After I said the word, the 'System' flickered violently, its digital frame shivering as if a storm had passed through. Tiny sparks skittered along its edges, unstable and unpredictable. The hum of energy thrummed in the air, low and vibrating, making my teeth tingle. It was as if the very space around us had shifted, waiting, testing my resolve.
«What did you say?»
The words cut through the hum, sharper than any blade. I let a slow, deliberate pause answer for me.
"I said no."
The sound fell like a stone into still water, rippling across the invisible currents of the simulation. My heartbeat slowed, measured and steady, but beneath it a coil of tension hummed like a wire about to snap.
«Why?»
Its voice rippled through the air, tinged with curiosity, sharp as a blade trying to probe a wound. I could feel it, this intangible pressure, pressing against my thoughts, prodding me, a silent accusation wrapped in digital code. The presence of the 'System' was more than observation—it was almost physical, a cold weight that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up.
I let the words hang in the air, feeling the weight of the 'System's gaze press down on me. Every flicker, every digital pulse, was a silent accusation: obey, or fail. But failure had a different meaning here—one I had no intention of meeting. I smirked faintly, letting the defiance sit comfortably over my shoulders like a coat. They could test me all they wanted, but I'd play the game my way.
My fingers twitched unconsciously, brushing against my watch in my pocket. A small comfort, a reminder that even in this fractured, glitching simulation, some things were mine—untouchable, real.
"Who would risk their life this early?"
The words rolled off my tongue like dry leaves skimming over asphalt—light, almost careless, but hiding the caution beneath. I didn't shout. I didn't plead. I merely let the words exist, watching how they landed, how the space between us seemed to tense and bend. They were meant to feel casual, but underneath, they were careful, measured, a shield I had placed in front of myself.
«…»
The 'System' didn't move, but I could feel its gaze settling on me like a storm pressing down, assessing every inch of me with precise scrutiny. I imagined it narrowing digital eyes, grids flickering in silent calculation. The weight of that scrutiny was tangible, like a cold wind pressing through the walls of a sealed room, threatening to crack the glass of my composure.
The silence stretched, thick and sticky, wrapping the room in a tense quiet. It was a silence that wasn't empty—it was alive, moving around me, crawling into the spaces between my fingers and the folds of my clothes. It was the kind of silence that waits, patient, for a single misstep to shatter it. My ears strained to catch the faintest hint of a signal from the System: a pulse, a vibration, a tiny digital hiccup. Almost a minute passed before it erupted in a shout, jagged and electric.
«WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!»
The sound was sudden, harsh, like glass breaking in the middle of a calm lake. I could feel the vibration through the air, like the walls themselves had woken up and were shaking in annoyance. My fingers flexed instinctively, and I barely suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.
I rolled onto my side, letting the bed sag under me, limbs stretching lazily like cats in sunlight. The mattress creaked under my weight, a faint, groaning protest, but it was comforting—real, solid, grounding. My fingers dove into the pockets of my black cargo pants, brushing past the familiar weight of my phone and watch. Both were safe, predictable, solid—tiny anchors in a world that felt like it could glitch apart at any moment.
I pulled them out, feeling the cool metal of the watch press against my palm. The touch was reassuring, almost shockingly mundane, yet it steadied me in the flickering chaos around the System. There was a small thrill in knowing that even here, even in this simulation that seemed to bend and wobble with invisible currents, I had something undeniably real to hold onto.
I powered on my phone, humming a soft tune under my breath, letting the sound fill the quiet between me and the buzzing, tense hum of the 'System'. The melody was insignificant to anyone else, but to me, it was a tether to normalcy—a fragile thread connecting me to something I remembered from another life, a world that didn't flicker or glitch with every thought.
"Let's see if I can actually use this thing here."
I muttered, more to myself than to anyone—or anything—else. My thumb hovered over the familiar icons, feeling the smooth surface of the screen beneath my fingertips, almost soothing. My hand lingered over the web novel app, that digital portal I had spent countless nights lost in, devouring chapters and chasing stories like they were lifelines.
But as soon as I tried to open it, the familiar frustration of failure hit me like icy rain. The words "No Signal" glared back at me, a silent insult, mocking my expectation that anything here would behave like the world I remembered.
"Damn it."
The sharpness in my voice startled even me. I swiped again. Same result. I tapped harder, as if brute force could bend the digital world to my will. Nothing. The screen remained stubbornly lifeless, as if it had decided I wasn't worthy of connection.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting my fingers drum against my chest. The rhythm was unconscious, a tiny rebellion against the silence, against the omnipresent hum of the System. My mind wandered to all the chapters I hadn't read, the endings I hadn't seen, the secrets that had yet to unfold.
"My favorite web novel… ending soon, and I haven't even finished half of the last chapter. Special bonus chapters too… and the author's pinging me for feedback."
The words were half complaint, half confession, spilling into the silence like water into a cracked cup. There was no pride in admitting it, yet no shame either—it was truth, raw and unpolished, a small beacon of self in the strange, shifting reality of the simulation.
«Are you serious? You care more about your web novel than about their lives?»
"Hm… yeah."
I said it like a shrug. Not proud, not apologetic—just… true. The statement felt weightless on my tongue, but it carried the gravity of honesty. I could almost feel the System stiffen, a ripple of confusion or judgment threading through its form.
Guilt prickled faintly, like a mosquito bite I couldn't quite scratch. But it was fleeting. This… this little obsession was mine. My comfort. My tiny rebellion against chaos. A fragile island in a storm, something untouchable, something the System could never fully understand or command.
«How can I make you go outside and save them?»
"Hmmm…"
I muttered, tilting my head as if the question were a puzzle made of jagged glass—dangerous to touch, yet too tempting to ignore. My mind circled the answer, testing the edges of possibility, weighing risk and consequence with a careful, invisible scale.
My fingers traced patterns in the air absentmindedly, looping small circles on the invisible fabric of the simulation. The System's presence pressed against me, sharp and relentless, like a winter wind that could slice skin if I lingered too long. Every flicker of its floating lights, every shift in its form, was a heartbeat of impatience, a silent push to make me act.
I grinned, slow, deliberate, letting the movement of my lips carry more challenge than words ever could.
"Just give me an OP power, and I'll help."
The words felt light in my mouth, almost a joke, but loaded like a trap. A test disguised as humor. My eyes scanned the edges of the 'System', flicking over the floating grids and blinking lights that made up its body. Every flicker, every pulse of its form, seemed to mock me, daring me to push harder.
«No, I can't do that.»
The reply landed like a hammer, quick and sharp, reverberating through the void around me. I let my grin widen, tilting my head back as if to dare it to try harder.
"Why not?"
I asked, voice soft, teasing, with just a hint of mock curiosity. My finger tapped rhythmically against my wrist, counting seconds that didn't matter, a small defiance in the face of absolute authority.
«I don't have access to your window system, and even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you.»
The words were cold, exact, like metal pressed against bone. I let a quiet laugh slip out, soft and lazy, as if the tension in the air were merely amusing, not threatening.
"Wait… you mean my window system?"
«Your window system, also called the profile window, is secret. Only you can access it or grant access to others.»
I exhaled slowly, letting the hum of the environment brush against my skin like static electricity. The world felt alive, tense, waiting for my next move, and I savored the moment.
"Oh…"
I let the word hang, quiet and soft, my fingers flexing as I slid the watch over my wrist. The pulse of the small device felt oddly grounding, like a tiny anchor in the chaos.
I stared at the floating blue glow, squinting slightly.
"So… how do I summon the profile window?"
I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, but my pulse betrayed a faint thrill.
«Think it. Call it. Make it appear.»
The words were calm, almost surgical. But I felt the pressure behind them—a subtle insistence, like the System was pressing invisible hands against my chest, waiting to see if I would obey.
I swallowed, my fingers hovering in the empty air, uncertain. The glow flickered faintly in response, like it could sense hesitation. Focus, I told myself. Concentrate.
Then, I gritted my teeth.
"WINDOW!"
The virtual space shivered. Particles of light scattered like shards of broken glass, spinning in every direction before coalescing into a rectangle. The glow pulsed once, twice, then steadied into a soft, steady blue.
It hovered before me, almost fragile, yet undeniably solid. My fingers tingled with anticipation, hovering just above the edges. This wasn't just a tool—it felt alive, waiting for recognition.
I exhaled slowly, letting the moment. The hum of the simulation deepened, vibrating in rhythm with my heartbeat. Every pulse of light, every tiny flicker, seemed to watch me back.
I flexed my fingers, brushing the tips over the interface. Almost like… It's teasing me, I thought with a grin.
Lines sharpened. Borders locked into place. Symbols and numbers slid smoothly into view, as if the interface had been alive all along, waiting for my acknowledgment.
—— PROFILE ——
Name: Zin Fortis Title: None
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class: None
HP: 10 / 10
MP: 10 / 10
Stats:
----
STR: 1
AGI: 1
END: 1
STA: 1
Skills:
----
Dark Magic: ??? [Cannot Access]
Enhance: LV 1
——————
I stared at the numbers longer than I expected to.
They didn't shift. Didn't flicker. Didn't react to my gaze at all. Everything was neat. Balanced. Almost insultingly simple. No hidden bonuses tucked away behind clever formatting. No flashy titles hinting at some buried destiny. Just raw, bare existence laid out in glowing blue text, stripped down to its most basic form.
Each digit felt intentional. Each label is deliberate. Not random. Not careless. It was as if the system itself were staring back at me through the screen, quietly daring me to turn something this empty into something meaningful.
The window's interface impressed me despite myself. Clean lines. Organized sections. No clutter, no wasted space. It was minimal and efficient, but something was unsettling about it too—something intimate. Like it hadn't been designed only to display information, but to observe the one reading it. To memorize my reactions.
"Wow, this screen looks so cool—better than you."
I smirked as I said it, letting the words hang in the dense, electric air. The glow hovering beside the window pulsed faintly, its light tightening for just a split second, almost like it had taken the jab personally.
«I heard that. Do you really have to say it out loud?»
"Yeah, yeah."
I replied lazily.
"Why are my stats so low?"
The 'System' hesitated.
It was subtle—barely noticeable—but it was there. A fractional pause before it answered, as if it were measuring how much truth it was allowed to give, or how much it wanted to.
«Your stats are low because you've been reset to a normal human state.»
"What do you mean?"
My voice dropped without me meaning it to. Not fearful. Not angry. Just focused. The hum of the virtual environment deepened, vibrating faintly through the space like a distant engine—or a heartbeat that didn't belong to me.
«Like a disease on Earth, after the reset, you no longer suffer from the old illnesses you carried from Earth.»
The explanation settled slowly.
I flexed my fingers. Rolled my shoulders. Took a deeper breath than usual.
Everything felt… cleaner. Sharper. Lighter. As if something heavy had been peeled away without me ever noticing it was there. My body responded faster. My senses felt clearer. I was new—
And yet, unmistakably, still myself.
"Useless."
The blue light flared instantly.
A sharp ripple ran through its shape, agitation crackling along its edges. The profile window trembled faintly, like it had been struck by a sudden shockwave. I couldn't stop the small grin that tugged at the corner of my mouth. A quiet, petty victory.
«NO, I'M NOT!»
"Haha, just joking," I said lightly. "Still… I can't save everyone with these stats and powers. I don't even have a weapon."
I leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving the screen. Numbers like these weren't comforting. They weren't reassuring.
They were a warning.
Each stat point. Each empty skill slot. Every line of glowing text whispered the same thing—one mistake here would cost more than just points. Every choice ahead mattered.
The response came faster this time. Too fast.
«You can level up and acquire weapons by fighting monsters.»
"I know."
I replied calmly.
"But I don't want to risk my life."
Silence followed.
Not the awkward kind.
The dangerous kind.
The kind where something unseen was calculating outcomes without your consent. Where probabilities were weighed, sacrifices measured. The hum of the environment stretched thin, like time itself had slowed to watch what would happen next.
I could feel the 'System's attention pressing down on me—probing, patient, searching for cracks. My fingers twitched, itching to swipe, to interact, to do something. I didn't. I let the tension build, coil tighter, savoring the moment before it snapped.
Finally—
«Fine. If you fight monsters and save everyone, I'll give you a prize.»
That word "Prize" landed differently.
Not duty. Not an obligation. Not responsibility.
Something stirred in my chest. My pulse jumped faintly as the blue glow reflected in my eyes, the corners of my lips lifting before I could stop them.
My eyes lit up.
"Deal!"
The word slipped out fast—clean and instinctive. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
A small blue rectangle appeared immediately, its sharp edges glowing softly against the virtual dark. The notification pulsed once, quiet but insistent, syncing perfectly with the subtle tremor in my chest.