Awakened on the Brink

Both of my parents were doctors.

Tell someone that, and the answer was almost always the same. Must be nice. A gold spoon if there ever was one—the kind of kid who inherits good grades along with the money. Hospital appointments? A free pass, obviously.

When I was little, I was proud of them too. That changed after both of them gave themselves to a doctors' association with no borders and, as it turned out, no family either.

Sorry. That word followed me through every year of childhood. Seeing them once or twice a year was what counted as often, and little by little their voices turned unfamiliar, and then their faces.

On documentaries, on the news, on NewTube, there they were—arms around children from some nameless country at the edge of the map, smiling bright enough to hurt. When was the last time they held me like that? Maybe I had become a stranger to them, too.

I was afraid. It felt like being left alone in the world.

Everyone around me said what wonderful parents I had, and wasn't I proud? If I complained, I was sure I'd become some wretched person, so I only ever swallowed it. That misery was its own kind of quiet.

So the moment I came of age, I decided to buy a plane ticket. I wanted to see them myself, to watch with my own eyes the work that had been worth abandoning me—their son. Whatever in that remote place had held the two of them, I needed to know.

But around the time I entered high school, towers appeared in the world.

People lost their minds over a disaster no one had a name for, and countries whose foundations were already unsteady lost them worse. The place where my parents were was one of those. Contact broke. Three months. Six. A year.

And that was how I lost them forever—without ever growing close to them, and without understanding them in the slightest.

Ten years after the towers came, the world had found its balance again, little by little. Some days were so ordinary I could almost believe the towers weren't there at all.

That was only a trick of the eye. Look anywhere, in any direction, and a tower always entered your sight—more than ten kilometers high, several kilometers wide, hundreds of them packed across the earth. The moment one collapsed, the earthquakes, the eruptions, and the tsunamis could not be escaped.

Awakeners the world over were fighting desperately, each in their own territory, to hold those collapses back. Towers had fallen all the same over the past ten years, almost always in the poorest countries, or in those still clawing their way up. But the danger was closing like a hand around the throat, and little by little it had begun to reach the developed world. The Republic of Korea was no exception.

Korea's first collapse was right in front of us. The assault on Floor 51 of the Daejeon Tower had failed again and again. Kim Minsung, the tower's only S-Rank Awakener, was fighting for his life even now, but there didn't seem to be any hope.

The moment Kim Minsung lost, the tower would collapse. Abandon the clear, die in the attempt, or run past the time limit—whichever it was, the tower came down. And if a tower that huge fell in a country as small as Korea, how bad would the damage be? The traders had already given their answer.

They had already been falling for a solid month. The only reason the numbers had stopped where they were was that the president, two weeks ago, had forced the markets shut. If trading were still open, being cut in half would not have been out of the question. This was the Korea people saw when they looked.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Someone started hammering on the door.

"…Hello! Is anybody in there? Didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you hear the order to evacuate? Hurry up and get out!"

Evacuate. And go where?

After my parents died I had become a nuisance passed from relative to relative, and there was nowhere left for me to go. It wasn't that I harbored some grand resolve to share a falling Korea's fate. I only wondered whether I couldn't just drift, and live roughly, the way the current took me. That was the whole of it. Helplessness.

Bang, bang, bang—bang, bang, bang. Whoever it was knocked a few more times, then finally went away. Diligent of them, making the rounds of the neighborhood and warning every house that still had its lights on. People would probably call someone like that a hero, the way they had called my parents heroes. But that person had to be someone's family too, and they were in every bit as much danger as the rest of us.

I didn't know. What counted as a hero? What counted as a good person? There were people who risked their lives climbing the towers, people who risked their lives telling others to run, and people who could only watch, and fret.

I turned my head. On the television, S-Rank Awakener Kim Minsung's blood-soaked fight was being broadcast on a slight delay. No matter how I looked at it, he was hopelessly outmatched, and his face had already gone past despair. He was simply enduring, buying even a little more time for people to flee.

Then a new wave arrived, and a tide of monsters swept Kim Minsung away without leaving a trace.

The end.

Before I knew it, I had turned toward the window. The Daejeon Tower stood immense, filling a quarter of the view. Is it coming down now? Then I would vanish with this house—my memories, the life I had walked, all of it gone, and meaningless. I closed my eyes and simply waited for the end.

And then a chime cut through the quiet.

Ding. My eyes opened. A clear blue window had covered my sight.

Awakened?

An awakening bound to the Daejeon Tower, with the tower about to fall? It was absurd. The moment a tower collapsed, every Awakener affiliated with it died automatically—inside the tower or not. Even if you fled the region and ran to another country, death's finger was sure to follow. And I had gone and awakened under the Daejeon Tower in the instant before it came down.

"Story of my life."

Well, it didn't matter anymore. Better to see what ability I'd actually gotten.

…Heal? So, what—one lonely recovery spell? And yet the rank was wrong. EX? Did a rank like that even exist? Wasn't S-Rank supposed to be the ceiling? How did Heal evolve into something like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠EX?

I fixed on the description that followed.

Ignoring space, distance, and dimension, and fully restoring the target. Which meant…?

As if possessed, I turned back to the television. Kim Minsung was still in there, fighting his last fight behind the monster wave. Every time his figure flickered into view between the creatures, he was coming apart in ways that were hard to look at. An arm blown off. A leg torn away. A blade in his gut, blood pouring out. The feed had mosaicked all of it. It didn't help.

Slowly, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reached out. An instinct already carved into me was telling me what I could do.

A moment later a shrill whine ripped across the broadcast, rising and rising, and brilliant light drowned the entire screen. When it finally settled, Kim Minsung was whole again, and he was already attacking the monsters.

The battle itself, though, had not turned. There were still too many monsters, and Kim Minsung still didn't have the strength to match them.

Anchor and commentator both sank into despair. I reached out once more.

Brilliant light filled the screen again. When it faded, the broadcast showed Kim Minsung blasting the empty skull clean off a Death Knight. His wounds, once again, were gone.

I kept casting Heal (EX) as I watched. An hour later, it was over.

The Daejeon Tower did not collapse.

We had survived.

And I had awakened Almighty Heal.