The delivery bag weighed heavy on Hyeon-Woo's back—not just in its contents, but in the monotony of his existence. The dim streetlights flickered as he pedaled faster, his worn-out sneakers brushing against the sides of his bicycle. Rainwater splashed up from the uneven asphalt, soaking the cuffs of his jeans. Just another miserable day.

He stopped in front of a glossy apartment building, a stark contrast to his shabby appearance. Its windows gleamed with warm light, laughter faintly escaping through its walls. Hyeon-Woo tightened his grip on the handles of his bicycle and trudged toward the intercom. He pressed the button.

"Delivery."

The voice on the other end was sharp and dismissive. "You're late."

Hyeon-Woo clenched his jaw but forced a polite tone. "Apologies, sir. The rain—"

The door buzzed open before he could finish. He sighed and made his way to the elevator. Moments later, a man in silk pajamas answered the door. He barely spared Hyeon-Woo a glance, snatching the food out of his hands.

"What kind of delivery guy are you?" The man sneered, his eyes scanning Hyeon-Woo's soaked form with disdain. "You look like you crawled out of a ditch. No wonder you're late."

Hyeon-Woo bowed slightly, suppressing the anger bubbling inside. "I apologize, sir."

The man rolled his eyes. "Don't expect a tip. Be grateful you even have a job." He slammed the door shut.

Hyeon-Woo stood there for a moment, staring at the polished wood. Still no tip, huh? He chuckled bitterly, walking back toward his bike. The streets were eerily quiet now, the rain a constant drumbeat on his hood. His stomach growled, reminding him that his next meal wasn't guaranteed.

The world had always been unkind to Hyeon-Woo. Born to loving parents, his life had once been filled with warmth and laughter. His mother's kimchi stew, his father's hearty laugh as they watched variety shows together—those were memories he clung to like fragile glass.

But everything shattered the day of the accident. He was thirteen when it happened—a collision on a rainy highway, not unlike the one he cycled on now. The news came in the form of a cold hospital room and a social worker telling him there was no one left to care for him.

From then on, he was on his own.

Hyeon-Woo's fists tightened on the handlebars of his bicycle as he rode through the rain. He didn't have the luxury to mourn anymore. Life demanded survival, and survival meant taking any job that came his way.

As he turned onto the main road, a honk blared behind him, jolting him out of his thoughts. Tires screeched as a sleek black car swerved to avoid him, splashing muddy water all over his clothes. The driver rolled down the window.

"Watch where you're going, moron!" The man's face was red with anger, his suit immaculate even in the rain. "You delivery pigs are all the same—reckless and useless!"

Hyeon-Woo swallowed his pride and bowed his head. "I'm sorry, sir."

The car sped off, leaving him drenched and humiliated. That's the thing about us—the poor, the weak. The rich and powerful always talk to us like we're nothing. Like we're rags.

By the time he reached his one-room apartment, his body ached from the day's work. The walls were bare, save for a single photograph of his parents on the windowsill. He stared at it, the edges of the frame chipped from years of handling.

"How did my life end up like this?" he muttered, sinking onto the floor.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. A message from his boss.

You're fired. Don't bother coming in tomorrow.

Hyeon-Woo let out a hollow laugh, the kind that came from exhaustion rather than humor. "Figures," he said to no one in particular. No job, no savings, no hope.

The rain continued to pour outside, muffling the sound of his shaky breaths. He glanced at the kitchen counter, where a knife lay from his last attempt to cook. His fingers brushed against its handle.

Maybe this was the answer. Maybe there was no point in going on.

Tears blurred his vision as he closed his eyes. But before he could act, the room went dark. No, not dark—something shifted. A faint, glowing light appeared in front of him, like a screen floating in the air.

Words began to form, glowing faintly in the dim room:

[You have been chosen by the Online System.]

[Do you wish to become a Player?]

[YES / NO]

Hyeon-Woo blinked, his despair momentarily replaced by confusion. "A player? What…what is this?"

The cursor blinked, waiting for his input.

He stared at the screen, the knife still trembling in his hand. He had nothing left to lose. Nothing. If this was a way out, a way to escape the endless misery, why not take it?

With a shaky finger, he reached out and pressed YES.