March 21st, 2024. Seoul National University Hospital.
The attending physician's voice still echoed in my skull as I walked through the ER corridor.
"If you hesitate like that during a real emergency, the patient dies. You understand that, don't you, Park?"
I'd bowed. Apologized. The whole song and dance.
'Bastard.'
Sixteen hours. That's how long I'd been on my feet. My hands had hesitated for maybe half a second near the hepatic artery—anyone would've in that situation, the bleeding was worse than the scans showed—but he'd made sure everyone in that OR knew about my incompetence.
Doctor Park Min-jae. That's what my badge said.
Resident slave would've been more accurate.
I changed out of my scrubs, shoulders aching, and pulled out my phone. The locker room smelled like antiseptic and someone's leftover fried chicken. My reflection in the mirror looked like shit. Dark circles. Pale skin. I was twenty-eight but looked forty.
One unread message on Instagram.
I almost ignored it.
[Do you want to join the game?]
'Probably malware.'
Two buttons. Yes. No.
My thumb hovered over No. I should've pressed it. Should've deleted the app, gone home, heated up some ramyeon, and passed out on my mattress like I did every night.
Instead, I pressed Yes.
* * *
The world dissolved.
Not gradually. Not with warning.
One second: hospital locker room, fluorescent lights, the smell of disinfectant.
Next second: darkness, cold stone, air that tasted like a tomb.
"What—"
My voice came out wrong. Echoed. The ground beneath me wasn't tile anymore, it was rough stone, uneven, ancient.
I blinked hard. Rubbed my eyes.
Didn't help.
Stone walls. Carved patterns I'd never seen before—not Korean, not anything I recognized from my medical conferences in Europe or the States. The architecture was completely alien, geometric designs that seemed to shift when I looked away.
'Did I pass out? Is this a hallucination?'
I'd heard about doctors collapsing from exhaustion. Microsleep while standing. But this felt too real. Too solid.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear yet. From the sheer impossibility.
"Hey, where are we?"
Another voice. Not mine.
I spun around.
People. Maybe thirty of them. Scattered throughout this chamber like someone had dumped us here. A woman in a business suit. An old man in a security guard uniform. A kid—couldn't be older than seventeen, still in his school uniform.
All of us with the same confused, terrified expression.
"Don't ask me," someone else said. "How the hell would I know?"
"Is anyone there? What is this place—and why are there swords here?"
Swords.
I looked around properly now.
Weapon racks along the walls. Actual medieval weapons. Swords, spears, bows, shields. Most of them looked old, rusty, dull.
But some had edges that caught the dim light.
Sharp edges.
'This isn't—'
My medical training kicked in. Check for concussion. Head injury. Drug exposure. Think.
Last memory: phone in hand, Instagram notification, pressed Yes.
That was it.
No gap in memory. No trauma to the head. No disorientation beyond waking up in an impossible place.
Someone was sitting on the ground, pinching their own cheek hard enough to leave marks.
"It's not a dream," the person muttered. "Not a dream, not a dream—"
Then the voice came.
Not from a person. From everywhere. Mechanical, female, utterly calm.
[Players have been invited to this world. You received an invitation, and you accepted it. You have been chosen to conquer the dungeons that threaten your world.]
"WHAT THE HELL!"
"Stop fucking with us and let us out!"
"I'm calling the police—I'm seriously calling them right now—"
I didn't say anything.
Just listened.
Watched.
In the OR, the first rule was simple: don't panic. Assess the situation. Gather information. Act.
[But not everyone can return to Earth with power. Only those who pass the tutorial are eligible.]
My stomach dropped.
Tutorial.
Return to Earth.
The words hit like a diagnosis I didn't want to hear.
**[Let me repeat. Only those who survive the tutorial will be allowed to return to Earth.]**
"What... You're saying you'll kill us?"
'Survive.'
The word echoed in my head.
[That depends on you. What I'm explaining now is essential for your survival. This is not a dream. This is reality. I wouldn't recommend denying it. I have an obligation to guide you through this tutorial as your system administrator.]
"Don't fuck with me!"
"Please, just let me out—I'm begging—"
The voices around me were getting more desperate. Panicked. Some people were crying now.
I felt my breathing slow down.
'Okay.'
Okay.
This was happening. Real or not, I had to treat it as real.
Same as the OR. You don't have time to question whether the patient should've ended up on your table. They're there. You deal with it.
[The guide will now begin. Where you are now is a safe zone—a waiting area before the tutorial starts. You can think of it as a preparation room. This area contains essential supplies. Water, food, and weapons you'll use later. Weapon grades range from Common, Rare, Heroic, and Legendary, but everything here is below Common grade.]
I looked around with new eyes.
Leather water pouches. Dried rations that looked medieval, definitely not from a convenience store. Weapons.
All real.
'This is insane.'
[You can protect yourself with these weapons. The tutorial's goal is survival and combat. Besides you, there will be monsters—creatures that inhabit the dungeons. They will target you, and you must fight back.]
Monsters.
The word should've sounded ridiculous.
It didn't.
[Of course, it might be difficult with your current strength. But don't worry. You haven't come here empty-handed.]
Fewer people were shouting now.
Everyone was listening. Even the ones crying had gone quiet.
Survival instinct kicking in.
[You are chosen players. You came here with different backgrounds and personalities. This system will enhance your characteristics and help you grow. You'll understand what I mean if you say 'status window.']
"Status window," someone blurted out immediately.
"Status window? Huh? What's—KYAAK!"
A woman screamed.
I didn't say anything yet.
'Observe first.'
The woman was staring at empty air, but her eyes were tracking something. Moving left to right like she was reading.
[The status window shows your current condition. Your stats can increase or decrease depending on your efforts. Next are classes. You can become a Warrior, Mage, Priest, or Archer, with advanced classes available through achievements. For example, a Warrior can become a Berserker. There are countless paths, and it's up to you which to take.]
'Like a game.'
I'd played enough RPGs in med school to recognize the pattern. Stats. Classes. Levels.
But this wasn't a game.
Games didn't threaten to kill you for real.
[Class grades are Common, Rare, Heroic, and Legendary. However, Mages and Priests require affinity for magic or holy power. Please understand that some classes may not be available to you. You can choose a class through missions, hidden quests, or accumulated experience.]
Magic.
Right.
Of course.
'Why not?'
Nothing made sense anyway.
I took a breath.
"Status window."
It appeared.
Not on a screen. Not projected. Just... there. Floating in my vision, visible only to me.
[Name: Park Min-jae]
[Title: None. You should try harder.]
[Age: 28]
[Disposition: Analytical Survivor]
[Class: None]
[Stats]
[Strength: 9]
[Agility: 10]
[Stamina: 11]
[Intelligence: 18]
[Endurance: 13]
[Luck: 8]
[Magic: 00]
[Equipment: None]
I stared at the numbers.
'Analytical Survivor.'
That was... accurate. Uncomfortably so.
My stats were mostly average. Strength and agility below average. Intelligence high—years of medical school would do that. Luck at 8 felt about right for someone who'd just been kidnapped by a supernatural dungeon system.
The voice continued.
[The last element is Attributes. At certain milestones, you'll gain new attributes. Attributes vary by player and are determined by your personality and experiences. Like classes, they're graded Common, Rare, Heroic, and Legendary. Higher grades provide better performance.]
Then I saw it.
At the bottom of my status window, in purple text:
[Attribute: Heroic Grade - Do you want to read it?]
'What?'
My heart rate picked up.
Heroic. That was two grades above Common.
'Why do I have this?'
I didn't question it long.
I mentally selected Yes.
[Attribute]
[Surgical Precision: Heroic]
[You can identify vital points and structural weaknesses of targets. You can view detailed anatomical information on living creatures. Attacks on critical points deal significantly increased damage.]