“Why do you look like that?”
Seeing Sihyeon make a grim expression after hearing the name of his class, the boy tilted his head. Faced with that clearly confused look, Sihyeon let out a sigh, thinking there was no way the boy could understand how he felt.
Ordinary was better. He didn’t want to stand out. But with an ability like that, it would be impossible not to stand out. No matter what limitations were attached to it, the sheer rarity of a copy ability wouldn’t change.
It could copy any skill. That meant he could even temporarily become a Healer or a Buffer. Unable to even imagine the ripple effects that fact would bring, Sihyeon bit his lip and swallowed uneasily.
There’s no way they’d reveal it to everyone like during the test… right?
Sihyeon still remembered the dozens of eyes that had been fixed on him when his class was revealed on stage. If they were going to announce his Copy class the same way—shouting it out loud for the entire school to hear—then really…
“Geez. I was expecting more of a ‘Waaah—!’ or a ‘What?!’ kind of reaction, but your expression is pretty dull. Is it because the ability’s weak?”
The voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back. Scratching his neck, Sihyeon raised his gaze and looked at the boy. Weak? Just moments ago, he had been worrying about the consequences of a Copy ability. And now it was weak? A hollow laugh slipped out.
“It’s not that.”
“It totally looks like it is.”
“I said it’s not.”
As Sihyeon corrected him with a slight frown at the boy’s dejected expression, the boy shrugged and casually slung an arm over Sihyeon’s shoulders. It was an incredibly natural gesture.
“Well, I guess it could seem underwhelming. It’s fine, it’s fine. I get it! Everyone has their own preferences, right? You can just choose the other one to be whatever ability you want.”
Thump, thump! The boy patted his back as he spoke cheerfully, flashing a refreshing grin. True to his sociable nature, he treated Sihyeon like a friend of ten years. Letting out a small groan from the back pats, Sihyeon replayed the words he had almost overlooked—and his eyes widened.
“…What did you just say?”
Thinking he had misheard, he straightened up and asked. The boy, who had stopped patting his back, answered plainly.
“I said you can choose the other one.”
So he hadn’t misheard.
“The other one?”
“Ah… didn’t I explain that?”
At Sihyeon’s questioning tone, the boy scratched his cheek.
“I’m a Dual.”
“……”
It felt like hearing a childhood friend of ten years suddenly say, “I’m transferring schools,” the day before summer break. Staring at the boy in shock, Sihyeon watched as he simply grinned.
Sihyeon felt like crying.
“Ha…”
Letting out a sigh, he dragged a hand down his face. Not even knowing the reason, the boy patted him and tried to comfort him, saying life was just like that. For a moment, Sihyeon felt like telling him he had lived six years longer—but soon realized what was the point, and exhaled weakly.
How could someone be this unlucky?
Copy alone was already overwhelming, and now on top of that, Dual?
“But then why didn’t the tester react…?”
Was it because Copy was a new class? As the question surfaced, Sihyeon muttered to himself before running a hand through his hair. It wasn’t something he could solve by thinking alone. Even if he grabbed “Kang Sihyeon” and told him to use Enhancement, it wouldn’t turn into some “copy Enhancement and output Enhancement” situation. Whether Copy or Dual, in the end, they were all his abilities.
“…This isn’t helping.”
“Hey! That hurts!”
As Sihyeon brushed off the boy’s hand from his shoulder, the boy clutched his chest dramatically. Watching him with a look of disbelief, Sihyeon stayed silent until the boy changed the subject.
“Then should I continue explaining?”
Sihyeon hadn’t yet heard the details of what Copy could do or what its limitations were. When he nodded, the boy smiled brightly and continued.
“Copy. Just like the name says, it lets you replicate one skill from another class and use it exactly as it is. It sounds amazing, but it’s actually a pretty tricky ability.”
“Tricky?”
“Yeah. Just because you take a skill doesn’t mean your body changes to match the original user, right? So any skills that require specific physical abilities as a condition can’t be used, even if you copy them. For example, even if you copy a skill that uses a greatsword, you wouldn’t be able to use it since you can’t even lift one. Look at these skinny arms! What did you even do to my body?”
“……”
That made sense—but the added complaint made Sihyeon frown. As the boy sniffled while grabbing his arm, Sihyeon compared it to his own.
Sure enough, the boy—meaning the original Kang Sihyeon—had more weight on him than Sihyeon did. Only then did Sihyeon recall how, right after possessing the body, he had shut himself in his room without even eating. With that clear evidence, he had nothing to say.
“…Stop messing around and keep explaining.”
Pushing the boy’s hand away again, Sihyeon spoke. The boy, still looking at his now-thin arm with a somewhat wistful expression, reluctantly lowered his hand.
“Anyway, that’s the first limitation. You have to copy skills you can actually use for them to be effective. Well, it’s not really much of a limitation. The real restrictions start from the second one.”
“The second?”
“Yeah. You can copy any skill—but only ones you’ve personally seen with your own eyes. Watching a video doesn’t count. It has to be something you’ve directly witnessed. And third, once you’ve copied a skill, you can’t copy it again until 15 days have passed.”
“How long does a copied skill last?”
“Ten minutes from the moment you use it.”
That was shorter than expected. Only ten minutes, followed by a 15-day cooldown. Still, considering the variety of skills he could copy, it didn’t feel excessively restrictive.
“And fourth—you can only copy up to three abilities per day. So… I’d prefer if you kept this a secret.”
“…I heard that all information about abilities gets recorded in the registration device. Is it even possible to keep it secret?”
Recalling something he had heard in passing, Sihyeon asked. The boy, who had looked at him as if the answer were obvious, suddenly tapped his fist into his palm.
“Ah, right—you didn’t learn Awakened education, so you wouldn’t know. Awakened students learn the basics in middle school. Hmm… then you must not know a lot, huh?”
That was obvious. Even when he first heard about Mir Military Academy, he had to search the internet in confusion. After that, things like Awakened, marks, classes… he had struggled through countless unknowns. As he frowned at the memory, the boy quickly added that it wasn’t intentional before continuing.
“The registration device literally just records. And the information recorded in it can’t be viewed unless you’re of the same class. It responds to the Awakening Mark. So unless someone of the same class leaks it, the information won’t get out.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Since Copy is a new class, there won’t be anyone else with the same class. So you can hide it as much as you want. If you ever have to explain your ability, don’t go into too much detail. You never know what might happen.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Sihyeon nodded and replied curtly, the boy gave a faint smile and tilted his head back, as if he had nothing more to explain. Closing his eyes, he fell silent. The space grew quiet.
Sihyeon didn’t mind the silence. It felt familiar—like his own skin. As he let out a slow, languid breath, the stillness stretched on—until a voice broke it.
“…Hey.”
At the boy’s careful voice, Sihyeon turned his head. The boy was still looking up at the sky—or what passed for one. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. The long breath sounded almost like a sigh.
“I said it was mine, but… actually, it’s your body now.”
“……”
The boy fell silent again. His eyes remained closed, his expression unreadable. Unable to guess what he was thinking or feeling, Sihyeon’s gaze darkened.
There were two victims of this sudden possession.
Himself—and the boy.
But if one had to say who suffered more, it was undeniably the boy. Wetting his lips, Sihyeon prepared to speak.
It’s clearly your body, so why are you saying it’s mine—
Just as he was about to say that—
“I can’t go back to that body anymore.”
His breath caught.
The boy, no longer playful or cheerful, spoke seriously—and Sihyeon’s breathing stopped. The boy, who had spoken calmly, straightened his head and opened his eyes. Slowly lifting his eyelids, his blue eyes met Sihyeon’s gaze.
Their eyes locked—and Sihyeon’s chest tightened.
What are you saying? That I took your body? Or that you—
The unspoken question lingered in his mouth. Biting his lip, Sihyeon swallowed the bitter taste. His throat felt tight, his words blocked.
He knew this feeling well.
Guilt.
The growing weight of guilt pressed down on his heart. Just as it began to feel like it was controlling even his breathing—
“…So if possible, I hope you’ll cherish my people. I don’t regret choosing to come here, but when I see them through you….”
The boy’s lips moved, but no words came out. Watching him, Sihyeon replayed his words—and his eyes trembled.
“What did you just….”
Fragments of unprocessed information began to click together in Sihyeon’s mind like pieces of a puzzle.
Kang Sihyeon had spoken in fragments, abruptly starting and stopping—but Sihyeon was quick to catch on. From their conversation and what he had learned of the boy’s personality, he could infer one thing.
And that inference—the truth he was now certain of—was something Sihyeon found impossible to understand or accept.
Slowly, Sihyeon opened and closed his eyes, then stared at the boy.
“…Was it you?”
The one who brought him here. The one who revived him in another body after the accident. The one who took “himself” away from him—and in doing so, took “you” away from yourself.
All of it.
Was it because of that damn “choice” you mentioned?
As each piece fell into place, Sihyeon bit his lip after asking. The boy smiled instead of answering, then slowly opened his mouth—
Bzzzt—
At that exact moment, a strange sound came from Sihyeon’s body. Like flickering light, his form blurred in and out. Startled, Sihyeon looked at the boy.
As Sihyeon seemed to fade, the boy reached out—but his hand passed straight through him. Watching that, the boy let out a hollow laugh.
“Looks like it’s time for you to go.”
“Wait—!”
At Sihyeon’s shout, the boy gave an ambiguous smile and took a step back.
“…Take care, Yoo Sihyeon.”
Sihyeon’s pupils shook.
“Kang—!”
Click.
Like a call being disconnected, Sihyeon vanished.
“……”
Left alone in an instant, the boy reached out toward where Sihyeon had disappeared. His hand clenched at empty air. Staring at his hand with sunken eyes, he recalled Sihyeon just before he vanished and let out a faint, powerless laugh.
He must have been trying to call his name.
Thud. Collapsing onto the ground, the boy lay there and stared into the dark, skyless world. It was silent. Empty. In a space devoid of warmth, he faced the void and slowly spoke.
“…I don’t regret it.”
He repeated the words he had said countless times. Closing his eyes, his dry lips parted again.
See you next time, Yoo Sihyeon.
The words he couldn’t say to the disappearing Yoo Sihyeon lingered in Kang Sihyeon’s mouth.
