CHAPTER 2: WHITE LIGHT AND ECHOES

Ji-hoon stared at the glass, his eyes wide with shock. His breath hitched. For several seconds, he remained frozen, allowing the bizarre reality to sink into his cluttered mind.

The clear plastic glass sat still on the mahogany table. It didn’t move. It was as if what had just happened was nothing more than an illusion.

It must be stress, he thought, trying to steady himself. Trauma from the accident and the transmigration. Just a hallucination.

With a hand that still trembled slightly, he reached for the glass. The cold touch of the plastic helped ground him. He drank the water, trying to soothe his parched throat, but his eyes remained fixed on the object as if waiting for it to react.Nothing happened.

Ji-hoon exhaled and set the glass back down. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps he was simply exhausted and overwhelmed. Who wouldn’t be shaken after dying and waking up in someone else’s body in a strange world?He decided to try and sleep again.

Maybe when he woke up, everything would be clearer—or perhaps this would all be revealed as one long, vivid dream. He lay back down, closed his eyes, and forced his racing mind to quiet.

But just as he drifted toward the edge of unconsciousness, the voice returned.It didn't come from outside. It echoed from within his own skull, clear and flat, exactly like the one he had heard before ‘awakening’ here.

[Soul Fusion: 87% complete. Anomaly detected in memory module.]Ji-hoon’s eyes snapped open. His chest heaved.“Who’s there?” he whispered into the empty room, his voice shaking.

There was no answer. Only silence.[Analyzing anomaly… Source: Dualistic identity conflict. Recommendation: Temporary suppression of ‘Kang Ji-hoon’ memories.]“No! Wait!” Ji-hoon protested internally, a flare of pure panic exploding in his chest. Suppress his memories? That meant erasing himself. Whoever or whatever was doing this, he wouldn’t let it happen.

As if responding to his protest, a strange sensation of pressure manifested in his head. It wasn’t pain, but rather a feeling as if something massive and foreign was pushing against his consciousness, trying to

 force him into submission. His memories as Ji-hoon—his old life, his job, the Seoul he once knew—suddenly felt blurred, like a fading photograph.

No! He bit his lip, focusing every ounce of his willpower. He visualized his cluttered office, the scent of morning coffee, the faces of his colleagues. He clung to those details, using them as anchors against the invisible tide.

The struggle took place in total silence. Ji-hoon lay there, drenched in cold sweat, his muscles tensing as if he were lifting an immense weight. Gradually, the pressure began to recede.

[Recommendation rejected. Identity conflict maintained. Updating integration protocols…]The voice faded, and the alien sensation in his head vanished. Ji-hoon was left gasping on the bed, his body as weak as if he had just run a marathon.

He stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. There was ‘something’ inside him. Something responsible for bringing him here—something still active, still watching, still trying to ‘adjust’ him. Terms like ‘soul fusion,’ ‘memory module,’ and ‘integration protocol’ sounded technical, like a computer system or… a scientific experiment.

Min-jae’s memories of his father, Dr. Kang Min-soo, who researched ‘dimensional resonance,’ suddenly felt incredibly relevant. Was there a connection?Before he could ponder further, there was a soft knock on the door. 

A middle-aged nurse in a crisp white uniform entered with a kind smile.

“Ah, Min-jae, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” she asked while checking the monitor beside the bed.Ji-hoon—who had to start getting used to that name—nodded slowly. “Fine… just a little dizzy.”

“That’s normal after being in a coma for several days,” the nurse said, noting something on her clipboard. “The doctor will be in to examine you shortly. Is there anything you need?”Ji-hoon shook his head, his mind still spinning from the mysterious voice.

 “No, thank you.”

After the nurse left, Ji-hoon tried to sit up. This time, he was more stable. He surveyed the room more thoroughly. On the nightstand, next to the glass of water, sat a smartphone. He reached for it. The device looked advanced, its large screen lighting up at his touch.

 A lock pattern appeared. Without thinking, his fingers instinctively drew a shape—Min-jae’s muscle memory taking over.

The phone unlocked.Ji-hoon stared at it, a strange sensation prickling his heart. He now had access to this person’s life. He opened the photo gallery. There were several images: a large, modern house; a photo of a man with silvering hair, glasses, and a warm smile (his father, Min-soo); a photo of himself—Min-jae—laughing with a group of friends; and a picture of a magnificent building with the sign “Chrono Vanguard Headquarters.”

He checked the messages. There were dozens of unread notifications. From ‘Uncle Dae-hyun,’ from ‘Na-rae,’ from ‘Hyung Min-hyuk,’ and several other names he didn’t recognize.

 The content varied from well-wishes to questions about his condition, including one from someone named ‘Joon-ho’ asking about a ‘monster theory assignment.’

Kang Min-jae’s world was becoming real before his eyes. A complete life with relationships, responsibilities, and problems. And now, Ji-hoon had to live it.

A doctor in a white coat entered shortly after, accompanied by the nurse. The examination was routine: blood pressure, reflexes, questions about pain, and a simple neurological test. The doctor concluded his recovery was going well but recommended several more days of full rest and light physical therapy.

“The most important thing, Min-jae, is to avoid excessive stress,” the doctor said wisely. “Your body has been through significant trauma. Give it time to heal completely.”

Excessive stress, Ji-hoon thought bitterly. Doctor, you don’t know the half of it.

Once the doctor left, Ji-hoon felt trapped. He couldn’t just lie here thinking about mysterious voices and strange powers. He needed information. He needed to understand this world.

His knowledge of ‘Gates’ and ‘Hunters’ was still hazy, derived from Min-jae’s memories like a textbook he hadn't studied properly. He picked up the phone again and opened the browser.

He typed in a simple search: “Gates first appearance.”The screen flooded with results—archived news articles, documentaries, and encyclopedia entries. Ji-hoon clicked on an old article.

“20 Years Ago: The First Opening Event That Changed the World”The article detailed how, twenty years ago, massive energy portals—later called “Gates”—suddenly appeared across the globe. It initially caused global panic as alien creatures, dubbed “monsters,” poured out. The world's militaries were overwhelmed.

 However, it was soon discovered that some humans developed special abilities after being exposed to the energy from the Gates. They were called “Hunters.” They could fight the monsters, enter the Gates, and harvest magical resources known as “Mana Crystals” and various exotic materials.

The world had changed drastically. A new economy based on Gate ‘loot’ emerged. Hunter Guilds were formed like mega-corporations. Nations established specialized academies to train young Hunters. Social status was no longer measured just by wealth, but by a Hunter’s ‘Rank.’

Ji-hoon scrolled further, reading about the ranking system: F (the lowest), E, D, C, B, A, and S (the highest). Gates were also ranked by their danger level. Low-ranked Hunters were only permitted to enter low-ranked Gates.

He also read about the dangers. The mortality rate for Hunters, especially low-ranked ones, was high. Conflicts between guilds were sometimes bloody. And while monsters were the primary threat, human greed proved just as dangerous.

His phone vibrated. An incoming call. The name displayed: “Na-rae.”Ji-hoon stared at it. From Min-jae’s memories, Yoo Na-rae was a childhood friend. Her family was also involved in the Hunter world, though not as prominently as Min-jae’s. They were close, though they had drifted recently due to the pressure of academy entrance exams.

He took a breath and answered.“Hello?”“Min-jae! Finally, you picked up!” The female voice on the other end sounded relieved but tense. “I’ve tried calling so many times. How are you? Uncle Dae-hyun said you’re awake.”

“I’m… okay. Just a little dizzy,” Ji-hoon replied, careful with his tone.“I heard about the academy. You’re still going to re-enroll, right?” Na-rae asked, her voice urgent.“I’m not sure yet, Na-rae. Everything is still… a mess.”

There was a brief silence. “I understand. But, Min-jae… you remember our promise, right? We’re going to enter the academy together, as a team. I’ve already been accepted into the Support department; training has started. I’m waiting for you.”

A promise. Ji-hoon felt a surge of foreign emotion—hope, determination, and a hint of disappointment—stemming from Min-jae’s memories. This was clearly important.

“I remember,” he said, trying to sound convincing. “I just need time to decide.”

“Okay. Don’t push yourself. Just get healthy first,” Na-rae said, her voice softening. “I’ll come to the hospital later, okay? I’ll bring the food you like.”

They ended the call. Ji-hoon set the phone down, feeling more conflicted than ever. Every interaction tied him deeper into Min-jae’s life. Everyone expected something from him.

His head throbbed again. He closed his eyes, trying to organize his thoughts.Okay, Kang Ji-hoon. Or Kang Min-jae. Whoever you are now, he told himself. You have a few facts. One, you’re in a dangerous fantasy world. Two, there’s a system or entity inside you that brought you here. Three, people around you expect you to be a Hunter.

 Four, you might have strange, uncontrolled powers.

Then, a practical question arose: What do I do now?The answer came from two different perspectives within him.Ji-hoon, the pragmatic editor, said: Learn the rules of this world. Gather information. Don’t make rash decisions. Survival is the priority.

Min-jae, the pressured teenager, whispered: Fulfill the family’s expectations. Find the truth about Father. Become strong.The two voices clashed, adding to his confusion.

That afternoon, Uncle Dae-hyun returned. This time, he brought a blue folder.“Min-jae, this is the re-enrollment form for the Hunter Academy,” Dae-hyun said bluntly, placing the folder on the table. “I’ve spoken with the academy. They’re giving you an extension because of your circumstances. You have until the end of the week to decide.”

Ji-hoon stared at the folder as if it were a venomous snake. “Uncle… am I really cut out to be a Hunter? My previous talent test showed my potential was just average, didn’t it?” He pulled that fact from Min-jae’s memory.

Dae-hyun sat down, his face solemn. “Potential can change, Min-jae. Especially after experiencing a traumatic event like an accident—or exposure to certain energies.” His eyes searched Ji-hoon’s sharply. “Besides, being a Hunter isn’t just about power. It’s about position, influence, and security. With a Hunter degree from a prestigious academy, you’ll have protection. It’s vital, considering… your father’s research.”“Father…” Ji-hoon repeated. “Uncle, what do you think actually happened to him?”

Dae-hyun sighed heavily, his expression darkening. “I don’t know for sure, Min-jae. What I do know is that his research at Ouroboros was highly sensitive. It concerned Gate stability. After the lab accident, all his data vanished, his team disbanded,

 and Ouroboros went completely silent. That wasn't a normal accident.” He looked at his nephew. “That’s why you must be strong. The Hunter world and Gate research are intertwined. From the inside, you might find the answers.”

The pressure felt real now. It wasn't just family expectation; it was a clue that becoming a Hunter might be the only way to uncover the mystery of Min-jae’s father—and perhaps, the secret of how Ji-hoon ended up here.“I’ll consider it seriously, Uncle,” Ji-hoon promised, this time with newfound sincerity. He needed to enter that world, if only to understand what had happened to him.Dae-hyun nodded, satisfied. “Rest up. If you're strong enough, we can go home tomorrow.”

Night fell. The nurse had turned off the main lights, leaving only the small lamp by the bed. Ji-hoon lay alone in the darkness, punctuated by the dim glow of the city through the curtains.His mind wouldn't rest. He closed his eyes, trying to feel his new body. Was anything different? Was the power that moved the glass real?

He tried again. He focused on the glass of water. He concentrated with all his might, imagining the glass sliding toward him.Nothing happened.He tried until his head began to ache. Still nothing. Maybe it really was a hallucination.

Frustrated, he turned his gaze to the window curtains. The night wind made them flutter slightly. Without meaning to, a wish formed in his mind: If only those curtains were closed tight.

Then, something subtle happened. It wasn't the curtains moving, but a strange sensation around him. Like a faint vibration in the air, an extension of his own perception. He could ‘feel’ the folds of the curtain, its weight,

 how it hung from the rod. He didn’t see it or touch it; he just knew it.

And with that knowledge came a tiny spark of control.With a focus that was delicate, not forced, he ‘pushed’ that feeling toward the curtain.

The hanging fabric slowly—very slowly—began to close. As if caught in a breeze that wasn't there.

Ji-hoon held his breath. This was different from moving the glass. This was more like… feeling the space and the objects within it, then giving them a slight nudge. Telekinesis? But not just lifting things. It was more like manipulating the environment.

[Ability activation detected. Classification: Psionic Telekinesis (Variant). Estimated Level: 1. Further analysis required.]

The system voice returned, startling him. But this time, it felt different. The voice didn’t seem entirely alien anymore. There was a trace of… another consciousness? Or perhaps, it was part of the ‘soul fusion’ process.

“Who are you?” he asked again, this time more boldly in his thoughts.There was no direct answer. Instead, an ‘impression’ flowed into his mind. Not words, but an image: two lights, one bright and stable, the other dim and flickering, slowly merging into a single, whole sphere of light.

And a single piece of information: [Goal: Survival. Method: Adaptation.]Then, silence.Ji-hoon sat frozen. Adaptation. Survival. It made sense. Whatever entity or system was inside him seemed intent on ensuring his survival in this new world. And the way to do that was to merge the two souls—Ji-hoon and Min-jae—and help him develop the necessary abilities.Telekinesis. Level 1.

This wasn’t a heroic power that would change everything instantly. But it was a beginning. Something real. Something he could use, perhaps, to stay alive.

With a mix of fear and hope, Ji-hoon made his choice. He would re-enroll in the Hunter Academy. Not just to fulfill family expectations or find Min-jae’s father, but for himself—the Kang Ji-hoon stranded in a foreign world.

 There, he could learn about his power, about this world, and perhaps find a clue about the mysterious voice in his head.

He looked at the blue folder on the table. It no longer looked like a threat. It looked like a ticket. A ticket to the truth.As he finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with white light, echoing voices, and the shadow of a man in glasses—Dr. Kang Min-soo—staring at him from behind a portal pulsing with unknown energy.

And somewhere deep within the Ouroboros Research Division, a monitor connected to an energy detector suddenly recorded a faint pulse. Its frequency matched a dimensional signature they had been searching for for a long time. A scientist in the control room gasped and immediately reached for the phone.

“Director? We’ve detected something. At the Chrono Vanguard family hospital. It’s… identical to Dr. Kang’s signal.”
Ji-hoon woke up the next morning with sunlight piercing through the gap in the curtains. His mind was clearer. The decision was made.When he was ready to leave, Uncle Dae-hyun was waiting with a car. The drive to the Kang family residence was spent in a comfortable silence.

The house was massive and modern, located in an elite district. Ji-hoon felt like an intruder as he stepped inside. Everything felt luxurious yet cold. There were no warm memories of Ji-hoon’s attached to this place, only Min-jae’s memories, which felt like a movie watched from a distance.His room on the second floor was spacious and tidy. There were bookshelves filled with textbooks on Gate theory and monsters, several sports trophies, and an old photo of himself with his father on the desk.

Ji-hoon approached the photo. Dr. Kang Min-soo was smiling, his hand on a young Min-jae’s shoulder. There was pride in the father's eyes. Looking at it, Ji-hoon felt a deep longing—an emotion clearly originating from the remnants of Min-jae within him.

“I will find out what happened to you,” he whispered to the photo. It was a promise to Min-jae, and to himself.He turned toward the window overlooking the backyard. In the distance, beyond the fence, he could see the tops of Seoul’s skyscrapers. But which Seoul? The city looked similar, yet different. There were strange tower structures emitting a bluish light—communication towers for the Hunter network, according to Min-jae’s memory.His new life had truly begun.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrated. Not a call, but a notification from a specialized messaging app used by Hunters and academies.Message from: Hunter Academy - Admissions.Subject: Re-enrollment Confirmation and Medical Exam.

Content: Kang Min-jae, your re-enrollment has been accepted. Please report for a medical exam and talent re-evaluation at the Academy on: Friday, 09:00. Location: Administration Building, 3rd Floor. Please bring your ID and the completed forms.

Ji-hoon’s heart hammered against his ribs. Friday. That was only two days away.He stood before the large mirror in his room, staring at the foreign face that was now his own.

“Alright, Min-jae. Or Ji-hoon. Or… us,” he muttered. “We’ll face this together.”In the mirror’s reflection, for a fleeting second, his eyes seemed to emit a faint, shimmering blue glow. Then, it was gone.

The preparation had begun. The Gate to adventure—and danger—had opened.