Prologue: The Grandfather's Gift

"Boy. Ian. Get up."

An old man's voice pulled Ian from sleep. He looked around, eyes still half-lidded and unfocused. Thick ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fog pressed in from every side; beyond three meters, the world simply ceased to exist. In the middle of that blank white void sat a single bed, alone.

"If you're awake, you might try greeting your maternal grandfather instead of sitting there like a fool."

Ian was still staring blankly at the fog when the voice snapped from behind him. He flinched hard, spun around, and scrambled off the bed to put distance between himself and the speaker. An old man in white robes top and bottom stood there, scowling. Ian's heart hammered—then recognition hit.

Who— wait. Wait. Is that really Grandfather?

He already knew this was a dream. A white-robed old man materializing out of nowhere ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had him half-convinced he was looking at a ghost. But the face was the one from the memorial photograph he saw every ancestral rite at his eldest uncle's house. Those fierce, bulging eyes. That beard that belonged on a Joseon-era portrait. His maternal grandfather clicked his tongue, clearly displeased that Ian had backed away.

"Tsk. Such a cowardly child. Bow twice, properly, and come here."

"Yes, Grandfather."

Ian hurried through two bows right where he stood, then circled the bed and approached. His grandfather dropped heavily onto the mattress and beckoned him closer. Still reeling, Ian obeyed the gesture and stepped in.

"Good enough. I saw how my sons have been treating you—bullying you—and I pitied the state you were in. So I went specially to King Yama, got his leave, and came into your dream. Listen carefully to everything I say. The moment you wake, write it all down on scrap paper or whatever you can find. Understood?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

A rush of gratitude hit him. At least his maternal grandfather understood his situation. Ian fixed his full attention on the old man's words.

His parents had divorced. His father had gone back to America. Even his mother, who held American citizenship, had dumped him on her family and vanished across the ocean without a backward glance. He had barely been a year old. He had heard that she kept sending child-support payments to his youngest uncle right up until two months ago, when Ian turned eighteen—but those had stopped now, and he was living on scraps of tolerance and cold looks. Even before that, the beatings may have been rare, but the family had worked him like a house servant. His maternal grandmother, dead these eight years, had been no different.

"One thing I must insist on. You are never to share any of these benefits with your uncles, your aunts—or even your mother. Do you understand?"

"Huh? Yes."

He had been half-afraid the old man would tell him something valuable and then order him to share it with the rest of them. Hearing the opposite first made him break into a wide smile—though he noticed, uneasily, that his grandfather's expression darkened even as the words left his mouth. Eighteen years of eating leftover glances had taught Ian there was a story behind all of this, but for now he forced himself to concentrate on what the old man was saying.

"First: the numbers for the Hanaro Lotto drawing on February eighth. Memorize them. Buy a hundred thousand won's worth, no less. Zero-nine, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-three, forty-one, forty-four. Again: zero-nine, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-three, forty-one, forty-four. Recite them back to me."

"What? Zero-nine, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-three, forty-one, forty-four."

So this is one of those ancestor dreams people talk about. Even if it's a total farce, the second I wake up I'm going straight out to buy a lottery ticket.

"Good. Don't be an idiot and buy them in the neighborhood. Go to Uijeongbu, or somewhere far. Understood?"

"Yes."

Ian silently berated himself. Without that warning, he would have marched down to the corner store with the exact same numbers. He looked up at his grandfather with brighter, sharper eyes. The old man cleared his throat and continued.

"Next: stocks that will rise through twenty twenty-one. Memorize them and buy them without fail. You'll be able to purchase overseas shares as well, so open an account and request access. If some crisis hits in the middle of it all, just hold. Even if something absurd happens—aliens invading, whatever. Understood?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

Now he was getting stock picks too, complete with a warning about some coming crisis. Another IMF-level disaster? The alien remark nearly shattered his concentration, but Ian clamped down and forced himself to listen.

"Google, Apple, Netflix, Tesla, Amazon—that's the five overseas names I'm leaking to you. Domestically, Samsung Electronics and Daum, no exceptions. Understood? Even if a few company names change along the way, you hold them. No matter what."

"Yes."

Apple, Samsung Electronics, and Daum were names Ian recognized. He muttered them under his breath, drilling them in. His grandfather drew a long breath and spoke again.

"Google? Amazon? What do those companies even do?"

"Just buy them and forget they exist. Don't dump every last won you need to live on into them, either. If you need cash, sell some of the domestic shares."

"What?"

"Just take it as given and memorize. Now—from the lottery numbers through everything I told you. Recite it all."

The sudden demand, the complete lack of any real explanation about the stocks, and the flicker of confusion on his grandfather's own face all suggested the old man didn't fully understand the companies either.

"Zero-nine, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-three, forty-one, forty-four. Apple, Google, Amazon, Daum, Samsung—uh—"

A sharp crack landed on his forehead.

"Agh—!"

A moldy wooden cane had appeared in the old man's hand, and he had just brought it down on Ian's skull. Ian clutched his head, rubbing furiously, half-wondering how pain this vivid was even possible inside a dream.

"I'll say it again. You are not leaving until you have every word of this cold. Zero-nine, twenty-five… Daum. Memorize."

"…Netflix, uh—"

Crack.

"Ah—"

Ian knew this was for his own good. He swallowed the pain without complaint and kept apologizing, over and over. It took three full rounds before he finally had it all locked in.

"Never… never… never help them."

His grandfather repeated the word never, his voice growing quieter each time. Only then did it occur to Ian that this might not entirely be the old man's own will. He smiled and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yes. I will never help them!!!"

"Nngh. Now swallow this bead. It's good for your body. Your height will jump well past one seventy-five within a year—you'll clear one eighty without trouble, so don't worry. You'll lose consciousness and wake immediately after, so tuck it into your pocket where no one can see and get outside at once. Understood?"

"Yes…"

Ian stared at the white bead held out to him, then simply put it in his mouth. Something flared behind his eyes—scattered bursts of light detonating through his brain—and his consciousness began to slip.

"Thank you… Grandfather…"

Knowledge tore through his mind like a storm. Of a hundred fragments seared into him, he registered barely ten.

Ian's body and the bed vanished.

The solemn expression the old man had worn while watching Ian shifted in an instant. He turned, bowing his head in abject humility.

"Elder. Is it done?"

Footsteps cut through the fog. A man emerged, and at his side walked the old man's wife. Mal-ja—Ian's maternal grandmother—looked as if she had been put through torture. Her hair hung in a wild tangle; her clothes were a ruin.

"Yes. Well done, Byeong-ho. I just pulled Mal-ja out of Hell."

"Thank you, Elder."

Byeong-ho bowed at a full ninety degrees toward the man who had brought his wife. Mal-ja drifted to her husband's side but did not dare open her mouth.

"As promised, I have already ordered that your and your wife's affiliation in this Earth's afterlife be transferred from Hell to Heaven. Take each other's hands."

The man's voice carried no emotion at all. He stood well over one hundred ninety centimeters, a giant in black armor, black gloves—black from head to toe. Byeong-ho felt a fresh spike of terror and clasped Mal-ja's hand. Then the two of them simply faded away.

The man thought of them—of the woman especially—and for a moment considered that she deserved more punishment still. He shook his head. He could already picture her looking down from Heaven at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world below, screaming. Given what she and her children had done to Kim Ian's soul, tearing them apart would have been a kindness. But the missions he was about to bestow would let the boy carry out that revenge himself, thoroughly and without mercy.

"Hmph. If it were up to me I'd erase them entirely—but they wanted Heaven, so I'll send them. It's not nearly as pleasant a place as they imagine."

Heaven was a sorting ground where gods selected believers who would labor for them for eternity. For a complacent couple like those two, it was pleasant enough, true. Reincarnation, for all its hardships, at least offered a soul the chance to climb in rank and eventually ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reach a higher cosmos beyond this Ninth Realm. Heaven and Hell, by contrast, might raise a soul as far as an angel or demon of this Earth—and then sealed every path beyond.

"Besides, the universe this Earth belongs to has no Administrator—no god. No god means no real angels, no real demons. They'll just sit forever in that tedious little village of theirs."

Gods could not be copied. When a parallel universe formed, no god existed inside it.

He gazed down at the world below. He had detected a distortion in this universe's timeline and moved quickly to stop a parallel universe from spawning. Jumping into the past without preparation and generating a parallel branch violated dimensional law. He had wound time forward across this universe and every universe linked to it. Afterward he had erased a certain evil god from an Eighth-Realm planet who had been playing games, searched, and found Kim Ian.

The Kim Ian who had just descended carried a soul identical to the man's own. Through the white bead, he had awakened the innate traits that any being sharing his soul would possess, and layered the Virility trait on top of them. A direct meeting would have been preferable, but the preparations were incomplete. The gap in rank was simply too vast; a human of the Ninth Realm could not face him and survive.

To get the white bead into the boy, he had been forced to bargain: send the maternal grandfather to Heaven in exchange for the old man's cooperation.

He reviewed Kim Ian's future deeds as recorded in the Akashic Records.

"A villain, is it. So this Earth's version awakened and turned villain. Doesn't matter. Jini."

"Yes, Lord Suho."

An empty divine realm. Suho generated a single homunculus and set it in place. A spherical form drifted near and flashed toward him in acknowledgment.

"Help him grow properly. Make sure he survives when that day comes. And ensure that the one who caused the catastrophe dies by Ian's own hand."

"Yes, Lord Suho."

Snap.

Suho flicked his fingers. White characters spun into the air, tearing open space. When a gap of roughly a meter had been secured, the characters flared with light and swallowed him whole.