The boy sat alone at his desk, the faint hum of his computer the only sound breaking the silence. A half-finished cup of instant ramen sat forgotten by hi elbow, its steam long gone cold. He scrolled through another forum thread, muttering corrections under his breath as he read someone's poorly thought-out theory about system mechanics.

"That's not how skill trees work, idiot," he grumbled, clicking away.

Outside his window, muffled voices and laughter floated up from the street. He paused, his hand hovering over the mouse. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Not like they'd get it anyway," he mutter to himself, letting the voices fade into the background.

The boy rubbed his eyes and caught his reflection in the now darkened monitor. His messy black hair stuck out in every direction, and the faint shadows under his eyes betrayed another late night. His gaze fell on the crude drawing of a world he'd imagine, two versions of himself lingering in the aftermath of battle. One lay lifeless and bloody, but it was not the cool, heroic one opposite of himself. The name over the lifeless body read: Ryo Minakawa. His shoulders shrunk as he let out a weak sigh, slumping in his chair and tugging at his wrinkled shirt.

"Maybe I should clean up... nah," he muttered, pushing his chair back. "Who's gonna see me, anyways?"

Ryo Minakawa's room was a shrine to the perfect world—a world he'd never lived in.

Rows of neatly stacked light novels filled one shelf, their glossy spines practically whispering promises of impossible adventures. Beside them sat collector's editions of RPG games, their worlds immortalized on the glowing screen of his PC. And on his desk, a figurine of a silver-haired swordsman stood mid-strike, poised to conquer any enemy.

It was all there: the stories he loved, the systems he knew by heart, the worlds he craved to belong to. Yet, as he flops onto his bed, scrolling mindlessly through forum discussions about "Top 10 Most Overpowered Systems in Light Novels," an ache twisted in his chest.

"I'd ace any of these," he muttered, more to the ceiling than to himself. "If only I had the chance…"

Fate, it seemed, had been eavesdropping.

The first sign that something was wrong came with a flicker. The lights in his room dimmed—not a soft fade, but a violent, erratic stutter. His PC screen scrambled into a mosaic of static, the soft hum of his desktop turning into a low, mechanical groan.

Ryo bolted upright. "What the—?"

Before he could finish, the world around him cracked. It wasn't a sound but a sensation, like stepping on a sheet of ice and feeling it splinter beneath you. His breath hitched as the walls of his room warped and bent like reflections in a funhouse mirror. The bookshelves twisted, the figurines blurred, and his bed dropped out from under him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Weightless, endless silence.

Then came the voice.

It was smooth, sarcastic, and somehow everywhere at once: "Welcome, Little Pawn. Initializing Interface. Please hold while we prepare your descent."

Ryo's stomach flipped. His body plummeted through a kaleidoscope of swirling colors—blues, greens, and reds that flashed so violently they made his head spin. He tried to scream, but the air stole his voice, leaving only a strangled gasp. Just as his panic reached its peak, he landed with a bone-jarring thud.

The ground beneath him was hard and cold—stone, maybe—but Ryo hardly noticed. His heart thundered in his ears, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breath. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

He wasn't in his room anymore.

He was in a vast, crumbling wasteland. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and a pale, sickly sun hung low in a swirling gray sky. The air tasted metallic, and every breath felt heavy, as though the world itself were pressing down on him.

And then he saw it.

Hovering in front of him was a translucent, glowing screen—an interface, just like in every light novel and RPG he'd ever read or played. But instead of the neat, reassuring layout he'd always imagined, it was a glitchy mess. Text flickered and distorted, icons blinked in and out of existence, and a loading bar sat mockingly at 99%.

The voice returned, dripping with sardonic amusement: "Oh, look at that. Still alive. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Words materialized on the screen, their jagged letters pulsing with a faint, ominous glow:

Quest 01: Survive. Reward: 1 Barely Functional System. Failure: Immediate Termination.

Ryo blinked. His brain struggled to process the message, but before he could react, the ground beneath him rumbled. Slowly, something enormous began to rise from the shadows—a hulking, malformed beast with glowing red eyes and claws that looked like they could slice steel.

The Interface chimed cheerfully: "Good luck! Don't die too quickly—I need you alive for the tutorial."

Ryo scrambled backward, his palms scraping against the rough stone. The beast's growl echoed, a guttural, bone-shaking sound that made his pulse spike. It stepped into the dim light, its sheer size blotting out the sickly sun. The creature looked like something dredged from a nightmare—its flesh a patchwork of jagged scales and oozing black tar, its eyes burning with an unnatural hunger.

The Interface flickered in front of him, its text blinking impatiently:

Quest Active: Survive. Time Remaining: Undefined.

Ryo stared at the words, then at the towering monster. His throat tightened. "How the hell am I supposed to survive that?!"

The voice returned, smug and unbothered: "Creative problem-solving. Or blind luck. Either works for me."

The beast lunged.

Ryo threw himself to the side, the swipe of its claws narrowly missing him and gouging deep trenches into the stone. His heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, adrenaline burning through his veins. The monster roared, shaking the air, and Ryo's mind screamed at him to run.

But where? The wasteland stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by jagged outcroppings of rock. There was nowhere to hide.

Another swipe came, and this time he wasn't fast enough. The back of the creature's claw grazed his arm, sending him tumbling. Pain shot through his shoulder as he hit the ground hard, rolling over jagged stones that tore at his clothes and skin.

The Interface blinked to life again, offering him zero comfort:

Status: Minor Injury. Bleeding: Negligible. Advice: Don't get hit again.

"Oh, gee, thanks," Ryo muttered through gritted teeth, clutching his arm.

The monster closed in, its massive shadow swallowing him whole. He scrambled backward, his mind racing for a plan. A weapon. A skill. Anything.

"Where's my system?!" he shouted at the flickering screen. "Isn't this the part where I get overpowered abilities or a hidden cheat?!"

The Interface hesitated, almost as if considering his plea. Then:

Initializing System. Progress: 15%. 27%. Error. Restarting Initialization…

"What?!" Ryo's voice cracked. "You're telling me my system is loading?!"

The monster didn't wait. It lunged again, jaws wide, and Ryo rolled desperately to the side. The beast's teeth snapped shut on empty air, inches from his head. He scrambled to his feet, legs trembling, and bolted toward the nearest outcropping of rock.

The Interface chimed: "Fun fact: Running increases survival chances by 12%. You're welcome."

Ryo barely heard it. His breaths came ragged and fast as he weaved between the jagged rocks, the monster's thunderous footsteps closing in behind him. He dared a glance over his shoulder—and immediately wished he hadn't. The creature was gaining, its claws tearing through stone like paper.

His foot caught on a loose rock, and he fell forward, hitting the ground with a painful thud. Stars danced in his vision, and for a split second, he lay there, frozen. This is it, he thought. I'm going to die in the tutorial.

The ground rumbled beneath him as the monster reared back, ready to strike.

"Move!" his brain screamed, but his body wouldn't obey.

Then, without warning, the Chaos Interface glitched violently. The screen flashed red, its text scrambling into incomprehensible symbols. A high-pitched whine filled the air, and for a moment, even the monster hesitated, its massive head cocking in confusion.

Ryo's body jolted as the interface stabilized—barely. A new message appeared, the jagged text pulsing ominously:

Emergency Skill Activated: Fragmented Disruption.

Before Ryo could process the words, his vision blurred. It was as if his body moved on its own, his arm snapping forward and releasing a surge of energy that tore through the air. The impact wasn't clean or precise—it was wild and chaotic, ripping apart the ground and sending shards of stone flying.

The monster howled as the blast struck its side, the force hurling it back into a crumbling rock formation. Dust and debris filled the air, and for a moment, silence reigned.

Ryo collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His arm throbbed, the same one he'd used to unleash the attack. "What… what the hell was that?"

The Interface flickered, its usual sarcasm replaced with something unsettlingly neutral:

System Integrity: 56%. Emergency Protocols Unstable. Caution: Prolonged Use May Result in…

The text dissolved into static before Ryo could read the rest.

The ground shifted. Ryo looked up, his stomach sinking. The monster wasn't dead. It clawed its way out of the rubble, one of its legs twisted unnaturally, but its eyes burned brighter than ever. It roared, a sound of pure fury, and began to charge again.

Ryo staggered to his feet, his mind racing. The attack had slowed it down, but it hadn't been enough. He wasn't strong enough. Not yet.

The Chaos Interface chimed faintly, its text flickering in and out:

Next Quest Update: Survive. (Still.) Suggested Strategy: Don't miss next time.

Before Ryo could curse the system, the beast lunged again, and the world blurred into chaos.