A scrawny boy sat hunched over the desk in his cramped dorm room, surrounded by textbooks piled like barricades against the outside world. The room stank faintly of instant noodles and old laundry, lit only by a dim desk lamp that flickered against the clinging shadows. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles carved permanently beneath them, and his cheap glasses slid down the bridge of his nose for the hundredth time that night.
On the table lay a worn paperback, its edges frayed and its cover bent nearly in half. Across his monitor, the same title glowed back at him: The Power of Heaven.
He had stumbled across the web novel during an endless late-night scroll. The premise was grand enough to promise something great: twentieth-century Earth plagued by monster-filled gates, humanity protected by hunters ranked from F to SS. The protagonist, a boy who lost his family in a tragic dungeon break, survived against all odds to rise step by step into an SS-rank legend. He founded the mighty Lion Guild, and the world sang his name.
But as the scholarship student turned the final pages, frustration simmered into disbelief. The story had ended. Not with a revelation about the origin of the gates, but with the protagonist marrying his childhood friend—a happily-ever-after that felt like a curtain hastily pulled across an unfinished stage.
He slammed his hand against the desk, rattling an empty soda can. "What the heck!" his voice cracked in the quiet room. "He becomes the strongest hunter alive, and he never once tries to end the dungeons? Doesn't even ask where they come from?"
The story remained stubbornly silent. Driven by a mix of exhaustion and reckless irritation, he tracked down the author's contact information. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing out a barrage of complaints, probing questions, and thinly veiled insults. He hit send with a sharp click.
Not two minutes later, a reply popped up. Short. Almost mocking.
If you want answers, why not solve the mystery yourself?
He stared at the screen, a strangled laugh escaping his throat. Irritated and embarrassed, he snapped the laptop shut, dragged himself across the floor, and collapsed onto his bed. Exhaustion claimed him instantly, pulling him into a fitful sleep filled with gaping abysses and shadowed beasts.
When light seeped through his eyelids, he groaned and rubbed his face. Something felt wrong.
The stale musk of dirty laundry and instant ramen was gone, replaced by the scent of clean air, iron, and faintly burning incense. The mattress beneath him was impossibly soft, draped in silk-like sheets.
He sat up with a start.
Across the spacious, impeccably tidy room, a full-length mirror reflected a complete stranger: a tall young man with neatly combed black hair, sharp features, and striking, unsettling red eyes. He wore silk nightwear that clearly cost more than a year of college tuition.
Pulse hammering, he stumbled out of the bedroom into a sleek, ultra-modern penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of a sprawling, futuristic metropolis.
A muted television was playing on the wall. As he approached, the news anchor's voice cut through his disorientation:
"…and the Lion Guild, led by SS-rank hunter Baek Hyeon, continues its total domination of the regional gates…"
The boy froze. His head snapped toward the screen, but it wasn't the mention of Baek Hyeon that stopped his heart—it was the secondary graphic displayed beside the news anchor. It was a file photo of his new face. Black hair, sharp features, red eyes.
Beneath the photo, bold letters read: Beom Seok.
He searched every corner of his memory, desperately flipping through every chapter of The Power of Heaven he had read. Nothing. The name meant nothing. There was no noble, no villain, no hunter named Beom Seok in the main cast.
"Beom Seok..." he whispered, the name tasting utterly foreign on his tongue.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. He wasn't the heroic protagonist. He wasn't even a notable antagonist. He was a complete nobody—an extra created out of thin air, a background character without a single line in the original story.
Before he could process the sheer absurdity of his situation, the air behind his eyes flared with a cold, pale light.
A sharp chime rang inside his head, followed by a flat, emotionless voice:
[System: Mission Unsuccessful. Host must be punished.]
His breath hitched. "What… what is that?"
[System: Initiating Level 8 Punishment. Objective: Fight until death.]
The penthouse floor vanished beneath his feet as spatial distortion tore through the room, plunging him into the deafening silence of an unknown world—one that was suddenly, terrifyingly real.