"You ever wake up in a world where nothing makes sense, everyone's speaking gibberish, and the sun feels just a little too judgmental?"
— Gongjeon (Formerly Known As The God Of The Unknown, Currently Unemployed And Somehow Holding A Jackhammer)
[00:00] — [SYSTEM INITIALIZATION FAILED — ERROR: CONTEXTUAL DISPLACEMENT DETECTED]
No.
That wasn't the first thing he thought when he woke up.
The first thing he thought was:
"What in the nine burning hells of forgotten mythology is that smell?"
It smelled like wet concrete, sweat, diesel, and something faintly metallic that might've been blood or rust—or both. Maybe regret. Hard to tell at that hour.
The second thing he thought was:
"Where in the eternal void of non-being am I?"
Because—
He wasn't home.
Not that "home" was a place with four walls and a ceiling that didn't leak divine essence every time he sneezed. No, home had been… well, nowhere, and everywhere, and nowhere else, which was precisely how he liked it. Infinite. Unbound. Unnamed. Untouchable.
And then?
He wasn't.
One moment, he was floating in the silence between the thoughts of dead gods, watching realities fold like origami made by a blind toddler on hallucinogens. The next?
KER-THUMP.
Hard ground. Smell of mortar. A headache that felt like someone had dropped a galaxy on his frontal lobe.
And voices. Lots of them. Harsh, guttural, fast. Spoken far too quickly to be any language he immediately recognized. Which was saying something, because he invented several of them back when time was still an unpaid intern.
He groaned.
Lying face-down in what he could only describe as "construction site gravel," he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, blinking against the too-bright sunlight.
And that's when he saw them.
Humans.
Lots of them.
Tiny. Squishy. Wearing cloth wrapped around their bodies in ways that seemed both inefficient and strangely committed. Some of them were holding metal sticks that made loud noises when they hit other metal things. Others were shouting in that rapid, chewed-up language.
None of them noticed him.
Well. That was… new.
[00:03] — [CONSCIOUSNESS STABILIZED — LOCAL REALITY PARAMETERS: INCOMPLETE BUT FUNCTIONAL]
A voice echoed in his mind.
Not a voice he recognized. Not one he'd heard before. It wasn't divine. It wasn't demonic. It wasn't even particularly intelligent. It sounded like a poorly translated customer service bot that had been left running too long without updates.
[WELCOME, USER.]
[SYSTEM INTERFACE UNAVAILABLE AT THIS TIME.]
[ERROR: COSMIC DISPLACEMENT PROTOCOL BREACH.]
[LOCATION: EARTH-LIKE PLANET, REGION CLASSIFIED AS "SOUTH KOREA" (UNCONFIRMED). ERA: APPROXIMATELY 103 YEARS PRIOR TO CURRENT HUNTER-DOMINANT TIMELINE.]
[NOTE: LOCAL INHABITANTS HAVE BEGUN TO MANIFEST "SYSTEMS." FURTHER DATA REQUIRED.]
[YOU ARE CURRENTLY: ALIVE. UNREGISTERED. UNNOTICED. AND, FOR SOME REASON, WEARING A HALF-ROTTED WORK JACKET.]
He stared at the inside of his eyelids for a long moment.
Then he opened them again.
The voice hadn't gone away. If anything, it had gotten louder. Or maybe he was just less dead inside than he'd been five seconds ago.
[PLEASE STAND BY WHILE SYSTEM DOWNLOADS BASIC INTERFACE MODULES.]
[ESTIMATED TIME REMAINING: UNKNOWN. PROBABLY A WHILE.]
He sighed—a long, slow, exasperated sound that came somewhere between a growl and a prayer to a deity that definitely wasn't him.
"Of course," he muttered. "I get flung across reality, land in a pile of rocks next to a bunch of sweaty apes with power tools, and my only welcome gift is a buggy operating system and a half-rotted jacket."
He tugged at the garment in question. It smelled like machine oil and despair. Somehow, it fit him perfectly.
Well. That was annoying.
[00:07] — [USER HAS AWAKENED PHYSICALLY. MIND FUNCTIONING WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS. EMOTIONAL RESPONSE REGISTERED: CONFUSION, IRRITATION, MILD COSMIC ANGST.]
He stood up.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The world didn't tilt. The sky didn't fall. A few humans glanced in his direction, then immediately looked away, as if he were beneath their notice. Which, all things considered, was fine by him.
He looked around.
The landscape was… strange. Not wrong, exactly, but not right either. The buildings were low, made of brick and wood instead of stone or steel or whatever architectural nonsense his followers used to build in his name back when they still had the decency to carve statues of him with six eyes and no mouth. (Smart choice. He hated being asked questions.)
There were roads—dirt and cobblestone mixed with something that might've been early asphalt. Vehicles coughed along like dying beasts, spewing black smoke. And everywhere, humans moved with purposeful chaos, carrying things, shouting, gesturing wildly.
And then he saw it.
A sign. Handwritten in what he assumed was the local language.
[HIRING: CONSTRUCTION WORKERS – MUST BE ABLE TO LIFT HEAVY THINGS AND NOT DIE.]
Beneath it, a grizzled man with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth squinted in his direction and waved.
"Hey, you there—foreigner-looking guy. You wanna work? We're paying in cash and instant noodles."
He blinked.
Then, almost instinctively, he shrugged.
"Why the hell not."
[00:12] — [USER HAS ACCEPTED EMPLOYMENT. SYSTEM INITIALIZATION RESUMED.]
They called him Gongjeon.
He didn't correct them.
It wasn't his real name, obviously. His real name—if one could even call it that—had been lost before the first star had dared to flicker. But "Gongjeon" sounded official enough. Bureaucratic. Like the kind of name you'd give a mid-level functionary in a ministry no one cared about.
Besides, he liked the way it sounded when they shouted it.
"GONG-JEONNN!! GET YOUR LAZY ASS OVER HERE AND HELP US MOVE THIS BEAM BEFORE IT FALLS ON SOMEONE'S FACE!"
He liked it even more when he did it without breaking a sweat.
Because, you see…
He wasn't exactly human.
Not anymore. Not really. Not since before time had teeth.
The beam in question weighed roughly eight metric tonnes. The humans were straining, grunting, using pulleys and levers and sheer stubbornness to drag it into place.
He walked over. Grabbed one end. Lifted.
No sweat. No strain. Just… up.
The humans froze.
One of them dropped his crowbar.
He set the beam down gently—too gently—and turned around with the most innocent look he could muster, which, given the circumstances, was still vaguely terrifying.
"Need help with anything else?" he asked, voice smooth as dried blood.
The foreman stared at him for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Yeah. Don't… uh… do that again. Just… for today, okay?"
He grinned. It wasn't a nice grin.
"Sure thing, boss."
Later that night, back in the tiny, mold-smelling room he was renting above a dried fish shop (don't ask), he sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the glowing interface that had finally decided to boot up properly.
It floated in the air in front of him, translucent and flickering, like a corrupted hologram projected by a machine that had given up on life.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE v0.0001-Beta (COSMIC ERROR EDITION)]
[USER: ???]
[LEVEL: ???]
[CLASS: ???]
[SKILLS: ???]
[EQUIPMENT: ???]
[NOTES: ALL DATA CORRUPTED OR UNAVAILABLE. PLENTY OF POTENTIAL THOUGH.]
He raised an eyebrow.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
[WELCOME, USER. PLEASE SELECT A STARTING PACKAGE:
A) WARRIOR
B) MAGE
C) ROGUE
D) I'M ACTUALLY A GOD AND THIS IS ALL VERY UNDERWHELMING]
He stared at it.
Then reached out, and with a single finger, smashed the entire menu into glittering fragments.
It reformed instantly.
[ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED ACTION. PLEASE SELECT A CLASS.]
He sighed.
"Fine. Whatever. Just… give me something that doesn't suck."
[INITIATING ADAPTIVE CLASS GENERATION…
…BASED ON USER'S CURRENT PHYSIOLOGICAL PROFILE…
…AND UNFATHOMABLE LEVEL OF COSMIC ENERGY…]
A new line appeared.
[CLASS UNLOCKED: ??? (PENDING DESIGNATION)]
**[SKILL TREE: ???]
[WARNING: SKILLS MAY BE OVERPOWERED. USER ADVISED TO NOT BREAK REALITY AGAIN.]
He leaned back.
Smiled.
Just a little.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
[SYSTEM INTERFACE EXPLAINED]
(Note: This section is an in-depth breakdown of the System Gongjeon encounters, providing context and details about its functions, limitations, and potential.)
SYSTEM INTERFACE v0.0001-Beta (COSMIC ERROR EDITION)
Appearance:
A translucent, floating screen that appears in Gongjeon's field of vision.
Resembles a combination of a HUD (heads-up display) and a complex software interface, with panels, sliders, and text scrolling in a language he doesn't recognize.
Occasionally glitches, displaying pixelated artifacts or distorting the surrounding environment.
Functionality:
User Profile: Displays basic information about Gongjeon, but most fields are either blank or filled with placeholder text.
Skill Tree: A vast, branching structure containing countless skills, abilities, and powers—most of which are locked or labeled with cryptic names.
Inventory: An empty space with a note stating, "No items to display. Please acquire equipment through gameplay."
Quest Log: Blank, with a prompt asking Gongjeon to "Establish a Purpose" to generate quests.
Settings: Contains options like "Language," "Appearance," and "System Diagnostics," but selecting any option results in an error message.
Interactions:
Gongjeon can attempt to interact with the System using touch, thought commands, or verbal instructions.
Responses are inconsistent, ranging from immediate actions to complete disregard for his inputs.
The System occasionally offers cryptic hints or suggestions, often in the form of pop-up notifications that disappear before Gongjeon can read them fully.
Limitations:
The System lacks a comprehensive tutorial or guidance, leaving Gongjeon to experiment and discover its capabilities on his own.
Many features are non-functional or behave unpredictably, leading to frequent system crashes and glitches.
Gongjeon suspects that the System is incomplete or damaged, possibly due to the circumstances of his arrival in this world.
Potential:
Despite its flaws, the System holds immense power and knowledge, hinting at abilities that could reshape reality itself.
Gongjeon believes that mastering the System could grant him unparalleled control over this new world—or potentially allow him to return to his original realm.
However, he remains cautious, aware that wielding such power irresponsibly could have catastrophic consequences.
The next morning, Gongjeon returned to the construction site with a newfound sense of purpose. The System, despite its quirks, had planted a seed of intrigue in his mind. He was determined to uncover its secrets, if only to alleviate the unbearable boredom that plagued him.
As he approached the site, the foreman greeted him with a mixture of suspicion and begrudging respect.
"Good morning, Gongjeon. Ready to work?"
Gongjeon nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Let's get started."
Throughout the day, he observed the humans around him with growing fascination. Their movements were clumsy and inefficient, their tools primitive compared to what he was accustomed to. Yet, there was a certain resilience in their determination, a drive to overcome obstacles that he found… intriguing.
During a particularly grueling task—lifting a massive steel girder into place—Gongjeon decided to test the limits of his newfound abilities.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he redirected the girder's trajectory, effortlessly guiding it into position without breaking a sweat.
The humans gasped in unison, their eyes widening in shock and awe.
Gongjeon suppressed a smirk, feigning innocence.
"Oops. Guess I overdid it a bit."
The foreman, scrambling to regain control of the situation, stammered, "Uh, yeah… great job, Gongjeon. Just, uh, maybe take it easy next time?"
Gongjeon nodded, his mind racing with possibilities.
He had barely scratched the surface of his powers. The System, for all its glitches and limitations, held the key to unlocking abilities beyond his wildest imagination.
But with great power came great responsibility—or so the saying went. Gongjeon had no intention of becoming a hero or a savior. He was here to observe, to learn, and perhaps to amuse himself at the expense of these insignificant mortals.
Still, he couldn't deny the thrill of wielding such power. It was like a drug, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins with every subtle manipulation of reality.
As the day drew to a close, Gongjeon retreated to his small room, eager to delve deeper into the mysteries of the System.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, focusing his thoughts on the glowing interface.
"Show me what you can do," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of his own breathing.
The System responded almost immediately, flooding his mind with a torrent of information and possibilities.
For hours, Gongjeon explored the depths of the System, testing its limits, pushing its boundaries, and uncovering secrets that had been hidden for eons.
And as the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in his window, Gongjeon finally emerged from his trance, a newfound sense of purpose burning within him.
He was no longer just a bored god, adrift in an unfamiliar world. He was a force to be reckoned with—a player in a game far greater than he could have ever imagined.
And the game was just getting started.
In the days that followed, Gongjeon continued to work at the construction site, blending in seamlessly with the humans around him. His abilities grew stronger with each passing day, fueled by his insatiable curiosity and the ever-expanding capabilities of the System.
He became known among his coworkers as a quiet, unassuming man with an uncanny knack for getting things done. His strength and endurance were unmatched, yet he never boasted or sought recognition for his efforts.
Instead, he focused on observing the world around him, learning its rules, and discovering the hidden intricacies of human nature.
Despite his best efforts to remain inconspicuous, Gongjeon's presence began to have an unintended impact on those around him.
Projects that were once deemed impossible were completed ahead of schedule. Accidents were averted with eerie precision. And morale among the workers soared to unprecedented heights.
Rumors began to circulate among the higher-ups, speculating about the source of Gongjeon's seemingly superhuman abilities.
Some whispered of divine intervention, while others dismissed it as mere luck or coincidence.
But Gongjeon knew the truth.
He was the one pulling the strings, subtly manipulating events to suit his whims.
It was a dangerous game, one that could easily spiral out of control if he wasn't careful. But Gongjeon was nothing if not meticulous in his planning and execution.
He reveled in the chaos he created, reveling in the knowledge that he was the puppet master behind it all.
Yet, for all his power and influence, Gongjeon remained an outsider, a silent observer in a world that was rapidly changing around him.
He was a god among mortals, yet he was still very much alone.
As Gongjeon delved deeper into the mysteries of the System, he began to uncover hints of a darker purpose lurking beneath its surface.
Whispers of an impending catastrophe, a threat so dire that it could unravel the very fabric of reality itself.
The System, it seemed, was not just a tool for personal gain—it was a safeguard, a last line of defense against an enemy that threatened to consume everything in its path.
Gongjeon's initial reaction was one of indifference. Let the mortals deal with their own problems. He had no stake in their fate.
But as he continued to explore the System's depths, he began to realize that his connection to this world ran deeper than he had initially suspected.
Perhaps it was the long years of solitude, the endless expanse of nothingness that had driven him to seek out new experiences.
Or maybe it was something else entirely—a spark of compassion, a glimmer of humanity that had lain dormant within him all this time.
Whatever the reason, Gongjeon found himself drawn into the conflict, whether he liked it or not.
He began to prepare, honing his skills, gathering resources, and laying the groundwork for the inevitable showdown.
The world was on the brink of chaos, and Gongjeon—once a bored and apathetic god—was now its reluctant savior.
Or so the story goes.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Gongjeon settled into a routine that balanced his work at the construction site with his clandestine activities as a budding System wielder.
On the surface, he appeared no different from any other laborer—hardworking, unassuming, and content with his lot in life.
But beneath the façade, Gongjeon was a whirlwind of activity, tirelessly exploring the depths of the System, honing his skills, and preparing for the inevitable confrontation that loomed on the horizon.
His interactions with the humans around him became more nuanced, his observations sharper, and his understanding of their motivations and desires deeper.
He learned to empathize with their struggles, to appreciate their resilience in the face of adversity, and to recognize the inherent value in their existence.
And yet, despite these newfound connections, Gongjeon remained fundamentally detached from the world around him.
He was an outsider, a stranger in a strange land, forever separated from the mortals whose lives he now influenced.
It was a lonely existence, one that left him yearning for something more—something beyond the confines of his immortal existence.
But for now, he would bide his time, waiting for the storm to break, and for his true purpose to reveal itself.
As the months wore on, the signs of impending disaster grew increasingly apparent.
Strange occurrences began to plague the city—unexplained phenomena, bizarre weather patterns, and pockets of reality that seemed to warp and twist in ways that defied explanation.
The humans, ever resilient in the face of uncertainty, rallied together, forming alliances and pooling their resources in preparation for the unknown.
Gongjeon watched from the shadows, his presence felt but unseen, as the world around him descended into chaos.
He knew that the time for subtlety was over. The moment of reckoning was upon them, and he would need to act swiftly and decisively if he hoped to avert catastrophe.
With a heavy heart, Gongjeon shed his guise of anonymity, revealing himself to the world in a blaze of glory that would shake the foundations of reality itself.
The stage was set, the players aligned, and the countdown to oblivion had begun.
In the final days leading up to the predicted apocalypse, Gongjeon found himself at the epicenter of a maelstrom of activity.
Leaders from around the globe convened in emergency summits, desperate to find a solution to the crisis that threatened to engulf them all.
Scientists and scholars pored over ancient texts and esoteric knowledge, seeking answers in the ruins of a bygone era.
And throughout it all, Gongjeon remained a silent observer, his presence felt but unseen, as the world teetered on the brink of destruction.
He knew that the odds were stacked against them. The forces arrayed against them were vast and incomprehensible, their motives and intentions shrouded in mystery.
But Gongjeon was not one to shy away from a challenge. With the System at his disposal, and his own considerable powers at his command, he was determined to see this through to the bitter end.
The countdown continued, each tick of the clock bringing them closer to the inevitable showdown.
And as the final moments approached, Gongjeon steeled himself for the battle ahead, knowing that the fate of the world rested squarely on his shoulders.
The day of reckoning arrived, bringing with it a storm of biblical proportions.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, blotting out the sun and casting the world into shadow.
Winds howled through the streets, tearing at buildings and uprooting trees with reckless abandon.
And at the heart of the storm stood Gongjeon, his form wreathed in a halo of divine energy, his eyes blazing with determination.
The enemy emerged from the depths of the abyss, a horde of twisted abominations that defied description.
They descended upon the city with a fury born of millennia of pent-up rage, laying waste to all in their path.
But Gongjeon was ready.
With a word, he summoned a barrier of pure energy, shielding the city from the onslaught.
With a gesture, he unleashed a barrage of divine wrath, obliterating entire battalions with a single stroke.
And with a thought, he bent reality to his will, reshaping the very fabric of existence to suit his needs.
The battle raged on for hours, the outcome hanging in the balance.
But in the end, it was Gongjeon who emerged victorious, his power unchallenged, his will unbroken.
The world was saved, but at a terrible cost.
Gongjeon stood amidst the carnage, his body battered and bruised, his spirit weary beyond measure.
He had won the battle, but the war was far from over.
For in the depths of his soul, he knew that this was only the beginning.
In the aftermath of the cataclysm, Gongjeon found himself transformed.
No longer just a bored god, adrift in an unfamiliar world, he was now a hero—a symbol of hope and resilience in the face of overwhelming adversity.
The humans hailed him as a savior, a champion who had risked everything to protect them from the brink of destruction.
But Gongjeon knew better.
He was no hero. He was a survivor, a relic of a bygone era, thrust into a world that was not his own.
And yet, despite his reservations, he found himself unable to walk away.
The bonds he had forged with the humans, the connections he had made, the memories he had shared—all of these things bound him to this world, compelling him to stay, to fight, to endure.
So he stayed, assuming the mantle of a reluctant savior, a guardian of sorts, watching over the world he had come to love.
And as the years passed, and the world healed from its wounds, Gongjeon found himself growing roots, forming attachments, and embracing a life he had never anticipated.
He was still a god, still imbued with powers beyond mortal comprehension.
But he was also something more—a friend, a mentor, a beacon of hope in a world that sorely needed it.
And in the end, that was enough.
For Gongjeon, the Unknown God, had finally found his purpose.
Not in the grandeur of divinity, but in the simple act of living, loving, and belonging.