At 9 p.m., a pale-looking woman with a dark mark around her neck and a swollen stomach lay on the sofa of her 3rd-floor apartment, three buildings away from the road. Her empire-waist dress clung tightly to her body. With her left hand she clutched her belly, her gaze locked on the door. At this very moment, she should have been in the hospital.

After all, she was pregnant.

A sharp wave of pain ripped through her, forcing a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Ah!”

Her voice climbed higher, louder, echoing into the corridor beyond her door. She stared at it with desperate intensity, willing anyone who passed along the 3rd floor to hear her agony.

I should have known better when I saw the time. There was no need to wait for him any longer. My stubbornness has put me in this predicament. And yet… even now, I still hope he will walk through this door. What is taking my husband so long? She thought

She shook her head, sweat clinging to her hair, and screamed again.

“Ouch!”

“Ah!”

Please. Anybody. No matter who you are—come help me. Even if I die, please, I don’t want my baby to die with me. In despair she thought

She wasn’t poor. Money for hospital bills had never been a problem. She lived in luxury here in Oberon, one of the town’s finest apartments. But now, alone, her wealth meant nothing.

…

Margo strolled past the pregnant woman’s room, heels clicking softly, on her way to a soiree. She chose the stairs instead of the elevator, descended quickly, slipped outside, and passed three more buildings before reaching the roadside. There, she waited for a car.

Head tilted, she stared at the sky.

“Tsk. Talk about the weather. Now I’ll have to go back for my umbrella.”

The clouds were heavy and threatening. Unimpressed, Margo hurried back into the apartment.

She made it inside just before the first drops fell. Then her phone rang. She answered without pause.

“Allo.”

A man’s voice cut through. “You know your presence here is important, right?”

“Yes,” she said calmly.

“Why aren’t you here already?”

Margo knew perfectly well: the soiree was for his promotion. Her presence was crucial. Without her, the event would feel incomplete. He suspected she intended to sabotage it.

“It’s not what you think.”

His silence was sharp, disbelieving.

“Oh? Then—”

She wasn’t bothered by being late. But she didn’t want to appear careless.

“The rain stopped me from coming on time. Sorry, I’ll be late. Please, be understanding.”

“What else can I say? … Hurry, then.”

The line went dead.

Margo sighed and turned toward her room, quickening her pace.

“Ouch!”

She froze. The cry came from the corridor she’d just passed.

“Did I just hear something?”

Slowly, she retraced her steps. Again, the sound echoed.

“Ouch.”

Her pulse spiked. “What are these screams? Don’t tell me—”

Another cry. This time there was no mistake. Margo’s curiosity burned hotter than hesitation. Without thinking, she pushed the door open.

Creak.

Inside, the pale woman writhed. Margo stared, momentarily stunned.

Why would this woman—

Margo was the kind who always helped others, yet sympathy wasn’t what moved her. What drove her now was the force that had shaped her since childhood: curiosity. If she saw something unusual, she had to act.

“Don’t feel disturbed,” Margo said gently.

“Uhmn,” came the weak reply.

“I know some nursing. Just wait a little—I’ll be right back.”

The pregnant woman sagged with relief at those words.

The apartment had a management office. Margo hurried there.

“Hello, miss.”

“Hello, madam. In which way can I help you?”

“I don’t know… uhmn, do you have the instrument supplies for birth aid necessities?” Her voice carried unease.

“Yes, madam.”

The answer steadied her.

“Ok then, I will borrow them—actually, there is a woman about to give birth and she is in critical condition—”

“I understand your concern. Please wait a moment.”

“Tch, what a cold woman,” Margo muttered under her breath.

The clerk slid papers across the desk.

“Fill this document and sign, then give it back to me.”

“Ok.”

Someone’s life is on the line, and all she thinks about are measly papers, Margo thought angrily as she signed.

“Here it is.”

The woman checked the form, tucked it away, and turned to unlock the supply room.

Creak.

She retrieved a full birth-aid kit, shut the locker, and returned.

What is taking that woman so long? Margo thought, drumming her fingers.

Then—

Creak.

“Oh, speak of the angel. Finally.”

Snatching the kit, Margo rushed back to the apartment. She knelt beside the pregnant woman, grasped her hand, and injected oxytocin.

“Take a deep breath, then release it. Focus on breathing—it will ease the pain.”

“I’ll apply perineal massage, right here, to help.”

The woman began to push. Margo braced her back and hips, offering steady words.

“He’s coming out. Harder, just a little harder—you’re almost there!”

But suddenly, the air changed. The sky outside darkened, thunder rumbling low. A swirl of spiritual energy converged, funneling directly into the woman’s belly.

“What is happening?”

Margo stared in disbelief.

“What is this strange phenomenon?”

«There is something great that will manifest in this child.»

Heart racing, Margo set a suction cup against the baby’s head. With one final push—

“Wail. Wail.”

“Wow—finally.”

Tears blurred her vision. “There, see this? You’ve given birth to a fine boy. Just look at how cute he is.”

…But the mother was silent. Too silent.

Why isn’t she reacting?

“No, no, don’t die on me!”

“Ah—”

But it was too late. The woman was gone.

A storm of feelings struck Margo, but she didn’t let them root. Raising the child herself was never in her plans.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’ll send you to a place where they will take good care of you. … Let’s call you JUN.”

That same night, tragedy struck again.

A car accident tore across the bridge after the strange phenomenon faded. Speed and panic had stolen control from the driver.

Jun’s father.

He had been rushing to reach his wife, trapped earlier in heavy traffic. His tire exploded, his car swerved, crashed through the bridge railing, and sank into the river below.

By the week’s end, Jun was sent to a dormitory school. Margo paid ten years’ worth of fees. She vanished from his life and never returned.

…

Seven years later.

“Man, today’s training was brutal. While we were beating ourselves up, some lazy gossiping bud was hiding here in the restroom,” said a tall boy, grinning.

“Just leave them be. We won’t see them again after the trial,” replied his friend.

Inside the restroom, hidden voices whispered.

It’s been a while since your parents sent you to Francisca Catholic Dormitory, Yul. Doesn’t it mean you were discarded a long time ago?

“Chuckles.”

“You mean because of the seven-year trial? You may not be right, but you’re not wrong either. If you come back alive, your parents can take you back if they meet the conditions,” said the boy beside Yul.

“Come back alive? In the last seven years trial, only two managed it—and only because they avoided the blood reapers. Everyone knows those monsters killed all the others for their blood-extraction ritual,” Yul said grimly.

“Ah bah, then it means the rest were weak,” scoffed another boy. He froze when three pairs of eyes snapped toward him. “What? What did I say wrong?”

“Weak… I already know my destiny. And if it was as you said—” muttered another boy.

Yul’s gaze darkened.

“The issue is this: the first payment is seven years, no less. Only after that can parents return to claim their child—if he’s still alive. If they don’t, you go under the church order’s tutelage, but only if you survive the trial. Now, if parents paid more than seven years in advance, they can return anytime after that. That’s the new rule since our badge arrived.”

“When you said paying more than seven years, were you talking about the case from seven years ago? A parent who paid ten years and abandoned their child?” asked a boy.

“Correct.”

“The boy you’re talking about is JUN. A very mysterious one. He disappears at the same time every day since his second year here, and nobody knows where he goes,” said another.

“JUN,” the three repeated.

“Yes.”

As if summoned, Jun appeared. A slim boy with white hair, dark eyes, and white skin walked past them, silent.

They stared, dumbstruck.

Among the five gossipers, one boy remained quiet. Finally, he spoke.

“Instead of chatting, better decide how to die honorably, for those of you who can’t win. Everyone knows themselves. Some of you don’t realize the seven-year trial starts this Saturday. And it’s already Tuesday.”

His words cut the air. Three boys gasped.

“Really?”

“You… you weren’t informed?”

Jun ignored them, settling on a bench in the training yard. He closed his eyes, meditating. Memories stirred.

He saw himself younger, training alone, when an old man stopped to watch.

“You can circulate strength flow at the age of two? Who taught you?”

“Nobody. Ah… what is strength flow?”

“Oh, gods. Don’t tell me you don’t even know what you were doing!”

“I know there was this surge in me for a while, but I couldn’t release it. Then suddenly I could, so I came here to test it.”

“A surge, tests… and what is it you want to test?”

Jun struggled for words. Instead, flames burst from his body, condensing into spheres, then hardening into a small, glowing pill.

These fire pills could rejuvenate fire-magic users.

“You… you can even wield magic power. Listen, kid: that surge you felt is strength flow. Only when it circulates through your body can magic awaken.”

“So that’s how it is. Thanks, pops.”

“Don’t call me that. But strange… it takes years of training to comprehend, perceive, circulate, stabilize, and quantify strength flow before magic can be used. For you, it came naturally.”

“So is what’s happening to me abnormal?”

“Certainly not. It’s called being gifted. Since you can use both, upon maturity a union will form. If that union fails, the aftermath is the birth of a transforming essence.”

Jun’s eyes snapped open in the present. He muttered to himself:

“I must focus.”

As he walked down the corridor, someone called out.

“Jun, wait!”

He turned, steady gaze meeting the boy.

“Is there a problem?”

“Your thoughts… about the seven-year trial. I mean, aren’t we all seven? What can we possibly accomplish?”

“Don’t disturb me with nonsense.”

“Always the same. Ah, well. But if someone can master strength circulation, he can survive—unless he meets the blood reapers.”

They parted ways.

Jun lingered. Blood reapers… They seek the essence within blood. Will I be able to fight them, if ever we meet?