Zeke cozied deeper into the bed, folding his legs up to his chest and burying his face in them. Exaggerated fake sobs shook his shoulders, the bedframe squeaking with every dramatic rock. He wasn't that much of a pussy, but the theatrics were too tempting.
"I'm only E-rank?"
He peeked up from his mock meltdown, one eye narrowed at the glowing interface, half-expecting it to start laughing.
[What did you expect? You really need to learn about the world you're in. Leave it to Doctor… eh, hold up—no Diddy. You still haven't named me. All good AIs need a badass name.]
Zero's voice took on a theatrical edge. The interface pulsed like it was auditioning for a role.
"You haven't been helpful. Zero help offered. Yeah, a good name: Zero."
He pointed at the screen with mock accusation, lips twitching despite himself.
[Fuck you. It's badass anyway, and you wouldn't understand—too dumb.]
The interface flickered, almost like it was sticking out its tongue.
[Time for the world info dump—just the basics. We wouldn't want you losing interest.]
Zeke slouched against the cold stone wall, the orb's light casting long, dancing shadows as Zero droned on.
The world Zeke had landed in hadn't started with war, famine, or apocalypse.
It started with Towers.
Seven of them—one per continent. Massive black spires piercing the clouds, etched with glowing sigils no one could read. They appeared without warning, impossibly tall, each floor inside a new world: lush mana-charged jungles, frozen voids where time stuttered, realities that bent the higher you climbed.
Then came the dungeons—temporary or permanent portals leaking monsters and magic into the real world. Heatwave shimmers in fields or city ruins, spawning claws and treasures.
Governments collapsed. Humanity adapted.
People began to awaken—usually after turning eighteen. A tingle in the spine, a rush of power, or simply waking up to a glowing interface. Each awakening granted an Innate Ability, ranked F to SSS. That ability set your starting Hunter Rank and determined whether you survived, thrived, or died.
Danger Zones followed—landmasses swallowed by magic, crawling with B- to SSS-rank beasts that never left. Crimson Steppes scorched by dragonfire. Hollow Spires whispering cursed nightmares. The resources inside were priceless, so people still went in. Few came back.
The world never healed. It simply learned to live with the chaos.
Hunters trained to climb the Towers, clear dungeons, mine the Danger Zones. Power was everything. Rank defined you. The system kept score.
Towers. Dungeons. Danger Zones. Awakenings. The terms rattled around in Zeke's skull like loose change. It sounded less like a new world and more like the homepage of a grind-heavy MMORPG he'd have quit after the tutorial. So I'm not just immortal. I'm stuck in the world's most high-stakes, pay-to-lose game, and my starter pack was 'can't die' and a sarcastic tutorial NPC. Fantastic.
He could already picture it—guild drama,loot arguments, nerds arguing over stat optimization. The only thing missing was a cash shop. Wait for it, he thought grimly.
Zeke's eyes glazed over, the weight of it sinking in like a fever dream. The orb hummed in the sudden silence.
"Wow. I'm dead."
He rubbed his temples, the dim light making his head throb.
[Well, you already died once, and now you have an ability that doesn't let you die again. So… you're not dead.]
Zero's voice was smug. The interface glowed brighter, practically gloating.
"STFU."
He shot the screen a middle finger that felt as satisfying as punching smoke, then slumped deeper into the bed. The straw mattress crunched unpleasantly beneath him, releasing a faint smell of dust and mildew. He stared at a crack in the stone ceiling, tracing its path with his eyes. Immortality. In this dump. The universe's idea of a cruel joke was becoming painfully clear. He'd trade a decade of this unending life for a proper mattress and a Wi-Fi signal.
[Look on the bright side: immortal with a free system. You could wait for an overpowered ability and rule the world… or just enjoy it. People would kill to be you, and you're sulking.]
Zeke's lips twitched. A reluctant grin cracked through the scowl.
[Besides, I think it's trauma. You never liked dealing with emotions anyway. Sleep it off. Tomorrow the readers get their highly intelligent, sarcastic, horny, low-dopamine sociopath. You'd love him—he's a darling.]
He rolled his eyes. With a groan that was only half-exaggerated, he wrestled with the thin, scratchy blanket, trying to find a position where the straw didn't jab into his ribs. The orb's faint blue light was annoying. The silence was worse. It was a heavy, expectant silence, the kind that felt like it was waiting for him to do something protagonist-y. Fuck that, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Sleep. Just… sleep. Maybe I'll wake up back in my old apartment. Maybe this is all a weird melatonin dream. He focused on the sound of his own breathing, trying to will himself into oblivion.
[RANDOM MISSION]
[DON'T FAP FOR A WEEK]
Zeke froze mid-yawn. The blanket slipped to the floor as he sat bolt upright.
[You've been reincarnated into a new world. The system wants you to break bad habits. No gooning.]
The interface flashed a cheeky red. Zero's voice dripped mock solemnity as the orb dimmed, clearly in on the joke.
Zeke stared at the pulsating, cheeky red text. His brain short-circuited, cycling through disbelief, indignation, and a profound sense of cosmic harassment.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
"A week?" he whispered, then louder. "A WEEK? What is this, a celestial detox program? Who the hell is running this system—a council of disappointed gym teachers?"
He glared at the interface, then at his own hands as if they'd betrayed him. A laugh, sharp and slightly unhinged, escaped him. Of all the trials, tribulations, and world-ending dangers this new reality had just promised him… his first official mission was abstinence. He was an immortal being, in a world of magic and monsters, and his inaugural quest was a no-fap challenge.
The sheer, stupid, bureaucratic absurdity of it was almost beautiful. He fell back onto the bed, the straw crackling in protest, and covered his face with his hands.
"I hate it here," he mumbled to the empty, damp room. "I hate everything."