Arkan jolted awake, gasping for air as if he'd been dragged out of a nightmare he never wanted to see again. His thin shirt clung to his skin, drenched with sweat. Damp strands of black hair stuck to his forehead, a few hanging over half-lidded eyes that still struggled to focus. He tilted his head back and stared at the stained ceiling of his tiny dorm room. Once white, the paint had long since turned a sickly yellow, spotted with damp patches from last season's rain.
That dream still clung to him—too vivid, too real to dismiss as a trick of sleep. A mountain shaped like an altar. Crimson and azure lights colliding in the heavens like gods locked in battle. And then that voice… deep, otherworldly, chanting a single word that still rang in his ears.
Osbo.
Arkan dragged his hands down his face and muttered under his breath, voice cracked and dry.
"What the hell… why did it feel so real?"
⸻
The day rolled on like always, though the weight of the dream lingered in his chest. His full name was Mile Arkan, a fourth-semester economics major at Sera State University. Just another poor kid from a forgotten village, carrying his parents' hope that one day he'd graduate and land a respectable job. A simple dream—but heavy enough to crush him.
Life had never been kind. Mornings fueled only by tea or plain bread. Cheap lunches at a corner shop near campus—rice with watery soup and whatever side dish the stall owner scraped together. Evenings spent working at a small café in a black uniform that smelled faintly of coffee beans and detergent. Nights trudging back to his cramped room with a body too tired to rest and a ceiling fan that squealed every time it turned.
He often joked, bitterly, that "poor student" wasn't just his identity—it was his curse. His parents' allowance barely covered rent, food, and the cheapest rides across town. Everything else had to be patched up with part-time wages.
That night, after another long shift, Arkan walked home along the crowded sidewalk. Yellow streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement. People hurried past, laughing, scrolling through their phones, absorbed in their own worlds. Arkan kept his head down, steps dragging, mind blank.
Then—reality bent.
A low hum rippled through the air, like electricity buzzing inside glass. The hairs on his neck bristled. The air shimmered, warped, as though invisible hands were crumpling it. Arkan froze, glancing around in alarm. The crowd kept moving, unbothered. Nothing out of place.
Nothing—except the glowing panel that appeared right in front of him.
A sheet of blue light, translucent and shimmering, its golden letters sharp and undeniable.
[OSBO System Activated]
Quest: Buy a cup of coffee for someone in need.
Reward: +20 USD, +1 EXP
Arkan's breath caught. His body locked in place, fingers numb, eyes wide.
"Wh-what the…?" he whispered.
No one noticed. No one else could see it. The panel was his alone.
And then—another voice, heavy and metallic, thundered directly in his skull.
System: I am your bridge to Osbo. With this system… you will survive.
His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. That word again. Osbo. Just like in his dream. Images of colossal beings clashing on a mountaintop flashed in his mind. His hands trembled.
"This isn't real," he muttered. "It's a hallucination. I need a doctor, maybe a psychiatrist."
He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the panel remained. Brighter, louder, insistent. A faint chime rang in his ears, pulling his gaze forward.
An old beggar sat slumped against a wall ahead, his body thin, his clothes ragged. His hands trembled as he held out a cracked plastic cup.
The panel pulsed, its words glowing sharper.
Buy a cup of coffee for someone in need.
Arkan grit his teeth. "This is ridiculous…" Yet curiosity gnawed at him stronger than fear. With shaky steps, he ducked into a nearby coffee stall, bought a steaming paper cup, and carried it over.
"Here, sir. Hope this helps," he said softly.
The old man blinked, eyes shimmering with tears, then gave a weak smile. "Thank you, son. May God bless you."
Ding!
[Quest Complete!]
Reward: +20 USD, +1 EXP
Arkan froze. The panel updated, flashing a line of text: Balance: 20 USD
His hands shook as he tapped the option. The display shifted again.
[Balance can be withdrawn to registered bank account.]
His throat tightened. He pulled out his phone, fumbling open his mobile banking app. His balance: $7. Heart pounding, he selected Withdraw.
[Enter Amount]
"…All of it," he whispered. He typed 20 USD.
The panel flared, then vanished. He glanced at his phone.
Balance: $27
The money was real.
Arkan nearly dropped the phone. His pulse hammered in his ears. "No way… it's real. The system… it's real!"
But the shock lasted only seconds.
Because the panel reappeared. This time, crimson red bled across his vision like an alarm.
[Emergency Quest: A foreign domain will manifest within 1 km in 30 minutes.]
Objective: Survive.
Arkan blinked. "What…?"
Around him, life went on. Strangers strolled, joked, stared at their screens. Oblivious.
But in his eyes, reality had already started to fracture.
He ran. His heart thundered, every shadow warped into threat. The streetlights flickered too dim, the trees along the road loomed too dark. The red panel floated in front of him, relentless, ticking down.
[Foreign Domain Manifestation in 00:24:17]
Objective: Survive.
By the time he stumbled into his dorm, slammed the door shut, and slid down against it, his breath was ragged, his body trembling.
"Survive…? Foreign domain…? What the hell does that even mean?"
The system answered with another panel.
[Brief Explanation: A foreign domain is a temporary dimensional rift. Creatures from beyond will enter Earth.]
[Only system hosts can perceive and confront them.]
His blood ran cold. "Creatures… from another dimension? Only me? No one else can see them?"
The letters pulsed back at him in silence.
Desperate, Arkan called a friend. The line picked up—casual chatter, laughter. Completely normal. Outside, the world carried on untouched. Inside, his own reality crumbled.
"Why me…?" he muttered through clenched teeth.
The timer ticked.
00:12:09… 00:08:44…
Panic gnawed at him. He scoured the room, opening shelves and drawers until his eyes fell on a kitchen knife. He grabbed it with shaking hands.
"If there really are monsters… I won't die helpless."
A new panel appeared instantly.
[Starter Item Obtained]
Name: Dull Knife
Description: A plain kitchen knife. Attack Power: +2
Arkan stared. The blade in his grip glimmered faintly with blue light.
"…Even normal things can turn into items. Just like a game…"
The countdown bled toward zero. He curled up on the bed, knees pulled tight, knife clutched against his chest, every heartbeat louder than the last.
3… 2… 1…
The silence shattered.
[00:00:00]
Air rushed out of the room, sucked into nothing. The light flickered, shadows writhed along the walls.
System: Warning. Foreign domain detected. Normal humans will remain unaware. Only the host and external entities may enter.
Arkan's breath caught.
The nightmare had begun.