Weeks had passed since Ji-hyeon heard the voice.
He had returned to his quiet life, at least on the surface. Helping his mother with chores, training when no one was watching, and sometimes staring into the fire late into the night.
But something had changed.
He could feel mana now—not just in himself, but in the world around him. In the wind that brushed against his skin. In the rain that kissed the earth. In the trembling of the ground when the old tree swayed too much.
The world wasn't quiet anymore.
And neither was his past.
---
Meanwhile, a traveler arrived in the village.
Cloaked in dust and mystery, he spoke little and paid with coins too old for any merchant to recognize. The villagers whispered, some frightened, others curious.
He asked about one thing only:
> "A boy with glasses... who wasn't born ordinary."
Ji-hyeon didn't meet him.
But he felt him.
A pulse of pressure in the air. A fragment of power... familiar.
Not an enemy. Not yet.
But also, not a friend.
---
That night, Ji-hyeon returned to the clearing where he usually trained.
He stood in the center, blindfolded, feeling the air.
His senses had sharpened in silence. He could track the shift of leaves, the movement of small animals, and even the vibration of distant footsteps.
Suddenly—he moved.
A series of steps, rotations, and strikes. A dance of ancient martial forms that no one had taught him.
> "I remember these... I remember me."
He collapsed after an hour, panting but exhilarated.
And then—he smiled.
Because in the wind, he heard a whisper:
> Soon, the letters will come... The academies will begin their choosing.
> You will be chosen... Demon King or not.