Prologue - The Tutorial's End

Another World, the zombie apocalypse game infamous for its brutal difficulty. I was one of the countless players who'd tried it.

Zombie games always follow the same routine: secure survival supplies, set up a hideout, clear nearby zombies, expand your territory. The order might change, but the flow stays the same. The key is pushing forward by taking out zombies to secure safety.

But not in this game. You couldn't just kill zombies willy-nilly. The Stigma penalty. It caused a flood of players to quit, leaving only a handful of survivors.

That day, the community went silent. And I was the only one left in the game.

After slogging through six years, a total of 20,000 hours of playtime, I finally reached the first ending.

"Whoa… fuck! I finally beat it, this goddamn game!"

"Never touching it again. What a piece of shit."

The end credits rolled, and the final message appeared.

My vision went black.

*

How long had I been slumped over? My arms were numb, my neck and back stiff. Leaning against the chair, my blurry vision slowly came into focus. A familiar UI floated in the air.

A hollow laugh escaped me.

"…Ha. Yeah, after six years glued to a game, no wonder I'm losing it. Time to snap out of it and prep for job hunting."

I stretched, brewed some instant coffee, and checked the clock.

"Gotta get ready for my part-time gig soon."

But my eyes instinctively drifted to the air.

"Why won't this thing go away?"

*

My dingy goshiwon single room.

Tap, tap, tap. I drummed the desk, muttering to myself.

"Am I actually going crazy? Game addiction psychosis or some shit?"

Curious, I fired up the internet.

-Wtf is this guys?

-Am I the only one seeing it?

-Ooooh status window???

On one side of the screen, shaky footage showed people filming the air with their phones. Nothing was there, but everyone stared at the same invisible window.

The anchor's voice was tense.

"This text isn't limited to any region or country—it's appearing simultaneously worldwide. Experts are analyzing, but no scientific explanation yet."

"…Guess I'm not crazy."

Then a memory flashed: the Another World end credits right before I blacked out.

Ding!

Ding!

A torrent of information. I could only stare blankly at the status window.

"…What the hell is this?"

A shop window and community I'd never seen in the game. They were definitely there, but not important right now. My eyes locked on the traits.

"Two traits from the start? And… Mythic grade? Isn't Transcendent the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠max?"

Even a veteran like me didn't know these rules. I grumbled at the stats.

"Stats usually start at 1 too…"

*

"The UI and trait format screams Another World…"

I checked the community I'd overlooked in the chaos.

The community overflowed with Another World posts. Some lamented the world's end, others celebrated their status windows with "No regrets even if I die!"

A massive crash echoed outside.

Boom! A car slamming into a building wall.

Bang! An explosion followed.

I opened the window to hell. Burning vehicles. Red flames dyed the streets blood-red. Blood-soaked corpses littered the roads, zombies tearing into the remains everywhere.

A woman's scream. A zombie gnawed her throat, blood spraying like a fountain as it chewed. When it looked up, blood-drenched, her arm twisted and tore free.

It grabbed a nearby child too—I swallowed hard.

"Shit…"

The kid's tiny body ripped apart. Three adults charged the zombie pack, only to have limbs torn off and scattered across the pavement. Their agonized screams cut short with severed throats.

The stench of rot, blood, and smoke choked my lungs.

And—a tattooed thug in a tank top was punching and kicking zombies down. On his fifth, zombies poured from the building.

Shattering windows, smashing doors, swarming him. He was torn to shreds beyond recognition.

"That's the Stigma, right…?"

Suspicion turned to certainty.

"Ha… it's really Another World…? We're fucked…"

I slumped on the bed, rubbing my dry face.

Some might call me out now. 'Zombies are here—secure food and water!' 'Grab weapons from the hardware store!' 'Move already!'

Fair points. But—if Another World rules apply?

Rushing out unprepared? I'd bet I die today.

"Died over 10,000 times in the game, feels like…"

Anyway, if I go out, do it at night. Prep first.

I opened the new shop window absent from the game.

"Huh… selling food?"

In the game, food was a mid-to-late issue. Barren land meant no farming or livestock. Stockpiled early, preserved with generators and fridges, rationed to survive.

Solo doable. But now—global crisis. Supply chains cut. Last a year?

"…Balanced, huh?"

My eyes went to upgrade.

"Common zombie 1 coin? 1,000 kills for silver."

No hesitation—I clicked.

"Wait, the game had inventory too???"

My game knowledge crumbling, but inventory was a boon. Backpack weight snapped bones routinely, slowed movement constantly.

No reason not to. I hit gold upgrade.

I let out a silent cheer.

"…If early game’s this good, endgame’s doable?"

*

Re-checked traits I'd skipped earlier.

"Apply gravity, huh…"

Testing, I said "Gravity 2x"—an invisible force crushed me flat.

Thud!

Like tapping out in UFC, I yelled desperately.

"Ugh… release! Release!"

"'Only to self' means this? Fucked…"

Cut the test short—study gravity later. Now quests.

"No main yet—skip. Daily doable maybe—skip. Essential's the bitch."

Post-military, I'd quit exercise. Tested push-ups.

After 10:

Needs proper form. “…Gotta do it. Finish before night.”

"Huff… haah…"

Wiping sweat, I checked.

"Ha… all done but running. Can't run outside now—that's suicide."

Still, gotta go out. Solve it there. Stats helped—shaky limbs steadied fast.

Sun dipping low outside. Grabbed sunglasses from drawer, monkey wrench from toolbox.

Goshiwon zombies gone due to Stigma, probably.

Today's goals:

1. 10km run

2. Loot convenience store/mart

3. Hunt 100 common zombies

Recalling them, I stepped out.

Crouched behind a car. Scanning the hellish street, a zombie shuffled past me. Unnoticed—good.

Reason one for night: Zombies' eyes sharpen mornings, ears dull. Evenings reverse—sensitive to sound, poor vision.

That one too. Gripped wrench tight, steadied breath, swung full force at its head passing by.

Thwack!

Skull split like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a watermelon. Blood sprayed the wall in red blossoms.

"…Right, stats start at 10."

Ding!

Noise drew others. Staggering shadows on asphalt.

One at a time? Easy with that power. But—mass killing triggers Stigma.

Reason two for night: Stigma triggers when 3+ zombies witness user kill 5+ zombies. "Witness" means eye contact.

Evening poor vision = opportunity. Sunglasses on.

(Doesn't work daytime.)

Precisely crushed next zombie's neck.

Squelch! Blood soaked me.

Another charged. Swung wrench into eye—eyeball burst, gore spraying.

Splurt! It collapsed, scraping asphalt.

• • •

Breath ragged. Streets still blazed with fire and screams, zombies crawling in shadows.

I lifted my sunglasses, whispering.

"…Good. No Stigma issue. Now… let's scout slowly."