I never thought dying would feel like this. No white light, no choir of angels. Just pain… and the faint meow of a cat pressed against my chest.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let's rewind a bit—say, a few hours ago, when I was still alive, perfectly average, and definitely not qualified to be any kind of hero.
My name's Lin. Seventeen. High school student. Chronic overthinker. Level 99 consumer of manhwa, anime, and fantasy novels.Physically? Let's just say I'd lose a fight against a strong gust of wind. And short. So short, even middle schoolers would dunk on him.Socially? Somewhere between "harmless background NPC" and "target for casual bullying."
I wasn't cool. I wasn't popular. I wasn't chosen by destiny or born under a mysterious star.I just existed. Quietly.
Most days, that was enough.
That day was like any other. The school bell rang, and I escaped like I always did—quiet, unnoticed, invisible. I avoided eye contact, clutched my backpack like a lifeline, and kept my head down as I walked past the school gates. The usual groups laughed and shoved each other, like background noise to my otherwise uneventful afternoon.
I slipped in my earbuds and opened the newest chapter of a dungeon survival webtoon. The protagonist had just been betrayed by his party and thrown into a pit full of spiders. Classic. I was halfway through page four when I heard it.
A sharp, distressed meow. Then another. Louder. Desperate.
I paused.
It came from the alley next to the convenience store. The kind of place you didn't enter unless you were a raccoon, a ghost, or someone who had lost a bet. I hesitated. My hand hovered over my phone, out of instinct.
But curiosity—and maybe the tiniest sliver of dread—won.
I stepped closer. Peered in.
Three guys. Tall, loud, laughing like jerks in a low-budget teen drama. One of them was nudging something with his foot.
A small black cat. Its fur was a mess, its ribs showing. It hissed weakly and flinched every time one of them moved.
I didn't know the cat. It didn't know me. But something about the way it trembled lit a fuse in my chest.
I knew those guys. Not by name, but by presence. They were the same type that had slammed me into lockers for fun, snatched my lunch tray, or whispered things behind my back loud enough for me to hear.
And here I was, standing like an idiot at the entrance of the alley.
"Hey."
Three heads turned.
Good going, Lin. Real dramatic.
"What do you want, freak?" the tallest one said, stepping forward.
I looked at the cat. It looked back, eyes wide with terror.
"You're hurting it."
They laughed. Of course they did.
"It's a stray," one of them said.
"Still got its legs, doesn't it?" another added, chuckling.
I should've backed off. Said sorry. Pretended I was lost.
But I didn't.
Something about those trembling paws and wide eyes kept me rooted. I wasn't brave. I wasn't strong. But I was tired of doing nothing.
"Leave it alone."
Silence.
Then laughter again. Bitter. Mean.
"You gonna stop us?" Big Guy stepped closer, fists clenched. "You wanna be a hero, loser?"
"No," I said. "But I can try."
I don't remember the first punch.Just the second, when my head snapped to the side and I tasted copper. Then came the kicks. The fists. My body hit the ground like a sack of bricks. I curled up, protecting my head, feeling every hit like it was carved into my bones.
Somewhere in the chaos, I reached out and grabbed the cat. Pulled it close. Shielded it with what little I had left.
They kept hitting. I stopped feeling.
The cat didn't run.
Maybe it was too weak. Maybe it was scared.But it stayed there, pressed against me, shivering.
My vision blurred. Sounds faded.
"Still wanna play hero?" someone muttered.
I didn't answer. Couldn't. My lips didn't move.
The last thing I saw was the cat looking at me. Not just scared anymore… but sad.
And then… nothing.
You'd think death would be dramatic. Trumpets. Lightning. Maybe even a Game Over screen.But for me?
It was quiet.
Like floating underwater with your eyes closed. No pain. No light. Just a weightless, endless void. And somewhere, distant but growing closer—a voice.
"You really are an idiot."
What?
"Who dies for a cat?"
I tried to speak. Nothing came out.
"You barely even had muscles. You couldn't punch a pillow without getting bruised."
Okay, rude.
"But hey… thanks."
The voice faded. Or maybe I did.
Then, warmth.
A prickling sensation danced across my skin, like static. I felt the ground. Cold. Damp. Real.
I opened my eyes.
Stone ceiling. Cracked, mossy, faintly glowing with violet light. The air smelled like mold and something… metallic?
I blinked. Sat up slowly.
Where was I? Heaven? Hell? The morge?
The walls were made of uneven rock. Strange runes pulsed dimly on the surface. I was surrounded by shadows, corridors stretching into darkness. There were no windows. No sun.
I touched my chest. No blood. No bruises.
I was fine. Alive? No. Something felt… off.
That's when I noticed the noise. A soft purring sound.
Then, weight—something landed on me with a thud.
"Gwah!" I yelped.
A black cat. The black cat. Perched right on my chest, staring at me with glowing eyes and a face that could only be described as unimpressed.
"You finally woke up," she said.
I froze.
"You... You just talked."
"And you just died... well, like me. We're both full of surprises," she said, twitching her tail.
She leapt onto my shoulder with practiced ease, her claws kneading into my shirt.
"Where… where are we?"
"Dungeon Labyrinth," she purred. "And congrats, by the way."
"For what?"
"You've been promoted. You're now officially… Minion 001."
She licked her paw, then added, "Try not to die again. It'd be really inconvenient for me."