The hospital rose from the ruins like a defiant relic of the old world.
Its outer walls were cracked, its glass shattered and replaced with metal sheets, yet it stood—solid, guarded, alive. Moon-emblazoned flags fluttered faintly above the entrance, illuminated by pale artificial lights powered by generators humming deep within the structure.
As Raon stepped inside with the Moon faction, the stench of blood, antiseptic, and sweat hit him all at once.
This place was not peaceful.
It was organized.
Moon faction warriors moved with discipline, their armor scratched and stained but well-maintained. Some carried stretchers, others supported the wounded. Healers with glowing hands knelt beside the injured, while doctors—real doctors—worked alongside them, applying bandages, stitching wounds, injecting syringes scavenged from the hospital's remains.
Magic and medicine coexisted here.
Raon slowed his steps, golden eye flickering faintly as it absorbed everything. This wasn't a temporary shelter. It was a base.
A functioning one.
"Get the injured inside first," the Moon faction leader ordered calmly as she entered, her voice carrying authority without needing volume. "Healers, prioritize internal bleeding and skill backlash cases. Doctors, handle fractures and burns."
At her words, the chaos shifted.
Commands were obeyed instantly.
Raon felt Han steady himself beside him, exhaustion weighing heavily on both their bodies. Blood had long since dried on Raon's clothes, cracks of pain still echoing through his muscles from the overuse of copied skills.
A young woman in a healer's uniform approached them quickly, her eyes sharp and practiced.
"You're injured," she said, already lifting her hands.
Raon shook his head once. "Treat her first."
He gestured toward the little girl standing slightly behind him, her clothes torn, dust clinging to her hair. She looked unharmed, but her hands trembled, fingers clenched tightly around the hem of her sleeve.
The healer hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yuna—" She stopped herself and turned. "Call Senior Healer."
Another woman arrived moments later, older, calmer, her presence soothing without words. She crouched before the girl gently.
"Come with me," the older healer said softly. "We'll check if you're hurt, alright?"
The girl glanced up at Raon.
He nodded. "Go."
She hesitated… then followed.
Only after she disappeared into the inner halls did the first healer turn back to Raon. Her gaze swept over him, lingering on the dried blood at his temples, the faint tremor in his left hand, the unnatural tension in his posture.
"You're in worse condition than you think," she said quietly. "Come with me."
Raon didn't argue.
She guided him to a side room where broken beds had been reinforced and repurposed. As she worked—cleaning wounds, injecting recovery medicine, activating minor healing skills—Raon leaned back against the cold wall.
"What's your name?" he asked casually.
Her hands paused for a fraction of a second.
"…Later," she said, resuming her work.
Raon didn't push.
When the treatment ended, the pain receded to a dull throb, manageable. He stood slowly, testing his balance.
Raon lay still as the last trace of warmth faded from his wounds.
The healer stepped back, eyes lowering from his face to the rest of him.
What remained of his clothes told the story better than he ever could.
Fabric hung in shreds, soaked stiff with dried blood. Burn marks crawled along the torn seams, and clawed gashes split the cloth wide enough to expose skin beneath. They were no longer clothes—just proof that he had survived something he shouldn't have.
She clicked her tongue softly.
"…You can't walk around like that."
Turning away, the healer crossed the small room and stopped before a narrow shelf built into the wall. Folded garments lay stacked there—simple, worn, clean. Clothing meant for patients who arrived with nothing, or lost everything along the way.
She took one set and returned, dropping it onto the edge of the bed.
"Wear these," she said flatly. "They're better than whatever you're holding together right now."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left the room. The door shut with a muted thud.
Silence returned.
Raon stared at the clothes for a moment.
They were plain. Unremarkable. Someone else's.
Still, he reached for them.
The ruined fabric slid off his body easily, as if it had been waiting to be discarded. He changed in silence, the clean cloth unfamiliar against his skin—too light, too intact.
When he finished, he stood.
The man who stepped out moments later no longer looked like someone dragged from a battlefield.
Only his eyes remained the same.
Raon pushed the door open and walked out.
Outside, Moon faction warriors directed him toward the central hall.
"Food and blankets are being distributed there," one of them said.
Raon entered the hall—and stopped.
It was crowded.
Too crowded.
People sat on the floor, leaned against walls, clutched bowls of thin soup. Some laughed weakly, others stared blankly into space. Injured moaned softly as healers moved among them. A group cried quietly in the corner, mourning those who hadn't made it back.
Victory and loss shared the same air.
Raon turned away.
The stairs leading upward were quiet.
Step by step, he climbed until the door creaked open and cold night air washed over him.
The rooftop.
From here, Seoul stretched endlessly beneath the broken moonlight—ruined skyscrapers, collapsed bridges, flickering fires dotting the darkness like dying stars.
Raon activated the Golden Monkey Eye.
The world sharpened.
Far beyond the hospital, two colossal presences clashed.
A massive white wolf with multiple tails bounded across shattered buildings, frost forming beneath its paws. Opposite it, a grotesque ape-like monster with six legs and writhing appendages roared, slamming the ground with earth-shaking force.
Their battle wasn't chaos.
It was territorial.
Smaller monsters fled the area, instinctively avoiding the overlapping zones of destruction. This wasn't random invasion.
It was hierarchy.
"This city's already been divided," Raon murmured.
"Not bad eyes for a newcomer."
Raon turned.
The Moon faction leader stood near the rooftop entrance, she is now in long black dress fluttering in the wind. Her face remained half-hidden beneath her veil, eyes calm, observant.
"I didn't know this place was taken," Raon said.
She walked past him and leaned against the railing. "It was. And still is."
He moved to leave.
"You can stay," she said suddenly. "I wanted to talk."
Raon stopped.
She didn't look at him as she spoke. "Tell me. What do you think is happening to this world?"
Raon considered his words carefully. "Something turned survival into a system. Scenarios. Rewards. Managers. Monsters."
"And?" she asked.
"And people adapt… or die."
She was silent for a moment. Then, "Do you think this is a dream?"
"No."
"A punishment? A test?"
Raon shook his head. "Those explanations are too simple."
She finally turned toward him. "Then what?"
Raon met her gaze. "A story doesn't ask its characters why it exists."
The Moon leader's eyes narrowed slightly.
Raon turned to leave again.
"Raon," she said from behind.
He paused.
"Do you know," she continued calmly, "that everything happening right now—this city, the monsters, the factions,and all these scenarios that are happening are —"
She turned.
Her veil fluttered as she looked past him toward the ruined city drowning in smoke and fire. Towers lay broken like snapped bones, the skyline hollowed out by ash and screams long since swallowed by the wind.
After a long silence, she spoke."—is part of a novel?"
Raon's breath caught.
The wind howled across the rooftop.
Below them, monsters roared, and the broken city trembled.
Raon didn't turn around.
He didn't answer.
The question itself was a answer.
And somewhere deep inside his mind, a story he had once read stirred awake.