He had never known what it felt like to be wanted.
In the orphanage records, his name had been written in a tired hand—Ell—without a father's signature, without a mother's tear-stained goodbye, without any proof that someone in the world had ever looked at him and thought mine.
As he grew older, he learned to stop expecting warmth.
No birthday cakes.
No hands on his head.
No voice calling him home.
Just survival.
He worked wherever he could—cleaning dishes in roadside stalls, carrying sacks in crowded markets, running errands for shopkeepers who paid him with leftovers and curses. Some nights he slept on rooftops to avoid the street dogs. Other nights he stayed awake because the cold felt less frightening than closing his eyes.
People said life was unfair like it was a joke.
For Ell, it was simply the only rule that never changed.
The only time he felt anything close to control was when he played games.
Not because they were easy—but because they were honest.
A boss didn't hate you personally.
A dungeon didn't care who raised you.
The system rewarded effort, punishment, and persistence in numbers that didn't lie.
He loved one game more than anything:
Elaris: Five Routes of Ruin.
A world of magic, kingdoms, races, academies, and destinies… where the chosen heroine always rose, and the weak were erased like bugs under the boot of progress.
Maybe that was why he kept playing.
Even in fantasy, he understood what it meant to be unwanted.
That night, Ell wasn't thinking about games.
He was just walking home with a plastic bag of groceries someone had paid him to deliver. The sky was loud with rain, and the road was wet enough to reflect the headlights like broken glass.
He heard it before he saw it.
A scream.
A small, terrified sound that didn't belong in the world of adults.
Ell turned.
A child—no older than six or seven—stood frozen at the edge of the road, eyes wide, legs refusing to move. The traffic light had turned green, and a truck was already rushing forward, too fast, too close.
People noticed.
People hesitated.
Some stepped back like fear might stain them.
Ell didn't think.
His body moved before his mind caught up.
He dropped the bag. The groceries scattered. He ran through the rain as the truck's horn tore through the night like a beast's roar.
He grabbed the child, feeling how light they were—how fragile.
And then the impact came.
A force so violent it erased sound itself.
For a single moment, he felt weightless.
For a single moment, he wondered what it would've been like to have someone cry his name.
Then the world broke into darkness.
The darkness didn't end.
It softened.
Like an ocean turning still.
Ell opened his eyes expecting pain, blood, an ambulance—something.
Instead he saw a ceiling.
Not the cracked concrete of a shelter roof.
This ceiling was smooth stone, carved with faint glowing lines like ancient runes. The air smelled of herbs and burning oil, not pollution and rain.
He tried to sit up and immediately felt weakness crash through him.
His body was lighter. Smaller. Different.
His hands trembled as he lifted them in front of his face.
They weren't broken.
But they didn't feel like his.
He turned his head and caught his reflection in a metal basin of water.
A boy's face stared back—sharp jaw, pale skin, messy dark hair. He looked around sixteen, maybe seventeen. His eyes were unfamiliar, but the exhaustion behind them was something Ell recognized instantly.
A life that had been worn down too early.
His throat tightened.
"No…" he whispered.
The room wasn't modern. No wires. No switches. No fan hum. Only quiet magic lamps glowing softly in the corners.
And then it hit him.
The runes.
The stonework.
The scent.
The shape of the window.
This wasn't Earth.
His breath turned shallow.
This was Elaris.
Not a similar world.
Not a random fantasy land.
This was the exact world of the game he had spent hundreds—no, thousands—of hours studying, clearing, and mastering.
A cold sweat crawled down his neck.
He remembered this place.
Not this room specifically, but the region. The architecture. The style of the empire. The small details the game had used to build immersion.
Ell clenched his fists.
A weak character.
That thought came instantly because he knew how cruel Elaris was.
The strong lived like royalty.
The weak died as scenery.
He forced himself out of bed, legs shaking. A calendar hung near the door, written in the world's language—yet somehow he understood it like he'd always known.
Seven days.
That's how long until the Academy entrance trials began.
The Asterwyn Grand Academy—the place where the greatest talents of the entire continent were gathered, categorized, sharpened, and thrown into war like blades.
And in the academy…
There was one class that mattered.
S-Class.
The monsters.
The chosen.
The future rulers and calamity slayers.
Ell swallowed hard.
He wasn't supposed to belong there.
Not with this fragile body, this weak mana flow, this pathetic starting condition.
But then… something flickered in his vision.
A transparent blue window appeared mid-air.
It wasn't magic.
It wasn't a hallucination.
It was a game interface.
[System Initializing…]
[Irregular Growth System Activated]
[Welcome, User: Cael Thornwood]
Ell's lips parted.
His heartbeat slammed in his chest.
He knew this wasn't in the original game.
This was new.
Or rather…
This existed only for someone like him.
A voice—not spoken, but understood—echoed in his mind.
[Main Quest Unavailable.]
[Reason: You are not the protagonist.]
[Survival Route has been assigned.]
And then the first mission appeared.
[Quest: Enter S-Class in 7 Days.]
Difficulty: Impossible
Failure Penalty: Death Route Confirmation
Ell stared at the words, and instead of fear…
a strange calm settled into his bones.
He'd lived his whole life without anyone saving him.
So why would he expect salvation now?
He looked toward the academy in the distance—its massive tower visible even from here, rising like a promise and a threat.
He exhaled slowly.
Seven days.
He remembered the hidden training spots.
The early stat-boost routes.
The silent techniques the game never explained.
He knew the shortcuts.
The traps.
The costs.
And if this world wanted him dead…
Then he would claw his way into the only place strong enough to survive.
He stepped forward, legs shaking, fists tightening.
"Alright," he whispered, voice low and steady.
"Let's break the game."
[Quest Accepted.]