The sirens did not begin immediately.
For twenty long minutes after Argen vanished, Seoul remained frozen—locked in a silence so unnatural it felt like the world was holding its breath. The sky dimmed. The air thickened. Even the sound of wind seemed to hesitate.
Then—
WOOOOOOO—
The alarms erupted like a thousand beasts awakening at once.
They rolled over the city in waves, rising and falling, echoing off glass towers and empty streets. Not explosive sounds. Not screams. Just alarms—cold, metallic, suffocating.
Han Jihoon barely heard them.
He walked aimlessly along the deserted sidewalk, one hand pressed against his temple. His vision shook every few seconds, like a camera struggling to focus. His thoughts were mud. His breath came out white in the frigid morning air.
It wasn't fear.
It was something deeper—like the world was rearranging itself inside his skull.
He leaned against a lamppost, breathing sharply.
The street around him was deserted except for a few trembling people staring up at the sky.
The sky…
It was cracking again.
Thin, hairline fractures of light spread across the clouds like glowing veins under the skin of reality. Every time one widened, Jihoon felt a vibration behind his eyes.
Is this… because of the Summon Gate?
Because I was "Chosen"…?
His pulse hammered. The memory of the Architect's silhouette lingered like a stain at the edge of his mind.
"Answer the summons."
Jihoon shook his head violently. He needed to focus. He needed to breathe. But the noise—those alarms—kept dragging him back into the moment.
A nearby bus stop screen flickered to life.
────────────────
BREAKING NEWS
TOWERS APPEARING GLOBALLY
LIVE FEED: PAKISTAN REGION
────────────────
The broadcast shifted to a desert in Balochistan. A colossal tower—obsidian, jagged, and radiating waves of heat—rose from the sands like a nightmare given form. Sandstorms spiraled around it.
Soldiers stood in formation, weapons trembling in their hands.
And in front of them—
A single man.
Clad in black tactical armor, a faint golden script glowing across his gloves. His presence alone made the air tremble. The camera shook as he walked toward the tower, each step leaving cracks in the ground.
> "Pakistan's highest-ranking Esper has entered the tower!"
> "Officials warn the difficulty is above all recorded thresholds—"
Jihoon's breath hitched.
If someone like that struggled…
What chance did anyone else have?
He forced himself to look away.
Another system window floated into view like a silent ghost:
> [CANDIDATE 017 — HAN JIHOON]
[TOWER OF FATE — ENTRY REQUIRED]
[Time Remaining: 2 hours 48 minutes]
Jihoon's throat tightened.
He wasn't ready.
He didn't understand this world.
He didn't understand why him.
And then—without warning—
his Summon Gate pulsed.
A faint blue circle appeared beneath his feet, carved with symbols that shifted like living ink. The air cooled. The world dimmed.
Jihoon staggered back.
"No… no, not now—"
A crack tore through the pavement.
Light surged upward.
A shape began to rise—tall, armored, and horribly familiar.
For one terrifying second, Jihoon thought he was summoning a monster he couldn't control.
But the figure flickered.
Then collapsed.
> [Summon Failed. Insufficient Rank.]
[Cooldown: 59 minutes.]
The circle vanished.
Jihoon sank to his knees.
His breath shook.
His vision blurred.
He wasn't a hero.
He wasn't chosen because he was special.
He was chosen because someone—something—needed a piece on the board.
The alarms wailed louder.
Shadows stretched across the city.
And above him, the sky cracked again—
this time, not gently.
A vast fracture ripped open, revealing swirling darkness behind it.
People screamed.
Cars collided.
Jihoon stood there in the middle of it all, trembling as another message burned into his vision:
────────────────
[ALL CANDIDATES — PREPARE FOR FIRST TRIAL]
[FAILURE = TERMINATION]
────────────────
His heartbeat slowed.
Not in fear.
But in realization.
This wasn't chaos.
It was an introduction.
The world wasn't ending.
It was being judged.