Lin Chen had always liked the quiet parts of games.
Not the boss fights.
Not the flashy skills.
The moments when everything slowed down and you could *think*.
That was why he played *Eternal Grid*.
The dungeon around him was empty now, its stone corridors lit by dim blue crystals embedded in the walls. Most new players had already rushed ahead, chasing experience points and loot.
Lin stayed behind.
He crouched on the cracked stone floor, fingers hovering just above the surface as faint geometric lines shimmered into view—an overlay only Formation Masters could see.
The array wasn't complicated.
Three anchor points.
One convergence node.
A closed energy loop.
A **Spirit Gathering Formation**—the most basic structure in the Formation Master handbook.
But basic didn't mean useless.
"Angle's off," Lin muttered, adjusting the third node by a hair's breadth.
The formation pulsed once, then settled into a steady rhythm. Mana in the surrounding air bent toward it like water down a drain.
Perfect.
He leaned back on his heels, satisfied.
Most players never made it this far with formations. They complained the class was too slow, too technical, too unrewarding. Why spend ten minutes drawing arrays when a mage could wipe a room in seconds?
Lin understood something they didn't.
Formations didn't fight *for* you.
They changed the battlefield itself.
He stood as the dungeon exit gate activated, light washing over the stone floor.
And then—
Everything went wrong.
There was no warning. No dramatic cutscene.
Just a sensation like his thoughts had slipped out of alignment.
The world lurched.
For a fraction of a second, Lin felt as though he were standing in two places at once—one foot in the dungeon, the other somewhere cold and dark and vast.
Then the light swallowed him.
---
He woke up choking on air.
Lin rolled onto his side, coughing hard as his elbow struck something solid. His desk. The familiar scent of dust and old books filled his nose.
His room.
Sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, painting pale stripes across the wooden floor.
"…What?"
He pushed himself upright, head throbbing.
The game headset lay beside his chair, the screen dark. No error messages. No sparks. Nothing dramatic.
Just silence.
"Did I fall asleep?" he muttered.
But his heart was racing, and not from a bad dream.
Something felt… off.
The air in his room felt heavier, like humidity before a storm. Lin rubbed his arms, frowning. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint what was bothering him.
That was when he noticed the floor.
Not the wood itself—
—but the *spaces between things*.
Faint lines traced the room.
They weren't glowing or obvious. In fact, if he weren't looking directly at them, he might have missed them entirely. Subtle distortions, like heat ripples, running along the edges of objects.
The desk.
The bed.
The corners of the walls.
Lines of tension.
"…That's not normal."
Lin stood slowly.
As he moved, the lines shifted. Adjusted. Responded.
A chill ran down his spine.
In *Eternal Grid*, only Formation Masters saw the hidden framework of the environment—the natural flow of mana, stress points, convergence zones.
He swallowed.
"This is stupid," he said aloud. "I'm imagining things."
Still, he crouched.
His fingers hovered just above the floorboards.
A ridiculous thought crossed his mind.
*What if…*
No.
That was impossible.
And yet—
Lin traced a triangle on the floor.
Not physically. He didn't scratch the wood or draw with chalk. He simply followed the same mental process he'd used hundreds of times in the game—selecting anchor points, visualizing connections, closing the loop.
Three points.
One center.
A stabilization pattern.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Lin let out a breath, half-relieved, half-embarrassed.
"Yeah. Of course not."
Then the floor creaked.
Not the normal sound of old wood shifting.
This was deeper. Resonant.
The air pressure in the room subtly changed, pressing against his ears. Lin froze, heart slamming in his chest.
The faint lines snapped into alignment.
The triangle *settled*.
It didn't glow. It didn't flash.
It simply… existed.
The room went still.
Lin stood and tapped the desk.
The sound was wrong.
Duller. More solid.
He knocked again, harder this time. The vibration barely traveled.
"…No way."
His breath came shallow as he pressed his palm against the wall.
It felt sturdier. As if the room itself had been reinforced.
Slowly, carefully, Lin stepped back.
Nothing collapsed. Nothing exploded.
The formation held.
He laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoed too clearly in the quiet room.
"This can't be real," he whispered.
But it was.
There was no interface telling him it worked.
No numbers. No confirmation.
Just cause and effect.
Lin sank onto his bed, staring at the invisible pattern etched into the space of his room.
If that worked—
Then it wasn't the game that mattered.
It was the *knowledge*.
Formations weren't spells or skills.
They were structures.
Rules.
And rules didn't care whether they were applied in a dungeon or a bedroom.
A sudden headache bloomed behind his eyes, sharp enough to make him wince. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through it.
When the pain faded, exhaustion washed over him like a tide.
"Okay," he murmured. "Slow down."
He glanced at the floor again.
The triangle was already fading, the connections loosening as his concentration slipped.
So it required focus.
And probably came with limits.
Good.
Unlimited power would have been terrifying.
Lin lay back, staring at the ceiling as the lines gradually disappeared.
Outside, a car passed. Somewhere down the hall, a neighbor slammed a door.
The world went on, utterly unaware that something fundamental had just shifted.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
Everyone else had been playing *Eternal Grid* like it was a game.
He'd been studying it like a textbook.
And now—
The lessons were real.