The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill

Jin woke with a sharp inhale.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.

The room was dark, lit only by slivers of moonlight through a cracked window. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and the silence pressed in heavy, like the calm before a storm.

He sat up slowly. His back ached, his mouth was dry, and his limbs felt like someone had swapped them with lead.

Was it a dream?

The fight. The seed. The portals. Seo. Aestros.

It all felt too surreal, too distant—like a fever memory clinging to the edges of his mind.

Jin rubbed his face with both hands, trying to blink the haze away. The classroom was still intact, though rough around the edges. The door creaked softly as the wind outside nudged it open just a bit.

He reached into his inventory, more out of habit than thought, and pulled out the bottle of water he’d stashed earlier. The familiar tug of the system flickered as the item materialized in his hand. The bottle was cold, real.

He twisted the cap and drank deep, barely stopping to breathe. His stomach growled next, sharp and sudden.

Right. He hadn’t eaten.

He reached in again and pulled out an energy bar. It was half-melted, but he didn’t care. He unwrapped it in two quick motions and took a bite, chewing slowly.

That was when he saw it.

The seed.

Still sitting there in the corner of his inventory, faintly pulsing with a soft green light. It was small, but its presence carried weight. Not imagined. Not dreamed.

Real.

Jin let out a breath and leaned back against the wall, staring at it for a long moment.

It was all true.

The fight. The win. The cost.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, the bar forgotten in his hand. But eventually, he pulled the seed out.

It felt warm. Not hot. Not alive. Just... present.

Unlike the string of fate, which had left him with more questions than answers, this—this felt like something he could use. Something he could choose.

He stood up, pocketed the bar, and walked out of the room.

The hallway was quiet, but not dead. Somewhere, he could hear faint movement—shuffling feet, a door opening, a muffled voice. The recruits were probably awake by now. Seul was probably still keeping watch over them.

Jin didn’t stop. He kept walking until he was outside.

The school courtyard was bathed in moonlight, the broken concrete and jagged edges softened by the glow. A soft breeze stirred the debris.

Near the gate, Echo stood with his back to the building, one hand casually flicking one of his new disks into the air and catching it again. His other hand rested loosely on his hip, and his eyes swept the area every so often.

The disk whirled again, slicing through the air before returning to his hand in a clean arc.

Jin walked over.

Echo noticed him and grinned. "Well look who’s alive."

"Barely," Jin muttered, stretching his arms overhead with a groan.

"You were out all day," Echo said, catching the disk mid-spin. "Figured you’d sleep through the night too."

"Didn’t mean to. Guess I needed it."

"Yeah, no kidding." Echo flicked the disk again, this time letting it hover briefly before snapping it back with a twitch of his fingers. "Feels weird being out here now. Last night... felt like the whole world was cracking apart."

"It kinda was," Jin said, stepping beside him.

They stood there in silence for a moment, watching the faint glimmer of stars overhead. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

"Tomorrow makes three weeks," Echo said suddenly.

Jin blinked. "Since the system dropped?"

"Yeah." Echo spun the disk again. It circled out, caught the wind, and buzzed faintly before he pulled it back. "Three weeks of waking up not knowing what comes next. Monsters, quests, glitches, whatever. Wonder what the system’s got lined up next."

"Nothing good," Jin said. "That’s probably a safe bet."

Echo gave a soft chuckle. "Well, we’re still here. Guess that counts for something."

Jin held up the seed.

Echo turned to look, his expression shifting slightly.

"That it?"

Jin nodded.

"Gonna plant it?"

"I was thinking about it," Jin said. "I don’t know what it’ll do. But I know it’s something we might need."

"Then do it," Echo said without hesitation. "Whatever edge we can get? We take it. No one’s pulling punches anymore. Not the system, not whatever else is out there."

Jin stepped forward, crouching near a patch of earth at the edge of the courtyard where the stone had been blasted away. It wasn’t much—just a sliver of soil—but enough.

He held the seed for a moment, then placed it carefully into the ground and pressed his palm against the dirt.

The system pinged.

[Planting Failed: Sunlight Required to Awaken Lifebound Origin]

Jin blinked.

He stared at the message for a second before he snorted. "Of course."

Echo leaned over, reading it. "Makes sense, honestly. Tree and all."

Jin sat back, brushing dust from his hand. "Guess it’s waiting until morning."

"Guess so."

The silence returned, a little easier this time. Calmer.

Echo twirled the disk again, slower now. "Think this is just how it’s gonna be from now on?"

Jin looked up.

"Quest after quest," Echo said. "One system challenge after another. No breaks. No real stops. Just... survival."

Jin didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to.

The weight of it was already there. In the silence. In the seed. In the sky overhead.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think it is."

They stood there for a while, letting that truth settle.

Then Jin said, "Go get some rest. You’ve been up long enough."

Echo looked at him, then nodded once. "Yeah. Alright."

He stepped back, pausing for just a second.

"Thanks," he said.

Jin nodded. "See you in the morning."

Echo turned and disappeared into the building, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

Jin looked down at the dirt where the seed waited.

Then up at the stars again.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel afraid of tomorrow.

Not entirely.

The courtyard was quiet now, the kind of quiet that made you think too much. The seed rested in his hand, warm in a way that didn’t make sense—like it remembered something he didn’t.

It hadn’t done anything. No glow, no hum. But it still felt alive.

He turned it slowly in his palm, watching how the moonlight caught on its faintly textured surface. Whatever it was, it wasn’t ordinary. It never had been.

But still... nothing.

Jin sighed.

It wasn’t time yet.

He pulled up the system screen, fingers slower than usual, and slid the seed back into his inventory. The warmth faded the moment it vanished, not gone, just waiting. His hand hovered there a moment longer, empty again.

A breeze passed through the courtyard. It stirred the edges of broken paper near the walls and slipped between the fractured stones underfoot. The air had cooled further, but not in a way that bit. It was the kind of cold that simply asked you to be still.

The moon hung high now, a little past its apex. Several hours must have passed since Echo had gone inside.

Jin hadn’t realized how much time had slipped by.

But he hadn’t moved.

Even after sleeping through the day and deep into the night, he didn’t feel rested. Or more accurately, he didn’t feel like he should be tired, and yet he was. Deeply, relentlessly so. Not a fatigue of the body, but of something older. Something carved beneath the skin.

It felt like whatever kept him standing earlier during the battle had finally stopped.

He shifted slightly, easing the weight off one leg, trying to pretend his body wasn’t sagging under its own quiet ache.

His eyes drifted toward the sky.

The stars above were clearer than they had been in days. The smog from earlier battles had blown away, letting the constellations breathe again. Somewhere off to the south, faint cloud cover moved slow and steady across the horizon, not threatening—just there.

Jin’s mind wandered.

Tomorrow, once the quest window officially closed, he’d reconnect with his blade. The cracked katana was tucked away safely in his inventory, familiar even from behind a screen. He’d use Weapon Bonding, return to that strange mental space the system pulled him into. That other place.

The same one he’d touched just before Gugwe-mok’s final form rose.

He didn’t know what he’d find—if Muramasa would speak again, or if the spirit would even appear at all. But he had to try. He couldn’t let that connection vanish. Not after everything.

He remembered the voice so clearly.

"Just when I was starting to like you."

It had been sardonic, disappointed, real. The words had stayed with him, longer than any threat or praise.

That sting had driven him harder than any system prompt.

If Muramasa had started to see something in him... then it meant Jin wasn’t imagining this path. There was more. Something to prove—not to the system, not even to his team, but to himself.

He breathed out slowly. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed.

His vision blurred slightly at the edges. The stars shimmered overhead.

Okay.

Maybe he was tired after all.

He tilted his head back and let the sky fill his gaze, letting the chill of the night wrap around him without resistance. His thoughts slowed. His pulse evened out.

And then—

For just a moment, he felt like he was floating.

Not like battle-high, not like drifting in dreams. Something else. Lighter. Like the gravity of the last three weeks had slipped away, and he was only now noticing how much it had weighed him down.

His eyelids sagged. His breathing slowed.

And through the haze—

He saw her.

A figure crossing the far end of the courtyard.

Quiet.

Steady.

Alone.

He didn’t recognize her right away. The silhouette was faint against the moonlit rubble, no brighter than the shadows around it. But the way she moved—measured, deliberate—was unmistakable.

Seul.

It was Seul.