Office of Director, Ministry of Federal Education, Eurasia Region, Planet Earth, Sol Sector
Liu Shitian sat in his chair and unwrapped the hamburger with careful fingers. The paper crinkled as it fell away, revealing layers of meat, cheese, and vegetables stacked between toasted buns. Just looking at the fillings made his mouth water. He swallowed involuntarily, savoring the anticipation.
Authentic. Real beef. Real vegetables. The kind of meal that cost half a week's salary for most people, the kind you couldn't find on every corner anymore.
He lifted the burger toward his mouth, lips already parting—
The door burst open.
"Director! Director!"
His secretary rushed in, her voice pitched high with urgency. Flustered. Breathless.
Liu Shitian jerked in his seat. The hamburger tilted. Several onion rings slipped free from between the buns and tumbled onto his desk, leaving small grease stains on the polished surface.
His eyes tracked their fall. Then slowly, very slowly, lifted to fix on the woman standing in his doorway.
Displeasure carved deep lines across his face.
"You!"
He pointed a finger at her, the hamburger still clutched in his other hand.
"What the hell are you doing? Do you know how hard it is to find authentic hamburgers these days?"
The words came out sharp, heated. Spittle flew from his mouth as he berated her, punctuating each syllable with barely controlled fury.
The secretary seemed oblivious to the scolding. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, eyes bright with something that looked like elation.
"Director! Level 3! Level 3!"
Liu Shitian's brows creased together.
Not only does she interrupt my snack break, now she can't even speak coherently? What a waste of salary.
He fixed her with a stern look, the hamburger still clutched in his hand.
"Calm down, you idiot."
His tone carried the weight of disappointed authority.
"You are my secretary. Director Liu's secretary, for god's sake. You should have some sense of propriety. I need to maintain a proper image amongst my peers, you know."
The words seemed to pierce through her excitement. She straightened slightly, her breathing evening out. But her eyes—they still blazed with that same intensity. Still carried whatever news had sent her bursting through his door.
Her voice came out steadier this time, though it still trembled at the edges.
"Director! Team Leader Kim Min-Jun just called. They found a Level 3 Player!"
Liu Shitian didn't fully register the words. His attention had already drifted back to the hamburger in his hand, to the fallen onion rings scattered across his desk. His free hand moved to salvage them, picking up the greasy pieces one by one.
"What Level 3 Player? It's not as if—"
He stopped.
His hand froze halfway to the desk. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as the information finally connected.
"Wait!"
His head snapped up to stare at his secretary.
"Did you say Kim Min-Jun? Wasn't he in charge of registering player candidates who awakened?"
The secretary nodded, a smile breaking across her face.
Liu Shitian surged to his feet. The chair shot backward, wheels squealing against the floor before it slammed into the cupboard behind him with a solid thunk. The hamburger in his hand tilted sharply. Mayonnaise slid free from between the buns and dropped onto his shirt in a thick, white streak.
He didn't notice. Didn't care.
His face transformed. The displeasure, the irritation—all of it burned away, replaced by raw excitement that lit up his features like someone had flipped a switch.
"Get me all the background checks done on this new awakened Player!"
The words tumbled out rapid-fire, commands stacking on top of each other.
"Tell Kim Min-Jun to hold off on discussing the detailed benefits!"
Then his voice trailed off. The excitement wavered. Worry crept across his face like a shadow, tightening the corners of his mouth, furrowing his brow.
He asked, voice dropping to something almost nervous.
"Wait. This new awakened—he isn't a member of one of those high nobility, right?"
The secretary's smile widened, knowing and satisfied. She shook her head.
"Born and raised in Prosperity Home."
The worry melted from Liu Shitian's face like wax near a flame. Excitement surged back, brighter than before, transforming his features into something almost gleeful.
"Good! Good!"
His head bobbed up and down, rapid nods that made him look like a hen pecking at grains.
"Go! Do what I told you. Now!"
The secretary turned toward the door, already moving to execute his commands.
"Wait!"
She stopped, glancing back.
Liu Shitian looked down. The white mayonnaise streak stood out starkly against his pristine black shirt, a glaring imperfection that would be noticed by anyone who saw him.
"Bring me a replacement shirt."
She nodded and slipped through the doorway. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing through the office.
Liu Shitian stood alone.
He set the hamburger down on his desk, the motion deliberate. The earlier hunger had vanished. His appetite—killed completely by the news, by the opportunity now sitting in front of him like a gift from the heavens.
"Heavens bless me."
The words came out barely above a whisper, murmured in excitement that bubbled beneath the surface.
"I am going to take off."
His eyes narrowed. The excitement gave way to calculation, to the sharp focus of someone who'd spent years navigating bureaucratic politics and university hierarchies.
I need to draft a new benefit proposal.
His mind was already working through the angles, the leverage points, the concessions he could offer.
I need to properly negotiate and bring this talent under the First Sol Military University. No matter the cost.
A smile curved across his lips.
Mentor will be very happy if I can achieve it.
Bileg Bator sat in the hospital's monitoring room, a nutrition bar halfway to his mouth. The space was small, efficient—four chairs arranged in front of a wall of screens that displayed every corridor in the facility. Doctors and nurses drifted past cameras at irregular intervals, their movements tracked in silent monochrome.
Lee Ji-Hoon occupied the seat beside him, already working through his second bar. Two hospital security officers filled the remaining chairs, their attention split between the monitors and their own snacks.
Ji-Hoon spoke around a mouthful of compressed protein and synthetic grains.
"Hey, Big Boy."
His eyes stayed fixed on the screens as he chewed.
"You think we'll get a bonus for this? Maybe a promotion?"
Bileg finished his bar with one last bite. He folded the wrapper with deliberate precision, creasing it into a tight square. Then his arm snapped forward. The wrapper arced across the room and dropped cleanly into the dustbin positioned near the door—five meters away, perfect accuracy.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes tracking the monitors.
"Maybe. If the recruitment is successful."
His voice carried the flat pragmatism of someone who'd worked bureaucracy long enough to know how credit flowed.
"Of course it'll be Fat Liu's credit. But we might get some thrown our way."
Ji-Hoon murmured something under his breath and took another nibble from his bar.
"It better be."
He swallowed.
"I hate cramped places."
Bileg threw a sneer in Ji-Hoon's direction.
Then Ji-Hoon's posture shifted. His spine straightened. His eyes locked onto one of the monitors, the casual slouch vanishing in an instant.
"We got movement in target corridor."
The words came out professional, crisp. All trace of his earlier laziness gone.
Bileg's gaze snapped to the same screen.
A nurse walked along the corridor where Ray's pod was situated. She carried a tray in both hands—simple, clean, holding a single cup.
Ji-Hoon's fingers moved across the console in front of him, executing commands with practiced efficiency. The facial recognition program activated. A targeting box appeared on the monitor, tracking the nurse's face as she moved. Another box captured the ID badge hanging from her waist.
The system processed. Algorithms ran. Lines of data flickered across a secondary display.
MATCH CONFIRMED
Ji-Hoon exhaled slowly and leaned back into his chair. The tension bled from his shoulders.
"She's in the clear. No worries."
His voice had returned to that casual tone from before, the professional edge smoothed away.
Bileg's hand withdrew from where it had drifted—halfway to the holster at his hip. His legs, which had tensed and shifted forward, ready to push him out of the chair, relaxed back into their original position.
They watched the nurse reach Ray's pod. Her hand moved to the door control. The panel slid open. She stepped inside, the tray still balanced in her grip. The door closed behind her.
Bileg's eyes narrowed. He turned his head toward Ji-Hoon, making direct eye contact.
"Did that kid order anything?"
Ji-Hoon's brow furrowed. Puzzlement flickered across his features.
"Maybe the doctor sent it?"
The uncertainty hung in his voice like a question mark.
He lifted his wrist. A personal holographic console materialized in the air above it, pale blue light casting soft shadows across his face. His fingers moved through the interface.
"Let me ask him."
Raymond sat on the recliner, a tablet resting in his hands.
The device had come from Kim Min-Jun. After the man's shocked reaction to the Level 3 display—that disbelieving outburst—Raymond had catalogued the response. Filed it away as significant. More than significant. The kind of reaction that told you everything about value and rarity without needing explicit confirmation.
He'd also noticed something else during the visit. Everyone carried sophisticated wristwatches. Not timepieces—terminals. Personal holographic interfaces for communication and data access. Kim Min-Jun had used his to contact the Ministry right there in the pod, fingers moving through projected displays like it was second nature.
So Raymond had asked for one.
Kim Min-Jun had promised to get a new unit issued later, but in the meantime offered the tablet. A temporary solution. Better than nothing.
Raymond had been scrolling through information for the past hour. The internet here functioned similarly to what he remembered—search engines, databases, news feeds. Different interfaces, different terminology in places, but the core concept remained familiar enough to navigate.
Basic knowledge accumulated quickly. Planetary governance structures. The Ministry of Federal Education's role in managing awakened Players. University systems. Economic frameworks. Social hierarchies.
And levels.
Everything came back to levels.
Tutorial completion at Level 1 was standard. Expected. The baseline that everyone achieved if they survived. Level 2 meant above-average performance. Competent. Promising, but not extraordinary.
Level 3 after a tutorial scenario?
Rare. Exceptionally rare. The kind of achievement that got you noticed. Tracked. Valued.
So I'm being perceived as some kind of genius talent by those higher-ups because of my level.
Raymond's eyes stayed fixed on the tablet screen, but his mind worked through the implications.
Not because he'd actually demonstrated genius. Not because he'd done something revolutionary or innovative. Just because the number next to his name was higher than expected.
The system had quantified him, and the world had accepted that quantification as gospel.
Raymond's mind drifted back to the reward settlement screen. The experience breakdown. The numbers that had pushed him to Level 3.
Without the skills, he would have hit Level 2 exactly. Ten experience from difficulty, thirty from survival days, sixty from his B+ rating. One hundred total. One level gained.
But the skills—Basic Interrogation Technique and Basic Shooting - Handgun—had each granted fifty experience. Another hundred points. Enough to push him into Level 3.
That's what made the difference.
"Is gaining skills that rare?"
The words came out barely above a whisper, spoken to the empty pod.
He'd seen skills offered in the reputation store back in the desert. They'd been there alongside the stat increases, available for purchase. More expensive than buying raw attributes—ten reputation points versus five—but not impossible to acquire. Not presented as some mythical achievement.
So why would generating them naturally be worth so much experience?
I should look into that.
The mental note filed itself away. Another question for the growing list. Another piece of this world's logic that didn't quite fit together yet.
He lifted the tablet, ready to search for information on skill generation mechanics—
The pod door slid open.
A nurse stepped through, tray balanced in her hands. A single cup sat centered on its surface, some kind of beverage inside. Her face carried a professional smile, the kind healthcare workers wore when delivering routine service.
"Hello, Mr. Ray."
The nurse walked deeper into the pod, her steps measured and calm. She picked up the cup from the tray and set the tray aside on the small counter near the door. Then she turned, offering the cup to Raymond with both hands.
Raymond nodded. Another synthetic drink. His hand reached out to accept it—
Something caught his eye.
Her hands.
They weren't the hands of a nurse. Calluses marked the edges of her palms, small ridges of hardened skin at the base of her fingers. Subtle. Most people would miss them entirely. But Raymond's mind had been trained to catalogue details, to notice the things that didn't belong.
His thoughts sharpened instantly. Crystallized into focus.
But his face showed nothing. No recognition. No alarm. Just a man looking slightly troubled by yet another hospital beverage.
He took the cup from her hands and leaned to the side, setting it in the holder mounted to his recliner without drinking.
As he moved, his eyes dropped lower.
Her shoes.
High heels. Not dramatically tall, but heels nonetheless. Black, professional-looking, the kind office workers wore.
Raymond's mind snagged on the detail. High heels in a hospital? Not impossible—administrators wore them, visitors wore them. But nurses? People who spent twelve-hour shifts on their feet, who needed to move quickly during emergencies, who ran between rooms and equipment?
The inconsistencies stacked up. Callused hands. Impractical footwear. Both small. Both easily dismissed individually.
Together, they tugged at something deeper in his awareness.
The nurse didn't leave. She stood there, three steps from his recliner, watching him. Her professional smile hadn't shifted, but she made no move toward the door.
Raymond looked up at her, letting puzzlement settle across his features.
"Is there anything else?"
The nurse's smile widened slightly, professional warmth dialed up by a fraction.
"The doctor's orders are to finish the energy drink, Mr. Ray."
Her voice carried gentle insistence, the tone of someone used to coaxing reluctant patients.
"Please drink it soon. It will help with your recovery."
Raymond shook his head, his expression apologetic but firm.
"I'll drink it later. Still feeling a bit full from earlier."
He gestured vaguely toward his stomach, the universal signal of someone not ready to consume anything more.
The nurse's smile faltered. Just for a moment—a brief flicker of something that wasn't quite disappointment before the professional mask reasserted itself.
"Of course."
She turned back toward where she'd set the tray, her movements smooth and unhurried. Her hand reached out, fingers extending toward the metal surface—
Then shifted.
Her hand dipped into a fold of her dress instead. When it emerged, thin wire gleamed between her fingers. Fiber handles at each end. A garrote.
Raymond's instincts screamed.
Danger. Immediate. Lethal.
He didn't think. Didn't hesitate. His body moved before conscious thought could catch up, muscles responding to years of drilled responses.
He pushed himself off the recliner, launching forward. His weight carried him past the bed's edge just as the nurse spun back around.
Her movement was swift. Practiced. The garrote stretched taut between her hands as she lunged toward where he'd been lying, wire aimed directly at throat height.
Empty space.
The wire cut through air, finding nothing.
The miss seemed to bewilder the nurse. Her head turned, tracking his movement, the garrote still stretched between her hands. That moment of confusion—half a second, maybe less—bought Raymond the time he needed.
He bolted toward the door.
His feet hit the floor hard, driving him forward. The motion sensors registered his approach. The panel slid open automatically, revealing the corridor beyond.
Raymond sprinted through.
In the monitoring room, Ji-Hoon's wrist console chimed. The doctor's reply materialized in glowing text above his arm.
His eyes scanned the message. Then stopped. Read it again.
Didn't send anything. Nurse not assigned to that floor.
His stomach dropped.
"Bileg, we need to—"
He turned toward the stocky man beside him, words already forming. But Bileg wasn't looking at him. His eyes were locked on one of the monitors, pupils dilated, expression frozen in that split-second before action.
Ji-Hoon's head snapped back to the screens.
Ray burst out of his pod, running hard. Behind him, the nurse emerged through the same doorway, her professional demeanor completely gone. She moved fast—faster than someone in heels should be able to move—closing the distance with predatory focus.
"Fuck!"
Both men were already moving. Chairs scraped back. Footsteps hammered toward the monitoring room door.