If Jin Yeong had known the world would end today, he would've stayed in bed, cocooned in his threadbare blanket, dreaming of a life less gray. But the universe didn't send memos, and his alarm didn't care about fate.
It screamed at him at 6:30 AM, a shrill, relentless beep-beep-beep that clawed through the haze of sleep. Jin groaned, flopping an arm over his face, as if he could block out reality itself. The air in his cramped Seoul apartment was chilly, sneaking through the cracked window like an uninvited guest. He yanked the blanket higher, muffling the sound, but the alarm was merciless.
Beep. Beep. BEEP.
"Fine," he muttered, smacking the snooze button with more force than necessary. The cheap plastic clock wobbled on his nightstand, threatening to topple into the pile of unwashed laundry below. Five more minutes. Just five. As if five minutes could rewrite the monotony of his life.
But time didn't bend for Jin. It never had.
He dragged himself upright, the mattress creaking under his weight. His studio apartment was a study in neglect: a single room with peeling wallpaper, a desk cluttered with instant noodle cups, and a phone charger fraying like his patience. The air smelled of stale coffee and the faint tang of cheap detergent. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the weight of another day.
The clock blinked 6:47 AM. If he didn't move, he'd miss the bus. Again.
In the bathroom, Jin faced his reflection in the chipped mirror. Messy black hair fell into tired brown eyes. His face was forgettable, the kind you'd pass on the street without a second glance. "Another day," he sighed, splashing cold water on his skin. It stung, but it woke him up. He threw on his usual—wrinkled office shirt, black slacks, shoes scuffed from too many commutes. His suit jacket still bore a coffee stain from last week, a badge of his apathy.
The hallway outside his apartment buzzed with the usual chaos: flickering fluorescent lights, a neighbor's TV blaring morning dramas, the faint whiff of cigarette smoke. Jin locked his door and stepped into the city's pulse.
Seoul was already alive, its streets a blur of motion. Salarymen in crisp suits, women in sharp pencil skirts, students hunched under backpacks—everyone moved with purpose, while Jin felt like a ghost drifting through their world. At the bus stop, he shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the cracked pavement. The other commuters stood in silence, eyes glued to phones or lost in their own thoughts. No one noticed him. No one ever did.
The bus screeched to a stop, its air brakes hissing like an exasperated sigh. It was packed, as always. Jin squeezed inside, wedged between a man reeking of cheap aftershave and a woman engrossed in a makeup tutorial on her phone. He gripped the handrail, his knuckles whitening as the bus lurched forward.
Through the window, the city blurred past—gray skyscrapers, neon signs flashing promises of better lives, better selves. Work harder. Be more. Jin caught his reflection in the glass: a pale, hollow version of himself, just another face in the crowd. His chest tightened. Was this it? Was this all his life would ever be?
A snippet of conversation broke through his thoughts.
"Did you see that MMA fighter on the news? Broke another record."
"Guy's a beast. Some people are just born to stand out."
Jin's lips twitched, a bitter edge to his thoughts. Born to stand out. Right. And then there were people like him—born to blend in.
His stop came too soon. He stepped off, melting into the stream of commuters, and headed toward the office. It was a soul-sucking place, a maze of identical cubicles under flickering fluorescent lights. The hum of printers and the clack of keyboards formed a dull symphony, punctuated by the occasional phone ring. Jin sank into his chair, his monitor glowing with spreadsheets that meant nothing to him. Numbers. Reports. A life reduced to data.
Around him, his coworkers buzzed with small talk.
"Drinks tonight?"
"Can't. Overtime."
"Lame. Next time, then."
Jin didn't join in. No one invited him. He scrolled through his phone at lunch, chewing on convenience store kimbap, the rice sticking to his throat. His life wasn't terrible—it just wasn't anything. It was a flatline, a gray hum of existence. And maybe that was worse than misery.
Then, a sound shattered the monotony.
It started as a low hum, like a distant swarm of bees. Jin frowned, glancing at the AC vent above. Another malfunction? But the hum grew louder, vibrating in his bones. His monitor flickered. So did every screen in the office. Phones, clocks, lights—everything dimmed, then went black.
The world stopped.
No car horns. No chatter. Not even the whisper of wind outside. The silence was suffocating, pressing against Jin's chest like a physical weight.
Then, a voice.
It wasn't human. It didn't come from a speaker or a device. It was everywhere—inside his head, in the air, in the walls.
"You've had it easy, haven't you?" it said, cold and amused. "No real threats. No true hardship. Just the slow, crawling march of existence."
Jin's breath hitched. His coworkers froze, eyes wide, searching for the source.
"Life was never meant to be so… dull," the voice continued, a mocking edge to its tone. "So, here's a gift. Something to wake you up."
A blue screen flickered into existence before Jin, floating in the air like a hologram. He blinked, heart pounding, unsure if he was losing his mind.
[ Status Window ]
Name: Jin Yeong
Class: None
Skill: [Limitless Weapon Mastery]
The words pulsed with an eerie glow, heavy with intent. Jin stared, his mouth dry. Limitless Weapon Mastery? What did that even mean? No power surged through him. No strength flooded his veins. He felt the same—small, ordinary, utterly unchanged.
Around him, chaos erupted. His coworkers gasped, some laughing, some trembling.
"I can control fire!" a woman shouted, flames dancing in her palm.
"My skin—it's like steel!" a man marveled, tapping his arm with a metallic clang.
Jin's stomach twisted. Their gifts were tangible, extraordinary. His? A vague promise of something he didn't understand. He clenched his fists, the screen's glow mocking him. What was he supposed to do with this?
The voice returned, dripping with menace. "Well? Are you satisfied with your gifts?"
The air thickened, pressing against Jin's lungs. His pulse thundered in his ears.
"Then let's make this interesting," the voice purred. "Good luck."
A sharp chime pierced the silence, and a new screen appeared.
[ First Trial: Survive for 24 Hours. ]
The lights above exploded in a shower of sparks. Windows shattered, glass raining down like jagged tears. The air pulsed with raw energy, vibrating with a hunger Jin couldn't name. Outside, a guttural roar shook the streets—deep, primal, alive.
A scream tore through the office, high and desperate.
Jin's heart slammed against his ribs. He stumbled to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor. The world he'd known—gray, predictable, suffocating—was gone.
And something was coming.