The night was quiet.
Too quiet.
Dust and rain drifted through the half-open window of Bomin Seo's small Seoul apartment, leaving a faint, damp scent in the air. Outside, city lights flickered in the distance—scattered stars against a darkness that felt heavier than any blanket.
Inside, a single wooden chair stood beneath a ceiling beam.
And hanging from that beam was a rope.
Bomin stared at it, his cobalt blue hair falling over his eyes as he tilted his head up. The rope swayed in the wind, creaking against wood as if whispering words only he could hear.
He didn't feel fear. Not anymore. Fear required energy, and Bomin had run out of that months ago—when the hospital called, when the funeral ended, when he'd stood in their empty favorite spot by the Han River and realized he was truly alone.
You couldn't even keep them safe.
His mother's voice echoed in his head, sharp as broken glass.
Your cousin has a job at the firm. Why are you still so useless?
Uncle Min's words followed, just as they had at every family gathering since Jae-min, Hana, and Soo-jin were gone.
Stop acting like a coward.
Hana's father had spat that at him the day of the funeral. Bomin had said nothing then, just like he said nothing now. The voices followed him everywhere: school hallways where he still saw their ghosts laughing, the café where they'd planned their trip to the sea, even his dreams—where he'd watch them walk away and wake up with his sheets twisted around his legs.
The silence in the apartment pressed down on his chest. No texts pinging his phone. No knocks at the door. No sound of Jae-min's terrible singing drifting from the next room.
Nothing.
Bomin slowly stepped onto the chair. The wood groaned under his weight—old, worn, just like everything else he'd held on to. For a moment, his gaze drifted back to the window, past the endless buildings to where the horizon curved out of sight.
The ocean.
He'd only seen it once as a kid, but he remembered every detail: the crash of waves, the salty wind that stung his cheeks, the way his friends had danced in the surf until their clothes were soaked through. They'd made a promise that day—one day, we'll all live here. A house by the beach, no more worries, no more running.
That memory was the only thing that still felt warm.
If I could just…
His thought faded. He'd broken every promise already. What was one more?
Bomin slipped the rope around his neck. Rough fibers scraped against his skin. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the body's stubborn instinct to breathe, to hold on. But his mind had made its choice.
He closed his eyes. Let out a quiet breath.
And kicked the chair.
Wood slammed against the floor, the sound echoing through the empty room.
Darkness swallowed everything.
But death did not bring silence.
When Bomin opened his eyes, the world had vanished. He stood on an endless white surface that stretched beyond the limits of his vision—no sky above, no ground below, only pale light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Confusion flickered across his face. "Am I… dreaming?"
His voice bounced back at him, hollow and strange in the void.
Then he felt it. A presence.
No—seven presences.
Bomin lifted his head. Far above, seven colossal thrones rose from the white space, carved from what looked like solid starlight. On each sat a being that radiated power so strong it made his teeth ache.
Gods.
One was wrapped in flames that didn't burn. Another wore shadows like a cloak. One smiled gently, while another stared down with eyes that held nothing but contempt. They watched him as if he were an insect under glass.
"Another suicidal soul," sighed a god with hair like spun gold. His voice rolled across the void. "Humans truly are fragile."
A second god—lean, sharp-featured—leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Name."
Bomin stared at them for a long moment before answering. "…Bomin Seo."
The gods exchanged glances. One waved a hand, and a glowing image materialized beside him: Earth. But not his Earth. Cities burned. Skyscrapers lay crumpled like broken bones. Oceans were choked with smoke, and the sky was torn open in ragged patches of black.
Bomin's pupils shrank to pinpricks. "What… what is that?"
"The world you left behind," said the god of shadows, his voice flat. "It was destroyed the same day you died."
Silence fell. Every street he'd walked, every café he'd visited, every spot where he'd stood with his friends—gone.
"Humans begged us to save them," the golden-haired god continued. "We refused. Your species was selfish. Violent. Destructive. Why should we save such a world?"
Bomin said nothing. His face stayed calm, but somewhere deep in his chest, a hot knot tightened—not for himself, but for Jae-min and the others. They'd been good. Kind. They didn't deserve to be erased like this.
The gentle-looking goddess seated at the center leaned forward, her eyes soft but clear. "You died by your own choice, but that does not mean your soul is worthless. We can restore your body—and give you a chance to earn something more."
She raised her hand, and a black box floated before him, covered in golden runes that crawled across its surface like living fire.
"This is a Draw Box. If you wish to continue existing… you will become a Missionary. We send souls like you across dimensions to eliminate corruption that threatens mortal worlds."
A glowing message appeared in the air:
[MISSIONARY SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Another god—a massive figure in armor—laughed. "Most of your kind don't last three months. Fodder for the darkness."
The gentle goddess ignored him. "Survive every mission we assign, and we will grant you one wish. Any wish."
Bomin's mind flew back to the beach, to his friends' faces bright with laughter. He'd thought they were gone forever. But if there was a way…
"Any wish?" he asked quietly.
"Any wish," she confirmed.
Bomin lifted his head, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest. "I want Jae-min Kim, Hana Lee, and Soo-jin Park to be reincarnated. I want us to live together peacefully near the sea—just like we promised."
The gods fell silent. The sharp-featured god snorted. "Pathetic. That world is gone. Even if we could bring them back, there's nowhere for you to go."
The ruined Earth flickered again in the air between them. But Bomin didn't look away from the gods.
"…What do I have to do?"
The god of judgment—his throne carved with scales and swords—raised his hand. The black box clicked open, spilling light across the white void.
"Draw two skills. Your fate will be decided by what you pull."
Bomin reached inside. A flash of gold burned across his vision.
[Skill Acquired: Search Bar]
Another flash—this one dark and cool.
[Skill Acquired: Stealth]
Some of the gods frowned. "Weak abilities," muttered the armored god. "Another failure."
But the gentle goddess watched Bomin closely, a faint smile touching her lips. "Or perhaps… something interesting. Some tools are more valuable than they seem."
Behind him, a massive gate of swirling darkness groaned open. Beyond it lay colors he'd never seen, shapes that defied sense—a new world waiting on the other side.
Bomin didn't hesitate. He thought of the ocean, of his friends' faces, and stepped through the darkness.
For a split second, there was nothing—no weight, no sound, no light. Then his boots hit solid stone, and a wind carrying scents of fresh grass, strange spices, and faint metal brushed his skin.
Bomin staggered, then steadied himself. When he lifted his head, he froze.
A vast plaza spread out before him, paved with white stone that glowed under a sky of swirling purples, golds, and blues—like a galaxy spinning overhead. Buildings floated above the ground, connected by bridges of glowing crystal. Spires twisted upward like silver trees.
Creatures moved through the crowd: a man with feathered wings folded at his back, a girl with feline ears and a swaying tail, a tall figure with blue skin and eyes like embers. No one stared. No one seemed surprised. This place was their normal.
Bomin exhaled slowly, then spoke the word he'd been told. "Search Bar."
A golden bar of light materialized in front of him, letters shimmering like molten metal. He thought his question, and the bar pulsed in response.
Where am I?
Location: Crossroad Plaza
Function: Arrival Area for Newly Assigned Missionaries
Population: High
Risk Level: Low
New missionaries. So this was where the gods sent people like him.
A loud splash echoed nearby. Bomin turned to see a fountain at the plaza's center, water arcing into the air. Perched on its edge was a small creature—barely waist-high to Bomin—with pointed ears, bright green skin, and a grin wide enough to split his face.
"Welcome! Welcome, new missionaries!" His voice boomed across the plaza despite his size. "I am Pico the Leprechaun, official guide of the Crossroads!"
He spun in a circle, his orange hat flopping over one eye. "Lost? Confused? Terrified? Perfectly normal! First order of business: registration! No registration, no missions—no missions, no rewards!"
He pointed to a large stone building with golden letters floating above the door: Missionary Registration Hall.
Bomin joined the stream of newcomers walking toward it. Inside, rows of counters were staffed by gnomes in round glasses, their hands flying over glowing tablets. When Bomin reached the front, one looked up, adjusting his lenses.
"Name."
"Bomin Seo."
The gnome typed quickly, then paused. "Which god are you assigned to?"
"I don't know."
The gnome raised his thick eyebrows, then slid a glowing orb across the counter. "Hand."
Bomin placed his palm on it. The orb flared gold, and symbols raced across the air above. The gnome leaned forward, then blinked in surprise.
"Huh. Affiliation: Seven Light Gods of the Northern Domain." He leaned back, a crooked smile on his face. "They usually pick souls with unfinished business. Suicidal souls who still hold on to something."
The words hit Bomin harder than he expected—still hold on. He thought of his friends, tucked away in his heart like a stone he'd carry forever.
The gnome stamped a tablet and slid a metallic badge across the counter, engraved with seven rays forming a star. "Welcome to the Crossroads, kid. Let's see how long you last."
Bomin slipped the badge into his pocket and stepped outside. The sky had shifted to deep orange and blue, like a sunset that refused to end. Near the fountain, leprechauns waved flags and blew tiny whistles.
"Group C! This way!" shouted one in a pocket-covered vest. "To the Missionary Academy—one month assessment program starts now!"
The crowd turned to look where he pointed. Far away, a massive structure rose from a floating island of stone and crystal—a city-sized academy with spires that touched the colored sky. Dragons circled high above, and the sound of clashing weapons drifted down on the wind.
A boy beside Bomin whispered, "One month… that sounds like a death sentence."
The leprechaun grinned. "Worse than that—if you fail, the gods don't waste time on useless souls."
A magic circle glowed under their feet, bright and warm. Bomin looked up at the academy, then touched the badge in his pocket.
He'd failed his friends once. He wouldn't do it again.
The teleportation light faded, leaving Bomin standing on a stone terrace overlooking the Missionary Academy. Up close, it was even more imposing—spires twisted into the colored sky like fingers reaching for stars, and massive walls shimmered with a faint silver barrier. Below, training fields spread across tiered platforms: students hurling fire from their palms in one corner, others sparring with blades that glowed with runes, a group practicing hand-to-hand combat on mats of woven crystal.
The air hummed with energy—magic, tension, and the quiet determination of hundreds of souls who'd been given a second chance.
"Welcome to your new home!" the leprechaun guide—who'd introduced himself as Fip—called out, hopping onto a low wall. "For the next thirty days, you'll learn everything you need to survive as a Missionary. And I mean everything—divine communication, dimension travel, corruption identification, combat basics, and mission strategy!"
He ticked off each point on his tiny fingers. "Oh, and one more thing—this isn't a school where everyone passes. At the end of the month, we run a final assessment. Pass, and you get your first mission. Fail…" He shrugged. "Let's just say the void doesn't give second second chances."
A murmur rippled through the group. Bomin glanced around—faces tight with fear or determination. A tall man with curved horns on his forehead cracked his knuckles. A girl with silver wings tucked close to her back bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the training fields.
Fip clapped his hands. "First stop—dormitories! You'll be paired with a roommate—someone from your affiliation group. Let's move it!"
The group followed a winding path down to the academy's lower levels, past gardens where plants glowed with soft light and streams of liquid starlight flowed in carved channels. Bomin's Search Bar hummed faintly in his vision, automatically labeling what he saw:
Glowmoss—used for healing potions
Starwater Stream—purifies corrupted objects
Training Field Alpha—hand-to-hand combat focus
He made a mental note of it. If Search Bar could identify resources, it might be more useful than the gods had implied.
They reached a building of polished white stone, its doors carved with images of warriors fighting shadowy creatures. Inside, a gnome at a desk handed out small metal keys.
"Bomin Seo!" the gnome called out, holding up a key with a blue tag. "Room 317—partner is Dohwan Kang."
Bomin took the key and climbed the stairs to the third floor. The hallway was lined with doors, each marked with two names. When he found 317, he paused before turning the lock.
The room inside was split down the middle—one side neat as a pin, with a made bed, stacked books, and a small rack holding a polished sword. The other side was a mess: clothes strewn across the bed, empty bowls on the desk, and a collection of strange gadgets scattered across the floor.
A boy with dark hair tied back in a ponytail was hunched over the gadgets, a screwdriver in one hand and a pair of goggles pushed up on his forehead. He didn't look up as Bomin entered.
"Finally," he muttered, not turning around. "I was starting to think they'd stuck me with a ghost. I'm Dohwan."
"Bomin."
Dohwan glanced over his shoulder, then did a double take. "Cobalt hair? You're the one from the Northern Gods group, aren't you? Heard they picked up a new recruit—someone who died by their own hand."
Bomin set his bag on the empty bed. "Heard wrong."
Dohwan grinned, setting down his screwdriver. "Sure. Look, I don't care why you're here. We're roommates—means we watch each other's backs in training. Especially when it comes to combat class."
"Combat?"
"Yep. Taught by Instructor Vex—she's a demon from the Western Realms, and she loves putting new recruits through their paces. You know how to fight?"
Bomin shook his head. Back on Earth, he'd avoided fights—he'd been too busy trying to keep his head down, trying to survive the weight of everything he'd lost.
Dohwan waved a hand. "Don't worry. I've got some tricks up my sleeve." He tapped one of the gadgets—a small metal box that hummed softly. "Plus, I've been tinkering with ways to boost our skills. Your abilities are…?"
"Search Bar and Stealth."
Dohwan's eyes lit up. "Search Bar? That's perfect! I've been trying to figure out how to identify corruption signatures faster—maybe we can combine it with my tracking devices." He stood up, stretching. "But first—we've got orientation in the main hall in ten minutes. Come on, I'll show you the way. And trust me—you don't want to be late for anything here."
They left the room and joined a stream of recruits heading toward the academy's center. The main hall was vast, with a high ceiling painted to look like a starry sky. At the front, a raised platform held a row of instructors—including a woman with red skin, curved horns, and eyes that glowed like embers.
Instructor Vex.
She slammed a fist on the podium, and her voice boomed across the hall. "Quiet! I don't have time for chit-chat. You're here because the gods think you might be useful. Might—that's the key word."
She scanned the crowd, her gaze stopping briefly on Bomin before moving on. "For the next month, you'll train from sunrise to sunset. Every day will push you harder than the last. We'll teach you how to sense corruption, how to fight it, and how to survive in worlds that want you dead."
She gestured to a large screen behind her, where an image of a twisted creature appeared—black skin, too many eyes, claws that dripped with dark liquid.
"This is a Corruption Spawn. It feeds on mortal despair, spreads like a plague, and if left unchecked, it will consume an entire world. Your job is to stop that from happening."
A girl in the front row raised her hand. "What if we can't?"
Vex smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Then that world falls. And you die with it. Now—dismissed. Tomorrow morning, meet at Training Field Alpha at dawn. Anyone late gets extra drills. And trust me—you don't want extra drills from me."
The crowd dispersed, talking in hushed tones. Dohwan nudged Bomin. "Told you she was tough. Come on—I know a spot where they serve decent food. Plus, I want to show you what I've been working on with my gadgets."
As they walked through the academy halls, Bomin looked out a window at the training fields below. Students were already practicing, their movements sharp and precise. He thought of his friends—of the promise he'd made—and tucked his badge tighter in his pocket.
The gods might have called him fragile. The other recruits might think he was weak. But he'd come too far to fail now.
Tomorrow would be his first real test. And he intended to pass.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, dawn painted the colored sky in shades of pink and gold. Bomin stood on Training Field Alpha with dozens of other recruits, the cool stone under his feet, as Instructor Vex stared them down with her glowing eyes.
"Today," she said, cracking her knuckles, "we start with the basics. How to throw a punch. How to take a hit. And how to keep going when your body wants to give up. Let's begin."
TO BE CONTINUE...