Pandora's Cube
"Could it be... do I have some relative I never knew about?"
Park Haya asked in a trembling voice.
As far as she knew, she was an orphan without a single blood relative left in the world.
Her only family—her parents—had perished in a passenger plane crash.
But who knew? Maybe some distant relative she'd never met, or one of her parents' acquaintances, had heard the news late and come forward.
How else could someone just hand over such an enormous sum of money?
But the staff member's response was completely unexpected.
"No. The donor's name is Kim Jeong-seok."
"Kim... Jeong-seok?"
It was a name she'd never heard before.
Not even the surname matched.
No matter how hard she racked her brains, she couldn't recall even a fleeting acquaintance by that name.
"We were shocked too. He emphasized it over and over."
The staff member added,
"He said to fix her legs so thoroughly she'd never have trouble walking again. Money is no object."
She went blank.
This has to be a dream.
A sweet illusion brought on by the anesthesia.
When she opened her eyes, the cold hospital room would be waiting, along with the decaying legs she'd have to clutch while sobbing in reality.
Just as Park Haya reached to pinch her cheek—
"Congratulations. Truly."
The nurses clapped with genuine smiles.
It wasn't a hallucination.
The hospital air brushing her skin, the smell of disinfectant, the warmth of the people around her.
It was all real.
A total stranger.
Without asking for anything in return.
Had saved her life.
It felt like a single ray of light pouring into her dark world.
That was when it happened.
"Oh, right! I almost forgot."
Another nurse hurried into the room, holding a white envelope.
"A letter from the donor. He insisted I deliver it to you personally."
"...A letter?"
Park Haya took the envelope with shaking hands.
A plain white envelope.
Could it be from him? The Kim Jeong-seok who saved me...)
Why me, of all people...?
Half fear, half anticipation.
She carefully tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of letter paper, written in neat handwriting.
Park Haya slowly read it down the page.
I imagine my sudden sponsorship came as quite a shock.
You're probably wondering who I am and why I'm helping, so I'll keep this brief.
I, too, lost my family in that plane crash.
My parents were on that flight.
Your eyes widened.
A fellow survivor of that horrific accident.
A victim, just like her.
You are the sole survivor of that crash.
You lived on, carrying the share of everyone who departed from that place—including my parents.
So you must walk.
Stand up again, walk, run, and roam the world freely.
That is what the departed would want.
Her vision blurred.
The letters swam and shimmered through her tears.
Don't feel burdened. No repayment is needed.
I simply want to see you live healthily.
I'll always be cheering for you from afar.
You are not alone.
Kim Jeong-seok.
Plop.
A teardrop fell onto the letter.
"Ah..."
The sobs she'd held back burst forth.
"Hic... sob..."
It wasn't just about the money.
It was the realization that she wasn't alone.
The comfort that surviving wasn't a sin.
The warm knowledge that someone was rooting for her life—it melted her frozen heart.
Park Haya clutched the letter to her chest and wept.
Her cries were so heartbreaking and overwhelming that everyone in the room fell silent.
That day.
The girl resolved to live again.
To live and repay this grace, no matter what.
Beyond the small glass window in the hospital room door.
I watched the scene quietly.
Park Haya had collapsed, clutching the letter to her chest.
Sobbing as if the world were ending.
It was certain now.
She's no avatar of a god.
No acting.
That was raw emotion only a human crawling up from rock bottom could show.
A desperate survival instinct and relief that gods could never mimic.
It wasn't a small sum by any means, but I didn't regret a penny.
If anything, it was a bargain.
I knew her future.
Spirit Lord Park Haya.
Before my regression, she was one of humanity's last five survivors.
A comrade who'd climbed the tower to the end with me.
But I never fully trusted her.
Because of her epithet.
The White Devil.
That's what people called her.
Her appearance was like a pure white angel.
Always smiling, with a soft, gentle voice.
But inside, she was rotten black to the core.
I remembered the spirits she commanded.
Every one of them wept, drained of their light.
To her, spirits weren't friends.
Tools.
Thorough consumables. Slaves.
She used wind spirits for eavesdropping.
Shadow spirits to order assassinations.
Sometimes she'd force spirits into others' minds, turning them into puppets or tampering with memories.
Even rigging gambles by swapping cards.
To survive, to win—she chose any means necessary.
Evil.
She was unequivocally evil.
But I couldn't condemn her.
It was to survive.
Her beginnings were miserable.
Paralyzed from the waist down.
An orphan with nothing.
After the cataclysm, a girl in a wheelchair had few ways to survive.
To avoid being used, she had to use others first.
To avoid being trampled, she had to trample first.
Her evil sprouted from that desperate struggle for survival.
Once she'd survived that way, she never knew how to stop.
Even after gaining power, she remained anxious, exploiting others more viciously.
In the end, her talent twisted into a grotesque growth, chained to 'survival.'
But this time was different.
I looked again at the girl beyond the glass.
She would heal her legs.
She would stand firm on the ground with both feet.
No more scraping by in poverty, no more groveling to others.
I'd planted 'hope' in her.
The belief that someone was watching over her.
The relief of not being alone.
That would change her roots.
Don't go astray.
You don't have to become a devil.
Not a ruler of dank back alleys, but a lord standing proud under the sun.
If Park Haya treated spirits as companions, not tools.
If she channeled that overwhelming talent in the right direction.
Spirit King.
Not just Spirit King.
She might even command beings beyond that.
I was certain.
My investment wouldn't fail.
She would grow into a far stronger, more trustworthy ally than before regression.
"Grow well."
I murmured softly.
Nothing more to see.
I turned away.
My steps were light as I walked down the hospital corridor.
Money? I can earn more.
I knew how to make money.
Where and what to do.
And what would happen there.
A freak blizzard hits Daegu without warning.
In two days, the snow would fall.
A whopping 70 cm accumulation.
Then monsters would appear.
In a word.
Another god's avatar is there.
Daegu, Icheon-dong Antique Street.
Hot. Insanely hot.
Every breath filled my lungs with scorching air.
Heat haze rose from the asphalt, the roads like frying pans on the verge of boiling.
People called this place 'Dafrica.'
A self-deprecating joke about it being as hot as Africa.
I wiped sweat from my brow and looked up at the sky.
A blazing sun. Cloudless blue expanse.
In two days.
Who could imagine?
A blizzard in this sweltering heat.
Over 70 cm of snow, paralyzing the city.
Not a natural phenomenon.
A clear-cut disaster.
Proof that an avatar of a god with ice or cold attributes had set up nearby.
Before hunting the bastard, there was a detour.
I scanned left and right as I walked the street.
Worn, shabby signs.
Statues and pottery piled haphazardly in front of shops.
To ordinary eyes, just a junk dealer street.
But not to mine.
Treasure trove.
The world had flipped.
Not just living beings changed.
Time-worn objects, antiques steeped in history and stories, reacted to mana too.
Some hid special powers—relic-grade items.
People didn't know yet.
The immense value these old things held.
In two weeks, a month at most.
Once awakeners realized relics' uses, these would fetch absurd prices.
I stepped into a rickety wooden building.
Ding-a-ling.
The wind chimes rang, but no greeting.
The shop was dim, musty with dust.
"Welcome."
An old man in a tank top fanned himself lazily from the back.
He glanced at me, then looked away.
Young guy in a hoodie.
Not a paying customer, he figured.
"Just look around. Don't touch."
Dismissed.
Fine by me. Easier that way.
I slowly scanned the shelves.
Fake Goryeo celadon, crude wooden dolls, rusted bronze bowls.
Mostly junk.
But gems hide among pebbles.
I stopped at a dusty corner shelf.
A hand-mirror-sized bronze mirror.
Rusted, long useless as a mirror.
This is it.
I reached out casually.
Out of the owner's sight.
Infused a trace of mana from my fingertips into the surface.
Humm.
It reacted.
A faint tingle vibrating up my fingers.
Not dead scrap.
Mana breathed within.
Definite.
I picked it up and went to the counter.
"How much for this?"
The old man stopped fanning, peered through his magnifier.
"That? Hundred thousand won."
Overpriced.
Normally not even thirty thousand.
But no haggling.
I pulled out some crumpled bills.
"Here."
"Take it."
He lost interest once the cash hit his hand.
I pocketed the mirror and left.
Stepping into the blazing sun—
Hidden relic discovered.
Impeccable eye for value.
Skill 'Appraisal' created.
As expected.
Sensing mana to discern an object's true worth.
That triggered skill creation.
I activated it immediately.
"Appraisal."
Grade: Rare
A mirror used by a Silla-era shaman. Infuse with mana to reveal the hidden.
Effect 1: Detects invisibility and stealth within 10m radius.
Effect 2: Increased resistance to illusion magic.
Success.
Rare grade.
Top-tier for early game.
Especially 'stealth detection'—priceless, couldn't buy it.
A hundred-thousand-won scrap turned into a billions-won treasure.
Not bad.
I tucked the mirror away.
Just the beginning.
Five billion left.
After dropping ten billion on Park Haya, my emergency fund.
Huge for normals, but in the awakener world? Barely enough for one gear set.
But here, on this unvalued antique street? Different story.
King's ransom.
I swept the street.
Every shop.
Eyes constantly moving.
'Appraisal.'
Normal (Normal): Counterfeit celadon.
Pass.
'Appraisal.'
Normal (Normal): Factory-made wooden doll.
Pass.
Finding jewels in trash heaps.
Ninety-nine out of a hundred misses, but I didn't quit.
Whenever blue filled my vision, wallet opened.
"How much for this?"
"Fifty thousand."
"Here."
◈ Slightly increases stamina recovery speed.
"What about that one?"
"That's pricier. At least two hundred thousand..."
"Keep the change."
◈ Maintains sharpness until durability depletes.
Swept them up.
Rings, hairpins, scrolls, old swords.
Looked like junkyard trash, but my inventory filled with prime relics.
Merchants treated me like a sucker.
Whispering about the heatstruck kid collecting junk.
I laughed inside.
These ten- and twenty-thousand-won trinkets?
In a month, tens of millions each.
At the street's end—
Dong—dong!
A crude bell tolled.
People buzzed.
"Huh? Auction today?"
"Time already?"
"Let's check! Maybe something good."
Merchants and onlookers flocked one way.
To a sizable gallery in the street's center.
Auction?
Interest piqued.
Auctions here? Obvious.
Stolen goods or untraceable, unappraised junk dumped cheap.
Jackpot or bust.
I blended into the crowd and entered.
AC bliss.
On the podium, a tuxedoed auctioneer gripped the mic.
"Alright, folks! Hot day—let's cool it down with a bang!"
Auction began.
Early lots: nothing special.
Famous painter's sketch, late Joseon whiteware.
Artistic value maybe, but no mana relics.
Arms crossed, I stifled a yawn.
Debating leaving—
"Next item! A real unique one."
A staffer wheeled out a cart.
Black cloth peeled—laughter rippled.
"What the hell?"
"A rock?"
"Picked from a riverbed?"
On the podium: fist-sized blue stone.
Rough surface, mossy—pure worthless pebble.
But.
"...!"
I narrowed my eyes.
Heart raced.
Familiar.
Not just seen before.
I knew this well.
'Appraisal.'
◈ Toy box left by the God of Luck. Even daughters-in-law and gods don't know what comes out.
Pandora Cube.
Among tower veterans, dubbed the 'Devil's Gacha.'
Odds? Abysmal.
99.9% trash.
Rotten egg, goblin undies, or a 'lame' note.
But.
Once, a legendary weapon dropped.
Past life memory flashed.
A ranker breaking floor 30 pulled 'legendary-grade' gear from this.
Shot straight into top 10 rankings thanks to it.
"Why peddle such crap?"
"Who'd buy that?"
They saw a mossy rock.
To me? A shot at instant riches.
No—guaranteed legendary gear.
Because.
I'm a lucky man.