The World Went to Hell

The world had gone straight to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hell. That single sentence defined the current state of things.

World War III. That was what the news called it right before I sealed myself in the bunker. It was the last outside news I ever heard.

This place was always the same. Thank God I'd poured money into this bunker—if I hadn't, I'd have been a goner long ago.

At first, the bombing never stopped. Some explosions were so close they made the concrete walls shake.

Once the sounds faded to nothing, I gave up on everything. I didn't have the guts to open the bunker door. I didn't want to think about what that dead silence outside meant.

I'd wake up, crack open a can of food, read web novels, and sleep. That was how a day passed.

Yeah, a day. I'd stopped counting them long ago. I could check the tablet to see how much time had passed, but I hated even thinking about it.

In the end, it was all meaningless anyway. Not like I could ever go outside.

The tablet screen was always filled with web novels. Hunter stories, constellation tales, romance, academy dramas, gender-benders... I read every genre. I'd downloaded thousands—maybe tens of thousands—before the war.

But even that had come to an end. I scrolled down, and nothing new appeared. I'd reached the bottom.

I set the tablet on the bed. Everything I could do in this bunker was done. There were still cans left, but then what? After I ate them all?

I stared at the ceiling for a long time. Cracked concrete. The fluorescent lights had been flickering for days.

Ah, so I've finally lost my mind. They say humans are social creatures—guess the loneliness finally broke me.

It was a line I'd read countless times in web novels. System windows, status messages, constellations. The fluorescent light flickered once, but the text stayed put, floating there.

A blue glow filled the dark bunker. It was a scene I knew well. The kind that appears before an ordinary person in the prologue or chapter one of a web novel.

The only difference? The protagonists in those stories stood somewhere in a vast world. I was sitting on the floor of a cramped bunker. Nothing was going to change right away.

I reached out as if entranced. My fingers passed right through the window. No substance—just a hologram floating in the air.

I poked at it with my finger, and a new menu unfolded.

Four menus listed vertically. Just reading them, I could guess their functions. I'd seen them plenty in web novels.

Observation was probably for viewing the world—like how constellations watch scenarios in those stories.

Apostle Management was self-explanatory: managing apostles, the humans chosen by a constellation and granted power.

The Shop was for buying stuff, and Constellation Info would show my details.

Observer of the 0th Dimension... I had no idea what "0th Dimension" meant, but observer made sense.

It had called me the last human, after all. I'd spent the end of the world binge-reading web novels alone in a ruined planet. That had to be why.

Lowest Grade—probably the bottom rank.

I'd figure out the value of 1,000 CP later.

What really caught my eye was the unique ability: #Tag. It probably assigned random #Tags to apostles.

In web novels, #Tags were those short genre tags in the synopsis.

"...Tags, huh."

If I had to tag my situation right now: #Modern, #Post-Apocalypse, #Constellation... something like that.

It was starting to click, but not quite. I'd put it on hold for now.

"This is a gacha system."

Yeah, pure gacha.

In web novels, protagonists pulling random powers always got overpowered cheats. The problem? This was reality. Was I lucky? No clue.

As expected, no apostles. I'd just become a constellation; of course not.

That didn't work either. Seemed like I needed apostles to observe.

So that's how constellations viewed the world through their apostles' eyes. I tapped the shop.

Five categories greeted me. My eyes locked on "Food."

My shoulders shook. These were everyday foods from before the war. One tap on a delivery app, and they'd arrive. That was normal life.

When was the last time I had chicken? I couldn't remember. Years ago, before the war.

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My finger hovered over Spicy Chicken, then paused. Was 50 CP expensive or cheap? Pre-war chicken cost about 20,000 won, so maybe equivalent? Or a totally different scale.

I had 1,000 CP—enough for twenty orders. One time wouldn't hurt, right? My head ran the math.

But honestly... screw the math.

I just wanted to eat. Chicken. Hot food. A taste of civilization.

A flash of light, and a pristine white box appeared on the bunker floor.

...Spicy Chicken, written right on the box. This absurd situation was real. Steam rose gently from inside. Entranced, I opened it.

The glossy sauce caught the light, ten tempting pieces. A sweet, savory aroma filled the bunker, assaulting my senses.

I bit into one. The crispy skin shattered, juicy meat melting on my tongue. Tears welled up. I don't know why. Just—those irreplaceable days, that lost world, all packed into this one bite.

I grabbed the second piece. Third, fourth. Before I knew it, all ten were gone.

"Hoo..."

Okay, time to snap out of it. The chicken was tear-inducingly good. But that wasn't the point right now.

The constellation system floated before me. No apostles, no observation, no clue what to do.

But I had to do something. I reopened the shop and checked the categories I skipped.

Unlock Functions—my gut said this was key.

Free Observation. One-time branch view without an apostle? Twenty-four hours.

What's a "branch"? No idea. But buying this would let me observe anyway.

300 CP. I'd have 650 left. No benchmark for price, but scouting the situation came first.

Stuck in this hopeless bunker, what else could I do?

At the same moment, the tablet lit up. I checked the screen carefully. A familiar city filled it.

Seoul. Or Seoul-like, anyway. Korean signs, a scene from memory.

But not the one I knew. A massive tower pierced the sky. Around it: skyscrapers, cars, people.

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To put it simply... yeah. Another dimension's Seoul, maybe.

The colossal tower loomed imposingly, even through the tablet screen.