Winning the first-prize lottery was supposed to be a blessing from heaven.
Instead, it became the fastest path to hell.
Jin-woo hadn't slept in four days. The curtains in his cramped rented room had remained shut for over a week, turning the tiny space into a stale tomb of instant-noodle wrappers, empty energy drink cans, and the cold glow of a single monitor. The air reeked of dust, old sweat, and regret.
His phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
Unknown numbers. Relatives he hadn't seen since he was five. Old classmates who suddenly "missed him dearly." Every message carried the same stench: greed wrapped in fake affection.
"Family helps family, right?"
"Just a small loan, nephew…"
"Guaranteed 300% returns in thirty days!"
He muted the phone and shoved it under a pillow. Paranoia had already devoured him whole. Every knock at the door made his heart slam against his ribs. The ten billion won sitting in his account wasn't a fortune anymore—it was a glowing target painted on his back.
There was only one place the real world could never touch him.
Lord of Utopia.
A brutal ten-year-old turn-based strategy game set in a merciless medieval underworld. No technology. No mercy. Only blood-soaked cobblestones, torchlight, and mafia syndicates that ruled through fear and supernatural power. Players didn't just build empires—they rolled the gacha for "Enforcers." Living weapons. Walking disasters.
An SSR-rank Enforcer wasn't a character. It was an apocalypse with a name.
Jin-woo had spent the last three months studying every upcoming banner like a madman. In six hours, the highest-pity limited banner in the game's history—"Descent of the Hell Sovereign"—was dropping. Ten billion won. Every last won converted into premium coins at the in-game exchange rate no taxman could ever trace.
Enough to guarantee multiple SSR pulls and a mountain of resources.
He stared at the glowing "Confirm Transaction" button, heart hammering.
This is insane.
But it was also the only safe place left.
He clicked.
The money vanished.
A strange, hollow relief settled over him. He grabbed his old jacket, stepped out into the night to buy a celebratory convenience store bento, and never made it across the street.
A delivery truck swerved into the wrong lane.
CRASH.
The transition wasn't peaceful. It felt like being violently drowned, then slammed into someone else's body.
When his senses returned, the first thing that hit him was the smell—thick, metallic blood coating the back of his throat. Then came the heat of crackling torches and the weight of a body that wasn't his. Broad shoulders. Dense muscle he had never earned. A long black overcoat draped over him like liquid shadow, heavy, perfectly tailored, and dangerous.
His modern clothes were gone. Even his socks had disappeared.
He tried to take a step and nearly stumbled. Everything felt wrong. Taller. Stronger. Alien.
Right in front of him, a man in rags screamed as a rusted spatha tore across his shoulder. Hot blood sprayed in a bright arc, splattering across the toe of Jin-woo's new leather boot.
This isn't CGI. This isn't a screen. That man is actually dying.
Before full panic could detonate, the crowd parted.
A massive, scar-covered brute—the rival boss of Crow Creek—strode forward, breathing like an enraged bull, blood dripping from his blade.
Jin-woo's mind screamed in pure white terror.
(Holy shit—someone's actually getting stabbed! I just got here and I'm already dead again! Police! Somebody call the—wait, this world doesn't have police!)
Inside, he was a sobbing mess ready to drop to his knees and beg for mercy.
Outside, his new body moved on its own.
He stood perfectly still, shoulders relaxed, chin slightly raised. The long coat fluttered once in the night wind. An overwhelming aura of cold, oppressive killing intent rolled off him in freezing waves. His eyes—now sharp, predatory, and utterly emotionless—locked onto the rival boss as if the man were nothing more than an insect.
The giant swallowed hard. His confidence shattered in a single heartbeat. The sword in his hand began to tremble.
Jin-woo's throat was bone-dry. He opened his mouth to whimper Please don't kill me.
What came out instead was a low, hoarse voice dripping with terrifying calm.
"…You."
One word.
The entire enemy line froze.
"D-Devil! He's going to massacre us all! RUN!!!"
Weapons clattered into the mud. The rival gang shattered instantly, trampling each other as they fled into the dark alleys like rats.
The hulking boss let out a high-pitched shriek and sprinted after them. "Wait for me, you bastards!!"
Silence fell over the blood-soaked square.
Jin-woo blinked once.
(…Huh? They actually ran away?)
His legs—hidden beneath the coat—were shaking so violently he was amazed they still held him up.
"Boss…"
The voice came from behind him, quiet and reverent.
Jin-woo flinched internally but turned his head with glacial slowness.
A young man with silver hair, a jagged scar across his left cheek, and a bloodied trench coat stepped forward. Twin curved daggers spun lazily between his fingers. He dropped to one knee in the mud, forehead nearly touching the ground.
"That was magnificent, Boss. To rout the entire Iron Boar Syndicate with nothing but a single word and your Blood Intent… Your mastery has reached a realm we cannot even fathom. We are unworthy."
(Who the hell is this edge-lord?!) Jin-woo screamed inside, while his face remained a flawless mask of cold authority.
Mad Dog Leon. Starter SR-rank Enforcer. The one I pulled on my very first ten-pull two years ago.
Before he could figure out how to reply without his voice cracking, a sharp electronic DING echoed inside his skull.
A translucent neon-blue interface materialized before his eyes.
[SYSTEM ALERT] [Host Synchronization Complete.]
[Welcome to Lord of Utopia.]
[Current Status: Boss of Crow Creek District]
[Current Balance: 10,000,000 Premium Coins]
[Tutorial Quest Initiated: Secure your territory or face immediate execution by rival syndicates within 72 hours.]
Jin-woo stared at the floating blue text.
On the outside, his expression never wavered—cold, regal, terrifying.
One by one, his loyal subordinates dropped to their knees, eyes burning with fanatical devotion.
Inside, Jin-woo was quietly weeping tears of blood.
(…I just wanted to hide my money.)
(What the actual hell is happening?)