The White Room: Birth of a Legend

Since I had some free time, I decided to visit the old man's library. When I entered, I found him deeply engrossed in a book. Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, *"What are you reading, old man?"* 

He glanced at me with annoyance. *"Seems school hasn't improved your manners!"* 

I ignored him and peeked at the book's cover—it had illustrations of werewolves and vampires. The book looked strange yet intriguing, so I leaned in closer, trying to read the title. But the text was faded, blending into dark shadows. 

I shut the book and hid it, then smirked. *"I thought you were too old for these fairy tales!"* 

He looked at me with the wisdom of a sage. *"My boy, there's no smoke without fire, and no myth without an origin."* 

Then, in a hushed tone, as if warning me of an unseen danger, he added, *"Some stories are told to warn us, not to entertain… and this book is one of them."* 

I brushed him off and went back to my own reading—no, not an anatomy book (I'd finished every anatomy text in this library a year ago). Instead, I picked up an old, forbidden book titled *"The Prince."* 

Its author, Niccolò Machiavelli, understood power better than anyone. His book was banned and despised by many… yet kings, tyrants, and CEOs studied it closely. 

Here are a few of his principles: 

1. **"Fear is reliable: It's better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."** Respect paired with fear lasts longer. 

2. **"Power waits for no courtesy: He who wishes to be obeyed must know how to command."** Hesitate, and you'll be devoured. Authority isn't requested—it's imposed. 

3. **"Never trust eternal gratitude: Men forget their father's death faster than the loss of their inheritance."** Money moves people more than blood ever could. 

Though I acknowledged these principles, my mind drifted back to the old man's talk of werewolves and vampires. This world wasn't exactly like my past one, but the idea of monsters here seemed absurd. 

*…Unless they're real?* 

I shrugged. *"No point worrying about something I might never face."* 

--- 

Time flew, and soon I was in high school. 

In the white room, a month after defeating the faceless monster, a new creature appeared—but this one was *radically* different. 

It wasn't just its appearance—though it now stood two meters tall, with bulging muscles and veins coiled like snakes. No, the biggest change was the **black aura** surrounding it. That aura multiplied its physical strength tenfold and gave its strikes a razor-sharp edge, as if its fists were blades. 

It lunged at me like a madman. I dodged, but the moment its fists touched the ground, a **shockwave of black energy** erupted, slicing me into pieces before I could react. 

I woke up in bed, drenched in sweat, gasping as if resurrected from death. 

I checked the mirror. How had I changed over the years? Jet-black hair that seemed to absorb light, eyes like voids, and sharp, cold features. At sixteen, I stood 190 cm tall with a physique too muscular for my age. 

As I got ready for school, I couldn't stop thinking about that **black aura**. *Do supernatural forces exist in this world?* Apart from the white room (which I assumed was the price of my reincarnation), I'd never encountered anything paranormal. 

*"Doesn't matter… I need to focus on beating it."* 

A scream echoed from a dark alley. 

*"Should I interfere or ignore it?"* I sighed and walked toward the sound. *"The smell of blood…"* 

Moving silently, I froze at the horrific sight: 

A massive, brown-furred **werewolf** was tearing into a woman's neck. Her tearful eyes met mine, pleading, *"Save me… please!"*—her last words before the beast finished her. 

It tossed her corpse aside and turned to me, its yellow eyes blazing with madness. Then it charged on all fours, claws aimed at my throat! 

*"Slow and predictable,"* I thought, evading smoothly. 

Years of **jiu-jitsu** training kicked in. I steadied my breathing, analyzing its movements. *"Every attack has an opening…"* 

When it pounced again, I noticed its hind legs tilted slightly left before each strike. I waited, then sidestepped, grabbing its right arm in a circular motion (like a *Kuzushi* throw in judo) and slamming it face-first into the pavement. 

It rose instantly, enraged. 

This time, I used *Ashi Harai* (a sweeping foot technique) to trip it again. Sensing its growing fury, I decided to end it. As it tried to bite, I leaned back (like a *Mawashi* karate dodge) and delivered a precise side kick to its front knee. 

***Crack.*** The joint dislocated. 

The werewolf howled in agony, but I didn't let up. *Machiavelli was right—fear is the best weapon.* 

But as I stood over the beast, a chilling realization hit me: 

*"If werewolves are real… what else is out there?"*