The time was 2:37 AM. The only sound in the small, cramped dorm room was the low, rattling hum of an old fan that did nothing but push the stale air around. It was hot, the kind of sticky, late-night summer heat that made his cheap cotton t-shirt cling to his back.
Lin Hao stared at his laptop screen. The light from it was the only thing holding back the darkness, and right now, he wished it would just go out.
His room was a standard university single, a concrete box that measured maybe ten feet by eight. Peeling beige paint, a narrow bed, a metal wardrobe, and a scarred wooden desk. It smelled of dust, old textbooks, and the lingering, salty scent of the instant noodle cup he'd eaten for dinner five hours ago.
Outside his small, grime-caked window, the campus was quiet. Far in the distance, a siren wailed, a lonely sound that reminded him just how big the city was, and how small he was within it.
On his laptop screen, three windows were open, each one a different kind of nail in his coffin.
The first was the university portal. His grade for "Digital Control Systems" had just been posted.
[Final Exam: 48/100 – F]
The big, red "F" seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a glowing red eye that judged him. He was an engineering student. He was supposed to be the smart kid, the one who was good at math and science. That was the whole reason he was here.
He could still remember one of the questions on the exam. It was about feedback loops and stabilization. He had stared at it for twenty minutes, his mind a complete blank. He could hear the professor's voice in his head, but the actual information, the formulas, they were just… gone. Swallowed by a fog of exhaustion.
This "F" wasn't just a failing grade. It meant he had to retake the class. That meant another semester, more fees, and another black mark on his record.
He clicked on the second tab, his stomach twisting. It was his email. The subject line had been sitting there, unread, for two days. He couldn't avoid it any longer.
Subject: FINAL NOTICE: Your student loan payment for... is 30 days overdue.
He opened it. The language was cold, polite, and absolutely terrifying.
Dear Mr. Lin,
This is a final notice regarding your delinquent student loan account... Failure to make an immediate payment of $450.00 will result in your account being sent to collections. This may negatively impact your credit and future financial standing...
Four hundred and fifty dollars. He might as well have needed four million.
Lin Hao ran a shaky hand through his tangled hair. He worked twenty hours a week at the campus library, shelving books and scanning IDs for minimum wage. After paying for his food, mostly instant noodles and discounted bread, and his phone bill, he was lucky if he had twenty dollars left over.
He had taken these loans specifically so his parents wouldn't have to. They ran a small noodle shop back in his hometown, and he knew they worked from sunrise to midnight. They had already sacrificed so much just to get him into this university. The thought of calling them and telling them he was not only failing, but also in debt, made him feel physically sick.
He'd spoken to his mom last week. "Everything is fine, Mom," he'd lied, forcing a cheerful tone. "Just studying hard. Don't worry about me." The memory made his throat tighten.
He moved his mouse to the third tab. This one was a job-hunting website. It was an application for a summer internship at a local tech firm. A paid internship. It would have solved everything. It would have paid his loan installment, given him real-world experience, and maybe even let him send some money home.
[Thank you for your interest in the junior engineer internship at Apex Innovations. While your qualifications were impressive, we have decided to move forward with other candidates at this time...]
"Other candidates."
Lin Hao knew exactly who those "other candidates" were. He'd seen them in his classes. They wore expensive clothes, drove nice cars, and talked about their fathers' companies. They had connections. They had safety nets. They weren't staying up all night in a panic over a single failed grade.
He thought back to the interview. He'd worn his only suit, the one that was slightly too big in the shoulders, and he'd practiced his answers for hours. He thought it had gone well. The interviewer had even smiled.
He now saw that smile for what it was: polite, empty. A pat on the head for the poor kid who'd bothered to try.
He finally slammed the laptop shut.
The sudden darkness and silence were crushing. The little room felt like a prison cell.
He stood up, his joints cracking. His back ached from sitting in the hard, wooden chair for hours. He walked the three steps to the wall and leaned his forehead against the cool, peeling paint.
This was the "system" of society. It was a giant, unfeeling machine. You were either a gear or you were dust. And Lin Hao, with his bad grades, his debt, and his rejections, felt like he was being ground to dust.
He caught his reflection in the small, cracked mirror hanging on his door. His face was pale and thin. Dark circles, like deep purple bruises, pooled under his eyes. He looked like a ghost. He was twenty years old, and he already felt worn out, used up, and defeated.
On his desk, next to the empty noodle cup, sat a small, framed photo. It was of him and his parents, taken the day he left for university. They were smiling so proudly. His mother was holding his arm, and his father, a man of few words, had his hand on his shoulder.
The pride in their eyes was the heaviest weight of all. He couldn't bear to let them down.
A burst of loud laughter echoed from the hallway outside. It was followed by the sound of a door slamming and music thumping for a few seconds before being cut off. Other students, back from a party. Students who were probably passing their classes, who didn't check their bank accounts with a sense of dread, who had their whole futures mapped out for them.
The unfairness of it all was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth.
Lin Hao walked back to his desk, but he couldn't bring himself to open the laptop again. He couldn't look at the 'F' or the FINAL NOTICE or the rejection.
Instead, his hand went to the mouse, and out of pure, tired habit, his fingers clicked open a different website. A webnovel site.
The screen lit up with bright, flashy covers and bold titles.
[I Am the Immortal God-King] [My Ultimate System Awakened] [Reborn as the Dragon Emperor in a Modern City]
This was his escape. His one, pathetic drug. For a few hours a day, he could dive into these stories. He could pretend he was the main character, someone who wasn't bound by rules, who found a golden finger, who could shatter his limits and step on the faces of all the arrogant young masters who looked down on him.
He clicked on a random novel and started reading. The main character had just been betrayed, his spiritual root stolen, and he was left for dead. But then, a mysterious voice echoed in his mind, and a "Divine Supreme System" awakened.
Lin Hao read about the protagonist getting his first mission, his first reward, his first taste of power. He read about him healing his wounds, upgrading his talent, and vowing to get his revenge.
A bitter, self-loathing laugh escaped Lin Hao's lips. It was a dry, ugly sound.
"What a joke," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm sitting here reading fantasy about 'upgrading' while my real life is burning down around me."
The fantasy wasn't helping tonight. It was just making reality feel colder and sharper by comparison.
He closed the browser. He turned off the desk lamp. The room was plunged into total darkness.
He fell onto his bed, not even bothering to get under the single thin blanket. He just lay on top of the covers, his clothes still on, and stared up at the cracked, shadowy ceiling.
Now, with no light and no distractions, the real panic set in.
The fear was a physical thing, a cold, heavy pressure in his chest. The fear of calling his parents. The fear of dropping out. The fear of what came next, a lifetime of low-wage jobs, of being crushed by debt, of becoming the failure his parents had worked so hard to prevent him from being.
He felt utterly, completely trapped.
He closed his eyes. His body was heavy with an exhaustion that went bone-deep, but his mind was racing, a hamster on a wheel, running in circles of worry and fear.
"If only," he muttered into the dark, his voice barely a breath. It was a thought he'd had a thousand times before, a desperate, childish wish.
"If only I could just 'upgrade' my life. Just a little. Just... just enough to get by."
The thought was his last. He finally slipped into a restless, shallow sleep, his dreams filled with falling grades and angry red letters.
He didn't know how much time had passed. It could have been minutes or hours.
He woke up.
Not slowly, but all at once. His eyes snapped open.
The room was silent. Not just quiet, it was an absolute, pressing silence. The rattling fan had stopped. The distant city noise was gone. Even the buzz of the mini-fridge was silent.
And it was no longer dark.
A piercing, impossible blue light filled his vision.
He sat bolt upright, his heart leaping into his throat. He thought the laptop had turned itself on, but it was still closed on his desk.
This was different. This light wasn't in the room. It was in front of his eyes.
A holographic blue screen, like something from a science-fiction movie, floated a foot from his face. It was perfectly stable, its edges sharp and clear. It was transparent; he could see his messy room through it, but the text on it was brighter and clearer than anything he had ever seen.
He blinked. It didn't go away. He rubbed his eyes, his knuckles pressing hard. It was still there.
He wasn't dreaming. He was wide awake. The stress, he thought, it's finally happened. I've gone insane. I'm hallucinating.
And then, he read the words. Words that seemed to burn themselves into his mind.
[Initializing Infinite Upgrade System...]
His breath hitched. He stared, frozen, his mind unable to process what he was seeing. This... this was just like the novels. It couldn't be real.
[Binding to Host: Lin Hao...]
A cold shiver, completely unrelated to the temperature, raced down his spine. He heard himself whisper his own name, a faint, disbelieving croak. "Lin Hao...?"
As if in response, the final line of text appeared.
[...100% Complete.]