The Corpse's Last Pull

«Historic SSR winners: 1!» «Historic SR winners: 3!» «……»

The little shop was plastered wall to wall with promotional posters. Spotting the shabby sign reading RANDOM BOX, the man stepped inside without a moment's hesitation.

Inside, incongruous with the run-down interior, stood a state-of-the-art pull machine. But his hands found it like an old habit, and the moment he laid them on its surface, a holographic screen bloomed in the empty air.

Instead of a name, the words SKN-8644007017 glowed on the screen — and of that string, "7017" was nothing more than the code number others used to identify him.

The hollow eyes of 7017 stared blankly at the words Account Creation ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ticket.

This machine, the Random Box, could dispense almost anything the world had to offer. It was legalized gambling, dressed up for those chasing the overnight miracle — and even the nameless pariahs called Unknowns were allowed to use it.

With practiced hands, 7017 ran the machine.

Several days' worth of hard-earned wages vanished in a single instant.

Gathering up the useless trinkets with the ease of long routine, 7017 shuffled out of the shop. There was no hope in those eyes.

"Mother……"

One day, a single tree appeared in this world without warning: Yggdrasil. It shot up at an impossible pace and blanketed the entire planet in a matter of moments.

Yggdrasil read and absorbed the countless strands of human culture, then began constructing labyrinths out of the very games that were in live service. The people came to call those labyrinths God's Games.

Three years ago — back when 7017 was still called by a name instead of a code number. Back when he was Ryu Hwi.

"Why is my capture strategy being thrown out?!"

"The strategy you proposed... that labyrinth has already been cleared by Linpel, hasn't it?"

"Which is exactly why I cut the capture time even further and massively improved the efficiency—"

"Simulation is not reality. Linpel is Linzea's ace. Are you seriously suggesting we invalidate an ace's record?"

He'd heard that gamers in rival guilds would stop at nothing to shave even a second off their records. That was precisely why the major guilds employed analysts — specialists dedicated to developing new capture routes and dissecting dungeons.

"No re-captures. This is Linpel's wish as well."

Why...?

"Damn it."

Cursing under his breath, Ryu Hwi stalked out of the strategic planning office.

"At this rate, the hospital bills..."

Ryu Hwi had a mother in the hospital. It was the kind of illness that would have been called incurable in the old days — but now, there was a cure. All he needed was for Linzea Guild to recognize him. All he needed was to become a Gamer.

His fingers flew through the empty air. A cascade of windows unfolded across his field of vision. A few more gestures, and his most recent work — Capture Strategy v.107 — hovered before his eyes.

He combed through the document, hunting for anything he might have missed. I cannot give up. Not like this!

And that was the exact moment everything went wrong.

"S-stop it, please."

"Stay still. This works out fine for you too, you know?"

"Please, just... stop..."

Just ahead of the strategy research lab, Ryu Hwi found a woman pinned by someone. She was Cynthia, from his own research division — someone he worked alongside so often, someone he'd gone out with on weekends, someone he'd come to care about.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Seeing Cynthia cornered, Ryu Hwi threw himself forward without a second thought—

"Hm? I think you've got the wrong idea. I was merely having a private conversation with Cynthia. A very private one."

Only then did he register who he was talking to, and his stomach dropped. Cascading golden hair spilling to his shoulders, sharp features set off by a piercing pair of blue trion eyes.

"If you're with Linzea, you know who I am. And intruding on a private matter — isn't that rather rude? Walk away quietly, and I'll pretend today never happened."

Linpel Darius.

Within Linzea, the name Linpel carried special weight. Anyone who wanted a peaceful life in the guild knew better than to cross him.

"R-Ryu Hwi, sir."

Even so, Ryu Hwi didn't back down. And for some reason, Linpel reacted to the name Ryu Hwi.

"Hm? Ryu Hwi? Ahh, right. So you're the analyst who keeps uploading new strategy documents."

"I heard you've discarded every single one of them."

"Of course I did. They were far too lacking. Look — you keep finding new improvements each time, don't you? That proves my point."

"Yes. They're still imperfect. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But one day, I'll craft a capture as flawless as the vice guildmaster's."

"Hm. I see... Flawless, is it..."

Ryu Hwi had assumed the man tossed every document into the trash without reading a word. But Linpel had actually been evaluating them properly. The moment that realization landed, his heart began to pound.

"Ah — you there. Sorry for the bother. Turns out I have some important business to attend to. I'll be off."

"Oh — yes, of course..."

Cynthia nodded, avoiding Linpel's gaze. Linpel gave Ryu Hwi's shoulder a light pat and walked away without another word.

Ryu Hwi felt as though years of effort had finally been rewarded. Could this be his chance to become a Gamer? Who would have thought the opportunity would arrive like this?

"Ryu Hwi."

"Ah — sorry."

Drunk on the thought that his mother's treatment might finally be covered, he had completely forgotten Cynthia was standing there.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah. Linpel scared me, but... um, Ryu Hwi? Do you want to succeed at Linzea?"

When he answered yes, Cynthia fell into a long, pensive silence. Then—

"I see. Well then... I'll be rooting for you too."

She smiled and cheered him on.

My luck has finally turned. That was what Ryu Hwi believed. After all, Linpel had acknowledged his talent. Infinite possibility stretched out before him, and he dreamed of the brilliant future waiting just ahead.

"Ryu Hwi. You are hereby expelled from Linzea Guild."

The swelling dream burst like a soap bubble.

"The evidence is already secured. If Linpel and Cynthia hadn't reported you, it was hidden so cleverly no one would ever have noticed."

Before he could even wake from the dream, a merciless nightmare had its claws in him. Ryu Hwi couldn't process the words coming out of his supervisor's mouth.

Linpel stood beside the supervisor, grinning ear to ear, clearly enjoying himself. And next to him stood his colleague, Cynthia — who turned her head away, as if to avoid his eyes.

Linpel rested a hand on Cynthia's shoulder and smiled. She showed not a trace of displeasure; instead, she gazed up at him with a soft, gentle smile.

"Thanks to Cynthia, we learned about your little crime spree. You have my gratitude — and as promised, we'll see that you're well compensated."

Ryu Hwi trembled with betrayal. How could she do this?

"There's no place for you in this guild ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠anymore. No — the guild is the least of it. Your life is over, isn't it?"

Linpel strolled closer and patted Ryu Hwi's shoulder. Then he leaned in and whispered softly against his ear.

"So you really should have known your place."

Linpel had never praised Ryu Hwi's strategy documents. He had been cataloguing a potential enemy — an insect audacious enough to challenge him. Everything had unfolded exactly as scripted.

"You are being formally charged. With this much evidence, there's no escaping it."

The supervisor's voice sounded as if it were drifting in from far away. The world spun.

Even the friends he'd spent years with denied him. It felt as though every last thing in his life had been rejected.

But he couldn't just collapse. He still had two working arms and two working legs.

Pay for Mother's surgery.

That was the only goal he had left.

Two months later, 7017's mother was beyond saving.

He wasn't even at her bedside in her final moments. He'd been working himself ragged without rest, and the moment his body finally gave out and he collapsed — that was when he heard the news of her death.

Countless emotions gnawed away at 7017. Branded with a false charge over nothing more than someone's petty dislike, stripped of his name, stripped of his human rights, and robbed of the last family member he had left. Nothing remained for him now.

"That's it for today's shift. Good work, everyone."

The moment the overseer announced the end of labor, cheers erupted across the site.

"Hey, 7017, I've got something good. Want in?"

His coworkers held out a tiny chip.

"Puts you in a great mood. It works directly on the brain, so unlike the real stuff, there's barely any risk of getting hooked."

"Your life's already a pile of garbage — you've gotta at least have something to enjoy, right?"

They were offering him illegal data drugs. 7017 refused, turned, and walked off alone into the dark. His coworkers spat curses at his retreating figure.

"Don't act all high and mighty by yourself, you jerk! You're the same as the rest of us, trash."

"We're all Unknowns anyway, and he's still running his mouth."

He didn't hear a word of the shouting behind him. 7017 walked toward the far edge of the darkness, and his back looked like a corpse that had somehow learned to move.

The city center blazed in a perpetual neon night, but out here on the fringe, the occasional streetlight was all the illumination there was.

Before long, 7017 arrived at his destination.

Just like every day, he ran the pulls. Numbly. Emptily.

The hologram played out its little production — a meteor falling from the sky. When an N-rank came up, it was a half-formed lump of rock that thudded down; for an R-rank, a single streak of light would flash across the night sky. He had never once seen the animation for SR or above.

How many times had he spun this machine by now? He stared blankly at the holographic screen. Another pile of useless junk today, I'm sure.

"?!"

Then the hologram changed.

The night sky ignited, and a dazzling aurora unfurled across it. At the sight of an animation he'd never seen before, 7017's eyes went wide.

"Don't tell me — SR? No, could it be...?"

At last, a brilliant rainbow-colored meteor tore across the heavens.

No way.

No way!!

Ten boxes tumbled out of the Random Box. Nine of them bore the label N and pathetic little wrappings — but one alone was decked out in lavish, glorious packaging.

Its rank...

"SSR!!"

Special Super Rare.

With trembling hands, 7017 reached for the SSR box. It glowed at his touch, and its contents materialized before his eyes.

A black card.

Etched into its surface were the words: <Yggdrasil ID CARD>.

"A-ah... aaaaaaah!"

7017 clutched the card and shook.

"Aaaaaaaaah!"

A moan tore out of him, closer to a howl than a cry.

Here it was — the thing he'd believed he could never, ever reach. A miracle he hadn't even dared dream of. The dream he'd clung to so stubbornly, simply because there was nothing left in his hands to hold onto.

An Account Creation Ticket.

The labyrinths Yggdrasil spawned were built upon the world's countless games — and new labyrinths were being born at this very moment. But to enter a labyrinth created by the World Tree, you needed a game account. Logging into Yggdrasil through an avatar built from that account was the one and only way in.

What entered a Yggdrasil labyrinth was always a virtual character, an avatar — but whatever was discovered inside could be carried back out. Those items, which transcended the science of a previous age, had fundamentally rewoven the very structure of society.

Modern civilization existed because Yggdrasil existed, and was sustained because Yggdrasil was sustained. And those standing on the front lines — the Gamers — were the elite who ruled the era, a privilege granted only to a chosen few.

Now that privilege stood before 7017, in the form of an Account Creation Ticket.

"Hh."

Clutching the card, 7017 hurried out of the shop. There had been other prizes too — he couldn't have cared less about any of them.

With this card, he could create an account. With an account, he could play the countless labyrinths of Yggdrasil. A life that had fallen all the way to the bottom could begin again.

7017 ran, stumbling and gasping. The account registration facility was in the city center.

"Hah... hah... hah!"

His lungs burned, but he couldn't stop. Hope had finally, finally found him after an eternity in hell. Just a little farther — just a little more, and he'd have something to fight this rotten world with—

CRACK—!

His vision flashed white. The world flipped upside down.

7017 had no idea what had just happened. When he came to, he was sprawled across the cold asphalt.

"This the guy, right?"

A voice drifted down to him. A thuggish man stood over him, twirling a baseball bat.

"Yep, that's him. The lucky bastard who pulled an SSR."

"Well, unlucky for him — he ran into us, didn't he?"

Several of them smirked down at 7017, and one began rifling through his pockets.

"Here it is — the Account Creation Ticket. Can't believe somebody actually pulled one of these."

"What a lucky son of a bitch, huh?"

The men who'd taken the ticket turned to leave.

"No... give it..."

7017 dragged his body forward and seized the ankle of the man holding the ticket.

"Is this lunatic serious? Hey, let go!"

"Ghk!"

Head, chest, arms, legs — they stomped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every part of him without mercy, but 7017 refused to release that ankle.

"Give... back... my card. I... pulled it... myself..."

The man who seemed to be their leader crouched down beside him, seized a fistful of 7017's hair, and yanked his head up.

"That shop's under our management. We've got a camera planted inside — you never noticed, did you?"

The Random Box was state-run, which made what they were doing flat-out illegal. But this place sat far outside the city core, and enforcement here was probably a joke.

"Every now and then, some lucky fool pulls something high-rank, just like you did. And every time, we make a little trade."

The man pressed his thumb firmly against 7017's forehead.

The notification floated up in 7017's vision. Thirty thousand points. Exactly enough for a single pull of the Random Box.

"Trade complete, then. We good? We're good, right? Since we're good—"

The man grabbed 7017's head and slammed it straight into the ground.

"Now let the hell go already, you piece of trash."

Blinding pain — he nearly blacked out on the spot. But no matter what happened, he could not let go of that leg.

"This little shit, we even talk to him nice, and... an Unknown laying hands on us? Get him. Kill him."

And then the merciless lynching began.

These men were not criminals. If someone were a criminal — an Unknown — a warning marker would appear in your vision. No marker meant they were Bronze rank or higher.

They committed their crimes in broad, casual daylight and went on living ordinary lives. And he, who had committed no sin at all, had been branded a criminal and stripped of everything — an Unknown.

'There's no place for you in this world. None at all.'

It felt as if someone were whispering those words into his ear.

Shuffle.

Shuffle.

A corpse walks down the street. There is no trace of life left in it — nothing but a battered wreck of a body dragging its legs forward one step at a time.

7017 knew, with quiet certainty, that he was going to die. The blows must have landed badly. His head swam, his vision darkened, nothing reached his ears anymore, and even breathing took effort.

Warning after warning about his failing vitals kept flashing across his sight.

"Hrk."

His insides must have been badly torn — a mouthful of black blood spilled out of him. He wiped nothing, let the blood run from the corner of his mouth, and kept walking.

Even he didn't know where he was going. He simply left it to instinct.

Before long, 7017 burst out laughing — a hollow, bitter laugh. Because the place his feet had carried him to was none other than the shabby little shop with the Random Box.

It was, in its own way, a fitting final destination for a man with nowhere left to return to.

Walking alone was agony, and he collapsed the moment he stumbled through the door.

If my corpse is found here, will it hurt them somehow?

A pointless hope. They'd be watching through that camera, and they'd clean him up long before anything became a problem.

His vision was blurring now. He could barely make out what was in front of him. Scrounging together whatever strength remained, he dragged himself toward the machine.

The 30,000 points those men had tossed him as their so-called trade. Enough for one pull. Just one.

7017 squeezed the last dregs of strength from his body and pressed 1 PULL.

"Hah... hah..."

He slumped against the machine, gasping. The endless stream of blinking warnings cluttering his vision was exhausting — but soon enough, he wouldn't be able to see anything at all.

The last Random Box of his life.

Without waiting to see the result, 7017 quietly closed his eyes.

It really was... a garbage life, wasn't it.

The unconscious 7017 never saw the Random Box's screen. Never saw the beautiful aurora bloom across the night sky — and beyond that aurora, the golden radiance of a colossal World Tree rising into view.