The city burned beyond the glass.
James stood still, the reflection of fire dancing in his eyes, his own voice echoing faintly in his head.
If reality can change, then so can I.
The words weren't brave. They weren't heroic.
They were a decision.
James turned away from the window and focused on the one thing that now governed his life.
"System," he said quietly. "How do I use skills?"
A response came instantly.
Skill Usage Explanation:
To activate a skill, the user may speak the skill name aloud, faintly, or as a whisper.
Intent must be clear.
James nodded. "Simple enough."
Before doing anything reckless, he pulled up his status.
Name: James
Level: 18
He blinked.
"…Level eighteen already?"
Less than an hour ago, he'd been a shut-in with a controller in his hands. Now he was nearly twenty levels deep into a world-ending tutorial.
"Not bad," he muttered.
A deep breath.
"Let's test this."
James lowered his voice, almost afraid that speaking louder might draw something's attention.
"Random gacha summon."
The air vibrated.
Initiating Summon...
The room vanished.
James's vision warped violently, as if space folded inward, and suddenly—
he was somewhere else.
The orphanage.
The smell hit him first, thin soup, disinfectant, old wood soaked with years of neglect. His chest tightened as his eyes landed on a small dining table.
There he was.
A younger James sat quietly, shoulders hunched, hands folded obediently as a spoon was brought to his mouth. The only person he could speak to as a child, the nanny, fed him with mechanical patience.
James watched, frozen.
The memory shifted.
He followed as the nanny carried the child version of him to a narrow bed, tucking him in with movements that looked gentle enough. The child's eyes fluttered closed.
Then the nanny turned.
She walked into the hallway where another caretaker waited.
James, his current self, stepped closer, drawn by a pressure in his chest.
"…That kid," the nanny scoffed. "So ugly. So timid. Like a rat scared of its own shadow."
The other laughed.
"Still can't talk properly?"
"Barely," the nanny replied. "Stupid too. Probably won't amount to anything."
James felt something crack.
Then-
The nanny turned her head.
Her eyes met his.
Not the child's.
His.
"…What?" she said, her smile curling. "Are you still that ugly, timid little thing?"
James didn't explode in rage.
He didn't scream.
Confusion swallowed him whole.
His legs gave out.
Years, years, of depression, of wondering if it had all been his fault, if he'd imagined it, collapsed onto him at once. He clutched his head as her voice continued, cruel and casual, stabbing into him again and again.
"You never grew up, did you?"
James broke.
He sobbed—not loudly, not dramatically, but the kind of crying that tore something loose inside his chest.
And then-
The world shattered.
His vision snapped back to his room.
He gasped, hands trembling.
A system window hovered before him.
Summoning Cost Paid Successfully.
The text shifted.
You have pulled an: Immortal Transcendent
James stared at it.
"…What?"
His heart pounded violently. He slapped both cheeks hard, the sting grounding him.
"Enough," he whispered to himself. "The past doesn't matter now."
He straightened his back.
"This world changed," he said firmly. "So I'll focus on the present. And the future."
James narrowed his eyes at the system.
"What are the rarity ranks of summons?"
A list appeared.
Summon Rarity Tiers:
R – Rare
SR – Super Rare
SSR – Special Super Rare
LSSR – Legendary Special Super Rare
James's brows knit together.
"…Then what the hell is an Immortal Transcendent?"
The system gave no answer.
Silence.
A chill ran down his spine.
It can hide things, he realized.
And if it can hide… it can lie.
James stored that thought deep in his mind.
"Designated Summon," he said faintly.
A new window opened.
Designated Summon Slots Available: 5
Several boxes appeared.
One of them pulsed differently.
[Immortal Transcendent]
James tapped it.
Immediately-
Summon Failed.
Requirement Not Met.
Required Level: 20
"…You've got to be kidding me."