Modern World-Building Vibe: The Dawn of the Game World
In this world, your job—or as it's called, your "class"—is the equivalent of wealth and freedom. When you don't play the game, you live a life of poverty.
Classes: Assassin, Mage, Fighter, Warrior, Tank, Healer, Support, Crafter, and many more.
The Hunter Academy Entrance Exam
The protagonist walks forward, burdened by a mountain of modern-vibe equipment. He carries an enormous tactical backpack. An SMG is slung across his chest, a rifle over one shoulder, a shotgun on his back. A Barrett sniper rifle is clamped to the side of his pack. Dual pistols are holstered on his thighs, and a machine gun is strapped down horizontally. For melee, an array of hilts and handles are visible: a longsword, various blades, a dagger, a collapsible staff, a segmented spear, a compact shield, and dual whips coiled at his hips. Pouches on his tactical vest bulge with grenades and flashbangs.
He is Rocky: The Complete Combat Profile
🧬 Biometric Profile
· Age: 18
· Height: 6'6" (198 cm)
· Weight: 225 lbs — functionally distributed, zero waste.
· Build: An Adonis-class superhero physique. His shoulders are impossibly broad, tapering down to a deep, powerful chest and a waist so narrow it seems sculpted. His muscle density appears to exceed Olympic peak condition. The proportions are those of a Grecian sculpture, but the coiled tension in his frame is that of an apex predator. There is no bulk without function; every fiber looks explosively potent.
· Shoulder breadth: 24" — his silhouette commands the space around him.
· Waist: 31" — tapered, hinting at a core capable of serpentine torsion.
· Arms: 18" of cold, vascular muscle, perfectly striated and proportioned.
· Chest: 52" — an expanded ribcage suggesting immense oxygen capacity.
· Body fat: 4.2% — his physique is a roadmap of defined muscles: visible serratus anterior, clear quadriceps separation, and sharp oblique cuts.
· Bone density: Enhanced through years of martial adaptation.
· Connective tissue: Hyperelastic, granting him near-immunity to ligament damage.
· Hair: Platinum blonde, tousled and sun-kissed, it catches the fluorescent lights of the hall like spun gold.
· Eyes: Almond-shaped, a deep brown that seems to have molten gold flecks swirling within them, intensifying whenever his gaze sharpens.
· Skin: A flawless, luminous porcelain complexion, completely unmarred.
· Face: An angular jawline that looks carved from marble, high aristocratic cheekbones, and a symmetry that borders on an unsettling, breathtaking beauty.
· Presence: Awe-inspiring. As he walks, rooms instinctively quieten. Breaths catch. It's not intimidation, but a kind of reverence—the silhouette of something humanity forgot existed. His walk seems to have a gravitational pull. Double-takes become stares, and stares become silence.
Movement signature: Silent. No jingle of gear, no sound of breathing, no scuff of a foot. 6'6" of polished granite moves like autumn fog through a forest.
---
Personality: A volatile mix. He's playful yet manipulative, an alpha male with an antihero's moral compass and a perfectionist's drive. He balances on a knife's edge between kind and evil, using his devastating charisma and a seemingly endless arsenal of pick-up lines. He's talkative, an 18-year-old who loves the sound of his own voice.
Talents: Mimicry; the ability to copy even the fabled Cat Genius.
Stats: PQ, SQ, MQ, EQ, AQ, TQ — all maxed at 1000.
IQ: 400. Battle IQ: 900.
Martial Arts Mastery: Over 1,000,000 martial arts from every corner of the world.
Class: Jobless.
The Jobless class is universally considered super trash—everyone knows this. It's nearly impossible to level up, there's no system guide, and the single, almost mythical upside is that you can potentially learn skills from any class—including hidden ones—depending entirely on your own understanding. And Rocky? He's already mastered every class skill there is. Even the hidden ones.
Total Skills: 500,000,000+
---
Damage Balance:
Rocky's raw damage output is a pathetic 1 because he's Jobless.
But the pain he inflicts is terrifyingly real. If his enemy has a high pain tolerance, the pain they feel multiplies exponentially—up to 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000×, scaling directly with their ability to endure.
---
Goal:
Aura farming. Attention seeking. To live his life as a forbidden legend.
The protagonist walks, as if on a personal mission to farm aura.
---
Standing to the side of the hall are the famous examinees from the High State families—rich, powerful, and used to being the center of attention. They are stunningly beautiful, top-notch ladies with a 'big baddie' vibe. Perfect faces, bodies with a 100% ratio, the absolute peak of attractiveness.
· Mira – Necromancer × Knight × Assassin
· Sara – Tank × Paladin × Priest
· Nikki – Mage × Fighter × Berserker
· Stacy – Crafter × Support × Healer × Shaman × Black Sorcerer (The Leader)
---
Mira's eyes widen as they land on Rocky. She fans herself playfully. "Oh my, playboy alert," she purrs, her voice a low, appreciative hum. "He's blindingly handsome. A face like that should be illegal. It's a public hazard. Might cause pregnancies just from eye contact."
Sara scoffs, crossing her arms and looking him up and down with a dismissive sneer. "No way. Look at all that gear." She gestures at his overloaded form. "He's a pack mule. A porter. Probably some low-tier Merchant or Crafter variant trying to look impressive. How pathetic."
Nikki, leaning against the wall, just lets her gaze roam over him. A slow smile plays on her lips. "Pathetic or not, he's not painful to look at," she murmurs. "I'd much rather stare at him than stare at that stressed guy over there."
Mira clutches her hands together in a mock dreamy gesture. "I just want him to carry me. Can you imagine being piggybacked by that? Cute!"
Sara's sneer melts into a sly, calculating grin. She snaps her fingers. "MILF baddie sisters… what if we recruit him? For real. Make him our official porter for the exam dungeon. Free eye candy to motivate us during raids." She looks at the others. "Right, girls?"
Mira giggles, nodding enthusiastically. "Oo nga, ang talino mo, sister! LOL."
Nikki pushes off the wall, her expression turning cunning. "Girls, what if he doesn't agree? I mean, look at us. He might think we're just trying to suck the life out of him." She pauses for effect. "So I have a Plan B: if he refuses to be our porter, we bully him. Combined with some serious teasing."
Sara's grin widens into a wicked smile. "Sis, you are so cunning! Hahaha!"
Mira claps her hands silently. "I love your style, sis! Hahaha!"
Stacy, who had been silently observing, finally speaks. Her voice is serious, cutting through their chatter like a knife.
"Quiet, big baddie sisters. You're being vulgar." Her eyes are narrowed, fixed on Rocky. "There's something wrong here. My gut feeling about this person is bad. If he were a porter, he wouldn't be entering the competition."
Chastened, they fall silent and look back at the young man.
And then they notice it—
Floating above his head, where every examinee's class tag should be, there is nothing. Just empty space.
---
The Temporary Bullies
Just before the young man can enter the main hall, two examinees step into his path, blocking him. They're the type used to mocking others to make themselves look superior.
Boy 1 puffs out his chest, smirking at his friend. "Oy, guys, I think I know this one." He jabs a thumb towards Rocky. "I think I saw this face heading into a plastic surgery company. Hahaha!"
Boy 2 guffaws loudly, playing along. "Yeah! He's gotta be plastic!"
A few people nearby chuckle, while others just watch, curious.
Rocky stops dead in his tracks. A slow, almost serene smile spreads across his face. He turns to face them fully, the mountain of gear making him look even larger.
Rocky (calmly, with a hint of amusement):
"Hahaha. Wow, your imagination is intense. Just curious—do you have any evidence, or is this just a teaser trailer?"
Boy 1's smirk falters for a second. He gestures vaguely at Rocky's face. "What evidence? It's obvious!"
Rocky's expression instantly shifts from amused to deadly serious. He raises a single, perfectly manicured finger.
"Objection, Your Honor," he states, his voice clear and commanding. "That's pure speculation—no facts, just opinions."
A murmur ripples through the watching examinees. A few pull out their phones.
Boy 2, feeling the shift in the air, gets aggressive. "You talk so big!"
Rocky (relaxed, almost bored):
"It's not arrogance. It's a clarification. The court demands evidence, not guesses."
Boy 1, flustered, digs in. "Just admit it already!"
Rocky tilts his head, a picture of innocence.
"Admit to what? Your story? Because up until now, you've presented zero proof."
Boy 2 leans closer to his friend, his voice a nervous whisper. "Dude… I think we're the ones getting embarrassed."
Boy 1 is silent, his face reddening.
Rocky's smile returns, warm and final. He spreads his arms slightly, as if addressing a crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the court—"
He ticks off points on his fingers.
"Motives: envy. Argument: slander. Evidence: zero."
He drops his hands. "Case dismissed."
A few people openly laugh now. Others just stare, stunned. The two bullies shuffle away, heads down.
---
Stacy (internal thought, her eyes narrowing further):
"Handsome, and sharp-witted too. This guy is a major red flag… or something even more dangerous."
---
The protagonist walks on until he reaches the registration desk. Behind it sits Rika, a girl of breathtaking beauty—top-notch, 100% ratio. Her class tags read: Healer × Alchemist × Summoner. Rika is working as a temporary receptionist, a move orchestrated by her teacher who believed her stunning looks would motivate the examinees.
Rika (internal thought, looking up):
"Wow, handsome. Carrying all that gear... A Merchant? A scavenger? Ahh, a Porter. Too bad, he's weak. But it's okay, he's handsome, no harm done. But still... what a waste."
She plasters on a professional smile.
Rika: "Sir, are you here for the exam?"
Rocky returns her smile, his gaze warm. "Yes, ma'am, I am. One ticket, please."
Rika: "So, you're doing a solo raid?"
Rocky: "Yes, my beautiful lady."
Rika (internal thought, a flicker of annoyance):
"A solo raid? Is he trying to get himself killed? And he called me 'beautiful lady'? Is this handsome guy insulting me? You should be grateful you're good-looking, or I would have slapped you by now. Can't he see all the effort I put into my makeup? Is he blind or just stupid?"
Rika (maintaining her smile): "Sir, name for the list?"
Rocky leans forward slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. His voice drops to a conspiratorial, smooth tone.
"Rocky.
You know, I never believed in children's stories about real angels… until I realized I was wrong. Because a real angel is right here, standing in front of me. It's as if you descended from heaven to grace us with your captivating beauty. A beauty so intense it's almost painful, a rare light that is both dazzling and wounding."
Rika (internal thought, her eyes widening slightly):
"Oh shit—Rocky, huh? And a playboy. Interesting."
Rika opens her mouth to retort, but Rocky gently raises a hand, silencing her with a 'shhh'.
Rocky: "Shhhh, stop, big baddie. Don't speak. If you speak, I might be done for—because your breath is intoxicating, mixed with an irresistible allure."
Rika (internal thought, a mix of annoyance and flutter):
"Shit, damn you, bad boy."
Rocky: "It's true, no joke. Earlier, when you were talking to me, I got dizzy from your incredibly fragrant breath."
Rika (internal thought, a mental scream):
"Fragrant? Dizzy from my breath? This guy's brain cells are on another level. So annoying, I want to slap him."
Rocky: "And you might be wondering how I'm still alive after talking to you. If that's what you're thinking, have pity—because I stopped my heart from breathing earlier just to keep from falling for you. So I hope you understand what my heart feels for you. And I know, you're confused by what I'm saying. It's like I'm here, holding a rally, ready to shout and sing about what I feel for you."
Rika (internal thought, her breath catching):
"No, no—he's shooting me, his words are like bullets hitting my heart."
Rocky: "So, my beautiful angel, I know you came to this world because you were sent to get me. I'm being sentenced for the crime of speaking in riddles."
Rika (internal thought, a giggle escaping internally):
"Wow, huh. Assuming—sent to get you? Who do you think you are? Ah, right, Rocky, lol. But if that was the order from my teacher, then I definitely will arrest you and beat you with my cupcake combo. I'll stuff you full of my cream, hahaha!"
Rocky: "Yes, I know. I am guilty. But I shouldn't be judged by an angel like you. So, I'm going to object, because this isn't allowed! I have the right to speak, because I am a child.
Republic Act of Speech, November 15, 2008.
Know Well said on his birthday, November 15, 2008, he performed a public act of speech so his words could be heard—because he has a mouth to speak with. He said:
'A person has the right to speak because we are given a mouth to speak. That's why you hear me now, speaking whether I sound like an adult or a child. What I mean is: all adults have the right to speak, and not just adults—children are included too. So remember this: all people are born with a mouth to speak, and if a person is born without a mouth, then they shouldn't speak at all. And I thank you.'
So that's what I heard from Know Well when he made his Republic Act of Speech. And why am I saying this? Because I have the right to speak—since your face was made to enlighten my heart, which is in awe of your magnificent beauty."
Rika (internal thought, fanning herself internally):
"Shittt, stop, Rika. Focus, focus. Control yourself, don't get swept away. Ahh, why, why am I giggling at him? Is it because of his confusing words, or is he just an incredibly powerful smooth-talker?"
Rika (out loud, a single, flustered syllable): "Luh."
Rocky: "Yes, it's true. You're so beautiful, you captivated my heart—as if you stole my attention the moment I saw your beauty. It caused my eyes to go blind from the light of your face. So I need your cellphone number and your name, so you can pay for the heart you stole."
Rika (internal thought, now fully engaged):
"Wow, huh. Endless pick-up lines. He must be a top-tier playboy. His words are so smooth. A bad boy with a sugar-daddy mouth. This guy is a red flag, so minus points for you, hottie boy. You want a debate? Fine, I'll give it to you."
Rika's eyes glint with intellectual challenge. She leans forward, her professional demeanor replaced by a debating stance.
"Sir, are you stupid? Didn't you study? If I stole your heart, you'd be dead by now. Because the heart is like a pump that circulates blood throughout the body, carrying oxygen and nutrients to organs and tissues. Without a heart, the body wouldn't function properly. Think about it, if you didn't have a heart, this is what would happen to you:
One: tissue hypoxia—no oxygen to organs and tissues, they'd be damaged.
Two: waste buildup—toxins accumulate in the body, poisoning you.
Three: cardiac output collapse—blood pressure drops, the body shuts down.
So, do you understand?
But, there are theoretical alternatives, like:
· Vascular smooth muscle contraction—blood vessels contract and relax to move blood.
· Gravity-driven circulation—in low gravity, maybe circulation would be okay without a heart.
But this is all speculative. The truth is, the body is designed for the heart; without it, we can't live normally. So, do you understand or not? Maybe you want more explanation?"
She finishes, slightly breathless, a triumphant look on her face.
Rocky doesn't miss a beat. He places a hand over his heart, his expression one of profound, theatrical realization.
"You know, honestly, I didn't understand a single word you said, my beautiful lady. Because your words are so enchanting. You are like my teacher, here to enlighten me about the heart you stole, which caused my tissue hypoxia—the oxygen was stolen from my heart, and my organs and tissues were damaged by your academic beauty.
And two, my heart is experiencing waste buildup—the toxins are building up in my body, as if you poisoned my heart to make me fall for you.
And three, my heart went into cardiac output collapse because of you the moment I saw your beauty—it caused my blood pressure to plummet, and my body can't function because you stole my heart."
He looks at her with wide, sincere eyes. "So, do you understand what I feel for you?"
Rika (internal thought, a full-blown panic):
"Damn it, he counter-attacked! Damn you, Rocky, you bad boy! I can't take it anymore—I need to go to the bathroom."
Rika's face is a little flushed. She slams the registry shut a bit too quickly.
"Sir, you know what, actually, we're done. I've listed your name, and I have to go—I forgot something. So, bye!"
Without waiting for a reply, Rika spins on her heel and speed-walks, then practically sprints towards the restroom.
Rika (internal thought, a frantic whisper as she hurries):
"Damn it, I'm soaked. Good thing I put his name first on the list, so he'll be called early and finish quickly—because I'm getting back at you, Rocky! Watch out tonight, I'll find you and kidnap you, and tie you up with my healing bandages. I'll force-feed you my special cupcakes so your mouth gets dizzy from my cream! This is a threat! So hide while you still can! Ahhh, damn you, Rocky!"
---
Unseen by either of them, standing in the shadows at the back of the hall, a figure watches the entire exchange. It's Bolas, a Master Swordsman and Rika's obsessive stalker. His knuckles are white as he grips the hilt of his sword. He saw Rika's flustered reaction. He saw her run. And his focus is zeroed in on the young man with all the gear. In his mind, this is easy. The guy is clearly just a Porter class—look at all that junk he's carrying. He's nothing.