The early morning sun cast an orange glow over the streets of Santaf, painting the city in warm hues. But the light did not touch everything. There was an alley—dark, ignored, as if the very air recoiled from entering it. People hurried past, eyes averted, their footsteps quickening as they moved beyond its shadow.
Inside that alley, two boys—no older than fourteen—stood over a beaten figure. They were well-dressed, their faces handsome, their smirks cruel. Their victim, a boy slightly older than them, lay curled on the ground, his face bruised, his breath ragged.
If anyone wondered why they were beating him, the answer would have been laughable—apparently, it's because they didn't like the way I looked at them.
"Hey, you! Stop groaning and get on your knees. Beg!" One of them delivered a sharp kick to his ribs.
The boy—Ryu—suppressed a grunt.
How am I supposed to kneel if you keep kicking me? he thought bitterly. But he knew better than to say it aloud.
"Okay, sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean to look at you!" he forced out instead.
The boys snickered, delighted by his submission. One of them flipped a coin lazily. "Give us your money. I want to buy something for my dog."
Ryu's stomach twisted. "I—I need it for food. I haven't eaten in—"
A sharp kick to his gut cut him off. "Are you telling us what to do, gutter rat?"
Gritting his teeth, Ryu reached into his pocket and handed over the small pouch of coins he had scraped together.
"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" The boys laughed as they sauntered away, leaving him in the dirt.
Ryu slowly pushed himself up, wincing as pain flared through his body. "Shit… that hurt."
A nearby baker, watching with pity, tossed him a piece of stale bread. "Sorry, Ryu. I couldn't help. You know how it is."
Ryu forced a weak smile. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."
He limped away, his mind seething.
Those brats… acting all high and mighty just because their parents are Marked.
The Marked.
They were the ones who had survived trials, near-death encounters, their bodies branded with glowing runes that granted them inhuman abilities. Some could shatter stone with a flick of their fingers. Others commanded fire, wind, or even healing magic. They were the only ones who could close the Dungeons—tears in reality that spewed forth monstrous creatures from gods-knew-where.
And because of that, the world worshipped them as heroes.
"Heroes, my ass," Ryu muttered. "They're just people who abuse their power."
But he couldn't deny the truth—without them, humanity would be overrun.
Still, he refused to accept that this was how things had to be.
I'll become Marked… but I'll never be like them.
---
The church loomed ahead, its worn stone walls a familiar sight. Ryu pushed open the heavy doors, greeted by the soft voice of Sister Margaret.
"Back so soon, Ryu? Were you able to—" Her words died as she took in his bruised face. Her expression darkened. "Those kids again?"
Ryu shrugged. "It's nothing."
"Someone needs to teach them a lesson," she muttered, her hands tightening into fists.
"And get yourself killed?" Ryu shook his head. "Not worth it."
Sister Margaret sighed, her anger melting into helplessness. "At least let me get you bandaged up."
As she tended to his wounds, an old priest shuffled by, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "Tsk. All you orphans do is drain our resources."
Ryu shot him a glare sharp enough to make the man flinch.
"Father," Sister Margaret said calmly, without looking up, "if we stop helping those in need, we might as well abandon the cross."
Having no retort the priest huffed and stormed off.
Once patched up, Ryu ate the stale bread, his jaw aching with every bite. The taste didn't matter—food was food.
When Sister Margaret left to attend to her duties, Ryu slipped out again, heading to the forest.
There, an old tree stood, its bark worn smooth in one spot, stained with years of dried blood—his blood. Every day for seven years, he had trained here. A thousand punches. A thousand kicks. A thousand push-ups. His body was hardened, his muscles defined—stronger than any normal human's.
But against the Marked? He was still nothing.
By the time he finished, night had fallen. The crescent moon hung in a near-starless sky, casting pale light over the empty streets.
Exhausted, Ryu returned to the church, its silhouette ominous in the darkness. The dormitory was quiet, filled with the soft breathing of other orphans—most of whom had long given up on changing their fates.
Ryu wrapped himself in a thin blanket, the cold seeping into his bones. But sleep wouldn't come.
Something was wrong.
The air felt heavy, charged—like the moment before a storm.
Then—
***CRACK.***
A sound like thunder split the night.
Ryu bolted upright. Through a crack in the wall, he saw it.
A Rift.
But not like any he had heard of.
This one was black.
A translucent screen flickered before his eyes:
And words began to appear on it magically
["The strongest Marks are not given, but taken. To claim power from the Rift itself is to defy fate."]
His heart pounded.
He could run, alert the Marked, and let them handle it—remaining powerless, forever at their mercy.
Or…
He could step inside.
Risk death.
And maybe—just maybe—become something more.
Ryu clenched his fists.
"Either live like a rat… or take my chance."