The small food stall sat at the corner of a narrow side street—wedged between a laundromat and a worn-out stationery shop. Its old wooden sign hung crookedly above the counter, paint faded but still readable:
Han Mi-sook's Homemade Meals
Joon-seok stood beside his mother as they pulled the shutters open. The faint scent of sesame oil and garlic wafted from inside. The food had already been cooked—he realized she must've woken up early to prepare it, then rushed home just to give him the phone before coming back here.
Why is she doing all of this... for me?
He didn't understand.
He was a monster. A destroyer. He was supposed to be the end of things, not someone to cook breakfast for.
But she didn't treat him like a creature from the void. She treated him like a son.
And that... confused him more than the System ever did.
Together, they started setting up.The menu was simple but hearty:
Soybean stew, kimchi fried rice, Rolled omelet, Spam-mayo rice bowls And a massive container of free barley tea that made the nearby office workers stop just for a sip.
Despite its size, the stall had a quiet rhythm.
Customers lined up, took their trays, and sat at folding tables under plastic umbrellas.
Even though it was still early morning, people were already eating, chatting, laughing.
Joon-seok moved quickly—faster than any normal human could notice.
In the time it took his mother to turn around, he'd already laid out the side dishes, cleaned the counter, refilled the napkin holder, and taken three orders. He didn't want her to rush.
"Miss Han Mi-sook, your son's really helping you out today!" one customer said with a cheerful grin, sipping his stew.
"Yeah, he's fast," another chimed in. "Like, super fast."
She smiled, warm but tired.
"I guess he's... changed."
She didn't say more.
Just kept smiling—for their sake.
By mid-morning, Joon-seok had finished serving another tray when he turned around and saw her.
She was coughing. Hard. Blood staining the corner of her napkin.
"Mother..."
She wiped her mouth quickly, hiding it in her sleeve.
"It's fine. I'm okay. This is normal."
But it wasn't.
He could see it in her aura—flickering, unstable. Her energy was draining. Slowly, but constantly. Like a candle burning at both ends.
He wanted to tell her the truth.
That her son had died trying to earn money to save her.
But...
She would cry again. And she's already done that enough.
Instead, he grabbed a plastic chair and gently made her sit.
"Don't move. I'll finish the orders."
"Are you sure, son? I can still help—"
"Yes. I need to help you."
She stared at him, eyes wet but trying to stay strong. She didn't want to be a burden. But he saw it—her hands trembling, her chest rising just a little too sharply.
She sighed, defeated, and leaned back in the chair.
But her eyes still watched him with worry.
What if he overworks himself? What if I stress him too much?
He could see her thinking it. Could feel her heart straining to keep up with her silence.
So he stepped forward, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and whispered:
"Sleep."
Her eyes blinked once.
Then her body slumped forward, softly, peacefully.
Still breathing. Still alive. Just... resting.
He caught her before she could fall, carefully adjusting her seat.
"This is better," he murmured. "You need rest. I'll take care of everything."
Joon-seok turned his back toward the counter and paused.
There it was—the knife his mother used to cook. The handle was wrapped in layers of old tape, the blade dull and chipped. He reached down, noticing faint scars across her fingers—cuts that had healed, reopened, and healed again.
He picked the knife up, gripped it once.
And without a word, the metal dissolved into black dust.
Gone.
He extended his arm, fingertips glowing faintly, and opened a small tear in space—a personal pocket dimension only he could access.
He reached inside.
Something simple... something that cuts.
His hand returned holding a rusty, iron kitchen knife.
To the human eye, it looked like junk pulled from a garbage bin.
But in truth—this knife was once forged by ten of the strongest witches in history.
They enchanted it to cut mountains, split fate, and sever immortality.
They tried to kill him with it.
So he swallowed them... and kept the knife.
He stared at it.
"It's still ugly but I can use it."
Meanwhile... Outside the Shop
Behind a narrow corner, crouched beside an old vending machine, Han Soo-yeon pulled out a tiny notebook and muttered to herself:
"I can't believe I'm stalking a kid. This is rock bottom."
She peeked around the corner again, watching through the food stall window.
There he was—Joon-seok. Moving like a blur. Cleaning dishes, serving rice, refilling tea. All calm. All efficient.
"He hasn't even left the building once," she grumbled. "Just helping his mom like some slice-of-life protagonist..."
But it didn't add up.
She had interviewed neighbors earlier.
They told her the old Joon-seok was clumsy. The kind of kid who'd burn rice or forget to turn off the stove. Now? He moved like he had twenty years of military experience and a cheat code installed.
"The sudden change... the strength... the calm..." she whispered. "Is it really possible for an F-rank to change like that?"
She checked her camera, still recording.
Then she clenched her jaw and nodded.
"No, Soo-yeon. Don't back down now. This is the story. This could blow up my channel. I could finally make enough to help—"
She paused.
"—to help Min-jae..."
But then—
"What are you doing here?"
"Not now, Joon-seok," she muttered, still crouched down.
Then froze.
Wait...
She turned her head—and there he was. Standing behind her. Barely a meter away.
"JOON-SEOK?!"
She scrambled backward, pointing at him like she'd seen a ghost.
"How did you even know I was here?!"
He blinked. Calmly.
"I sensed your energy. Also, you've been mumbling out loud for five minutes."
"That's not possible—I didn't even feel your energy! I'm awakened too!"
She flipped open her system screen—
"Why don't you come inside?" he interrupted casually. "I'll give you free food. You seem hungry."
"What?! I'm not—!"
Her stomach growled.
Loudly.
She flushed red.
"Damn it, kid! That's not how you talk to elders! Where are your honorifics?!"
He tilted his head slightly.
Honorifics? Is that speech really that important here?
He didn't answer. Just stepped back toward the shop.
But before she could chase him, the street erupted with a loud whoosh.
Cars swerved aside. Civilians gasped.
Dozens of hunters began marching across the crosswalk, weapons at the ready.
Peace Guild.
The most famous team in Korea had arrived—and they weren't smiling.
Soo-yeon's eyes narrowed.
"What the hell is going on now?"