The next morning, Joon-ho stepped out of his building and into the wide plaza of the Spawn Hub. His eyes widened immediately.
Yesterday, the place had felt busy. Today, it was overwhelming.
Everywhere he looked, players swarmed the hub in waves — millions of them. The air buzzed with noise: groups shouting strategies, merchants advertising rare items, guild recruiters waving banners, and lone wanderers sharpening their weapons or checking their stats. Some wore armor glowing with effects, others dressed in ordinary clothes but carried an aura of quiet menace.
It wasn't just a hub. It was a living city of gamers, all trapped, all desperate.
"…There's this many of us?" Joon-ho muttered under his breath. His chest tightened. For the first time, the scale of the Overworld struck him. Every single person on Earth had been dragged here.
He opened his UI Screen.
[PLAYER STATUS]
Name: Titan
Level: 1
EXP: 500 / 10,000
Joon-ho's eyes locked on the glowing bar.
"Ten thousand… to level up once. At this rate, I'll be nothing but dead weight."
He clenched his fists. I have to grind. I have to risk it, or I'll fall behind before I even start.
Closing the screen, he started walking with purpose. Soon, the spawn hub opened up into the Game City — towering buildings stretched into the horizon, each marked with strange symbols and glowing numbers. The sight was surreal, like a city built from a hundred different genres of games smashed together.
On one side, a giant coliseum symbol blazed with the number 5. Next to it, a skyscraper shimmered with a floating dice symbol, glowing 3. Further down, a massive fortress had the icon of crossed swords with 8 above it.
Then Joon-ho saw it.
A building with the symbol of a running figure — glowing bright white — with the number 9 above it.
He froze. Difficulty nine? That was insane. The announcer yesterday had explained: the higher the number, the deadlier the challenge… but the rewards scaled equally.
Joon-ho felt his heartbeat quicken. His rational side screamed to start with easier games, build experience. But another part of him — the side that had once carried him into the brutal world of esports — whispered louder.
"If I want to survive… I can't waste time."
Without another thought, he broke into a jog and pushed his way through the crowd, heading straight for the Running Figure [9] building.
His reflection flashed in the glowing surface of the entry doors. He lifted his hand, took a sharp breath, and stepped forward.
The moment he touched it, the UI bloomed in front of him:
[Game Entry: Sprint of Survival]
Symbol: Running Figure
Difficulty: 9 / 10
Max Players: 100
Reward Multiplier: ×4 EXP, ×4 Units, +5 LP if cleared
Warning: Failure results in Instant Elimination.
[REGISTER?]
Joon-ho's pulse thundered in his ears. His finger hovered for only a second before pressing Register.
The door shimmered, and he was pulled inside.
Joon-ho stepped inside the glowing portal marked with the running figure of 9. His chest rose and fell quickly—not from fear, but from the anticipation of what kind of challenge awaited him this time.
When his vision cleared, he froze.
The chamber was already crowded with players. Over a hundred of them. Some wore heavy armor-like outfits, others looked casual, dressed like ordinary people. Their avatars reflected all kinds of personalities. The pressure in the air was undeniable; even the ones who looked confident had a sharp edge in their eyes.
Joon-ho's gaze moved across the room.
A tall young woman with fiery red hair stood against the wall, her avatar jacket half unzipped, large headphones hanging over her ears as music faintly leaked out. She didn't even bother looking around—just leaned there like she was too cool to care. Her name flickered faintly on his HUD: Blaze.
Nearby, a familiar face caught his attention—the waiter from the restaurant yesterday. Except now, his avatar looked like a professional athlete, tight-fitting track gear stretched over lean muscles. He bent down, calmly stretching his calves, as though warming up for an actual race.
Others stood out too—some cracking their necks, some crouching in sprint positions, and some just nervously shifting from foot to foot.
A sudden metallic clang echoed.
"Attention, competitors."
The voice of the Announcer rang loud and sharp across the chamber. "Welcome to Difficulty Level 9. Game type: Survival. Game name: Death Sprint."
Gasps and nervous chatter rippled through the crowd.
The rules began to scroll across the air in front of them as the voice continued:
"You are to run a distance of five kilometers on the stadium track ahead. Behind you will be Death Trucks.
First 1 km speed: 20 km/h.
Second 1 km speed: 25 km/h.
Third and Fourth km speed: 30 km/h.
Last km speed: 35 km/h.
Be aware: those who fail to maintain pace will be eliminated immediately."
The word eliminated reverberated with heavy finality.
"Top fifty percent finishers will be rewarded with bonus Life Points and EXP. Additional rewards for outstanding performance."
The voice fell silent, but the tension only sharpened.
Suddenly, more than ten large elevators slid into place along the edges of the chamber. Their glowing gates hissed open.
"Proceed."
One by one, players began stepping in. Some still stretched and cracked their knuckles, others put on cocky smirks as if this would be easy. Blaze slid her headphones down to her neck and pushed off from the wall lazily, striding into an elevator like it was just another casual run.
Joon-ho hesitated only for a breath, then followed, stepping into one of the massive lifts.
The door shut with a hydraulic hiss. The floor vibrated.
Then the elevator rose.
When the doors slid open again, his breath caught.
A colossal Olympic stadium, glowing beneath artificial lights, spread out before him. The track stretched endlessly, curving into the distance. In the middle of the stadium, faint mechanical rumbling echoed… and then he saw them.
The enormous cube-shaped trucks—dark, armored, bristling with spinning spikes—lined up at the far end of the track.
And the game hadn't even begun yet.
Joon-ho stepped onto the first track, the innermost lane where the curve tightened sharply. It was the shortest lane, but also the most cramped—less space to maneuver. He adjusted his stance, breathing slowly, trying to feel the texture of the track beneath his feet.
Beside him, someone's shadow fell.
Blaze.
She walked up without a word, her headphones still around her neck, expression calm, almost lazy. Joon-ho glanced at her, curious, but she didn't return the look. Instead, she set her eyes straight ahead, rolling her shoulders once like this was just a warmup.
One by one, the other players filled the lanes. Dozens of avatars lined up across the red track, muscles tense, some muttering to themselves, some glaring at their competitors. The stadium buzzed with anticipation.
The Announcer's voice thundered:
"For the first three minutes, you may run freely. The trucks will not begin their pursuit until the timer ends.
Remember: One lap is four hundred meters. Distance to cover: five kilometers. Twelve and a half laps in total."
A short pause.
"Ready…"
The lights at the stadium edges flickered from red to green.
"Start!"
Instantly, footsteps echoed across the track.
Players surged forward in waves—some sprinting aggressively, others pacing themselves. The avatars' shoes pounded the rubber surface like thunder. Joon-ho fell into a steady rhythm, keeping himself around the top ten, heart steady.
Blaze, however, was different. She ran with long, powerful strides, her posture relaxed. She didn't look like she was exerting herself, but she was already first, steadily widening the gap with an ease that left others gritting their teeth.
Joon-ho glanced at her, then back to the track, his mind replaying the rules. Three minutes of free running. Trucks start from the starting line…
The thought struck him.
If the trucks start from the beginning…
By the time they were closing in on the last hundred meters of the first lap, his heart rate spiked. Most players looked ahead, preparing to keep pace once the deadly machines were released. But Joon-ho made a decision.
He sprinted.
Pushing hard, he tore past the others, his body cutting through the air. Gasps echoed from players nearby as he surged ahead at a speed that made no sense for someone who had been pacing calmly a moment ago. Even Blaze's eyes flicked toward him in sharp surprise.
"What the—?" someone muttered as he dashed across the finishing line and immediately swung into the second lap.
But instead of continuing full-speed down the straight, Joon-ho slowed right before the curve, staying just short of pushing too far.
The others caught up quickly, overtaking him with puzzled glances. To them, it looked like he had just wasted energy for nothing. Blaze passed him too, but not without a lingering glance, curiosity flashing in her eyes.
Then the Announcer's countdown began.
"Five… four… three…"
The crowd of runners tensed, breath turning ragged.
"Two… one…"
The ground shook.
With a metallic roar, the enormous Death Trucks rolled forward from the starting line. The spiked monsters gleamed under the stadium lights, accelerating with a low, grinding hum.
Panic spread instantly. Players stumbled, sprinting harder, shouting at each other as survival instincts kicked in.
Joon-ho's lips curled into a sharp grin.
Because now—he was right behind the trucks.
They thundered forward, their spikes gleaming dangerously, leaving him in the clear.
From ahead, Blaze turned her head mid-stride, her eyes narrowing. She understood instantly. So that's why he sprinted…
Smart. He had tricked the system.
She clenched her jaw, and without hesitation, pushed her speed even higher, trying to close the gap before the trucks became unreachable.
Screams erupted behind them as the first wave of players tripped, stumbled, or simply couldn't keep pace. The sound of spikes tearing through avatars echoed horribly as eliminations flashed across the hovering UI screens above the track.
The game had truly begun.
The stadium echoed with metal grinding and screams.
As soon as the trucks gained speed, the pack of runners dissolved into chaos. The ones at the back panicked first.
"Run! Faster—!"
"Shit, they're too close!"
The enormous spike-covered fronts chewed through the track like monsters hungry for flesh. Avatars who stumbled or slowed even for half a second were torn apart, their bodies shattering into fragments of light before the spikes even finished the job.
Dozens vanished in seconds.
The UI above the track ticked down brutally:
[100 ➝ 91 ➝ 87 ➝ 79]
Bloodless, but horrifying.
Some players tried desperate maneuvers—leaping to the outer lanes, shoving others to trip them, or attempting to cling to the side barriers. None of it worked. The trucks were programmed mercilessly. A woman's scream cut short as her avatar shattered, her rank number flashing red before vanishing.
Joon-ho's breathing stayed steady. The trucks thundered just meters ahead him, close enough for him to feel the vibrations under his feet. He ran at a measured pace, conserving energy.
Perfect. They'll clear the path for me.
Ahead, the survivors were already thinning into clusters. Some sprinted with everything they had, others were trying to strategize, timing their speed for the long race.
Blaze was in the lead pack, her ponytail flicking behind her as she took strong, controlled strides. She glanced back once—not at the trucks, but at Joon-ho. His unusual position caught her eye. While everyone else was terrified of being close to death, he was running calmly right behind of it.
For a second, her brows furrowed. Then she smirked. Interesting.
The first lap stretched on.
By the 300-meter mark, players were shoving each other in panic, tripping over fallen bodies, stumbling on sweat-slick ground. The spikes caught five at once, grinding through them in a sickening spray of blue shards. The UI ticked again:
[79 ➝ 68 ➝ 61]
Gasps filled the stadium. The audience of surviving players watching from the Spawn Hub must have been losing their minds.
When Joon-ho rounded the curve into the final straight of the lap, he noticed the trucks' engine pitch shift. They were stabilizing speed—20 km/h exactly. Just as the Announcer said.
Good. That means I've got time.
Screams still echoed ahead him as the trucks devoured the stragglers. By the time he crossed the line to finish his first lap, more than a third of the runners were already gone.
Above the stadium, the massive counter flashed:
[Players Remaining: 61 / 100]
And this was only the third lap.
The stadium shook again as the Announcer's voice boomed:
"Speed increase: 25 kilometers per hour."
The engines roared louder. The trucks surged forward, eating away the distance like predators with fresh blood on their teeth.
Joon-ho matched their pace, his eyes narrowing. His strides lengthened, his breathing sharp but controlled. He wasn't sprinting recklessly—he was syncing himself to the machine, running with it instead of against it.
The others weren't so calm.
Panic rippled through the runners. Some pushed too hard, exploding into desperate sprints that burned their stamina in less than half a lap. Their faces twisted with fear as their legs gave out. The spikes tore through them without hesitation, their avatars disintegrating into bursts of blue light.
[61 ➝ 48 ➝ 39]
The counter above the stadium ticked down mercilessly.
A few players, realizing they couldn't outrun the trucks, simply slowed to a stop. They collapsed to their knees, trembling, and closed their eyes. The machines consumed them in seconds, their screams echoing across the vast Olympic dome.
[39 ➝ 34 ➝ 29]
By the time the third lap began, exhaustion was painted on every survivor's face. Their mouths hung open, gasping for air. Muscles burned, lungs strained. Every step sounded like the world was grinding them down.
Joon-ho held steady. His mind calculated calmly: At this speed, I can last. Just a few more kilometers. Don't waste energy.
Then he felt it. A presence drawing closer.
Blaze.
Her steps were strong, deliberate—closing the distance from the front. She glanced at him briefly, her sharp eyes gleaming under the stadium lights. Sweat clung to her temple, but her breathing was steady. Without a word, she adjusted her pace until they were side by side, both of them keeping within dangerous proximity of the trucks.
For a brief moment, their gazes locked. No words—just recognition.
You figured it out too.
Another runner stumbled ahead. His legs gave out halfway through the lap. "I can't— I can't do it—" he wheezed, collapsing onto the track. The trucks consumed him instantly.
The number dropped again.
[29 ➝ 27]
The survivors were now scattered—some at the front, sprinting desperately to avoid the rising speed, others falling further behind, gambling with death every second.
Then, as the trucks thundered forward, another figure slipped into position beside them. The waiter.
His jacket was gone, replaced with a simple athletic outfit, sweat rolling down his face. He didn't look at either of them, but his calm demeanor was clear. He was breathing heavily but not panicked, holding his rhythm steady.
Three of them now—running in sync, dangerously close to the death line, yet alive.
Behind them, the screams grew fewer. The silence of exhaustion filled the stadium.
Only 27 remained.
And the trucks were just getting faster.
The Announcer's voice thundered again, chilling every survivor's spine.
"Speed increase: 30 kilometers per hour."
The trucks roared like beasts unleashed. The ground itself seemed to shake under their weight, spikes glinting under the white-hot stadium lights.
Joon-ho's breath sharpened. His chest burned, lungs aching. Sweat dripped down his neck. Every muscle screamed in protest, but his stride did not falter.
Inside his head, a single thought cut through the chaos:
If this were real life… I'd already be dead.
He clenched his jaw. It's because of this avatar. These stats… they're the only reason I'm still alive.
One runner ahead screamed, staggering sideways. His ankle gave out with a sickening twist. The trucks crushed him in less than a heartbeat, his voice silenced in a blue flash.
[27 ➝ 18]
Another stumbled, his legs shaking violently. He sprinted with everything he had left, face twisting in fear, but within seconds his body collapsed. The spikes swallowed him whole.
[18 ➝ 12]
The crowd was thinning fast. The vast Olympic track felt emptier, the silence between screams even heavier. Every survivor's breath was ragged, like dying engines.
Joon-ho's vision blurred. His legs burned as if molten iron was poured into them. His heartbeat hammered in his ears. But his pace… his pace stayed steady, right behind the trucks.
Beside him, Blaze was still there. Her breathing heavy, but her face calm, controlled—like she'd been through hell before and learned how to live with fire in her lungs.
And the waiter… he was gritting his teeth, every step like a hammer strike, but his eyes never wavered. He refused to give in.
We're the only ones left holding steady, Joon-ho realized.
Ahead, a few survivors sprinted desperately to stay far ahead of the trucks. But they were burning their stamina recklessly. One by one, they broke.
[12 ➝ 9 ➝ 7]
The counter ticked down with merciless precision.
Then came the final straw—another scream. Another collapse. Another body devoured.
[7 ➝ 5]
Only five runners remained.
The stadium was deathly quiet now, the sound of pounding footsteps echoing louder than the roaring trucks. Every survivor knew the truth: it was only two kilometers left—but for most of them, that was still an eternity.
Joon-ho gritted his teeth, keeping his rhythm. Two kilometers. That's it. Hold on.
The trucks thundered behind them, hungering for the last five survivors.
And the next phase was about to begin.
The Announcer's voice cracked like thunder.
"Final phase. Speed: 35 kilometers per hour."
The trucks bellowed forward, wheels screaming against the track. The five survivors' eyes widened—no one could hold this pace for long.
The finish line loomed ahead. Only 400 meters remained.
Joon-ho's chest was on fire, his throat felt like sandpaper. His legs weren't his anymore—they were blocks of lead, dragging against the track. But still… he forced them to move.
The trucks surged ahead first, crossing the lap line. Every runner knew the truth now.
They're behind us. We have no choice.
"SPRINT!" someone shouted, voice cracking in fear.
And they all did.
The sound of five bodies slamming against the track in a last desperate dash filled the stadium.
Blaze's long strides cut the air. The waiter roared, every step fueled by sheer stubborn will. The other two strained forward, veins bulging, bodies trembling as they pushed everything into their sprint.
Joon-ho… was last.
His heart pounded like war drums. The finish line was ahead—but so was death, closing in from behind.
The trucks rounded the curve with merciless speed. Spikes clashed against the ground like an executioner's blade. The roar was deafening, hungry.
He sprinted harder.
Move! Move! MOVE!
The gap shrank. The others had already hit the final straight. Joon-ho was barely exiting the curve, sweat flying off him in burning drops. His vision swam, the edges of the stadium blurring into darkness.
The truck roared closer.
150 meters.
100 meters.
The crowd—millions watching from the Spawn Hub screens—held their breath.
Blaze crossed first, collapsing onto the track, chest heaving.
The waiter stumbled past next, barely holding himself upright.
The last two survivors dove through, gasping, collapsing into heaps.
And then… only Joon-ho remained.
He tore down the last 100 meters, every tendon in his body screaming, the truck devouring the distance behind him.
Blaze's eyes locked on him. For the first time, her lips parted—just slightly. Not a gasp, not a shout. An expectation.
The final 10 meters.
The spikes of the truck scraped the back of Joon-ho's clothes. His hair whipped forward in the rush of death's breath.
And then—
He jumped.
His body soared forward, arms stretching, every nerve firing at once. His foot smashed into the line just as the spikes carved the ground behind him.
The truck screeched to a halt—metal groaning inches from the finish line.
Joon-ho collapsed, his chest slamming the ground. His arms trembled, refusing to lift him. His vision went white, his body numb.
But the counter above froze:
[5 Survivors Remaining.]
He had done it.
The stadium erupted—not with cheers, but with the stunned silence of awe.
Blaze's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, before she looked away, her expression unreadable.
Joon-ho lay there, gasping, every breath a war, every beat of his heart screaming one truth:
I survived.