Declaration of Return
The pillar of light vanished.
Four in the morning. The dead center of Jongno. It was an empty road where nothing stirred save for the low, lonely hum of a twenty-four-hour convenience store neon sign. In the middle of the street, the asphalt had melted into a scorched circle roughly five meters wide—and right in its center stood a solitary man.
He was draped in something dark and ragged, indistinct whether coat or armor, crusted over with layer upon hardened layer of dried blood. Gray ash clung thickly to half his face.
Slowly, the man lifted his head. Traffic lights. Utility poles. An illuminated bus stop advertisement. The glowing storefront sign. And further in the distance, piercing straight into the night sky, the Black Tower.
"……"
After standing motionless for what felt like an eternity, he finally parted his lips.
"...Can I not smoke here?"
Three minutes later, sirens tore through the dawn.
Four black vans barricaded the street. Doors slammed open, and armed personnel in tactical vests poured out in rapid formation.
"National Awakened Administration Bureau! Hands in the air!"
A dozen gun barrels locked onto him at once.
The man surveyed the spectacle with mild curiosity before compliantly raising both hands.
"Oh. Guns."
"…What?"
"Nothing. Just haven't seen one in a while."
The field commander’s brow furrowed. By the book, a subject in this situation reacted in one of three ways: they went berserk, ran for their lives, or broke down in tears. No one had ever been this utterly unfazed.
"Confirming identity. State your name."
"Seo Yuhan."
"…What?"
"Seo Yuhan. Yu for leisure, Han for idle. My name basically branded me an unemployed bum from birth."
Behind the commander, an operative spoke low into a comms radio. "Requesting identity lookup. Seo Yuhan, cross-reference the hanja."
A tense silence hung in the air for ten seconds, followed by a burst of static over the frequency.
"...Identity confirmed. Seo Yuhan. Reported missing March 2013. Number 47 on the Jongno Tower missing persons register."
"...It's been twelve years."
A few gun barrels wavered almost imperceptibly.
The commander let out a slow, measured breath.
"...He's a Returnee. Secure him."
Sub-basement Level 3 of the Administration Bureau, Returnee Isolation Interrogation Room.
The lighting was blindingly harsh, and the metal chairs were unforgivingly rigid. On the table sat a single paper cup of vending machine mix coffee. Yuhan took a small sip, and his eyes went wide.
"...Whoa."
The female investigator seated across from him glanced up from her case files.
"Is something wrong?"
"It tastes sweet."
"...Pardon?"
"Sugar. There's real sugar in this, right?"
The investigator sat dumbfounded for a second before tapping the corner of the document with her ballpoint pen.
"...It is ordinary vending machine coffee."
"It's been twelve years."
Yuhan wrapped both hands around the paper cup, feeling the warmth seep into his palms. Then, ever so faintly, he smiled.
The interrogation proceeded strictly according to standard protocol.
"Full name."
"Seo Yuhan."
"Date of birth."
"April 12, 1991."
"Do you recall the circumstances surrounding your disappearance?"
"I was walking in front of the tower looking at my phone, and the ground just vanished."
"...Excuse me?"
"It's true. The floor beneath my feet just disappeared into thin air. That was it."
The investigator transcribed every word without alteration. Bureau regulations mandated that all Returnee testimonies be recorded verbatim, no matter how absurd they sounded.
"Designation of the world inhabited prior to return."
Yuhan's brisk, mechanical tone faltered for the first time, lagging by half a beat.
"...Arshena."
"Spelling."
"No idea. They don't use the Korean alphabet over there."
The investigator shot him a sharp glare. Yuhan held up both hands in mock surrender.
"Just kidding. A-r-s-h-e-n-a."
"Duration of stay."
"You said it was twelve years by this world's time."
"I am asking for your subjective perception of the elapsed time."
Yuhan offered no answer. He merely fiddled with the paper cup, taking another quiet sip of sweet coffee.
"...It's been a while."
By the time they were halfway through the questionnaire, the investigator read out the next entry.
"Please state your affiliation and rank in the world of your stay."
Yuhan lifted his head. The harsh fluorescent light shattered pale across his features. Where the soot and ash had flaked away, a long, ancient scar running straight across his eye lay exposed.
"...Affiliation?"
"Yes. Military, guild, knight order, religious organization—it doesn't matter. It is required to assess Returnee threat levels."
Yuhan gazed up at the ceiling. One of the fluorescent tubes flickered with a faint, dying hum. He stared at it for an uncomfortably long time before letting out his answer.
"Unemployed bum."
"...Excuse me?"
"An unemployed slacker. I just loafed around."
The investigator's pen froze above the form.
"...Are you telling me that for twelve years, in an alternate world, you did absolutely nothing?"
"Yeah."
"...Are you serious?"
"I'm naturally on the lazy side."
The investigator stared at him unblinkingly for three long seconds before resigning herself to write it down word for word.
Affiliation: None | Rank: None | Subject's statement — Low credibility
Yuhan quietly watched the tip of her pen. It was a lie, of course.
There had been a name they called him in that world. When those who held swords heard that name, they lowered their blades. When kings heard that name, they rose from their thrones.
The Nameless Sword Saint.
The one who possessed no fixed sword. The one for whom anything held in hand became a lethal blade. The strongest man on the continent.
And that name—on the night an entire kingdom burned to the ground—had turned to ash alongside the realm itself.
"This is the final item." The investigator turned the page. "Do you have any plans following your return? This will be referenced when assigning you to a resettlement support program."
This time, Yuhan replied without missing a beat.
"I'm going to rest."
"…Rest?"
"Yeah. For about ten years."
The investigator adjusted her glasses, peering over the rims.
"Mister Seo Yuhan. The Returnee Settlement Subsidy lasts for a maximum of three years."
"Oh. Is that right?"
"Yes."
"...Then I'll rest for three years and think about it."
In the end, the investigator set her pen down with an exasperated click.
"...Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, you will undergo an awakened rank measurement. You cannot refuse."
"A rank measurement?"
"Yes. Without exception, all Returnees are registered after measurement. If your threat evaluation ranks high, you will be designated a person of interest subject to active surveillance, and restrictions will be placed on your activities."
Yuhan lifted his gaze slowly. A different glint flickered across his eyes for the very first time.
...Restrictions, huh.
That would be a problem. If he was designated for surveillance, eyes would follow him wherever he went. If eyes followed him, people would inevitably begin to expect things from him. And when people harbored expectations—
Someone else would die.
Yuhan drained the last drop of coffee from his paper cup. Then, wearing a thoroughly sly grin, he spoke.
"Ah, about that."
"Yes?"
"I'm actually really weak."
"…Pardon?"
"I'm serious. Don't expect anything from me."
Nine o'clock the next morning.
Inside the Administration Bureau's testing chamber, the A-rank mana measurement device—for the very first time since its installation—printed out a single evaluation result:
Awakened Rank: F-RANK
