Three years had passed since the day the universe faltered—
since a newborn's cry bent laws that had never once been questioned.
Time moved on.
The stars recovered.
The silence buried the truth.
But not completely.
Now, that same child stood before a future waiting to test him.
A sleek, silver starship settled with a low hum, its polished hull reflecting the endless sprawl of energy fields surrounding the academy grounds. The hatch slid open with a soft hiss.
A small figure stepped out.
Muhan.
His dark hair fell loosely over his eyes, stirred gently by the artificial breeze of the docking platform. His hand rested comfortably in his mother's, his fingers small against hers, yet steady.
His gaze wandered.
Upward.
Outward.
Everywhere.
The gates stood far ahead—massive, impossibly tall, carved from a material that seemed to shimmer between dimensions. Beyond them, faint silhouettes moved—students, teachers, beings of different forms and origins.
Power lingered in the air.
Not overwhelming.
But undeniable.
"Mom," he said quietly, tilting his head just enough to meet her eyes, "is this where Big Sister Seo-yoon studied?"
Chae-min smiled.
It was softer now than before—less radiant, perhaps—but no less beautiful. Time had not diminished her. It had refined her.
She brushed a strand of hair away from his face.
"Yes," she said gently. "This is Wysteria Academy."
The name carried weight.
Not spoken loudly—
but felt.
At the edge of the Multiversal Spiral, Wysteria stood as more than a school. It was a proving ground. A convergence point for talent drawn from countless worlds.
Humans. Elves. Lycans. Hybrids.
All gathered here under one rule:
Potential meant nothing—
unless it could survive.
Only those who reached Level 10 were permitted entry.
Muhan stood just at that line.
His uniform fit neatly—white and black, simple but precise. Gloves snug against his hands. Shoes polished to a quiet shine.
He looked… small.
Against the scale of everything around him—
he should have.
But he didn't feel small.
Not really.
Something in his chest stirred. Not fear. Not excitement.
Something quieter.
Something waiting.
He let go of his mother's hand.
Turned.
And waved.
"Make me proud," Chae-min said, her voice warm, steady.
Beside her, Han stood with arms crossed, watching in silence. There was no smile—but there didn't need to be.
His presence alone said enough.
Muhan nodded once.
Then turned back toward the gates.
"…I will."
The words were soft.
But they stayed.
A faint glow flickered to life before him.
Instinct.
Habit.
A translucent blue interface unfolded in the air, lines of data forming with quiet precision.
Name: Muhan
Level: 10+
Class: Unknown
Experience: 0 / 1000
Strength: 20
Agility: 25
Intelligence: 10
Vitality: 20
Special Ability: Extreme Punch
His gaze lingered.
Not on the numbers.
But on a single word.
Unknown.
His class.
Still locked.
Still silent.
For a moment, his expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes sharpened.
"…Still nothing."
It wasn't frustration.
Not quite.
Just… awareness.
Because he remembered.
Even if no one else did.
The moment.
The power.
The impossible.
And yet—
nothing in this system acknowledged it.
A quiet sound broke his thoughts.
Laughter.
Soft. Uncertain.
Muhan glanced to the side.
A small group stood nearby—girls, around his age, though taller, more composed. They hadn't even tried to hide their stares.
One leaned closer to another, whispering something that ended in a stifled giggle.
"Is he new?"
"He's… Level 10 already?"
"His aura feels weird…"
"…He's kind of cute."
Muhan blinked once.
Slowly.
He didn't understand.
And didn't try to.
His gaze drifted back to the gates.
That was what mattered.
His hand tightened slightly.
A faint pulse ran through it—subtle, almost unnoticeable. No light. No explosion.
Just a presence.
Extreme Punch.
A skill with no origin.
No explanation.
No limit he could define.
It didn't feel like something he learned.
It felt like something that had always been there—
waiting.
The gates ahead began to move.
A deep, resonant sound echoed as they slowly parted, revealing the world beyond.
Energy surged.
Voices carried.
Power—raw, unfiltered—flowed freely within.
Muhan took a step forward.
Then another.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just movement.
"…Let's see," he murmured, barely above a whisper.
Not to anyone.
Not even to himself.
Just to the path ahead.
The stars had forgotten once.
This time—
they wouldn't