[Calibrating…]
Jack groaned softly in his sleep, lids pressed shut, while his hand drifted across the sheets in a clumsy search for the phone lying beside his pillow.
[Calibrating…Processing, estimated time: 840 minutes.]
'Where's my phone?'
Soon his fingers brushed against the phone and switched it off—only to notice the alarm hadn't even gone off yet.
'What was that? I swear I heard something,' he thought, before sinking back into sleep.
Moments after, however, a sharp stab pierced his skull, and a flood of strange—yet hauntingly familiar—scenes ripped through his mind, as if he were living another's life. Still, he did not wake, his body twisting faintly as though trapped in a nightmare.
In that dream, Jack was someone else entirely—someone who has a role in society. To the world he appeared an ordinary civilian, but beneath the façade he was someone extraordinary, armed with sharp intellect and skills that rivaled the very best.
His life brimmed with thrill and chaos, danger and survival, every moment driving him into the jaws of life-threatening trials.
In that dream, the man had only one wish. 'I wish I had been born ordinary… I wish someone else would take this burden from me—someone who truly wished for it…'
Watching the man's life as though it were his own, Jack couldn't help but admire him. This stranger was living the life Jack had always wanted. He could understand the man's yearning for an ordinary existence, yet such power inevitably demanded great responsibility. Jack, by contrast, felt hollow—small, insignificant. He was… pathetic.
Just then, the man—embroiled in a mission against a secret terrorist organization—was caught in a trap, and a blade drove suddenly into his chest.
At that very moment, Jack jolted upright, gasping in panic as though the wound were his own.
Cold sweat clung to Jack's skin as his eyes darted wildly about—only to find nothing but the familiar walls of his old room.
Jack clutched at his chest, half-expecting to feel the blade's wound. When he found only skin and fabric, he drew in ragged, shallow breaths, forcing himself to calm even as dread still lingered.
"Hmph! Who the hell am I kidding?" he scoffed, running a hand through his hair in self-mockery.
As Jack's eyes drifted from beneath his tousled hair and swept across the room, he was reminded of his own life.
'That's right,' he thought bitterly. 'Compared to that man's, mine is nothing—it's like comparing gold to dirt.'
He had lived in his parents' house for as long as he could remember, never once having the means or opportunity to move out.
His room was single: a single bed, a worn study desk, and a closet. Books, papers, and half-crumpled documents lay scattered among bits of trash, giving the space a cluttered, lived-in feel.
There was one door led out, while two windows of uneven size opened to the world below—his view from the second floor.
Reminded once more of his own pathetic state, Jack buried his face in the pillow. After a few moments of restless thought, he slipped back into sleep.
Four hours slipped by before Jack finally stirred. He wrestled free from the tangle of blankets and pried his eyes open, forcing himself upright. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared into nothing, blinking slowly now and then, while the hands of the clock kept on moving.
Before he realized it, another yawn slipped out. A wave of self-pity washed over him, but he pushed it aside. He was about to sink back into sleep when a bright glow caught his eye—the sunlight pressing through the curtains. "Truth was, it had been there all along, only softened by the curtains.
'What time is it? I need to review.'
With his usual sluggishness, Jack separated himself from the bed and shuffled to the nearby study desk, swearing this time he'd actually study.
He opened his laptop, pulled up his review notes… and five minutes later was deep into X, Facebook, and three random tabs he couldn't even remember clicking. Soon enough he was juggling anime, porn, and web novels like some kind of unholy multitasking champion. By the time he snapped back to reality, the sun was already announcing it was afternoon.
Still yawning, he cracked open the window beside his desk, squinted at the blinding daylight, then promptly shut it again as if the sun itself had offended him.
"Tch…"
Jack rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. His back crackled with relief, his wrists flexing as the pull traveled from his fingertips down through his forearms. The sensation was oddly satisfying, easing away the stiffness left by hours of idleness. For the first time that day, he almost felt productive!
Jack was twenty years old, standing at 172 centimeters. Physique-wise, he was neither overweight nor athletic—somewhere in that vague middle ground. Still, he carried a decent build, the kind most people might call 'attractive enough,' which he considered one of his few remaining perks. There were traces of muscle too, not just the leftovers from his short-lived workout phase, but from the times when he'd actually been, well… physically active.
Compared to how he used to be, his current state was pretty pitiful. Stepping out of his room at a lazy pace, his slippers whispered against the floor. From the second-floor hallway, the faint sound of the television drifted up—kiddy shows his mother always played for his youngest brother, still a toddler.
The baby momentarily gazed up at him.
'I'm jealous. Honestly, I want that life too,' Jack thought, smiling at the adorable toddler. He longed to be an innocent child again—free of worries, free of guilt. To just eat, nap, and laze around all day without a shred of shame… now that was the dream.
"Good morning, son. Look, big brother Jack woke up late again—what do you say?" their mother, 47 years old, a full-time housewife, cooed in a playful voice to the toddler, who was happily playing with toys while the TV chattered in the background.
"When are you leaving?" his mother asked.
"The usual. Maybe five."
"You need to be careful, alright? I heard there was a shooting two blocks away—a delivery driver died."
"Was it a robbery?"
"I haven't heard the full details yet. Your father hadn't yet come back after. Just make sure to catch a ride straight home after class. Don't hang around."
Jack couldn't help but laugh to himself. Hang around? He never even entertained the idea—what was there to hang around for anyway? And really, what would even happen to him?
'Sure, if someone shot me, I'd probably die… but what are the chances of running into the shooter out of everyone in the world? If it happened, I'd just have to blame my luck. Death doesn't scare me—it's inevitable. If it comes, it comes.' Jack casually kept to himself.
By noon, Jack was on the community bus, and phonk music was banging from his Bluetooth earbuds. The university wasn't far, yet when he checked his watch upon arrival, it was already five in the afternoon—just as most students were heading home. But not him. Not them.
The thing was, Jack was a student too. He wasn't entirely hopeless. He was a law student, to be precise—and their classes didn't start until night. Not every law school followed this setup, but his university catered to many working students, some even supporting their families, so the schedule was arranged this way.
As Jack stepped through the university gates, he spotted his classmates trickling in like weary soldiers after a long campaign. Some still had their office IDs hanging around their necks, others clutched fast food bags for dinner, and all of them wore the same exhausted look.
Spotting a few of his friends, Jack fell in step with them. Together, they shuffled into the building, but while most drifted toward their classrooms, Jack made his way to the library—his usual first stop before class.
Jack paused for a few seconds in front of the door, peering inside. He was no longer a freshman—this was his third year.
And every time, the sight of students hunched over desks or sprawled on sofas, studying with genuine focus, hit him like a slap. Shame and guilt swirled around him as he realized how little effort he was putting in, how his motivation kept slipping away. Wasn't he just wasting his parents' money, planting false hopes in their hearts, fooling everyone around him… including himself?
Upon entering, Jack was greeted by the soft shuffle of pages, the muted scratch of pens, and the occasional cough. Moving quietly and offering a small smile to familiar faces, he chose a table near a window draped with curtains. He set down his bag, pulled out his laptop, and eased into the chair.
Moments later, though, his head nodded forward and back, each tilt a quiet battle against sleep.
"Jack, Jack, Jack."
With a gentle tap on his shoulder stirring him, Jack heard a girl's voice in his daze, and couldn't help but open his eyes.
The one disturbing his peace was a black-haired girl, her ponytail tied neatly enough to pass. She has large brown eyes, slightly pale skin, and a neutral expression which gave her a strong, almost unapproachable presence. She wasn't exactly attractive—at least not in Jack's eyes—but there was something undeniably appealing about her.
"What are you staring at?" She said accusatorily.
Jack blinked.
"Cindy," he said, rubbing his eyes and massaging his forehead, "Don't worry—I wasn't exactly looking at you."
Cindy raised an eyebrow, annoyed at his attitude, shaking her head as she packed her things. "Stand up now. Class is about to start," she added flatly.
Cindy was one of the few people Jack considered a true friend. They had started as simple classmates at sixteen, grew closer in college, and remained friends now in law school.
"I didn't even get to review properly," Jack lamented.
"I know, that's obvious," Cindy replied, shaking her head. "You really need to do better."
In law school, students fall into two categories: working and full-time. Naturally, more were expected from full-time students due to the amount of time they have compared to working students. Cindy have always met those expectations.
Jack? He couldn't have cared less about anyone else's expectations. He knew what he was capable of, so why bother trying to meet them? At least, that's how he used to feel. Lately, though, he wasn't so sure anymore.
When they arrived in the classroom, Jack set down his bag and fumbled for whatever study materials he could find, much to the disbelief—and quiet disappointment—of his seatmate, Cindy.
A few minutes later, the professor arrived, and the exam papers were handed out—twenty essay questions to be completed within three hours.
After an hour, however, Jack's eyes had turned red and veiny. He stared down at the test paper and a dull throb had started pulsing at his temples—just like that morning. Normally, exams left him a nervous wreck. He wasn't a top scorer, but he could usually scrape by.
Today, though, even that confidence felt distant. It was fine at first but the words on the page were now a blur, swimming in and out of focus every time he tried to concentrate.
"Are you all right, Mr. Crawluster? You look pale," the professor couldn't help but ask.
"I'm alright, Attorney." Jack replied groggily.
But his current state was obviously not good, "Alright, you may go home after you finish. You should get yourself checked."
"Yes, Attorney." Jack murmured.
He pressed his fingers lightly against his forehead, willing the ache to ease, but the pounding only grew sharper with each tick of the clock, making his pupils dart back and forth in panic.
The scratching of pens around him felt louder than usual, echoing in his head like annoying bells. He forced his hands to keep writing, though every line felt heavier, every thought slower to form—making his already nightmarish penmanship even worse.
Impending doom…he could feel it, something awful hurtling toward him.
Unable to endure it any longer, Jack jolted upright, startling almost everyone. Whistles, sarcastic and sincere praises, echoed around the room.
When he passed his exam notebook forward, the professor's brows furrowed in concern.
"Are you sure about this, Mr. Crawluster?"
However, Jack was already gone. After him, the professor noticed him leaning against a wall for support before rushing somewhere.
In the restroom, in a cubicle, Jack locked himself up and began hurling.
[Finished: 180 minutes]
[The Urban System has been finally calibrated.]
[Congratulations!]
[Character Information]
[Name: Jack Crawlluster]
[Class: Powerless Deadweight]
[Level 1]
…]