The hum of cooling fans filled the dimly lit room as Unma Gyeum Doo lay slumped over his gaming setup, his head resting against his mechanical keyboard. The soft glow of his monitor flickered against his face, displaying the aftermath of an intense battle in the game he had spent the entire night grinding. The air smelled of instant noodles and energy drinks, remnants of his fuel for the all-nighter.
A loud chime from his phone jolted him awake. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes and reached for the device, blinking at the bright screen.
10:00 AM
His half-asleep brain took a moment to process the numbers before his eyes widened in sheer panic.
"Crap! I'm late!" he shouted, nearly knocking over his chair as he scrambled to his feet.
Their first class started at 8 AM—meaning he was already two hours late. His heart pounded as he dashed across his tiny apartment, hastily throwing on his school uniform. His hair was a mess, and his tie was nowhere to be found, but there was no time to worry about that now.
He grabbed his backpack and sprinted out the door, barely slipping his shoes on before bolting down the stairs. The streets of Seoul were bustling, but he wove through the crowd like a seasoned sprinter, dodging pedestrians and leaping over small obstacles in his path. Despite the rush, a part of his mind was still groggy from the lack of sleep.
"I swear, I'll sleep early tonight…" he muttered, though he knew it was a lie. There was always another level to grind, another quest to complete.
Within twenty minutes, he arrived at Daehan High School, completely out of breath. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he burst into the building, ignoring the curious stares of passing students. He climbed the stairs two steps at a time, nearly slipping as he rounded the corner to his classroom.
Panting, he reached for the doorknob, hesitated for a split second, then pushed it open.
Silence.
Thirty pairs of eyes turned to him. Some were amused, some indifferent, but one pair—belonging to his professor, Dong Lee—was burning with frustration.
"Unma Gyeum Doo!" Professor Lee bellowed, slamming a thick textbook onto his desk with a loud thud that made a few students flinch. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Unma forced a sheepish smile. "Uh… good morning, sir?"
"Morning? MORNING?!" Professor Lee's face turned red. "It's already past 10 AM! You missed half of the lecture! Do you think this is a joke?"
Unma scratched the back of his head. "No, sir… I just—"
"I don't want to hear it! Sit down!"
Murmurs filled the room as Unma shuffled to his seat near the back. He could hear a few students whispering and chuckling behind him.
"Typical Unma, always late."
"Probably up all night gaming again."
He ignored them and slumped into his chair. His desk partner, Jisoo, leaned over with a teasing smirk. "Another late night? What was it this time, RPG or MOBA?"
Unma sighed. "Both."
She chuckled. "You're hopeless."
Professor Lee cleared his throat, pulling their attention back to the front. "Now that we're done with distractions, let's continue."
Unma exhaled and tried to focus, but his mind drifted elsewhere.
He was late, sure, but that wasn't what truly bothered him. There was something… off about last night.
That dream—or whatever it was.
A system interface, a strange voice calling his name, a world that felt too real to be a game. It wasn't the first time this had happened. In fact, he had been seeing those visions ever since his coma two years ago.
He shook his head.
"It was just a dream," he told himself. "Nothing more."
But deep down, a small part of him wasn't convinced.
And soon, he would find out just how real it was.
After class, Unma walked through the school corridors, lost in thought. He had almost reached the school gates when a familiar voice called out to him.
"Unma."
He froze.
Turning around, he found himself face to face with Kim Ji Woon—his ex-friend. The last time they had spoken was two years ago, just before his coma. Memories of that night flooded his mind.
[Two Years Ago]
I was waiting for someone, and suddenly, she appeared. I gave her a flower and said, "Hi Kim, this is for you."
She smiled and replied, "Thank you."
My hands were shaking—I had finally done it. We talked for a few minutes about her day.
"So how's your day, Kim?"
"I'm so tired, but it was fun. I was appointed as the secretary of the theatre club."
"Ohh, that's great. Btw, can we have tea tomorrow?"
She hesitated for a second, then sighed. "Unma… I have to tell you something."
My stomach twisted at her serious tone. "What is it?"
She bit her lip. "I'm transferring schools."
I blinked. "What? When?"
"At the end of this week… My parents are sending me abroad. I didn't know how to tell you."
A lump formed in my throat. "Why so suddenly?"
She looked away. "They think it's for the best… and I don't really have a choice."
Silence stretched between us. I wanted to say something—anything—to stop her from leaving, but I couldn't.
Before I could gather my thoughts, her parents' car pulled up beside us.
"Kim, let's go," her mother called.
Kim glanced at me one last time. "I'm sorry, Unma. Take care, okay?"
I nodded numbly. "You too."
As the car drove away, I stood there, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss.
That was the last time I saw her.
------
After that, everything changed. I became a complete shut-in, drowning myself in games, skipping school, ignoring the world. I stopped caring about everything.
But even before Kim, before the coma, before the gaming obsession… there was something else.
A memory I tried to bury deep inside.
The accident.
I was two years old when it happened. My real parents—Dong Gyeum Doo and Hye Rin—died in a terrible crash. I barely remember their faces, but I do remember the sound. The crushing of metal. The blaring sirens. The blood.
They told me it was a freak accident, but I always felt like there was more to it. That it wasn't just bad luck.
Now, here Kim Ji Woon was, standing in front of me after all these years.
"Unma," she said softly, her eyes filled with something unreadable. "Can we talk?"
Unma snapped back to reality. Instead of answering, he simply walked past Kim, his steps brisk and deliberate.
Kim blinked, caught off guard. He had expected at least some kind of response—anything—but Unma didn't even spare him a glance. A quiet sigh left Kim's lips as he watched his friend disappear into the crowd, feeling a strange mix of frustration and concern settle in his chest.
Unma, however, barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts he didn't care to untangle. The weight of the day pressed on him like an unseen force, and the last thing he wanted was to engage in another pointless conversation.
As he made his way to the train station, the city buzzed around him—blaring horns, muffled voices, the distant chime of a pedestrian crossing. Neon lights flickered against the damp pavement, casting reflections that rippled like memories he tried to suppress.
Why does Kim always want to talk? he thought bitterly. Why does everyone always want something?
At the platform, the train's headlights cut through the dim evening like sharp eyes peering through the mist. The doors hissed open, and he stepped inside, claiming a seat near the window. The train jerked forward, smoothly sliding along the tracks.
That was when the news report flashed on the screen above the handrails.
"Breaking news: Scientists report a high probability that the approaching meteor may collide with Earth. Authorities urge people to remain calm."
Unma watched the screen with disinterest, his face impassive. He knew he should feel something—fear, curiosity, even a shred of worry—but all he felt was exhaustion.
He scoffed under his breath. Another doomsday prediction? Great. He slumped against the seat, exhaling. "Whatever."
When he arrived home, the familiar scent of home-cooked food drifted through the air, but it did nothing to warm him. Mr. Chul Wam and Mrs. Chul Min-soo greeted him with their usual warmth, their voices carrying the quiet hope that he would return it.
He didn't. Without a word, he strode past them, his footsteps heavy with indifference.
"Unma, dinner is—"
The door to his room clicked shut before Mrs. Chul could finish her sentence.
Inside, Unma sat at his desk, letting out a slow breath before turning on his computer. The familiar hum of the system booting up filled the room, and for the first time that day, his muscles relaxed. Here, in this digital world, things made sense. There were no expectations, no awkward conversations, no ghosts of the past whispering in his ears. Just him and the game.
As he dove into his session, something unexpected happened.
Another player suddenly typed, "Thank you for saving me."
Unma's brows furrowed. He hadn't even realized he had helped anyone.
On-screen, his character stood near another, their armor scorched and their health bar dangerously low. The battle had been chaotic—flashes of magic, the clash of steel—but somewhere in the chaos, he had acted instinctively. A last-minute healing spell. A perfectly timed counterattack that had slain their enemy just before they could land the final blow.
The player's name was unfamiliar. Before Unma could respond, a notification popped up.
You received: Black Dragon Sword.
Unma's fingers froze over his keyboard. His heart pounded.
A Black Dragon Sword? No way. That item's beyond rare.
His mind raced. He had months playing this game, grinding for legendary loot, but this—this was different. Players spent real money, entire guilds waged wars, and yet, here he was, gifted something that should have been nearly impossible to obtain.
His hands trembled slightly as he typed, "Where did you get this?"
A pause. Then, a simple reply:
"I'm from Subspace."
Unma frowned.
"Subspace?"
He had never heard that term in the game before. His gut twisted. Something about those words unsettled him, like an itch just out of reach.
Before he could press further, the player disconnected.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. The room felt eerily quiet, the only sound the soft hum of his computer. He swallowed hard, staring at the weapon in his inventory, its obsidian blade pulsing with faint, crimson veins.
What the hell had just happened?
That night, as the hours slipped away, Unma remained in his chair, grinding mindlessly. His fingers moved out of habit, but his thoughts were elsewhere, circling that strange encounter like a predator stalking prey.
A knock on his door. He barely registered it until it creaked open.
Mrs. Chul Min-soo stood there, her expression unreadable but lined with concern.
"Unma…" she hesitated. "I don't want what happened two years ago to happen again. Please take care of yourself."
For the first time in hours, Unma's fingers hesitated.
A lump formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He didn't look at her, didn't respond with words—just a slight nod. A small acknowledgment, nothing more.
It was enough.
She lingered for a moment, then sighed softly and left.
Unma let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned back to his screen.
The Black Dragon Sword still gleamed in his inventory.
"Subspace."
The word echoed in his mind like a distant whisper.
Outside, the world carried on as usual.
But change was coming.
And Unma could feel it.