The bar's heartbeat was the bassline. A steady throb beneath the laughter, clinking glass, and synthetic saxophone melting out of hidden speakers. Neon violet and sickly green danced on the mirrored walls, cutting people into fragments of movement. a half-turned shoulder, an open mouth, a slurred whisper.
In the far corner, half-sheltered by shadows where the ceiling light had long since died, he sat alone. A broad frame slouched against the leather seat, legs apart in careless repose, one arm draped along the backrest as though the entire lounge belonged to him. His eyes were unreadable—dark, but not lifeless, flicking once to the writhing crowd on the dance floor, once to the exit, once back to the amber surface of the table.
Then came the interruption.
A waiter drifted toward him, silver tray balancing three glasses on thin fingers. His uniform was crisp, though his bowtie hung slightly undone, like every other man serving in this place who had long since given up on perfection.
Without breaking pace, the waiter lowered one of the cocktails onto the table before the man. A long-stemmed glass, rim sugared, the surface glowing pale blue under neon.
The waiter leaned in, too close for simple courtesy. His perfume was sharp, like cut limes under heat. He whispered, voice thin and despaired.
"Room six, sir."
No explanation, no gesture—just that.
The man didn't lift his head. He didn't give a nod, a smirk, or a question either. His response was a mere flick of the wrist, a wave of dismissal as though brushing away smoke. The waiter's lips curved almost imperceptibly before he straightened, footsteps vanishing into the tide of dancers and laughter.
For a moment, silence pressed around the man despite the noise. He stared at the glass. The cocktail's blue glow painted his face, catching in the faint streaks of gray threading through his dark hair. It seemed almost alive, pulsing softly as if urging him.
He leaned closer. His reflection wavered in the glass surface—jagged, distorted.
So the dinner is in room six...
With one deliberate motion, he wrapped his fingers around the stem. No hesitation. He raised it, tilted back his head, and drained it in a single shot. The burn slid down his throat, colder than ice, sharper than fire.
The empty glass clinked down onto the table.
He rose.
A ripple went through the crowd as he passed—though not out of recognition, but instinct. He carried presence like a shadow carries weight: tall, shoulders carved with strength beneath his simple shirt, the kind of physique that made men turn their heads and women pause mid-laugh. Neon lights caught in the gray of his hair, painting him in flickers of violet and chrome.
Crossing the dance floor, he stretched his arms lazily, vertebrae cracking with faint audible snaps. He didn't bother dodging, people parted for him without knowing why.
A woman in sequins glanced up at him, lips half-parted, but his gaze never broke stride.
He stopped before a door tucked into the far wall—a private room.
The door was not cheap alloy. it was a reinforced frame, matte-black surface with the smooth curve of an RFID lock set into its side. No handle, no keyhole, only the silent assurance of expensive security.
He tilted his head, lips curling in faint annoyance.
"...Hn. That's troublesome."
He stepped back half a pace, studying it like a craftsman before material. For a long breath, he stood still, letting the throb of bassline fill the silence. Then, almost idly, he set his left foot against the door, testing weight against its surface.
A hum rolled low in his chest.
Then he drew his leg back. Muscles coiled.
The kick landed!
The sound wasn't a crash but a scream of metal—an ugly shriek as the reinforced surface bent inward. The entire frame buckled. Thin sheets curled away from the impact like peeled bark, jagged shards splitting, paint flaking in pale strips like dry skin. The jamb twisted into an uneven gape, its geometry murdered in an instant.
Gasps burst across the floor.
Dancers froze.
Heads whipped around, neon reflecting in widened eyes. Somewhere, a glass shattered.
He didn't hurry. He walked through the ruined entrance with the slow, confident rhythm of inevitability.
The room smelled different. Less perfume, more sweat, the metallic tang of panic clinging to stale air.
Two figures were inside.
The first was a man, half-naked, though wearing a long-sleeved shirt. The rest of him, however, left nothing to imagination...his trousers were gone, his body slack with drunken arrogance moments ago, now frozen in raw terror.
The second was a girl. Naked. She was sprawled on the bed, body trembling. Her face was swollen from tears, eyes bloodshot, lips split from biting too hard. Yet her body—uncomfortably fresh, skin pale and unmarked—was wrong. It was too undeveloped. she was too young. A child's frame forced into a woman's place.
The intruder's jaw set tight. His gaze sharpened, ice over steel.
He spoke, voice low, almost conversational but edged like a blade."Is this… how you have fun?"
The half-naked man scrambled, voice breaking as he staggered backward."W-What the hell do you think you're doing?! Back away, you fucker!"
But fear dripped off him. His voice betrayed the tremor in his chest.
The intruder's lips didn't twitch. His silence was heavier than any reply.
Then—movement. Swift.
A push kick snapped forward, too sudden for the half-naked man to react. The impact buried into his gut, folding him like paper. He slammed against the wall, choking, breath torn from his lungs.
Before the air returned, another kick followed. Direct to the face. Bone met force with a wet crack. His body dropped limp, unconscious before his head hit the ground.
The intruder didn't look twice. His eyes drifted instead to the girl.
"You're free now."
But she didn't move. Her expression wasn't relief. It was something stranger—an unease that prickled at the edge of comprehension.
His eyes narrowed. And then he noticed it too.
A glow.
Under his boots, the floor was lit—not from above, but from below. A strange circle of pale light, geometric lines weaving into incomprehensible symbols.
The girl had the same beneath her trembling frame.
The unconscious man, too.
All three marked.
His chest tightened. Huh?
Before thought could sharpen into action, the light surged. A pulse, soundless yet overwhelming, like pressure filling the skull. His vision wavered, breath dragging in ragged.
The girl's lips parted in a scream that made no sound.
Then the world dropped into black.
But soon enough.
The world snapped back—or at least, what passed for "back."
He opened his eyes and immediately blinked against a light that wasn't neon, wasn't fluorescent, wasn't even the dim amber of a bar. It was natural, or something like it—soft, scattered, but unfamiliar.
He coughed softly, the air thick and earthy, smelling of moss, wet soil, and faint smoke. His palms pressed against rough grass, dew soaking through his fingers. A faint breeze teased the nape of his neck, lifting strands of gray-dark hair.
"What… what is this?" His voice was low, rough with disbelief.
Around him, the forest stretched in every direction: gnarled trees with bark twisted into grotesque shapes, oversized ferns brushing the ground, shadows crawling between trunks like living things. Sunlight—or something approximating sunlight—poured through in scattered, golden slashes.
And people.
So many people. Standing, sitting, pacing, crouching. Thousands? No, maybe even million.
Yet none noticed one another. Each seemed locked in their own moment, as if the world had been fractured and frozen into separate lives.
Some were frozen in terror, eyes wide, pupils dilated, backs stiff, fists clenched until knuckles whitened. The fine tremor of their forearms betrayed adrenaline surging through their system, even if their face tried to appear neutral. Others walked aimlessly, swaying slightly, lips pressed tight, brow furrowed in confusion. A few muttered, spitting words to no one, hands wringing at waist or tugging hair as muscles tensed involuntarily.
Even those who seemed calm couldn't escape the involuntary betrayals of anatomy: the subtle flare of nostrils, the shallow, rapid intake of air, shoulders inching up with suppressed panic, spine stiffening like a rod under skin, heartbeats thudding too fast against ribcage so skin seemed to pulse with erratic rhythm. Eyes darted minutely, head tilting as if scanning for threats, jaw muscles clenching against sudden anxiety.
He inhaled, letting his own heart rate settle into a slow, deliberate rhythm. He scanned.
A sudden pop—sharp, cutting through the whispers of panic—froze everyone mid-step.
All eyes, though momentarily distracted, refused to meet each other. A second sound followed: a clap. Crisp, loud, commanding attention. Some flinched instinctively; some froze, caught between curiosity and caution; others… did nothing, too lost in their personal chaos to respond.
Above the crowd, levitating, a strange entity hovered. Its body was a perfect sphere of stone, etched with runes that pulsed faintly like veins of molten metal. From either side extended rectangular stones, angular and sharp, almost like arms, though entirely disconnected from anything resembling flesh.
It vibrated lightly, almost impatiently.
"Ahem! Ahem!" it boomed, stone edges rattling, echoing across the forest. "I am sure you can hear me, round and clear. I see that explanation is needed for you humans. So shut up and listen well—interruptions will be… unpleasant."
Its voice, though metallic, carried energy, a restless vivacity that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
He noticed the reactions. Mouths slightly parted, some heads tilting upward, pupils contracting. Some crossed arms, unconsciously flexing biceps against tension. A few swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing under skin as fear fired through their sympathetic nervous system, adrenaline sending the heart rate spiking.
The creature paused, scanning its audience. Apparently satisfied with the obedience, it continued:
"The place you currently occupy is no longer your world. It has changed—shifted, reshaped, and filled with everything you cannot comprehend. You must survive and to help the weak, humans have been divided into ten thousand groups, scattered. So you should stick together, live together and die together. Pretty easy, right?"
A beat of silence. A collective inhale from the crowd, as if the air itself were waiting to be measured.
Then, one man—a pale, unsteady figure, legs wobbling as though carrying his own fear—raised a trembling hand. Stammering:
"H-h… h-hh… h-how… w-we… g-g-go… survive like this? You… y-you… have to give us something, right?
Whispers erupted behind him. Some shook heads, muttering "he's a wasted… high… delirious." Others edged back, avoiding eye contact, their own anxiety mirrored in twitching shoulders and the micro-fasciculations of their calves as they shifted weight to prepare to flee.
The creature's stone hand whipped forward like a guillotine. In an instant, it struck the man's head, a force that sent it flying from his neck as effortlessly as a discarded toy. Heads turned, screams erupted, limbs flailed, and the forest seemed to close in with panic.
"Interesting…" someone muttered, barely audible over the chaos, as their eyes flicked to the floating screen.
A translucent panel hovered in front of him, glowing faintly against the green and gold of the forest. The words etched themselves into his mind without effort:
Name: Anantawat ThiphavongGender: MaleRace: HumanAge: 23Height: 178cmClass: —Title: —Lv.1
Stats:STR: 14 | SPD: 17 | AGI: 18 | STA: 18 | END: 20 | POW: 10 | LUCK: 12Mental Stats: HiddenActive Skills: —Passive Skills: —
He exhaled, tension easing from shoulders, letting a short, humorless laugh escape his throat. Huh. Not ideal, but… not bad either. He didn't care much.
His gaze drifted across the forest again, observing chaos. Among the screaming, panicked crowd, one figure caught his attention.
He was different. Not because he was calm, but because he was precise. His body remained still, but it was the control that mattered. He wasn't stiff. his spine was relaxed, shoulders at ease, muscles loose. Yet his eyes were sharp, scanning, alert—every flick of eyelid measured, every pupil adjustment controlled. Unlike the others, his calm wasn't a facade but rather it was awareness.
The difference was striking clear for most humans, when confronted with fear or shock, exhibited autonomic responses would be their eyes widened involuntarily, the muscles around the orbit tensing with a strain that betrayed what words would not. A clammy sheen clung to their palms as the eccrine glands fired, sweat slicking the skin in cold unease.
The jaw clenched tight, teeth pressed hard enough to grind in fleeting, gritted tremors. Heartbeat spiked, drumming against the ribs, each breath shallow and rapid, forcing the chest to rise and fall in erratic surges and etc.
But this man? His pupils contracted slightly under scrutiny, it isn't panic. His diaphragm regulated calmly, allowing steady, controlled breaths. Subtle micro-movements—like twitching fingers or shifting weight—were intentional, not reflexive. Every microexpression was precise: not a single moment where he is panic,nervous lip licking or involuntary grimace.
He grunted softly under his breath. Hmm… I'll be cautious with him.
And with that thought, he let his eyes wander back to the chaos, mapping the forest, the crowd, the strange stone creature hovering above—and for the first time since arriving, a small, grim smile touched his lips.
This… might be fun.
The floating stone creature's runic symbol pulsed. As it spoke, each word made the glow ripple like a heartbeat.
"So," it declared, voice metallic but smugly animated, "I have already said—you must help each other to survive. And yet… this man dared to ask me a question that should not even be a question."
Its symbol flared crimson, burning bright before dulling back to cool blue.
"That," it said, voice dropping to a sharp click of annoyance, "is the consequence."
A ripple of silence surged through the crowd. Mouths shut. Throats swallowed. Eyes darted to the headless corpse still bleeding into the grass. A few men flinched at the word consequence itself, as though the sound had weight.
"Good," the creature purred, drawing its rectangular arm back, folding it close like a smug gesture of authority. "Now! I am sure next time, you will use your brain. No more stupid questions I must suffer to hear, yes? Good."
The symbol flashed once more, as if punctuating its irritation, then returned to that steady blue flicker.
The creature clapped—three sharp strikes of stone-on-stone. Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound echoed unnaturally, bouncing off the trees, reverberating in ribcages. The crowd, already tense, stiffened further at the unnatural command. Even whispers faltered mid-syllable.
Its voice rose with fresh energy:"Excellent! Now, since I have regained your very precious attention, let us continue. Next—and last—is… the status window!"
It said the words like unveiling a great prize, its symbol glowing brighter.
"Basically," it continued, swinging one rectangular arm in a flourish, "this will help you manage your fragile little lives! It provides all the necessary, basic information you humans must know."
The murmurs returned, cautious at first.
"A… status window? Like… a game?" a young man whispered, voice shaking with a mixture of fear and awe."Shut up, you'll get us killed," the second man hissed at him, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. His face was pale, jaw tight, and he kept glancing over his shoulder."But it is, isn't it? That screen earlier—stats, levels—just like—""Quiet!" the second man snapped again, his voice louder than a hiss this time.
The creature's symbol sparked at the background chatter, but it ignored them.
"Now, now," it crooned mockingly, "I'll skip the obvious parts. First: Class. It is equal to what you humans call a job. You may acquire one upon meeting certain… conditions. Every class has different requirements, hahahaha!"
The laugh rattled stone like a hammer striking an anvil.
"And another condition—stats!"
It lifted its arms dramatically.
"Your stat shows your body's condition, yes yes. It helps you track strengths, weaknesses… like measuring a tool before you use it. Everyone starts different, of course. Why? Because your previous life defines it. And, importantly—your starting limit is twenty."
A collective intake of breath. Some faces fell into despair; others lit with hope.
"Twenty…?" one woman muttered, biting hard at her thumbnail until it bled faintly."That's unfair, I was barely at ten…" another groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "Previous life, huh? So… a weakling stays a weakling?" a man snarled bitterly. His lips curled, teeth bared, and he spat to the side with a sharp, wet click.
The creature went on, undisturbed:"Second-to-last: Titles. You acquire them upon reaching specific conditions. Could be anything—an action, a trait, a deed. Titles may bless you, curse you, amuse me! Who knows?!"
Its stone arms rotated playfully, voice bouncing with too much glee.
"And finally! Skills—active and passive. Active are used when you choose to act. Passive remain always… alive."
Its symbol glowed brighter, spinning faintly as it wrapped up."Oh, and one last delicious tidbit—you may view other humans' status window, but only if they grant you permission."
That caused an eruption of whispers—louder, urgent, desperate.
"Wait, so people can see my stats?!" someone blurted, voice cracking high with panic."That's dangerous—people will target the weak…" another said sharply, her words tumbling out in a hiss. Her eyes darted to the others."No! it means alliances—you'll know who's useful!" a third countered, his tone too eager and too loud. He gestured wildly, almost tripping over his own feet as if trying to convince himself as much as anyone else."But it's permission-based. I won't grant mine to anyone!" one voice declared, brittle with defiance."Idiot, that'll make you look suspicious." a old man reply, spat with venom."Suspicious? Who cares?! I'm not letting strangers read me like a book." the defiant one barked back.
Anantawat stood among the throng, expression unreadable. He exhaled through his nose, low and measured, and muttered to himself:
"…It's a relief, then."
No need for panic.
The creature tilted its round body, waiting. It let the whispers rise and fall, watching the crowd chew itself with fear and uncertainty. Then, it suddenly froze. Its symbol dimmed.
"...Well?" it demanded, voice cracking like a whip. "Any questions?"
The crowd fell into silence again. This time, silence born not of confusion, but fear. Throats tightened. No one dared.
The headless corpse still lay cooling in the grass, its lesson written in blood.
The silence stretched. Some people shifted feet, scratched nervously at their arms, bit lips until skin broke. Eyes flicked upward, downward, anywhere but at the floating stone.
The creature waited one, two, three long breaths before clapping its stone hands together in a satisfied burst.
"Good job, humans!" it chirped, tone suddenly sickeningly cheerful. "No questions! Lovely. Then I'll go."
It floated higher, symbol pulsing like laughter in light.
"Good luck! Do survive, hm? It'll be entertaining to see! Hahaha!"
Its laughter rang like falling rocks.
Then it shot upward into the forest canopy, vanishing into a blur of runic sparks, leaving only the trembling of leaves and the uneasy quiet of the crowd.
Anantawat tilted his head slightly, jaw tight. His thoughts ran low, dry, and quiet.
Easy to say, harder to do. This is really going to be something else.
He looked again at the man he'd noticed earlier—the one whose body betrayed nothing, who still scanned the world with measured calculation. A small grunt left his throat, soft enough for only himself.
Yes… I'll need to be cautious about him.
The forest seemed to exhale all at once—the crowd breaking into cries, wails, shouts, desperate conversations as humans confronted the truth of their new reality.