same origin.”

  He paused in front of the old study’s sealed door.

  “I thought… Maybe there’s something left behind. A trace. A clue. Anything.”

  Seo MinHyun frowned. “You really think he’d leave something behind?”

  “I don’t know,” Mu Yichen said calmly. “But I need to find the chosen one before the world starts panicking.”

  The tone in his voice was steady, but his eyes...

  They were sharp. Focused.

  There was something unfamiliar in them. Not frustration. Not disappointed.

  Determination.

  He couldn’t explain why he cared so much.

  Only that the rejection didn’t anger him.

  It unnerved him.

  There was someone out there.

  Someone worthy enough that even the holy sword refused him.

  And now, Mu Yichen wanted to find that person.

  No matter who they were.

  No matter what it meant.

  Just as they approached the second floor, the quiet creak of the wooden corridor revealed a figure standing by the window.

  Qin Yue.

  Her dark hair was neatly pinned, her tailored suit immaculate, but her eyes though composed, betrayed an unspoken storm.

  She turned from the window slowly, her gaze falling on her son.

  “Are you alright?” Her voice was soft, but there was steel hidden beneath.

  Mu Yichen stopped briefly, expression unreadable. “If I wasn’t chosen, then I’m simply not the one meant to wield it.”

  Qin Yue’s brows furrowed immediately.

  “No,” she said sharply. “There is no one more suitable than you. No one.”

  Mu Yichen’s eyes lingered on her trembling hands. Hands that had once held the hero Mu Tianchi. Hands that raised him after the world hailed him as the son of a savior.

  “I’m not Father,” he said quietly. “And I’m not his replacement either.”

  The hallway seemed to still.

  Qin Yue’s shoulders stiffened.

  For a moment, the air between mother and son crackled with unspoken emotion. Then, with a measured breath, she glanced toward Seo MinHyun, who tactfully averted his gaze and pretended to check his phone.

  Without another word, Qin Yue turned and walked away, her heels tapping against the polished floor, fading down the hall.

  Mu Yichen didn’t watch her leave. He simply resumed walking.

  Seo MinHyun sighed quietly. He’d seen this before the polite clashes, the silent wars between a mother who lost too much and a son born into a legacy he never chose.

  They didn’t hate each other.

  But love twisted by loss had sharp edges.

  Soon they arrived at the door.

  Mu Yichen placed his hand against the old scanner. With a quiet beep, the lock clicked, and the door slowly creaked open.

  He turned on the light.

  It was… ordinary.

  A room left untouched by time. Dust coated the shelves. The air smelled faintly of wood and age. Faded furniture rested in still silence—an old desk, a bookshelf with yellowed documents, and a long-locked chest in the corner.

  But it wasn’t just the furniture. The atmosphere itself felt heavy, as if the room remembered.

  Mu Yichen stepped inside without hesitation, his sharp eyes scanning every detail.

  Seo MinHyun followed behind and closed the door.

  Whatever secrets the former hero might have left behind, this was the last place they could look.

  And if there really was a chosen one out there…

  They needed to find him. Fast.

  Dust floated lazily in the air, stirred by the light filtering through the half-shuttered windows. He reached out and flipped the switch. A dull click echoed and dim golden light spilled into the room, illuminating a study that seemed untouched by time.

  Bookshelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of old texts and binders. A dark brown desk stood at the center, with a cracked leather chair tucked underneath. An old clock ticked softly on the wall, though its hands hadn’t moved in years.

  “This place…” Seo MinHyun muttered as he stepped in after him. “It’s like a museum.”

  “It was my father’s study,” Mu Yichen said quietly.

  They moved wordlessly through the room, each checking through different shelves and drawers. Most of it was mundane, monster reports, mission logs, tactical layouts. Decades of battle compressed into ink and parchment.

  Then Mu Yichen paused.

  On the desk, buried beneath a thick file of guild reports, he found a thin notebook. Its cover was worn, the edges frayed.

  And yet the handwriting inside was unmistakable..familiar.

  “It’s this one. ” Mu Yichen murmured, frowning slightly.

  “What?” Seo MinHyun looked up from the far side of the desk.

  Mu Yichen said, flipping through it. “Father must have kept it.”

  Intrigued, Seo MinHyun crossed the room and peered over his shoulder. The pages were filled with neat lines of handwriting, the content was serious.

  Notes about monster types. Gate behavior patterns. Strategies and diagrams.

  Seo MinHyun groaned. “Your father is a hero through and through.”

  Mu Yichen didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed as he reached the final few pages and suddenly, his spine straightened.

  “What is it?” Seo MinHyun asked, noticing the shift.

  Mu Yichen didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the final page where the writing was no longer his.

  It was his father’s.

  The ink was slightly faded, but the words were sharp.

  “The Holy Object does not randomly choose its form. Its shape be it a spear, whip, or sword, is shaped by the person's desire it is destined to accept. If it takes the form of a sword, then the chosen one must be someone who either cherishes the sword... or has been shaped by it.”

  “And one more thing: the Holy Object and the Chosen One do not exist separately. One does not appear without the other. The Holy Object's appearance means the chosen one is already here, somewhere. They are always born together.”

  The room had grown colder, though neither Mu Yichen nor Seo MinHyun noticed.

  The final page of the notebook lay open between them, its message etched deeply into their minds.

  "The Holy Object and the Chosen One always coexist. One cannot appear without the other."

  A heavy silence stretched between them.

  Seo MinHyun broke it first. “That means…” He looked up at Mu Yichen, his golden brows furrowed, “…the Chosen One is already out there. Already awakened.”

  Mu Yichen closed the notebook with a soft snap. His eyes, calm as always, were far from still.

  Outside this old study room, guilds and government departments were pouring resources into surveillance networks waiting for a newly awakened person to suddenly emerge with sword-related skills. Hoping, watching.

  But they were all wrong.

  Because, according to this note, that person already existed.

  They had awakened. They were living among them now.

  And the sword, unmoving, unreadable, divine, was already waiting.

  “They all failed,” Seo MinHyun muttered, pacing. “Everyone at the ceremony. Even you.” He turned, frustration clear in his voice. “So where is he? Or she? If the chosen one knows, why the hell haven’t they shown up?”

  Mu Yichen leaned against the desk, silent for a long moment, then finally said, “Maybe they don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “The link,” Mu Yichen said quietly, gesturing to the final scrawl of his father’s handwriting. “It says… the Chosen One and the Holy Object are tied by something invisible. A pull that only they can feel.”

  Seo MinHyun frowned. “So you're saying… the sword will call to them?”

  “Yes,” Mu Yichen said. “And if they’re truly the Chosen One, they’ll feel it.”

  “And if they’re ignoring it?” Seo asked skeptically. “Hiding? Or avoiding it on purpose?”

  Mu Yichen’s gaze was unreadable. “They can’t avoid it forever.”

  Seo MinHyun let out a deep breath, shaking his head. “So what now? Just wait?”

  Mu Yichen nodded. “It’s always been this way. The sword doesn’t make mistakes. When it’s time… they’ll appear.”

  Mu Yichen’s words echoed through the quiet room.

  “All we have to do is wait.”

  The sentence was simple, but it carried the weight of centuries of prophecy and the expectations of a world on edge. The moment the notebook was shown to the higher-ups, everything changed behind the scenes.