Chapter 1 – The Edge of Ordinary
Alex Elwood had never considered himself special.
At seventeen, he lived the kind of life that never made headlines. Just a regular high school student in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood where lawns were trimmed, mailboxes squeaked, and houses wore the same tired expressions — clean, square, and quietly lived in. His own home sat near the end of a cul-de-sac, its paint a little faded, the fence half-repaired from last spring's storm. But it was home. Not too big, not too small. Just enough.
His adoptive parents, Mark and Sarah Elwood, had left for overseas work nearly two years ago — contract engineers in a foreign infrastructure project. They still called often and sent gifts on holidays, but their absence left a quiet gap in the household. In their stead, Alex lived with his older sister, Alice, who was now in university.
It was a decent arrangement. Alice handled the bills. Alex handled everything else.
He cooked. He cleaned. He managed shopping lists, remembered garbage day, and made sure there was always coffee in the pantry for Alice's relentless morning classes. He didn't mind. The rhythm gave him something solid — a kind of control, even if the world outside was anything but.
That evening, as golden light filtered through the thin curtains in the kitchen, Alex stood barefoot on the linoleum floor, tossing noodles in a skillet. The scent of garlic and sesame filled the space. He wore a worn t-shirt, sleeves rolled, and a grease-stained apron over gym shorts. The kitchen clock ticked softly behind him.
The front door creaked open.
"I'm home," came Alice's familiar voice.
"In the kitchen," he called back.
She stepped in a moment later, scarf still wrapped around her neck, a faint chill clinging to her coat. "Smells amazing."
He nodded toward the pan. "Stir-fried noodles with soy-glazed tofu. You've got ten minutes before it cools."
She smiled, dropped her bag on the chair, and walked into the living room to turn on the TV. Alex heard the hum of the screen and the beginning notes of a news jingle. He set the plates on the table just as Alice's voice floated in again.
"Uh… Alex? You might want to see this."
He stepped into the living room, wiping his hands on a towel.
On the screen, a serious-looking news anchor sat in front of looping footage of vibrant digital landscapes — cities of light, beasts roaming surreal plains, clouds swirling above massive towers of stone and steel.
"BREAKING: Independent tech company Gen7Tech announces launch of fully immersive VR platform. Global test for debut game World Frontier begins next month."
Alex blinked. "Gen7Tech? Who?"
Alice shrugged. "Beats me. Never heard of them."
He sat beside her on the couch, brow furrowed. The footage continued: first-person perspectives of breathtaking environments — bioluminescent forests, titanic beasts shifting through fog, a silhouette standing alone at the edge of a digital cliff.
"It looks real," he said.
"Too real."
The next segment cut to a studio analyst speaking with wide-eyed disbelief.
"What's shocking here isn't just the visuals. Gen7Tech claims their platform allows for full neural synchronization. No controller. No screen. The user's mind enters the virtual world directly. This goes beyond VR. This is—frankly—science fiction made real."
Alice's eyes narrowed. "You think that's possible?"
Alex didn't answer immediately. He was staring at the ticker at the bottom of the screen:
Access restricted. World Frontier cannot be purchased or downloaded. Trial required at Gen7Tech Center to receive hardware.
"There's no way a small company like this developed full-dive VR," he murmured.
"Unless someone's backing them," Alice offered. "Military, maybe?"
He shook his head. "Too quiet. Something like this would leak."
"Then maybe it's fake."
Alex leaned forward. "That doesn't look fake."
The logo on the screen — a silver 7 surrounded by a minimalist ring of glowing circuitry — burned itself into his memory. Clean. Precise. Unsettling.
Later that night, long after Alice had gone to bed, Alex sat at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. The lights were dim. Outside, the street was still.
He scrolled through articles, forums, and blogs. Most of the information was speculative. Gen7Tech had no public board, no investor records, and no known development history. Just a sleek website with black text on a blacker background.
"Reality is optional. Find your frontier."
That was the only message.
No contact number. No email. Just a flashing location tab: Visit your nearest Gen7Tech Center. No online registration available.
His instincts told him it was suspicious — a small company offering god-tier tech out of nowhere. No hype buildup. No early marketing. Just a global announcement and a strange entry requirement.
The next day, after school, the sky was overcast, and the air smelled faintly of rain.
Alex slung his backpack over one shoulder, earbuds in, but no music playing. His thoughts drifted back to last night's broadcast. Every step felt automatic — crossing intersections, passing shop windows — until he turned down a side street he usually ignored.
That's when he saw it.
The Gen7Tech Center.
It was smaller than he expected. Tucked into a corner lot between a shuttered bookstore and a quiet pharmacy, the building had a black-glass front and no visible signage besides the company's silver 7 logo printed on the tinted door. A small digital screen beside the entrance read:
"Trial Registration Ongoing – Limited Entry."
People were already gathered outside. A mixed crowd — some in school uniforms like him, others in casual clothes or business attire. Some were excited. Others looked tense. A few whispered nervously while checking their phones.
Alex stopped across the street and watched.
The building pulsed with mystery. No ads, no banners, no flashy trailers playing outside. Just that logo and the quiet promise of something beyond reality. He didn't plan on entering — not yet — but curiosity nudged him closer, across the street, until he stood near the edge of the crowd.
Then the front door burst open.
Everyone turned as a young man stumbled out, panting hard. He looked about twenty — messy hair, sweat soaking through his collar, eyes wide with panic. One of his sleeves was torn near the shoulder, and he cradled his arm like it had actually been hurt.
"What the hell is this!?" the man shouted, voice trembling. "What the hell is this game!?"
The crowd went silent.
He stumbled forward, pointing a shaky hand at the Gen7Tech sign. "That wasn't a simulation! That wasn't virtual reality! When that thing cut off my arm—I felt it! I felt everything! It was pain. Real pain! I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream!"
Someone in the crowd muttered, "Is he acting?"
But the man didn't stop. He stormed up to the glass, slamming a palm against it. "I'm going to sue you psychos! You said it was just a test! You said it was safe!"
A moment later, a staff member in a sleek black uniform stepped calmly outside.
"Sir," he said, voice smooth but emotionless, "you agreed to the full conditions of the simulation."
"I didn't agree to this!"
The staff's tone didn't shift. "You signed a legal waiver before entry. Clause thirty-two, subsection five: You waive all rights to litigation or criminal charges due to perceived psychological or physical harm within the simulation. All participants are briefed thoroughly beforehand."
The young man's face twisted in disbelief. "You tricked me…"
"No," the staff replied, "we showed you the door. You chose to step through it."
A low murmur spread through the crowd. Some took a step back. A few left entirely.
But Alex stood frozen.
The man's words echoed in his head.
"That wasn't a simulation… I felt everything."
He stared at the building, the dark glass reflecting his uncertain face back at him. There was no advertising. No safety assurances. No illusions.
Just a door.
And the promise that once you entered, reality—in all its pain and wonder—might never feel the same again.
The man who had screamed about his arm was quietly escorted away, still muttering under his breath. The black-suited staff disappeared behind the door, leaving behind only tension and silence.
After a few hesitant minutes, the line began to move again.
The front doors slid open without a sound.
Alex followed the group inside.
The air was cool — too cool — and carried a faint sterile scent, like antiseptic mixed with ozone. The interior was minimalist: black walls, soft lights embedded in the ceiling, and smooth white floors that gleamed with uncanny polish. It felt more like entering a futuristic lab than a gaming center.
They were guided down a narrow hallway into a small waiting chamber with rows of seats and a long counter at the front. Behind the counter, a woman in a black uniform sat, handing out slim tablets to each person.
When it was Alex's turn, she looked up with a polite, neutral expression. "Please review and sign the participation contract. You may scroll for more details."
He took the tablet. A loading screen blinked once, then displayed a wall of text.
Participation Waiver – Gen7Tech Simulation Testing (World Frontier)
Clause 5.3 – You acknowledge that sensory input within the simulation may induce intense or realistic physical sensations, including but not limited to: pain, disorientation, or emotional distress.
Clause 6.7 – By proceeding, you forfeit all rights to legal recourse for any psychological or physical effects experienced during or after gameplay.
Clause 9.1 – You agree that World Frontier is not bound by standard time perception and may operate under a non-linear time scale.
Alex's eyes paused on that last one.
Non-linear time scale?
He scrolled down. The waiver seemed deliberately vague — just enough to scare off the unprepared, but not enough to reveal anything meaningful. He didn't sign it. Not yet.
A soft chime rang through the room. Everyone looked toward a clear door that opened to reveal the testing chamber.
Inside, a single player pod sat at the center of the room.
Except it wasn't a pod.
It was just… a helmet.
Sleek and dark, with luminous lines etched into its surface. No wires. No external rig. It hovered slightly above a small cushioned platform, humming faintly like it was alive.
"Participant #14," called one of the staff. A young man — probably university age — stood and approached. He had already signed the contract. Alex watched him closely.
The staff gave a brief nod and gestured to the helmet. "Lay back. Place it over your head. Relax."
The young man obeyed, reclining onto the platform. As the helmet lowered over his head, the hum deepened to a low frequency that made Alex's bones buzz. Everyone watched silently.
Then—
One second. That was all.
Snap.
The helmet lifted.
The young man sat up with a violent jolt, ripping the helmet off and clutching his head with both hands.
"Ah—ahh!! What the hell—!! My neck—something—! It cut me!" he screamed, eyes wide, pupils dilated in horror.
A staff member calmly approached. "Sir, please relax. You have already signed the contract. Your data has been logged."
"Contract!?" the boy shouted. "I was only in there for a second!"
Alex's stomach tightened.
One second…?
He looked around. A few others were whispering. Nervous. Confused.
He stood and stepped forward, addressing the staff member directly. "Excuse me."
The man turned, his expression unreadable. "Yes?"
"That guy… he was in for, what, a second? Two seconds?" Alex asked, eyes narrowing. "Did the game even start?"
The man tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. "It started. And ended. His session lasted 1,187 seconds."
Alex did the math instantly in his head. That was about twenty minutes.
"But here—outside—it was just a blink," he said slowly.
The staff gave a slight nod. "That is because time within World Frontier flows differently from real time."
A silence settled over the room.
"How different?" Alex asked, his voice low.
The man smiled faintly. "The current compression ratio is 1:1000. One second in the real world equals approximately one thousand seconds inside the simulation. Or to put it another way—" his voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial, "—spend a thousand years in-game, and only one year will pass here."
A cold chill ran down Alex's spine.
He glanced again at the helmet. It sat still, humming softly, innocent and small — like a trap disguised as wonder.
The others around him whispered, wide-eyed.
One second equals a thousand seconds inside…
The weight of it settled over him like a second skin. What kind of game operated on that scale?
What kind of reality waited on the other side?
And more importantly—
Why would anyone create it?
Chapter 2 – The Last Step
The wait was long.
Alex sat silently as the line thinned, the once-crowded waiting chamber now quieter with every passing test.
One after another, participants stepped forward. One after another, they lay back, slipped on the helmet — and within the blink of an eye, jerked awake in panic.
Some clutched their arms. Some cried. A few vomited. The reactions varied, but the pattern was always the same:
Time in the game: less than a second in the real world.
Each time someone emerged, they brought more chaos with them.
"This isn't a game! You people are insane!"
"I was trapped in a cave—I couldn't scream—I couldn't—!"
"There were voices in my head! My own voice kept talking back to me!"
The staff remained still, mechanical in their courtesy.
"You signed the contract."
"You were made aware of the time dilation effects."
"Gen7Tech does not accept liability for psychological discomfort."
The words never changed.
Some participants stormed out. Others just sat in silence, pale and shaken, before eventually stumbling away.
And then, it was just Alex.
The last one.
The staff turned toward him, their expressions calm and unreadable.
"Participant #22," one of them said. "Are you ready to proceed?"
Alex stood. His legs felt heavy, like they were responding to something ancient and invisible — a gravity pulling him toward the chair.
He approached the counter. The woman there held out the tablet again.
"Sign here to begin your trial."
He stared at the signature box for a moment.
Then he exhaled slowly… and signed.
His name appeared in thin digital ink: Alex Elwood.
The woman took the tablet back, nodded once, and gestured toward the now-familiar testing chamber.
The door slid open.
Alex stepped through.
The room was cold.
Sterile. Dimly lit.
In the center was the helmet — still resting quietly above the padded recliner, humming with that same low frequency that buzzed in his teeth.
A single staff member waited inside. He motioned toward the seat.
"Please lie down. Relax your body and mind. When the helmet engages, you will experience brief disorientation. That is normal."
Alex didn't respond.
He sat down. Lay back.
The ceiling above him was a smooth black panel, reflecting nothing.
The staff approached with the helmet.
Alex swallowed. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Everyone came out almost immediately. Why?"
The man didn't hesitate. "They were not ready."
"For what?"
"To face themselves."
The helmet lowered, sealing over Alex's head.
Darkness.
And then—
Darkness folded in around him.
For a moment, Alex thought the helmet hadn't worked.
Then—ding!
A familiar, cheery chime rang in his ears, followed by a glowing screen floating in the blackness.
[Welcome to World Frontier]
Initializing Cognitive Sync...
Loading Beginner Tutorial Mode…
(Estimated Time Remaining: 0.01s)
Suddenly, color bled into the world.
He was no longer in the testing room.
Instead, he stood barefoot in the center of a grassy clearing surrounded by low stone walls and floating instruction panels. The sky was too blue, the clouds too slow. The grass swayed rhythmically, like it was breathing.
[TUTORIAL STARTED]
Choose Your Primary Weapon:
Three weapons hovered in midair: a staff, a dagger, and a sword.
Alex reached out, instinct guiding his hand to the sword — a simple, one-handed steel blade with a worn leather grip. As soon as he touched it, the others vanished in a shimmer of particles.
[Weapon Selected: Sword – Standard Grade]
Try attacking the training dummy.
A wooden mannequin appeared nearby.
Alex gave a tentative swing. The sword felt light — but not weightless. It had just enough resistance to feel real. He struck the dummy once, twice, then a third time with growing confidence.
[Well done!]
Next: Combat Trial – LIVE TARGET
The lighthearted tone of the tutorial vanished.
From the far edge of the field, a goblin emerged.
It was small — barely taller than Alex — with mottled green skin, long limbs, and yellow eyes that gleamed with hunger. It carried a jagged metal knife, its movements jerky but fast.
Alex gripped the sword tighter.
"Okay… I've played games before," he muttered. "This is just a test."
The goblin didn't wait.
It lunged.
Alex reacted on instinct — raising his blade, stepping back. But it was too fast.
Slash!
He didn't see the knife—only felt it.
Agony exploded through his left arm.
He screamed.
The goblin had severed his forearm with a single slice. Blood sprayed across the grass. His sword fell from numb fingers. The pain was unimaginable — hot, raw, like fire burning through nerves.
He collapsed to one knee, gasping, vision shaking.
The goblin lunged again.
This time, with a scream of rage, Alex grabbed the sword with his remaining hand and drove it upward — into the goblin's chest.
It shrieked and twisted, clawing at him as its body dissolved into golden dust.
Alex collapsed, blood gushing from his stump.
Everything tilted.
[You have died.]
GAME OVER
The screen faded.
[Respawn: Try Again?]
Alex lay in the dark void again, breath shallow.
His arm…
It was gone. And now it wasn't.
He flexed his fingers.
They responded.
He was back.
Back in the grassy field.
Sword in hand.
Goblin in the distance.
"Again," he whispered.
[Combat Trial – LIVE TARGET]
The goblin ran toward him once more — that same low growl rising in its throat.
This time, Alex didn't panic.
He sidestepped the lunge, keeping the blade low.
Slash!
The goblin's stomach opened in a spray of black-green blood. It howled and stumbled.
Alex didn't wait.
He drove the blade into its throat and twisted.
The goblin collapsed, vanishing in light.
[Target Defeated]
He exhaled hard, chest pounding. No injury. No blood.
But he barely had a second to breathe before the next challenge triggered.
[Advanced Trial: Enemy Class – "Greater Goblin"]
A taller goblin stepped forward from the fog, nearly a full head taller than Alex. Its skin was darker, more sinewed. In its hand, it carried a thick metal baton, worn and spiked at the edges.
Alex's fingers tightened around the sword.
I can do this.
The greater goblin snarled—and charged.
Alex dodged left, slashing toward its ribs.
Too slow.
The baton crashed into the side of his head.
CRACK.
White pain. Splitting. Blinding.
He hit the ground.
Vision gone.
[You have died.]
Darkness.
Again.
[Respawn: Try Again?]
Alex's hands shook. He clenched his fists. Gritted his teeth.
"Again."
The field. The sword. The goblin.
He was back to the first trial, as if punished for his failure.
He fought.
Killed.
Then faced the Greater Goblin again.
Crack.
Dead.
"Again."
Sword. Goblin. Blood. Pain.
Dead.
"Again."
No matter how many times he died, the pain never dulled.
The goblin's baton crushed ribs. Snapped bones. Shattered his jaw. He bled. He suffocated. He screamed.
But he did not give up.
Each time, his movements grew sharper. His timing more exact. He learned.
Adapted.
Not like a player…
Like a survivor.
Alex had lost count of how many times he'd died.
But the system hadn't.
[Attempts: 146]
Each time he fell, he woke up again in the same field. The same weapon in his hand. The same goblins waiting for him.
And each time, the pain was real.
Bones shattered. Flesh tore. Blood sprayed from wounds that should have left him paralyzed with fear — but he kept going. His will, honed through agony and sheer refusal to yield, became sharper than the blade he carried.
He learned to read their movements.
The first goblin's knife-hand twitched just before a lunge. The Greater Goblin dropped its shoulder before swinging. Every detail mattered. Every mistake was punished with death.
But he memorized them.
He became faster. Smarter.
More brutal.
On the 146th try, he dodged low, baited the Greater Goblin's feint, and drove the sword under its chin, up through the skull.
[Target Defeated]
He stood there, panting, dripping with sweat that felt too real for a simulation.
Then the sky darkened.
The grass withered beneath his feet.
And a new prompt blinked before him in crimson:
[FINAL TUTORIAL TEST: ELITE VARIANT – "ARCANE GOBLIN"]
From the mist beyond the clearing, it emerged.
It was larger than any before — easily over six feet tall, hunched but broad-shouldered, its gray-green skin covered in glowing blue glyphs that pulsed with energy. Its eyes radiated malice. In one hand, it held a black iron staff. In the other — crackling threads of lightning danced between its claws.
It didn't growl.
It chanted.
Alex's instincts screamed.
This one's different.
He raised his blade.
The goblin raised its hand.
BOOM!
A blast of force erupted from its palm, flinging Alex backwards like a ragdoll. He tumbled across the grass and slammed into a tree.
He coughed — blood staining his lip.
The goblin didn't advance. It didn't need to.
It simply stood back… and hurled magic.
Fire. Ice. Wind. Blades of light. It conjured them all in rhythm, never letting Alex get close. He dodged what he could, rolled beneath a burning wave of flame, and charged with everything he had.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten—
CRACK!
A bolt of lightning slammed into his chest.
He dropped.
[You have died.]
Chapter 3 – Another one
And it began again.
From the very start.
First goblin.
Greater Goblin.
Arcane Goblin.
[Attempts: 147… 183… 199…]
It became a cycle of torment.
He ran. He slashed. He dodged. He screamed. He burned. He bled.
He died.
Again and again and again.
[You have died.]
[You have died.]
[You have died.]
209 times.
But on the 210th…
Something shifted.
He didn't just fight.
He thought.
He broke down the Arcane Goblin's casting patterns — noticed the three-second lag between the chant and the actual cast. Noticed the way its staff hand moved when it prepared a lightning spell. Noticed the slight fatigue that built in its footwork after five continuous casts.
He began to predict.
He ducked under a frost spear. Rolled behind a fire ring. Closed distance with a weaving, unpredictable sprint that finally — finally — brought him within range.
The goblin snarled and raised its hand—
Alex threw his sword.
It spun once.
Twice.
And buried itself in the goblin's throat.
The creature staggered, choking on its own power. Alex didn't wait. He ran forward, leapt, grabbed the hilt with both hands, and drove it deeper.
The glyphs on the goblin's body flickered.
Then shattered like glass.
[ELITE TARGET DEFEATED]
[TUTORIAL COMPLETE]
[Exit Point Unlocked]
Alex collapsed to his knees.
His entire body was shaking. Not from fear, not even from pain — but from the sheer strain of it all. Of dying again and again. Of surviving through pure grit.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
Then a voice echoed across the field — the same gentle, sterile tone from before:
"Congratulations, Player. You have passed the Cognitive-Resilience Trial."
A portal of light opened ahead of him.
But Alex didn't move right away.
He stared at his bloodstained hands. The sword now heavy with meaning. And the field — once a simple patch of code — now a battlefield carved into his soul.
He had survived 210 deaths.
He had earned the right to live.
And now… his journey would truly begin.
Outside, the sky had dimmed to a soft amber. The walk home felt strangely distant, like he was watching someone else's legs move beneath him. The case with the helmet was tucked under one arm, light yet impossibly heavy with meaning.
He unlocked the door to the house.
Silence greeted him — familiar, grounding.
He placed the case on his desk and changed out of his sweat-damp clothes. Every motion felt surreal. The kitchen light buzzed overhead as he set water to boil, chopped vegetables, and prepared tofu — the same way he always had.
The scent of sesame oil filled the house.
Normal, he thought.
But nothing was normal anymore.
The front door creaked open.
"I'm home," Alice called, her usual tiredness in her voice.
"In the kitchen," he answered, turning off the burner.
She stepped into the room, unwrapping her scarf. "Smells great, as always."
"Your favorite," he said, plating the stir-fried vegetables with quiet focus.
They sat at the table, the meal steaming between them.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Alice, chewing a mouthful of rice, reached for the TV remote and flipped on the news.
"…ongoing debates surrounding World Frontier, the controversial full-dive simulation developed by the unknown company Gen7Tech," the anchor said. "After yesterday's surprise announcement, regional testing centers across the country were flooded with curious applicants—most of whom exited the simulation almost instantly, citing intense physical or psychological reactions."
Alex froze.
"Sources confirm that no participant has been hospitalized, but many claim the pain experienced within the simulation was indistinguishable from reality. Gen7Tech has yet to release an official statement."
Alice raised an eyebrow. "This thing's really blowing up, huh?"
Alex gave a small nod, hiding the weight behind his eyes.
She kept watching, frowning slightly. "Kind of creepy, isn't it? Who'd actually want to play something like that?"
He didn't answer.
His hands rested quietly on his lap — still remembering the sensation of a blade cutting through flesh, of fire licking across his chest, of dying again and again…
He picked up his chopsticks.
"I guess," he said softly, "it's not for everyone."
Alice chewed slowly as the news segment continued, her attention drifting from her food to the screen.
"In related developments," the anchor said, "multiple individuals are reportedly planning to file lawsuits against Gen7Tech, citing trauma, misrepresentation, and bodily harm experienced during the trial phase of World Frontier."
Alex kept his eyes down. His hand tightened slightly around his chopsticks.
"However, legal experts point out that every trial participant was required to sign a comprehensive waiver — some calling it 'deliberately predatory,' others defending it as standard practice for high-risk testing environments."
The screen cut to a pre-recorded press exchange. A female reporter stood in front of a Gen7Tech spokesperson, a man in a tailored black suit, calm and composed.
"Can you confirm whether anyone has successfully completed the trial and been given the VR headset?"
The man smiled slightly. "Due to confidentiality clauses embedded in our participant agreements, we cannot confirm or deny the success of any individual."
"So you're saying someone might have passed?"
"I'm saying we are bound by the terms of our contracts. No further comment."
The feed cut back to the studio, where the anchor's tone shifted to a mix of skepticism and concern.
"Meanwhile, online media is awash with speculation. Many predict that no one is capable — or crazy enough — to endure the kind of full-dive experience World Frontier offers. Based on data collected from over one million first-day participants worldwide, the majority of users exited the simulation in less than one second."
"Despite the backlash, analysts predict that the number of volunteers will only increase, with curiosity driving demand. After all… today was only day one."
Alice scoffed. "Over a million people, and not a single one passed?"
Alex took a quiet sip of water. "That's what they're saying."
She shook her head. "Who makes something like that? And who would be dumb enough to keep playing it after the first second?"
He didn't respond.
Across the table, the case sat quietly beneath his desk — sealed, sleek, and ordinary-looking. As though it hadn't changed him.
As though it hadn't almost killed him.
He finished his dinner in silence, the news droning softly in the background, the weight of his secret heavier than the device he'd brought home.
Chapter 4 – The First Death
The room was dark. Quiet.
Alex sat at the edge of his bed, the Gen7Tech helmet resting in his hands. It looked the same as before — matte black, smooth, unassuming. But he knew better now. It wasn't just a machine.
It was a gate.
He closed his eyes, took a breath, and slid it over his head.
A pulse of warmth. A brief flicker of weightlessness.
Then the world reformed.
No chime this time. No tutorial window. No welcoming screen.
Just… air.
Fresh air.
He stood on a grassy slope beneath a wide, cloud-scattered sky. Trees swayed gently nearby, and in the distance, mountains rolled across the horizon like waves frozen in time. The wind carried the smell of damp earth and distant rain.
There were no menus. No HUD. No background music.
Only the sound of nature — birdsong, rustling leaves, the quiet hiss of grass under his boots.
It was… beautiful.
And terrifying in its simplicity.
Alex turned slowly, taking in the scene. The forest behind him was deep and shadowed, while the open field ahead stretched far beyond what any game world should allow. It looked — and felt — like a real place. No visual seams. No repeating textures. Every leaf was unique. Every breath tasted real.
His heart swelled with awe.
This… this is the real game.
He took a cautious step forward, the soil shifting slightly beneath his weight. He half-expected a system message or NPC to appear.
Nothing did.
He walked further into the tall grass, his mind still racing. What now? Is there a quest? A marker? A safe zone?
He reached for his hip.
No sword.
His chest tightened. He checked his back, his sides. Still nothing.
Wait. The tutorial gear… it didn't transfer over?
Before the thought could fully form—
CRACKLE.
The grass ahead parted violently.
A blur shot toward him.
Something small. Low to the ground. Fast.
Alex dove sideways on instinct, hitting the earth hard. Dust filled his lungs. He scrambled to his feet just as the creature skidded to a stop and turned toward him again.
A rabbit.
Or at least… something that looked like one.
It was small — barely knee-height — with white fur, glassy black eyes, and twitching ears. But its body was tense, coiled with unnatural muscle, and its front teeth were razor sharp, glinting like carved ivory.
Alex's pulse spiked.
The rabbit charged.
He pivoted, lunged toward a fallen branch — anything to use as a weapon — but came up with only dirt.
No sword. No UI. No help.
It was already on him.
He screamed as it latched onto his calf.
Teeth tore through muscle like paper.
He kicked wildly, stumbled back, tried to crawl — but the rabbit was relentless. It leapt to his chest, sank its fangs into his throat.
The last thing he heard was his own choking breath and the frantic drumming of his heart.
[You have died.]
The words were simple.
But they rang like a sentence.
Darkness returned.
Darkness folded in.
For a moment, there was nothing.
No sound. No pain. No body.
Then—breath. A single gasp. His lungs pulled in cool air as though for the first time.
Alex jolted upright.
He was lying in the grass again. The same sky. The same forest. The same tranquil breeze brushing across his skin like nothing had ever happened.
But he remembered everything.
The blur of white fur. The teeth. The unbearable pain in his throat as the rabbit gnawed him to death.
His hands trembled.
So that's what death feels like here.
He sat up slowly, checking his body. No wounds. No blood. His clothes were intact — plain, basic fabric. No armor. No items. No sword.
Again… nothing.
He stood and backed toward the nearest tree, scanning the clearing for any sign of movement. The bushes where the rabbit had leapt from were still rustling faintly.
He didn't wait.
He turned and ran into the forest.
Within minutes, he found himself deeper among the trees. The air was cooler here, shaded and moist. Shafts of golden light filtered through the canopy above.
He stopped near a thicket of roots, trying to calm his breathing.
I need a weapon. Anything. A stick. A rock. A bone.
He scoured the forest floor, eyes darting between the leaves. Eventually, he found a broken tree branch, long and jagged — not a real weapon, but better than nothing. Nearby, a stone with one edge sharp enough to cut bark.
He crouched and held both up, weighing them in his hands.
"Maybe I can craft something…" he muttered. "There has to be a crafting system, right?"
He focused, trying to summon a menu or crafting screen. Nothing appeared. No blueprints. No list of materials. No prompts.
Only a soft flicker — a small panel blinking faintly before him.
[STATUS MENU OPENED]
Alex narrowed his eyes.
It displayed a simple interface — black background, white text, no decoration. Just the basics:
Name: Alex Elwood
Level: 1
HP: 50
MP: 5
STR: 5
END: 5
INT: 1
WILL: 2
Below the numbers, a short description hovered over each stat.
Strength (STR): Increases physical attack power and actions requiring muscle force.
Endurance (END): Increases stamina and physical defense. 1 END = +10 HP. Affects resistance and healing speed from physical ailments (bleeding, burns, broken limbs, etc.).
Intelligence (INT): Increases magic power, mana, and the speed of mental calculations. 1 INT = +5 MP. Required to learn or cast advanced spells.
Willpower (WILL): Increases magical resistance and mental resilience. Helps recover from mental debuffs (curses, daze, fear, hallucinations).
He stared at the screen for a long moment.
"That's it?"
No inventory. No item slots. No gear list. Not even a tutorial hint.
Just… numbers. Cold, honest numbers.
This world doesn't hold your hand. It just hands you pain.
He closed the screen and leaned against the nearest tree.
Okay… Strength and Endurance are all I've got right now.
No sword. No skills. No magic. No guide.
But he had one advantage: he knew the rabbit was coming.
He gripped the sharp stick tighter, eyes fixed on the edge of the trees. The world around him looked calm again — peaceful, sun-dappled, even beautiful.
But Alex knew better.
The world was a lie.
And next time, he'd be ready to bleed for every second he stayed alive.
He crept through the underbrush, eyes scanning the base of every tree.
His grip tightened on the dull stick he'd found earlier — still too short, too blunt. It wouldn't be enough. He needed something sharper. Something that could kill.
Near a gnarled old oak, he spotted it — a branch jutting from the trunk, half-broken and hanging at a downward angle. The split had exposed a jagged inner edge, sharpened naturally by weather and time.
Alex stepped up, grabbed the branch with both hands, braced his foot against the bark, and twisted.
With a loud crack, it came free — splinters biting into his palms. The end was uneven and rough, but it tapered to a sharp, cruel point.
Good enough.
The forest fell silent.
He turned — and saw it.
The rabbit.
Low to the ground. Still as stone. Its eyes locked onto his.
Then it launched forward, faster than any animal its size should move.
Alex gritted his teeth, stepped back, and raised the sharpened branch like a spear.
"Come on…"
The rabbit didn't stop.
It was too fast to turn, too committed to brake.
Its head slammed into the tip of the branch with a sickening crunch — the sharpened wood puncturing its eye socket and sliding in deep.
The rabbit screamed — a high-pitched, shrill sound that didn't belong in any natural world — and flailed wildly.
Alex stepped forward and, without hesitation, drove the branch deeper, twisting it, pinning the creature to the earth.
He hit it again. And again.
Until it stopped moving.
Silence returned.
Then—
[Enemy Defeated]
[EXP Gained: +60]
[LEVEL UP!]
[New Level: 2]
[Stat Points Gained: +5]
Alex's breath trembled.
He looked at his hands — shaking, blood-slicked, dirt-covered.
But alive.
I did it.
The rabbit's body didn't dissolve.
It lay there in the grass, twitching once… then still. Blood soaked into the earth beneath it — dark, real, and pungent.
Alex stared down at it, chest heaving. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he crouched beside the corpse and placed a hand on its still-warm fur.
It didn't vanish…
Not like enemies in a game.
It was just… dead.
Like any animal would be.
With careful fingers, he checked the teeth — long, sharp, unnaturally sturdy. Its body was small, but there was enough meat on it to make a crude meal. He didn't know if it was safe to eat, but he couldn't afford to waste anything.
He took a strip of cloth from his sleeve, looped it around the rabbit's hind legs, and slung the body over his shoulder.
Food. Tools. Resources.
He didn't need a shop or tutorial to tell him what mattered now.
This world wasn't built to entertain.
It was built to survive.
He slung the rabbit's corpse over his shoulder and leaned against a nearby tree, sweat beading along his forehead. His arms ached. His breath came rough and uneven.
Then the status screen blinked to life once again — this time glowing slightly brighter than before.
[LEVEL UP!]
[Level: 2]
[Stat Points Gained: +5]
[Please allocate your points.]
He opened the menu, scanning the simple stats again:
HP: 50
MP: 5
Strength (STR): 5
Endurance (END): 5
Intelligence (INT): 1
Willpower (WILL): 2
Available Points: 5
Alex wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve.
Magic? He shook his head. He didn't have spells. Not yet. His Intelligence could wait.
But he had felt exhaustion — a deep, bone-tired fatigue right after killing the rabbit. He could barely swing that stick again if something else showed up.
And the Strength? He could feel it in his arms now. Every strike mattered. Every movement took effort.
He hovered his hand over the stats and chose:
+3 Strength
+2 Endurance
As soon as he confirmed, a soft warmth pulsed through his limbs. His breathing steadied slightly. His muscles felt… denser. Not bulkier — just more capable.
His health bar updated automatically:
[HP: 70]
One Endurance equals 10 HP… He noted that mentally. That would matter later.
He closed the screen.
No fanfare. No glow. Just quiet readiness.
He looked down at the rabbit's limp body slung over his shoulder.
"I hope you're edible," he muttered, starting to walk toward thicker forest.
The wind shifted.
Somewhere deeper in the trees… something moved.
Alex kept walking.
This time, he didn't run.
Chapter 5 – Titles and Truths
The forest was quiet again, save for the sound of wind rustling through the leaves and Alex's footsteps pressing gently into damp soil.
The rabbit carcass hung over his shoulder, warm and heavy. The pointed stick — still red at the tip — remained in his hand. The weight of both was oddly comforting.
But his mind was busy.
He pulled up the status screen again, hoping — foolishly — that maybe now something else had unlocked. Some menu. A class list. A skill tree. Anything that might show he was making progress in the way games normally did.
There was nothing.
No "Swordsman." No "Survivor." Not even "Rabbit Slayer."
Just Level 2. And raw stats.
"…Hey," he muttered aloud, "System."
For a second, there was no response.
Then a soft voice answered — calm, sterile, artificial.
[Yes, Player?]
He squinted. "Can I choose a class now?"
[No. Classes are not chosen. They are earned through experience and self-cultivation.]
He blinked. "Meaning?"
[Class titles are not assigned automatically. They are granted only when a player has consistently performed the actions associated with a specific field of expertise.]
"Wait," Alex said, adjusting the rabbit on his shoulder. "So, like… if I want to be a magician, I have to find spells and cast them myself?"
[Incorrect. You must study and replicate magical formulas mentally. Magic in World Frontier is not automated. Spells are activated only through internalized, formulaic simulation — similar to advanced mathematical computation.]
He grimaced. "So… no skill bar. No MP-based fireball button."
[Correct. Magic must be conceptualized, understood, and simulated. The user must be able to sustain cognitive casting through raw calculation.]
Alex rubbed his face. "What about other classes? Like an engineer?"
[If you wish to become an engineer, you must successfully perform the functions of an engineer — construct machines, repair equipment, develop technology. If you do so with mastery, the system may recognize your class. However, class titles are ceremonial. They exist only to acknowledge your actual accomplishments.]
He paused. Then let out a short, bitter laugh.
"So if I want to be a knight, I have to fight like one. If I want to be a thief, I have to steal like one. And if I want to be a chef, I gotta… cook like Gordon Ramsay."
[That analogy is acceptable.]
Alex leaned against a tree, smirking to himself.
"No shortcuts. No grinding quests. Just pain, problem-solving, and a pat on the back if you survive long enough to be worth labeling."
He looked at the sky.
"Man," he muttered, "if I wanted to work this hard, I'd have stayed in high school."
The system said nothing.
He sighed, adjusted the rabbit again, and started walking.
Still — something in him had shifted. There was no roadmap here. No path laid out for him. Only what he chose to become.
And if he had to bleed for every step of it…
Then he would.
Alex moved carefully through the trees until he found a small clearing nestled between rocky slopes — a sheltered spot where the wind broke and the trees circled protectively.
Perfect for a fire.
He gathered twigs and dry leaves, stacking them the way he remembered from a camping trip years ago — crisscrossed, tight at the base, open enough to breathe. He struck a spark using stone against bark, and after a few tense minutes and a lot of muttered cursing, the flame caught.
It felt like magic.
The fire crackled gently, casting long shadows through the trees.
Alex skinned the rabbit with slow, deliberate effort. The meat wasn't much — lean and sinewy — but it was food. He skewered it with a sharpened branch and rotated it slowly above the flames, the scent of cooked meat filling the forest.
He took a bite when it was ready — cautiously at first.
It tasted… normal. Gamey. Slightly bitter.
But real.
He closed his eyes as he chewed, letting the warmth settle in his chest. His first real meal in this brutal world. For a few fleeting moments, the forest felt quiet.
Too quiet.
Then the silence shattered.
SNAP.
Pain exploded across his back.
A growl.
Teeth.
He screamed, twisted, felt hot blood pour down his shoulder as claws raked through his tunic. A wolf — larger than a German shepherd, lean and bone-colored — had pounced from the brush.
It was fast. Feral. Its eyes glowed faintly in the firelight.
Alex screamed and rolled, the world a blur of heat and panic. The wolf lunged again, jaws wide.
He crawled — dragged himself — toward the fire, reaching for anything.
His fingers closed around a burning branch.
As the wolf lunged—
STAB.
He drove the searing stick into its eye.
The beast howled, staggering back, blinded and shrieking. But it wasn't dead.
Alex grabbed a thicker log from the firewood pile — a crude, smoldering club — and slammed it against the wolf's head again and again.
Bone cracked. The wolf's body jerked.
It collapsed.
Dead.
Alex fell beside it, panting, smoke stinging his eyes.
I did it…
But then—
Growls. Four of them.
Glowing eyes in the dark.
More wolves.
He turned just in time to see the pack emerge from the trees — leaner, meaner, and faster than the first. One lunged for his leg. Another bit into his ribs.
He screamed, fought, thrashed — but this time there was no burning branch within reach.
Only blood.
Only teeth.
[You have died.]
Again.
But this time, Alex opened his eyes with purpose.
He gasped — reborn in the same clearing where it all began. The scent of pine and dirt. The birdsong. The filtered sunlight through the trees. As if nothing had happened.
But something had.
He remembered the pain. The blood. The fire. The victory.
And when he opened his status window, his heart skipped a beat.
[Level: 2]
[EXP: Retained]
He sat up slowly, a grin tugging at the edge of his lip.
It doesn't reset...
He checked again — and confirmed it.
The EXP from killing the first wolf was still there. His level hadn't dropped.
This world kills you, but it doesn't erase you.
That changed everything.
He stood and stared toward the distant trees — toward the campfire ruins and the corpses he knew were still waiting for him.
A mad idea bloomed in his head.
He picked up a fallen branch, then sharpened it on a nearby stone until it formed a crude but deadly point. A makeshift spear.
He gripped it in both hands.
And ran.
He burst into the camp clearing with no caution, no stealth, no fear.
The wolves snarled, teeth bared, but this time he didn't hesitate.
Alex charged, wild and screaming, and drove the spear into the nearest wolf's side before it could react.
It thrashed, yelped, and fell.
[Enemy Defeated]
[EXP Gained: +85]
[Level Up – Level 3]
[Stat Points Gained: +5]
Another wolf lunged. Its teeth clamped onto his arm.
He didn't care.
The others tore into him.
He died — fast — but this time, he smiled as he fell.
Reborn again.
Same spot.
Same spear.
Stronger.
[Level 3]
[Stat Points Available: 5]
He pulled up his stats without hesitation.
+2 Strength
+3 Endurance
His body felt heavier. Solid. His grip steadier. His breath longer.
Let's see if you bastards like round two.
He repeated the process.
Again.
Again.
Every death bought him more knowledge, more timing, more rage.
He counted their movements.
Learned their patterns.
He fought like a wild animal — cornered, fearless, determined.
He died.
He killed.
And finally — when the last wolf fell, its throat crushed under a bloody stone — he collapsed beside it, panting.
[Enemy Defeated]
[Level Up – Level 4]
[Stat Points Gained: +5]
Blood on his hands. Dirt in his hair. Bruises on his soul.
But he was alive.
And stronger than ever.
He sat in silence, staring at the corpse of the last wolf.
Its eyes were still open, jaws frozen mid-snarl. The blood on Alex's hands had dried into crusted lines along his knuckles. The spear was broken — snapped halfway down the shaft — but he clutched it anyway, like a badge of survival.
Then, the screen appeared.
[Level Up – Level 4]
[Stat Points Gained: +5]
Alex exhaled slowly.
He opened the status menu again, eyes scanning the numbers. The fatigue still lingered in his limbs, even after respawning. The wolves didn't just drain his HP — they wore him down. Every dodge, every strike, every scream of pain and death chipped at his stamina until nothing was left.
Endurance means I last longer in a fight.
Strength means I end it faster.
No magic. No spells. Not yet.
He made his decision instantly:
+2 Strength
+3 Endurance
As the points settled into place, he felt the change ripple through him.
His body didn't grow visibly — but the fatigue in his legs dulled. His arms felt steadier. His breath came easier.
[HP increased to 130]
Not just numbers anymore. It was real.
He wasn't the same boy who had died to a rabbit.
He had earned his life with pain — and he was done dying without a reason.