I keep my head down as I walk through the crowded halls of Hwasong High, a school nestled in the heart of Busan, South Korea. Every step feels heavy, my body weighed down by the stares, the whispers, the silent mockery woven into the very air around me. My oversized uniform sleeves swallow my bony wrists, my thin frame a constant reminder of my frailty. I don't need to look up to know what's coming. I can feel it, like a noose tightening around my throat.
"Hey, freak."
The impact against the locker sends a shudder through my body. The metal's cold bite presses into my skin as I flinch. I don't need to turn to know who it is. Kwon Jisung. The monster. The tyrant. The embodiment of everything I hate about this school. His presence alone is suffocating, his thick arms and dead-eyed expression promising nothing but pain. And behind him, as always, stand his loyal hounds—Minho, with his snake-like grin, and Doyun, a hulking wall of muscle who lives for this kind of cruelty.
"Look at him. Just standing there, acting like he's too good to say hello," Jisung sneers, shoving my shoulder. I stagger, barely catching myself. My fingers clutch my notebook like a lifeline.
"I—I have class," I murmur, though I know it's pointless.
"Oh? You think we care?" Minho snatches the notebook from my trembling hands. "What's this? Oh, let me guess—some deep, philosophical thoughts? Poems? Maybe a love letter?" He flips through the pages mockingly before his expression lights up with cruel amusement. "Oh, right. What about your little obsession? Eun Seoha?"
My blood runs cold. My stomach twists into knots.
"Oh yeah—Seoha," Doyun echoes, smirking. "The school's goddess. Bet you dream about her every night."
Of course, they know. Everyone knows. How could they not? Eun Seoha isn't just beautiful—she is the beauty of Hwasong High. Long black hair, flawless skin, piercing brown eyes that can strip a person bare with a single glance. The kind of girl who walks through the halls like she owns them because, in a way, she does. Every guy wants her. Every girl wants to be her. And me… I once believed, foolishly, that she was different. That she was kind.
But as her laughter rings through the hall, I feel something inside me wither and die.
She's coming closer, flanked by two other girls, their giggles like knives in my ears. She looks at me—not with warmth, not even with pity, but with amusement. My heart pounds against my ribs. Maybe she will say something. Maybe she will tell them to stop.
"Seoha, be honest," Jisung says, his grin stretching wide. "Would you ever date our little bookworm here?"
I hold my breath. My entire body screams at me to run, to disappear. But I stay rooted, staring up at her like a condemned man awaiting his sentence.
She tilts her head, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Baek," she says, her voice smooth as silk, "do you really think someone like me could ever be with someone like you?"
It's not a question. It's a verdict.
The air leaves my lungs, my mouth opening slightly, but no words come. She sighs, as if the very idea exhausts her. "You don't get it, do you? I don't date weak guys. I need someone strong. Someone who can protect me. Someone who belongs beside me." She looks me up and down, eyes cold. "That's not you. It never will be."
Laughter explodes around me, the world spinning in cruel slow motion. Jisung's booming chuckles. Minho's mocking cackle. The amused murmurs of students watching from the sidelines. Even Seoha's friends giggle, exchanging knowing glances. But the worst part? Seoha isn't laughing. She doesn't have to. Her words alone have already cut me deeper than any punch Jisung could throw.
Jisung claps me on the back—hard enough to send me staggering. "There you have it, loser. Straight from the queen herself. Time to wake up."
My notebook hits the floor, pages scattering like fallen leaves. The bullies walk away, their voices fading into the crowd. Seoha and her friends turn, already talking about something else, as if I had never existed at all.
I stand frozen, staring at the mess at my feet. My fingers twitch. My breath comes in shallow gasps. My nails dig into my palms, sharp enough to draw blood.
In this world, rank is everything. Strength, intelligence, social status—your entire life is determined by a system beyond human control. Ever since the meteorite fell from the sky years ago, the world has changed. The energy it released reshaped reality itself, creating a hierarchy none of us can escape.
Everyone is assigned a rank. F to S. And within those ranks, subdivisions exist—A1, A2, A3—further defining the gap between the strong and the weak. Those in the upper ranks, A and above, have it all. Wealth, prestige, limitless opportunities. Even if you're not born into privilege, a single high stat—strength, intelligence, agility—can secure your future.
These individuals are called the Gifted—those born with an exceptionally high stat in a specific path. A Gifted in strength can crush steel with their bare hands. A Gifted in intelligence can outthink the sharpest minds. And a Gifted in charisma… they can make the world kneel with a single word. They are rare. They are powerful. And they are the ones who decide the fate of those below them.
But those at the bottom? Those ranked F? We are nothing. Less than nothing.
Most people naturally develop enough intelligence, physical ability, or skill during puberty to reach at least Rank E. But some of us… some of us are the exception. The system deemed us unworthy. We are called the Abyssal—the forgotten ones, the lowest of the low, those who can never rise no matter how hard we try.
For those who wish to escape their fate, there are two paths. The first is through rigorous training—endless hours at the gym, pushing our bodies beyond their limits. But it is slow. Painfully slow. The second path is the Dungeon Tournaments, brutal arenas where we fight to the death, either against monsters or each other. Winning means rising in rank. Losing means death.
Dungeons are the other consequence of the meteorite's arrival. Strange, shifting realms filled with creatures beyond comprehension. The system assigns a rank to every monster, but it tells us nothing else—no strength values, no skills, no weaknesses. Only the rank. An A-rank human might stand a chance against an A-rank monster. But if that monster is an A1, or an A2… the outcome is all but certain.
There is one rule that binds us all: magic and skills cannot be used outside of dungeons. The system itself enforces this. No matter how powerful you are, the moment you step beyond those cursed gates, you are no different from an ordinary person.
As you guessed I am an F-rank Abyssal—the lowest of the low. A rank so pitiful it ensures I will never amount to anything. I have no strength, no intelligence, no wealth. Nothing. Meanwhile, Jisung and his gang? They are all ranked C3, their brute strength alone enough to secure their positions. And Seoha? With her high charisma and the wealth of her family backing her, she stands at B2, effortlessly towering above them. Above me.
We are all in our second year of high school—16 years into this ruthless system. Jisung, Minho, and Doyun share a class with Seoha, their ranks ensuring they sit comfortably among the strong. Meanwhile, I am in another class, isolated, surrounded by those who struggle to scrape by in a world that has already decided our worth.
I gather my scattered belongings, my hands trembling as I stuff my notebook into my bag. The laughter still echoes in my ears as I step out of the school gates. The walk home is long, but it gives me time to think. My parents aren't rich, but they make more than enough to live comfortably. It doesn't matter, though. None of it is for me.
When I step inside, neither my mother nor my father look at me. My father, ranked B3, is absorbed in a report on his tablet. My mother, ranked B2, barely acknowledges my presence before speaking. "Go to your room. Seyeon is coming home soon, and I don't want you tainting her with your presence."
My room—the shed outside. The place they shoved me into the moment it became clear I was an F-rank Abyssal, a failure.
I don't argue. I don't even look at them. I simply turn and walk back outside, shutting the door behind me. The air is cool, the evening sky darkening. My sanctuary is waiting.
Baek Seyeon. My younger sister. Gifted with an incredibly high agility stat. Their pride and joy. The one they shower with love, opportunities, and admiration. Unlike me, she matters. Unlike me, she has a future.
They keep her away from me, never allowing us to interact. But she knows I exist. And sometimes, when she gets her allowance—far more than what I receive—she slips a small amount under my door. A silent act of defiance. A quiet mercy in a world that has given me none.
Inside the shed, I flick on the dim light, the bulb flickering before settling. The old heater groans as I turn it on, its warmth barely enough to chase away the chill. I set up my computer, the one I built myself with money saved from every scrap of allowance and the extra Seyeon managed to slip under my door.
I grab the rusting portable stove, its edges dented and warped from years of neglect. It could explode at any moment, but I have no other choice. From a small plastic bag, I pull out a slab of beef—nearly expired, discarded by my parents because it was too close to the date for Seyeon. To me, it's a luxury. I set an old pan on the stove, rip a loose plank from the roof to let the smoke escape, and start cooking. The scent fills the tiny space, and for once, I feel like I've won something.
Most nights, I eat only dry bread.
But tonight? Tonight, I have beef.
As I eat, I boot up my computer and open Dascord. A small server, our sanctuary. Six of us, scattered across the world—F-ranks, abandoned by society. We talk, we share, we exist.
Tonight, Leon from Greece jokes about starting a cult. We laugh. It's ridiculous.
But then I say, "Let's do it."
The six of us begin planning. A hierarchy, yet a democracy. We will lead. We will find others—F-ranks, struggling E1s. We will forge an army.
The world has cast us aside.
I yawn, folding my bed out and wrapping myself in a thin blanket. Just as sleep takes me, my phone buzzes. A message from an unknown number.
A video.
Seoha, in a dimly lit room. With Jisung. Kissing, tangled in each other.
Then his voice: "Look at this, freak. Your crush."
My fingers tighten around the phone. My breath is slow. Shallow.
Something inside me shatters.
"If I ever get power, the first one I'll kill is him. No threats. No warnings. Just death."