Can Fate Be Changed No Matter How Hard One Tries?
"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to use your legs anymore."
Those were the first words he heard from the doctor after being hit by a car while rushing to save a child who had darted into the street. It was around the time he was starting to come of age.
Anyone would find it absurd to hear that legs they'd taken for granted their whole life no longer worked—especially delivered so bluntly by a doctor.
Even so, back then, he could accept it. Orphaned and scraping by with grueling labor, living a trash heap of a life, what was losing the use of his legs compared to that? Not that he actually thought that way, of course.
He probably just figured it was inevitable: the child's life, so full of untapped potential unlike his own, swapped for his legs.
That was then. Only then.
He had no idea how agonizing it would be to live confined to a wheelchair, unable to walk in a world without lovers or family, utterly alone.
He quit his job. How could he commute without driving? No work meant no income, but finding new employment was impossible. He'd spent his life earning on construction sites—what else could he do now?
His body wasn't whole anymore. Not really.
It didn't take long for a once-upstanding worker to become a shut-in, rotting in his room and playing games. His neat appearance withered into ruin, his mind following suit. Drowning in delusions, consuming only games and comics, he devolved into a full-blown wreck.
Looking back now, maybe that was just an excuse. If he'd studied for remote work, made a girlfriend or friends before the accident, or simply let that kid die...
Had he chosen one of countless what ifs, his life might have turned out differently. He might never have possessed into that game he'd cleared endless endings of.
But hindsight was pointless now.
In the end, he passed out at his computer—and woke up inside the game.
"Who the hell are you?"
What kind of life would you live if you possessed into a game world, of all places? As a mere extra, a background classmate of the protagonist?
Everyone's fantasized about it at least once, right? Especially those mired in pathetic, wretched existences—like a coward crushed by defeatism, legs crippled, too scared to leave his tiny room, numbly tapping away at games.
If you actually possessed into your dream game, as some obscure extra, most would imagine this:
Leveraging prior knowledge to hoard opportunities, becoming the hero who saves the world. Or subtly aiding the protagonist from the shadows. Or standing by his side as a key ally, earning fame. Hell, maybe even joining the invaders as a scheming blackguard, dooming the world to ruin.
Hero or villain, good or evil—whatever the path, the fantasy boils down to the same thing.
Growing stronger, crushing foes effortlessly, romancing the heroines, basking in admiration. Actively shaping the world's fate as its pivotal force.
Of course. Humans are driven by ambition, even if they deny it. No one possessing into a game world would wish to repeat their loser's life.
A starved, unexercised body withered to skin and bones. A twisted mind, scarred by past sins, too terrified to stretch out into the world, barricaded in a cramped room.
Who craving that existence would even dream of possession? They'd just rot there, dead-eyed, pounding keys till the end.
He wasn't like that. He yearned to shed his wretched past, seize a chance at a proper life.
If there was one difference from those mere dreamers—it was that his fantasy became reality. He actually possessed into the game world.
At first, he was ecstatic.
Legs mangled beyond walking in the accident? Now perfect. Emaciated frame? Restored to a normal man's vigor. The haggard shut-in's face in the mirror every day? Replaced by a healthy boy's. Feeling superpowers surge through him, he laughed like a madman in joy.
Sure, a mid-boss doomed to tragedy, unnamed even in the game—dizzying, but not bad.
His favorite heroine from the game, Choi Jihyun, was his childhood friend here. A world where he could live normally, unlike before. The perfect start.
Bing'd in a year before the story proper, he had time to adapt, train his powers alongside her.
He wouldn't waste it. Every day, relentless training.
His unsteady legs, unpracticed power barely slicing small objects—he believed he'd overcome it all. And so he pushed, until reality sank in.
Studies were manageable. Same language, Korean-made game—culture shock minimal.
The issues? Body and powers.
Six years without walking. Sudden mobility doesn't revive lost instincts. Walking, running—decent enough. But agile enough to subdue villains? No.
Powers? A lifetime in a mundane world doesn't prepare you for superhuman feats. Slicing ability sounded cool, but only tiny objects.
No progress despite training. Meanwhile, his childhood friend soared past him.
Talent gap no effort could bridge. Heroine's power an extra couldn't touch.
It hammered a spike into his heart. He nearly shattered.
"Don't take it too hard. I'll help you."
Without her, he might have broken. She supported him endlessly; her cheers kept him going.
Time passed. They laughed together crossing the school gates. Crowded auditorium, lavish ceremony, teachers' speeches, protagonist's freshman rep address.
Recalling every character, every event ahead, he dreamed of glory. Until reality struck again.
The academy's first tragedy—once a tutorial, now history.
Masked assailants storming the hall. Gunfire shredding flesh, students panicking amid the gore. Teachers, protagonist, a few students fighting back. Realizing he was abandoned in the chaos's heart, powers forgotten, he collapsed, confronted by truth.
This world wouldn't coddle an extra. Bloodshed and death? Laughable norms. Pre-possession fantasies, light novels—mere delusions.
The tutorial's first controls lesson twisted into real slaughter. Weak powers capping at subduing fodder villains—he gritted his teeth.
Staying after the massacre: arrogance? Stubbornness?
First time. Next chance coming. Maybe he could pull it off. Anything but that old wretched life—reasons piled up.
He studied and trained maniacally, his hardest ever, pre- and post-possession.
Sacrificing sleep, preparing for threats. Secret notes to the protagonist. Real combat alongside his friend, toppling foes.
Defeating the first mid-boss and boss? Tears of joy, uncharacteristic for him.
Until it all proved meaningless.
Hitting the extra's limit—not protagonist material. Catastrophic lack of talent, an insurmountable wall—he crumbled.
Even rewinding to pre-story, prep time was short. Legs unresponsive as another's. No status screen, powers bungled—bottom-tier.
Studies? Middling at best. Superpowered rarity worldwide, yet average-to-weak at the academy.
"Dullards beat lazy geniuses," went the saying—but perennial failures couldn't top true talent. This academy brimmed with geniuses who actually worked. The gap widened.
At first, rage. Why grant a shot at life, then saddle the diligent with trash talent? He cursed the heavens.
Then despair. Rage changed nothing; he submitted.
After? A blur. Ignoring his friend's knocks and murmurs, holed up in his dorm, endless training. Endless tears over stagnant progress.
Of course, he never wished for no possession. The old life was more pitiable than this failing student's.
If only he'd had real power—not this garbage. Something that rewarded effort, grew with training. That's all he pondered.
Time slipped away meaninglessly. Bringing him here.
"Ah, I remember. Lee Hyunwoo, right?"
Clutching his withdrawal form, mid-stride, he ran into a villain. One not due yet—the scene where he'd become the second mid-boss.