The hover car slipped through the outskirts of the mega city, passing beneath elevated highways and around tower blocks that stretched toward the sky. Advertisements flickered across building facades—bright colors, moving images, products Raymond didn't recognize. Traffic flowed in organized lanes, vehicles maintaining precise distances from one another through automated guidance systems.
Then the buildings thinned.
The towers gave way to industrial complexes. Warehouses. Processing facilities with smokestacks that pumped pale vapor into the atmosphere. The roads widened, carrying fewer vehicles as the urban density dropped away.
The complexes became fewer. Scattered. Eventually they disappeared entirely, leaving only the road cutting through open terrain.
Raymond's eyes tracked the landscape beyond the window.
Barren fields extended on both sides. Flat. Empty. The soil looked pale—almost grey—baked hard under sunlight that offered no mercy. No crops grew. No vegetation broke the monotony. Just dirt and scattered rock formations that jutted from the ground at irregular intervals.
A display materialized on the car's windshield, projected in translucent blue. A route map traced the path ahead—a glowing line that curved gently across the represented terrain. His current position showed as a moving dot, progressing steadily along the designated course.
His wrist terminal chimed.
Raymond glanced down. A message notification blinked on the screen. He tapped it.
From: Kim Min-Jun
The personal trainer designated by the Ministry will meet with you at the mansion upon arrival. He'll introduce himself and discuss your training schedule.
Raymond's eyes shifted back to the route display on the windshield. The ETA counter showed at the top right corner.
5 minutes
He nodded to himself.
Raymond welcomed the arrangement. In his past life, maintaining peak physical condition had been non-negotiable. Part of the job. You couldn't operate effectively if your body failed when it mattered most.
This body was untrained. Soft. It had the stats from his attribute allocation, but that didn't translate to technique. No muscle memory. No ingrained reflexes. Teaching it different fighting styles, drilling the movements until they became automatic—that kind of work was brutal when done alone. Shadow boxing and solo drills only carried you so far.
With a sparring partner, though? Someone who could pressure him, correct mistakes, force adaptation? The process would move faster.
Of course, if there's a reward that grants the same thing through a skill, I'll take it.
His mind circled back to what he'd read about skills produced by the World System. The articles had used phrases like "miraculous" and "transformative." The core implication was clear—skills could offset years of experience. Decades of training compressed into a single reward.
The tutorial scenario was designed purely for assessment—gauging a Player's competency under pressure. Skills could only be generated through performance during the run itself. He'd managed it twice—Basic Interrogation Technique and Basic Shooting - Handgun. Both had come from doing the work in real time.
Official scenarios were different. The World System offered skills directly as rewards for quest completion. Finish the right objectives, meet the right conditions, and the system would grant abilities without the need for years of practice.
According to Kim Min-Jun, the trainer was also an expert in scenario methodology—the general principles of completing quests effectively, recognizing patterns, making tactical decisions that maximized reward potential.
Raymond's fingers drummed once against his knee.
He was looking forward to meeting this trainer.
The hover car slowed as it approached a wall that rose from the barren landscape. Concrete. Reinforced. The vehicle maintained its altitude, passing over the barrier after some kind of automated scanning system verified its credentials.
Beyond the wall, the terrain changed. Luxury buildings stood at wide intervals, each separated by manicured grounds that broke the monotony of the grey countryside. The structures were substantial—modern architecture, clean lines, the kind of construction that announced wealth without needing to shout about it.
The hover car descended toward Raymond's mansion, approaching the designated landing area—a circular pad marked with guidance lights that blinked in sequence. The vehicle touched down with barely a jolt. The engine's hum faded to silence.
The doors slid open.
Security personnel exited first—two guards moving with practiced efficiency, scanning the immediate surroundings before taking positions on either side of the vehicle. Only after they'd established their perimeter did one of them gesture toward Raymond.
Good protocols.
Raymond stepped out onto the landing pad. His boots met solid ground. The air felt different here—cleaner somehow, though the barren fields still surrounded the compound beyond the walls.
His eyes swept across the mansion. Two stories. Wide frontage. A small fountain occupied the center of the circular driveway, water flowing in steady arcs. Garden beds lined the approach to the main entrance, and there—finally—organic green grass. The first real vegetation he'd seen since leaving the city.
The guards moved ahead, flanking him as they approached the main door. It opened before they reached it.
A man stood in the threshold. Spectacles with silver trim sat perched on his nose. Age had weathered his face—fifty, maybe sixty—but his posture remained impeccable. Straight spine. Hands clasped at his waist. The demeanor reminded Raymond of old British butlers from period films in his previous life.
The man inclined his head slightly.
"Welcome home, Mr. Ray. My name is Charles. I manage the household staff."
His voice carried the crisp enunciation of someone who'd spent decades in service.
"Mr. Beck, your personal trainer, has arrived and is waiting for you in the parlor."
Raymond nodded.
The security detail dispersed, moving to establish positions around the perimeter. Charles stepped aside, holding the door. Raymond crossed the threshold and followed the housekeeper's gesture down a hallway that opened into the parlor.
Raymond entered the parlor, Charles a step behind him.
A middle-aged man sat in one of the chairs near the window, teacup raised halfway to his lips. His hairline had receded significantly, leaving only a horseshoe of dark hair that ran from temple to temple. He wore casual clothes—a simple shirt and trousers, nothing formal. The kind of outfit meant for comfort rather than impression.
The sound of the door drew his attention. He turned, smiled, and set the cup down on its saucer with a soft clink. He stood, movements unhurried but purposeful.
Charles stepped forward slightly.
"Master, this is Mr. Beck."
He turned toward Raymond.
"Mr. Beck, this is the master of the mansion."
Raymond extended his hand.
The man's grip was firm, calloused. The hands of someone who worked with them regularly.
"Alonso Beck. Pleasure to meet you."
"Ray. Likewise."
Raymond gestured toward the chairs arranged near the low table.
"Please, sit."
Beck settled back into his seat. Raymond took the chair opposite, the table between them.
Charles inclined his head.
"I'll bring fresh tea for you, Master."
He turned and exited the parlor, the door closing softly behind him.
Raymond leaned back in his chair.
"Let's get down to business. I've seen your dossier and understand your expertise. Only I don't want to follow the training schedule you sent for me to look at."
Beck's expression shifted. His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. A moment passed while he processed the statement. Then something seemed to settle in his mind—an internal explanation that made sense of the rejection.
Geniuses. They always think they know better.
"Then what's your proposition?"
Raymond leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees.
"I'm planning to enter my first official scenario soon. I want you to provide me with guidance on what to look out for."
Beck's frown deepened. His hand came up, palm facing Raymond.
"Wait. What? That's reckless."
His voice carried an edge now—professional concern overriding whatever patience he'd been maintaining.
"You should first build a good foundation. You have an entire year to prepare—"
Raymond's hand came up, palm out. The gesture cut Beck off mid-sentence.
"I assume you've heard about the attempt on my life?"
Beck's jaw tightened. He nodded.
"Then you should understand that I don't want to leave my life in the hands of others."
Beck's hand dropped to his lap. His shoulders tensed.
"But still... rushing into the scenario can result in..."
He stopped. His eyes narrowed slightly, weighing his words with care.
"...unexpected outcomes."
"Let me worry about that. I only want to know what help you can provide."
Raymond's voice carried determination. No room for negotiation.
Beck's expression showed the conflict—professional duty warring against common sense. His fingers drummed once against his knee. Then his shoulders dropped half an inch. Resignation.
"Alright."
The word came out with a sigh beneath it.
"I'll provide whatever information can help you and answer any doubts regarding the mechanics. You've already read the publicly available info?"
Raymond nodded and leaned back in his chair.
"Then it will be easier. As you already know, the official scenario is different from the tutorial you've already experienced. You'll have to strive to complete the main quest and sub quests to get the rewards from the World System. The mission rating will only impact your personal level, so I'd recommend not focusing on it at this point."
The sound of the door opening interrupted the explanation.
Charles entered carrying a tray. Steam rose from a fresh teapot, the ceramic painted with delicate patterns. A clean cup sat beside it, placed with the handle at a precise angle.
He moved to the table, setting the tray down without interrupting further. His movements were practiced, efficient, nearly silent.
Raymond picked up his cup. The tea was hot, fragrant. He held it without drinking yet.
Beck lifted his own cup and took a sip.
"As I was saying, focusing on quest completion and getting the rewards is what you should be aiming for. Also, if your individual stats don't exceed ten, then I suggest not attempting anything higher than Normal difficulty."
Raymond nodded. He'd read about difficulty thresholds during his research in the hospital. The correlation between base stats and survival rates had been documented extensively.
Beck set his cup down.
"Apart from all of these, are you planning to go back to the same world from the tutorial or planning on choosing the random scenario?"
Raymond had thought about this already. The choice between entering the same world or opting for a random one didn't feel like much of a choice at all. Why would somebody choose a random unknown environment over a known world? The familiarity, the intel already gathered—it all pointed toward the obvious decision.
"I'm planning to enter the same world, but..."
His voice trailed off.
"I have a question."
Beck nodded, raising his cup for another sip.
"Will the state of the world be the same as I entered previously?"
Beck's hand paused halfway to his lips. His head tilted to the side, puzzlement settling across his features.
Raymond cleared his throat.
"What I mean is, if I triggered Escalation Protocol during the tutorial, will it still be active if I re-enter it now?"
The question had been nagging at him since he'd started planning his return. He knew what triggered the protocol—learning the truth about the simulation, killing enough enemies. But he didn't know if its effects persisted. If they did, that would be the worst case scenario. He'd have to abandon his plan to enter the same world and opt for an unknown random selection instead.
Understanding crossed Beck's features. He set down his empty cup.
"So that's what you're worried about. To answer your question—no, it won't be active. Each activation of Escalation Protocol is tied to an individual scenario. Once it's done, the state gets reset."
The weight lifted from Raymond's shoulders. His breathing came easier. The tight knot that had been sitting in his chest since he'd started considering this loosened.
Beck leaned forward slightly.
"But I have to caution you. Despite these worlds being simulations created by the World System for scenarios, they are perpetual worlds in flux, always moving forward. What the Escalation Protocol does is artificially introduce variables that can target the subject—the Player who triggered it. You might have experienced this already, otherwise you wouldn't be asking about this."
He paused, his expression serious.
"So always assume the people of those worlds are real people, not some NPCs created by middling artificial intelligence."
Raymond nodded. He'd never planned to treat this as a game. Not when it could directly affect his life.
He finished the tea in one gulp and stood. Beck rose as well.
"In that case, Mr. Beck, shall we head to the gym and spar a bit?"
Beck nodded.
Charles materialized near the doorway as if he'd been waiting for the cue.
"I'll show you to the gym."
The three of them walked out of the parlor, footsteps echoing down the hallway.
Evening settled over the mansion.
Raymond walked into the bathroom. He turned the faucet. Cold water burst from the showerhead, cascading down. He stepped under the stream, letting it pour over his head.
The day replayed itself in fragments.
Discharge from the hospital. The hover car ride through barren countryside. Arrival at the mansion. Charles waiting at the door with that perfect butler posture. Meeting Alonso and testing his expertise in the gym—the man was what had been promised, a competent coach. The conversation about scenarios, Escalation Protocol, difficulty levels. The information he'd gathered.
Alonso's parting words echoed in Raymond's mind as water ran down his face.
"Only select Easy difficulty. Don't engage in anything above that."
The caution had been genuine. Professional concern from someone who'd trained other young Players.
But Raymond had a different opinion.
Now that he knew what spiked the difficulty in the tutorial—the Escalation Protocol, triggered by learning the simulation's truth—he understood the variable. The thing that had turned what should've been a straightforward survival scenario into something far more dangerous.
Without triggering that protocol, Normal difficulty might be manageable. Even Hard difficulty wasn't out of the question if he planned carefully, avoided the specific actions that escalated threat levels.
He had better odds than Alonso thought.
The water washed away the sweat and grime covering his body. Raymond held his hand out, letting water pool in his palm. He watched it for a moment.
Clean. Pristine. But he knew this was artificially created, not naturally formed water. The kind synthesized in processing facilities, molecular assembly rather than the hydrological cycle.
He sighed and let the water spill from his hands, watching it swirl down the drain.
He turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower.
Charles stood nearby, a towel folded over one arm, fresh clothes draped across the other.
Raymond dried himself and changed into the clean clothes—simple, comfortable. When he finished, he turned to Charles.
"Take me to the medical pod. I'm entering the VR world."
Charles bowed slightly.
"Please follow me."
They walked through the corridor, their footsteps muted against the polished floor. Charles led him to one of the rooms on the first floor. The door slid open.
Inside sat the medical pod.
Raymond's first instinct was coffin. The structure dominated the center of the room, elongated and enclosed.
No. Not quite a coffin.
More like one of those UV therapy units he'd seen back in Japan. The device here had a sophisticated futuristic look, though the design was entirely minimalistic. Clean lines. No unnecessary ornamentation. The outer cover featured a display panel that would show the vital signs of the occupant.
Raymond walked up to the pod. His finger traced along the outer panel, feeling the texture—smooth, cool to the touch, slightly textured where the display interface sat embedded in the surface.
Charles's voice came from behind him.
"I've already refilled the pod's nutrient supply to last for an entire month. You can go with peace of mind, Mr. Ray. As the housekeeper responsible, I'll make sure everything is in order and waiting for your triumphant return."
Raymond nodded in acknowledgement. His hands found the edges of the lid. He lifted it, the mechanism assisting with quiet hydraulics. The interior revealed itself—padded lining, various sensor arrays built into the sides, connections for monitoring and life support.
He climbed in and lay down. The padding conformed to his body, comfortable despite the confined space.
Charles reached over and helped guide the lid down. It sealed with a soft hiss, pressure equalizing.
Raymond exhaled hard. The anticipation had been building all day—through the conversation with Alonso, through the sparring, through the shower and walk to this room. Now it pressed against his chest, made his heart beat faster than it should.
He shut his eyes.
The mental command formed clearly in his mind, directed toward the World System.
Transfer my consciousness to the lobby.