The worst part about Seongjin High wasn't the smell of cheap ramen or the constant fear of being cornered. It was the hierarchy. Everyone knew where they stood, and Jae-Hee Park stood at the bottom. An invisible, Level Zero student in a world before Levels even existed.
It was during third period Math, a subject Jae-Hee usually zoned out of to count the minutes until freedom, that the world shattered.
A high, metallic DING! echoed, not from the speakers, but from everywhere. The sound vibrated in their teeth. The fluorescent lights flickered violently.
Then, the world was overlaid with bright, neon blue.
Every student flinched, staring at the invisible screens hovering just beyond their focus. On the whiteboard, the equation for parabolas was replaced by a massive, pulsing status window.
NOTIFICATION: THE SYSTEM IS ONLINE.
WORLD CLASSIFICATION: CLASS-B LOW-GRADE
INITIATING PLAYER PROFILES...
Jae-Hee's heart hammered against his ribs. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the display followed his eyes.
STATUS WINDOW JAE-HEE PARK
LEVEL 1
CLASS CIVILIAN F-RANK
STRENGTH 5
ENDURANCE 4
AGILITY 3
SKILLS Observation Lv. 1
Five Strength. Three Agility. He was statistically pathetic.
Across the room, the top student and undisputed bully, Hyeok Shin, laughed—a sound that was now amplified with menacing authority. A massive, golden Level 40 was emblazoned above his head.
"F-Rank," Hyeok Shin sneered, glancing at the terrified faces. "Looks like some of you are still garbage."
The new rules were instantly clear. The weak were now numerically defined, and the strong were godlike. The class bell rang, a hollow sound in the sudden quiet. Everyone avoided Jae-Hee, stepping around him like he was a patch of contaminated dirt.
He ran to the nearest empty stairwell. He wasn't safe for long.
"Hey, Fodder!"
Three figures blocked his path. Leading them was Do-Yoon, a Level 6 Apex grunt. A jagged green Level bar glowed above his head.
"New rule, trash," Do-Yoon smirked, shoving Jae-Hee against the damp concrete. "Since you're officially F-Rank, you owe us a tax. Call it System Fees."
The fists started flying. Jae-Hee curled up, trying to protect his head. Every blow felt sharp, magnified by his pathetic Endurance 4. This wasn't just bullying; this was systematic culling.
I need to run. I need to get away.
But before Do-Yoon could land the final, teeth-rattling kick, a siren blared—the school's disciplinary whistle, amplified into a painful, echoing shriek.
NOTIFICATION: NO COMBAT ZONE VIOLATION. SECTOR 3 LOCKDOWN INITIATING.
Do-Yoon cursed, realizing the consequences of getting caught violating the new System rules were still unknown. He grabbed Jae-Hee's cheap backpack and tossed it over the railing.
"Lucky day, Fodder. See you tomorrow," he spat, then ran off with his crew, leaving Jae-Hee sprawled, bruised, but alive.
He was Level 1 with 4 Endurance. He had to change that.