Gearing Up for the Eternal Nightmare
The next afternoon, Jinwoo stepped out for the first time in years—an outing that felt like a king's procession.
His previous ventures outside had been mere survival scrambles, but today was different. Though still clad in his frayed T-shirt and stretched sweatpants, his stride and posture had transformed. Freed from the agony of his herniated disc, his spine aligned perfectly, allowing him to walk tall with shoulders squared and chin slightly raised.
No longer did he slink along, counting cracks in the asphalt to avoid people's gazes. Instead, he met the eyes of passersby head-on, his stare piercing straight to their souls, as if unearthing their hidden desires and fears. Ordinary folk wilted under his overwhelming presence, instinctively averting their eyes and stepping aside.
Slung over one shoulder was the Magic Grimoire, haphazardly wrapped in a ragged cloth.
[Parading the streets in such rags. It ill befits my master's dignity.]
The Grimoire's voice, laced with complaint, echoed in his mind—like a butler in fine livery scolding his lord for wearing tatters.
"Worry not. Our first stop will remedy that."
Jinwoo headed not to a luxury department store, but to a sprawling mall packed with mid-range brands and outlets. He had no interest in designer labels. He simply wanted normal, everyday new clothes, like anyone else.
Without hesitation, he entered a shop with clean, simple menswear. The clerk paid his appearance no mind, but when he stood tall at the register, she found herself bowing unconsciously.
He selected black slacks that fit perfectly, a gray knit sweater, and a waterproof black jacket. Ditching his worn-out sneakers, he added sturdy walkers that gripped his ankles well. The mirror reflected no longer the semi-basement loser, but a neat, unassuming young man—ordinary enough for anywhere. Yet the cold, dominating glint in his eyes refused to be hidden.
"I'll pay... with card."
He pulled a crumpled credit card from his pocket. Limit: 500,000 won. The pathetic proof of his credit, scraped together from odd jobs.
Money will come soon enough. No issue.
He reassured himself, though anxiety briefly clenched his heart at the thought of exceeding the limit. Fortunately, with help from another card, the purchase cleared.
Changed into his new outfit, he was snagged in the lobby by a breaking news report on the massive TV screen.
"...The 'collective nightmare syndrome,' dubbed Eternal Nightmare, is causing a surge in missing persons and mental breakdowns worldwide. Governments are on high alert..."
The screen showed interviews with survivors of the Eternal Nightmare—now shell-shocked wrecks from severe PTSD.
[Intriguing.]
The Grimoire's voice rang out.
[It seems my kin's pranks are spreading faster and wider than anticipated.]
Jinwoo stared silently at the screen. He now understood: this was no isolated misfortune, but the prelude to a grand catastrophe. And at its epicenter, he would be the key—and the power—to unravel it.
Next stop: a party supply store. There, he picked a plain white mask to fully conceal his face and a classic black wizard's hat—the one he'd joked about last night.
At another outlet, he found black leather gloves that fit like a second skin and a sturdy, upscale leather satchel perfect for carrying the Grimoire.
[Master. Appearance matters, but practical preparations are essential.]
The Grimoire advised from its new satchel home.
[Your powers are mighty yet raw. Prepare for contingencies.]
"Melee weapons, then."
[Indeed. I recommend a 'hammer' for heavy impact and a 'dagger' to slit throats or for rituals.]
Following its counsel, Jinwoo scoured hardware and antique shops, securing a hefty iron hammer that suited his grip and a razor-sharp military-grade dagger.
[For the Eternal Nightmare, stock emergency rations as well.]
Finally, at a big-box mart, he grabbed high-calorie chocolate bars, jerky, and a few bottles of water. By the time preparations ended, dusk had fallen.
Before heading home, his steps halted at one last spot: a bookstore. A place he hadn't entered under his own power since childhood.
He made for the children's section and, without pause, snatched a vividly covered book: Whirly Petey and the Wizard's Stone.
He paid and tucked it carefully into his new satchel. All set.
Back in the semi-basement, Jinwoo began final preparations for his first hunt. He folded his new clothes neatly aside and unzipped the battered army duffel bag shoved in the corner. Inside lay the culprits that ruined his life—yet taught him survival. Objects of bitter love-hate.
With familiar motions, he donned the stiff, sweat-and-dirt-crusted combat uniform that once choked him. To wear it again by choice... He let out a dry chuckle.
Finally, he laced up his combat boots, gripping to the ankles. These feet had marched dozens of kilometers through hellish drills. And earned a lifetime of pain in return.
But now? Different. The cursed legacy of that damned army would become his most practical gear for monster-slaying. Pure irony.
In combat gear, he stood before the mirror, trying on the wizard hat and mask.
"Hm... still looks weird..."
He stuffed them into the satchel.
"Hey, book. Is this stuff really necessary? Like a staff or something."
From the satchel on the desk, the Grimoire replied.
[The hat and mask merely conceal your identity—trivial. But a 'staff' merits consideration.]
"Oh?"
[To wield my full power, you must hold me. Fighting with a book in hand is inefficient. But later, in a 'magic workshop,' craft a staff to mount me. It will amplify your mana, refine your control—like an 'expansion slot.']
"Sounds good." Jinwoo nodded.
He glanced at the Whirly Petey book in the satchel.
"So, read that tale? Change your mind on familiars?"
[...An intriguing yarn.]
The Grimoire's tone remained arrogant, yet tinged with uncharacteristic intellectual curiosity.
[Feathered mail carriers or shedding cats aiding battle? Still dubious. But... the notion of gaining new power through 'soul communion' with a being isn't utter nonsense. Worth considering.]
The Grimoire was slyly shifting its stance. Glancing at the satchel, Jinwoo saw its leather cover faintly glowing, pages flipping rapidly on their own—shwick shwick—like speed-reading. A book reading a book. The absurd sight drew an unwitting smile.
Preparations complete, he fired up his computer and logged into the nation's largest community site, The Gallery's Mystery board—the rawest hub for Eternal Nightmare intel.
As expected, it burned with the topic.
Jinwoo stared coldly at the monitor.
Mockery, disbelief, terror, desperate prayers. A tangle of raw emotions in posts and replies.
People already knew the truth. They just turned away, unable to grasp or analyze it clearly.