"Turning back time, huh…?"
Itsuki sat cross-legged on the cold floor, bathed in the pale light of his frozen monitor. His voice cracked through the silence.
"Damn it… alright." His fists clenched. "I'll accept. I don't care what you do to me. Send me back."
Another pause. One heartbeat. Then—
"As you wish."
That was the last thing he heard.
And then the tearing began.
His body twisted. Reality unraveled. Something pulled at him—not with hands, but with force itself. He didn't fall, didn't rise, didn't move in any way that made sense. It felt like being shredded from the inside out—limbs unspooling, bones grinding like clock gears, his skin flickering like dying pixels.
He tried to scream, but even his voice was stripped away.
Then came the dark.
And silence again.
He awoke with a gasp and a scream.
"AHHHHH!"
His lungs burned. His throat felt raw. Sweat slicked his body like he'd been dragged through boiling water.
Itsuki sat up fast, heart thundering in his chest.
Where—?
The ceiling above him wasn't his.
It was wooden. Cracked, discolored, and swaying slightly with the wind. A lantern flickered gently to one side, hanging from a rusted hook. The air smelled of old straw, wet wood, and something earthy—like herbs, dust, and dried blood.
"What the hell—?"
He stumbled to his feet, legs shaking like wet noodles. His hands reached out to steady himself on a warped wooden dresser.
This room… it looked ancient.
No wires. No outlets. No fan. No posters. Just bare essentials: a straw bed, a chipped ceramic basin, and an old cloak draped over a hook.
He staggered to the only window and shoved it open.
And what he saw made his blood run cold.
Mountains—tall, jagged things veiled in clouds—circled a lush valley far below. The sky was hazy with smoke from chimneys that rose out of traditional wooden houses. He saw people in robes—actual martial arts robes—practicing in a courtyard. A bald man broke a stone with his palm. Children balanced on spears. A woman leapt onto a roof, sword gleaming at her hip.
Itsuki blinked.
Rubbed his eyes.
Blink.
"…No way."
He backed away from the window and fell onto the straw mattress behind him.
"Wait… This is… Murim?"
The word rolled off his tongue with disbelief. He wasn't a man of many hobbies, but even he knew the genre. He'd seen the manhwa panels. Read the webnovels. A world of martial arts clans, forbidden techniques, qi cultivation, hidden sects, and blade-drawing duels on moonlit rooftops.
But it wasn't a game.
This was real.
He could feel the humidity in the air, the creaking of the boards, the weight of his own heartbeat pounding in his chest.
"This isn't Tokyo," he whispered.
No job interview.
No cheap PC.
No tie.
No walls.
No future he recognized.
He took slow breaths, trying not to panic.
Okay. Okay. Think, Itsuki. You accepted the voice. You asked to go back in time. But this… this isn't back. This is… sideways? Down? Through?
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.
"Disciple! Are you awake?" a woman's voice called out. It was sharp, older, but not unkind. "You missed morning training again!"
Training?
Disciple?
Itsuki looked down at himself—and nearly yelped again.
He wasn't wearing his suit anymore. His body was wrapped in a light martial robe, cinched at the waist with a red cloth. His skin… looked smoother. His hands… younger?
He ran to the chipped basin and looked at the murky reflection.
That face wasn't the same.
He was younger. Maybe 15 or 16. His features softer. A scar over one eyebrow. A face he'd never seen before.
They hadn't just sent him back.
They'd put him in someone else's body.
"Coming!" he called back, not knowing why.
The woman outside didn't reply, but he heard her footsteps fade.
He sat down on the bed again, head in his hands.
He was no longer Itsuki Yoshida, failed job-seeker in Tokyo.
He was someone else.
In a world where people crushed stone with bare hands and leapt across rooftops.
A Murim world.
And he had no idea how to fight.
No idea who he was supposed to be.
And worst of all?
Somewhere in this world... the price for turning back time was waiting to be collected.