But even that fragile hope was crushed in the hellish trials of the “Hell Gate.”

  When the final battle came, Lee Aseok was cast aside, pushed to fight alone.

  He still remembered the look in Mu Yichen’s eyes at that moment: cold, indifferent, as if Lee Aseok were nothing more than a tool to be discarded once used.

  The betrayal burned deep.

  And yet, he fought.

  Because what else could he do?

  Desperation clawed at Lee Aseok’s chest as he reached for the holy sword, the one that had never failed him before.

  But the sword was not in his hands. It lay cold and distant, resting in Mu Yichen’s grip.

  The sword, the only source of light that Lee Aseok clung to, rested with Mu Yichen.

  Lee Aseok reached out desperately.

  But the sword did not come.

  It never came to him.

  Left with only his broken F-rank body, his veins swollen and bursting from the drugs he had taken just to survive, Lee Aseok gripped a long, rusty iron rod, the only weapon he had found.

  There was no way he could have defeated the Boss monster.

  And yet, in the depths of despair, he stumbled on something impossible.

  He discovered he could absorb the energy from the core of the Hell Gate itself.

  Energy so vast it threatened to tear him apart.

  It flowed through his veins like molten fire, burning his insides.

  The amount of power was overwhelming.

  With trembling limbs and a shattered spirit, he drained every ounce of that terrifying power.

  When the final monster finally fell, Lee Aseok’s body turned to dust.

  Vanished without a trace.

  After waking in the past, cursed with memories he was not meant to have, Lee Aseok was haunted by questions without answers.

  Why had the holy sword chosen him?

  Why had it abandoned him again?

  He knew his skill had nothing to do with the sword’s choice.

  Yet, the truth slipped farther away with every passing day.

  That was why hearing the news that Mu Yichen was not chosen during the official ceremony shocked him to his core.

  Still, in the quietest corners of his heart, Lee Aseok was certain the holy sword would return to Mu Yichen, sooner or later.

  But whether that day would bring salvation or further despair, only fate could tell.

  Surely, the sword was just being temperamental. It would eventually fly into Mu Yichen’s hand with all the dramatic flair people expected.

  That would be the natural order of things. That’s what everyone wanted, anyway.

  So when the holy sword began to float in front of him again, glowing, humming, shining like some kind of divine mascot, Lee Aseok stared at it.

  And then looked away.

  He acted like it wasn’t there at all.

  Not a blink. Not a word. As if the legendary weapon that turned his past life into hell was nothing more than a stubborn fly buzzing around his shoulder.

  Lee Aseok simply continued walking, hands in his pockets, sleeves slightly rolled up, expression completely dead.

  The onlookers watched with bated breath.

  They were waiting for something dramatic. For the heavens to split open. For angels to sing. For the chosen hero to raise the holy sword high and fulfill destiny.

  Instead, they got… a guy quietly walking away with dark circles under his eyes and the energy of someone who hadn’t slept in three days.

  Awkward silence settled over the crowd.

  “…Is he ignoring it?”

  “Wait, is this… part of the ritual?”

  “Maybe it’s a test?”

  But the sword continued following Lee Aseok obediently, spinning lazily beside his shoulder like a loyal dog. He didn’t even glance at it.

  And that’s when people began to move.

  Slow steps. Curious. Hesitant. Like they were approaching some unpredictable beast. Some just wanted a better look.

  Others whispered about capturing the moment on camera.

  Lee Aseok tensed the moment he sensed them approaching. His shoulders stiffened. His pace slowed.

  The invisible weight of attention started to claw at him again.

  He hated this.

  He hated this.

  Lee Aseok’s pace did not falter.

  Three figures broke from the edges of the crowd, moving quickly with purpose.

  Mu Yichen was the first, his posture calm and dignified, his expression still the mask of gentle nobility that few could decipher.

  Beside him, Seo MinHyun swaggered with that characteristic arrogance and mischievous smirk, eyes scanning the crowd for any opportunity to shine.

  And then there was Park Taegun, whose steady, military precision cut through the chaos like a blade, his calm demeanor radiated control.

  They knew Lee Aseok well.

  They knew the brittle shell of a man who never spoke and who had not shared human warmth in over a year.

  They knew how dangerous it was to let him face this alone.

  Mu Yichen’s gaze flickered briefly to the crowd, then softened as he stepped forward and effortlessly lifted Lee Aseok into his arms.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Lee Aseok’s body was rigid for a moment, a brief resistance, a silent question, but then he relaxed just enough to allow himself to be carried.

  Seo MinHyun raised his hands, weaving a flicker of glowing magic around them, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, the air shifted. “Time to fly, drama king.”

  Before anyone could protest, the three of them rose silently above the crowd.

  The holy sword, seemingly sensing the moment, lifted and hovered near Lee Aseok’s side, as if drawn by an invisible thread.

  Park Taegun glanced sideways. “That thing has a mind of its own.”

  Seo MinHyun chuckled. “Well, at least it didn’t choose me. I don’t do well with swords. Give me a mic, and I’m unstoppable.”

  Suddenly, the ground beneath them gave way to flight. The trio, with Lee Aseok cradled gently, lifted from the street, soaring above the tense crowd and the flashing lights of the city.

  Behind them, the people remained, some yelling curses, others frozen in disbelief.

  Park Taegun’s eyes scanned the horizon, sharp and unyielding, as though calculating the most efficient escape route.

  For Lee Aseok, the world narrowed to the quiet beat of Mu Yichen’s steady arms and the faint hum of Seo MinHyun’s magic lifting them away.

  The holy sword still hung by his side, the cruel, cold reminder of everything lost and everything broken.

  In that suspended moment, surrounded by magic and the weight of silent judgment below, Lee Aseok realized something cold and absolute:

  Some things were chosen for him. But that didn’t mean he belonged.

  No one said anything during the flight. Even Seo MinHyun, who could talk endlessly about his own greatness, kept quiet this time, though not without difficulty.

  He had at least opened his mouth four times mid-air and then closed it each time with a quiet groan of restraint.

  When they landed on the rooftop of a quiet building nearby, Mu Yichen immediately pulled out his phone.

  “Call the car,” Park Taegun said before Mu Yichen could dial.

  “I know,” Mu Yichen replied with a calm nod, already dialing.

  “Please make sure it’s the big one,” Seo MinHyun added, stretching his arms dramatically. “I don’t do cramped seating. My legs are insured.”

  Mu Yichen gave no reaction, simply muttering into the phone, “Bring the long vehicle. We’re coming down now.”

  Five minutes later, a long black van pulled up at the building’s entrance. The doors opened silently, and the driver, a balding, middle-aged man in a sharp suit, bowed with exaggerated reverence.

  His eyes widened the moment he saw Lee Aseok still holding nothing… while the sword floated in front of him like some divine accessory.

  “Sir… I mean..! Chosen One-nim!” the driver stammered.

  Lee Aseok walked past him without blinking.

  Seo MinHyun grinned. “Don’t mind him. He’s allergic to social interaction.”

  The four of them got into the van. Lee Aseok automatically took the window seat and leaned his head against the cool glass. The holy sword floated in front of him, suspended like a quiet ghost.

  It didn’t hum, didn’t glow, didn’t do anything threatening, but somehow its presence was louder than words.

  Mu Yichen sat just one seat away, silent as he looked between Lee Aseok and the sword.

  He pressed two fingers against his temple, as if trying to fight off an oncoming headache.

  “This…” he muttered, “is going to be a problem.”

  Seo MinHyun sprawled out on the opposite seat, his coat half slipping off his shoulders. “Why? It’s just Aseok. Dead eyes, antisocial, suspiciously quiet. What could possibly go wrong with him being the symbol of all humanity’s hopes?”

  “Everything,” Park Taegun said simply, arms crossed.

  Mu Yichen didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on Lee Aseok’s profile, the pale skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he stared at nothing as the city lights passed them by.

  Aseok didn’t look like someone whose life had changed. He looked like someone who had been told it wasn’t going to get any better.

  Mu Yichen still remembered what he’d said during their first meeting.

  “I don’t like people.”

  And now he was the hero of all people.

  Mu Yichen sighed softly and turned away.

  In front of Lee Aseok, the holy sword gave off a faint flicker of light. Lee Aseok glanced at it once, as if tired of even acknowledging its existence, then looked away again.

  His expression hadn’t changed since the ceremony, apathetic, as if the sword wasn’t there. As if none of them were.

  Seo MinHyun stretched again, legs kicked up, then gave a theatrical groan. “This car needs a minibar.”

  “You’re not drinking with a sword hovering around like that,” Park Taegun said sharply.

  “You’re just jealous I can make a joke and you can’t.”

  “I can make jokes.”

  “No, you make observations with slightly less military tone.”

  Mu Yichen didn’t bother stopping them. The banter was almost comforting. Almost.

  They fell into silence again.

  The driver kept stealing glances at the rearview mirror. His eyes darted toward Lee Aseok every few seconds, full of awe.

  Lee Aseok, true to form, did not notice or react. His head remained against the window, eyes open but unreadable.

  The lights of the city blurred outside. The sword, still beside him, seemed to follow his rhythm,when he shifted even slightly, the sword adjusted its position like it was tethered to his heartbeat.

  Mu Yichen caught that detail. It made his headache worse.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Park Taegun finally asked, his voice low.

  Mu Yichen didn’t answer.

  Seo MinHyun answered instead. “Well, first, we’ll go to Yichen’s fancy place and crash there. Then we’ll probably hold a press conference, get mobbed by the media, and have to assign a full-time babysitter to our very unenthusiastic messiah here.”

  Lee Aseok blinked slowly but didn’t speak.

  Mu Yichen finally turned to the group. “The real battle hasn’t started yet. The hell gate is still far. And before that… we’ll be tested.”

  “Lovely,” Seo MinHyun muttered, then sat up and leaned toward Lee Aseok. “Hey. You. Chosen guy. If you’re going to start glowing or have a holy meltdown, give me a warning, yeah?”

  Lee Aseok didn’t even look at him.

  “…Right. Love the communication,” Seo MinHyun added under his breath and sat back.

  The van slowed down as it entered a private road surrounded by tall gates and trimmed trees. Mu Yichen’s estate was just ahead, elegant, understated, and secure.

  As the car pulled up in front of the gates, the driver gave one last look at the backseat, eyes still fixed on Lee Aseok and the sword.

  “You’re amazing,” the driver whispered before pulling away.

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  He never did.

  The car door clicked shut behind them, and the black van slowly rolled away from Mu Yichen’s private estate, leaving behind a long trail of dust and disbelief.

  The driver kept turning his head to stare at Lee Aseok until the gates finally closed.

  His wide eyes had shimmered with the kind of blind admiration reserved for mythical beings, unreachable, worshipped, and slightly terrifying. It was obvious: the people always adored the chosen one.

  Inside the house, silence fell like a heavy blanket.

  Lee Aseok walked in without hesitation. The holy sword floated beside him like a faithful ghost.

  He didn’t look around the luxurious living room or marvel at the high ceilings or the clean, modern architecture.

  He simply sat on the farthest sofa, sank into the cushions like a ghost slipping into old bones, and closed his eyes.

  He looked more like a tenant who’d seen too much of life than a national symbol.

  Mu Yichen followed shortly, his steps quiet and composed.

  He took the seat nearest to Lee Aseok and stared at him, at the way he rested his head against the cushion with his arms limp at his sides, as if the world could end right there and he wouldn’t blink.

  The sword hovered next to him, still glowing faintly.

  Park Taegun and Seo MinHyun stood by the entryway, neither speaking for a long moment.

  At the dungeon break, chaos and disbelief had drowned their thoughts. But here, in the calm luxury of Mu Yichen’s living room, the truth settled in like a stone in the gut.

  Seo MinHyun’s expression twitched.

  He looked from the sword to Lee Aseok.

  Then back to the sword.

  Then to Lee Aseok again, who was now breathing deeply, head tilted like an exhausted retiree in a waiting room.

  “…Nope,” Seo MinHyun muttered. “No. No, no, no, no.”

  He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and slapped himself across the cheek.

  Smack.

  The sharp sound startled everyone in the room.

  Even Lee Aseok blinked once.

  Mu Yichen looked up slowly. “...Are you alright?”

  “No,” Seo MinHyun said, holding his cheek like it betrayed him. “I was hoping this was a dream.”

  Lee Aseok closed his eyes again.

  Seo MinHyun’s fingers dug into his scalp. “I’m going crazy.”

  Park Taegun sighed. “Control yourself.”

  “How?” Seo MinHyun pointed dramatically at Lee Aseok, who was now practically melting into the sofa like he’d been born there. “That..That thing is the chosen one! That sloth!”

  Lee Aseok didn’t react. At all.

  Seo MinHyun threw his arms into the air and paced in front of the coffee table. “Do you know what kind of people were supposed to chosen by holy objects? Legendary warriors with iron discipline. Selfless saints. Visionaries. Untouchable martial prodigies! You know! The noble kind who talk like, ‘I will protect humanity even if it costs me everything.’”

  Mu Yichen glanced at Lee Aseok’s current position: slouched sideways, head leaning back, arms hanging down loosely, and legs spread slightly like an exhausted old man who’d missed his bus.

  Park Taegun let out a breath. “I’m listening.”

  Seo MinHyun jabbed his thumb toward Lee Aseok again. “He’s not a noble warrior! He looks like he hasn't eaten in two days, slept in three, or smiled in a decade. He talks like he's paid per syllable and acts like touching air is a chore.”

  Lee Aseok slightly opened his eyes at that.

  Seo MinHyun was too far gone to stop. “The chosen one is supposed to be a shining symbol of hope! The kind of person you put on posters. With glowing swords, windswept hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut injustice, and eyes full of unwavering resolve!”

  Mu Yichen raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to be the chosen one, MinHyun?”

  “Yes! No! I mean..look at him!” Seo MinHyun pointed again, but this time his arm dropped slowly, almost in defeat. “The holy sword picked a guy who looked like he’d willingly lie down in traffic if no one stopped him.”

  Mu Yichen pressed his hand to his temple. “MinHyun…”

  “No, I need a moment. I’m grieving. I just watched my fantasy of the noble, heroic chosen one get stabbed in the throat by reality. I was ready to follow a golden lion. I got a half-dead house cat with depression.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t argue.

  He closed his eyes again.

  every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Yes, every week!