My Afterlife System!

The world felt thinner, as if its solidity was fading. Reality itself seemed to waver at the edges, like an old photograph left to decay.

Jihwan exhaled slowly. His fingers twitched. The cold air around him felt sharper, almost unnatural, but his mind remained eerily calm.

[System Message: You have survived.]

The notification blinked into existence before fading into nothingness. It was an indifferent whisper, a reminder that his existence now hinged on something beyond the ordinary.

He shifted his gaze to his hand—pale, trembling slightly, but steady enough. The weight of his transformation—the power awakened in Death's Mansion—clung to him like invisible chains. He wasn't the same as before.

Another notification flickered.

[System Message: Your actions have altered the flow of fate.]

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. Fate? The system spoke as if it was an inevitable force, yet here he was, standing outside its grasp, reshaping it with every choice.

The café doorbell chimed.

Jihwan barely glanced up as a woman entered, her presence slipping into the quiet atmosphere like a shadow. She carried herself with an effortless grace, scanning the room before locking eyes with him.

She approached his table.

"You're new here," she noted, setting down her drink.

"Does it matter?" Jihwan replied, voice even.

She smirked. "Not yet. But anyone staring at their coffee like it holds the meaning of life probably needs company."

A brief silence followed. Jihwan didn't respond, merely observing. The way she spoke, the way she positioned herself—it wasn't random. This wasn't a casual encounter.

His fingers tapped lightly against the ceramic cup. "What do you want?"

Her smirk didn't waver. "Maybe I'm just curious. People who sit alone tend to have the most interesting stories."

He leaned back slightly, watching her through half-lidded eyes. "And which story are you hoping to hear?"

She tilted her head. "The truth."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered behind Jihwan's gaze—amusement? Or something colder?

"Truth is subjective," he murmured.

She was about to respond when it happened.

A ripple in the air.

Jihwan reacted instinctively. His muscles tensed, eyes sharpening just as a presence surged behind him—too fast, too precise.

The dagger gleamed under the dim light.

Jihwan moved.

He sidestepped fluidly, the blade slicing through empty space where his throat had been a second ago. His counterattack was swift—a sharp strike to the wrist. Bone cracked. The dagger clattered to the ground.

The assailant staggered back, but Jihwan was already moving.

One step forward. A sharp twist of the arm. A forceful shove.

The man hit the floor, gasping.

Jihwan crouched, gripping his collar. "Who sent you?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed the man's face. Then, suddenly—

A violent twitch. His body convulsed. His eyes rolled back, foam spilling from his lips.

Jihwan's grip tightened, but the man had already gone still.

Dead before he hit the ground.

A long silence stretched between them.

Jihwan slowly straightened. His eyes lingered on the lifeless form for a moment before shifting to the woman still seated across from him.

She sipped her drink.

"Well," she mused, "that was interesting."

Jihwan exhaled. The weight of unseen forces pressed against him once more. The game had already begun.

And there was no turning back.