1st Person View | Nazario's PoV
MMORPG. Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game.
The kind of game where you can lose yourself for hours, submerged in a fictional world that feels more real than reality itself.
For the better part of five years, I've been playing one such game—Sablethorn.
Released in 2034, it wasn't just another game. It was the game. A revolutionary leap forward in gaming. Players could customize everything: world-building, character designs, weapons, down to the smallest details of who they wanted to be. It offered a level of freedom no other game could match.
There are plenty of MMORPGs out there, but none hold a candle to Sablethorn. It wasn't the advanced AI-driven NPCs or the hyper-realistic graphics that set it apart, though they certainly helped.
The sheer depth of immersion… it felt more like living another life than playing a game. It was no surprise when Sablethorn topped the charts in almost every country.
For someone like me, it was perfect. I've always loved getting lost in fictional worlds—video games, novels, manga, manhwa, anime, you name it.
Especially manhwa. There's something about seeing a main character rise from nothing, fighting against impossible odds, struggling, suffering, and just barely winning. Those kinds of stories inspire me. I live for them.
But they make real life seem dull in comparison.
Life sucks. It's just… boring.
Yeah, I know that sounds pessimistic; but tell me I'm wrong. How are you supposed to focus on a statistics exam when your brain's replaying scenes of a necromancer summoning shadow armies to fight gods?
How do you take notes in Business Law when all you can think about is the guy surviving the apocalypse with nothing but a book that predicted everything?
I often catch myself daydreaming about being like one of these characters. A lot of them are your average, every-day people that were thrust into a difficult situation, yet still managed to make the best of it.
They're witty, smart, confident, practically overflowing with charisma. They have insane skills and unshakeable ambition. They're the kind of people you want to be. The kind of people that make reality feel like a bad joke.
It's hard to stay grounded in reality when there's fictional universes full of heroes and villains that feel more real than anything I've ever done.
Sometimes, I wish it were real. That life was more than a popularity contest, more than getting money, power, and prestige. That earth was a little more interesting.
Then I remember: I probably wouldn't be the main character. I'd just be some extra that gets killed to prove how dangerous the villain is. Nothing more than the crash dummy for a cheap display of power.
That thought usually pulls me back to reality.
That's why I love playing Sablethorn. I don't have to imagine being the main character because it feels like I already am. For the past five years, I've been running a campaign with my friends, living out that feeling every time we log on.
My character—an assassin I named Solution—is a testament to the countless hours I've spent perfecting every skill, every stat, and every tactic.
And today, our campaign ends.
After class, my friends and I will finally face the final boss. It's the kind of moment most players dread, the end of a journey that's spanned years, but all I can feel is a rush of anticipation. The only thing on my mind is getting out of this stupid Statistics class and jumping back into the game.
Then again, knowing our Game Master, there's no guarantee we'll even win on the first try. She's the mastermind behind this entire campaign, and the bosses she's designed are no joke. The one waiting for us is probably the most powerful we've ever faced.
I already messaged her earlier to ask what time my friends and I should log in. Her response was 5 PM sharp.
I glance at my phone again, just killing time until class ends. Suddenly, my screen lights up with a notification. It's the GM.
GM Lucy: You're not gonna believe this. The company behind Sablethorn reached out to me.
I blink at the message. The Sablethorn devs? Reaching out to her?
GM Lucy: They said they're interested in our campaign. Talk more after class?
My heart skips a beat. This wasn't something I was expecting. What could they possibly want with our little server?
Me: I can talk now.
GM Lucy: aren't you in Stats class?? 👀
Me: I took all my notes already.
A lie, but clearly this takes precedence.
Me: So... TitanCode is interested in our campaign? What's that even mean?
GM Lucy: lol, someone's excited!
Me: Spit it out, Lucy. Or did you message me just to gatekeep?
GM Lucy: ooooh, calling me out now, huh? 😜 You're too cute when you're impatient. Old lady Lucy gonna make you wait, sorry.
Me: Wow, that's rough. What'd I do to deserve this?
GM Lucy: 🤔 let's see…too many things to count. but seriously, I'll call you after class. there's a lot I need to explain.
I roll my eyes, but a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. I quickly drop my phone in my lap, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one's reading my screen.
Lucy loves messing with me. Always has. I'd give anything to hear the rest of her explanation now, but for once, I guess I'll have to let her keep me hanging.
My attention shifts back to the professor's painfully slow lecture on sampling distributions. I've got my head propped in my hand, half listening, waiting for time to crawl by, when the lights overhead flicker once, twice—
And suddenly, everything goes dark.
I sit up straight, blinking against the shadows that swallow the room. Low murmurs ripple around me. Someone mutters about a power outage, but it doesn't feel like that.
The darkness somehow feels…intentional? It's an incredibly unnerving feeling that I can't quite describe.
My heart kicks up. Before I can fully process what's going on, a soft yellow glow cuts through the dark. My eyes snap to it, and there—right in front of me, glowing a vibrant golden-yellow—is a window floating midair. Bold white text practically jumps at me.
Congratulations! You have been selected as a [Player]! You will be given time to create your character. Best of luck!
Below it, a timer flashs to life in the corner of my vision, a red 5:00 that blinks before starting its silent countdown.
Holy shit.
No way this is real. No way.
If this is real, am I about to die? Isn't this how those "first chapter massacres" start?
I feel a grin breaking across my face, wide enough to ache. My eyes are glued to the message, my heart racing like it's trying to leap out of my chest.
This should be impossible… but it's right here in front of me. My eyes flicker to my classmates, all frozen staring at their own windows.
I'm breathing a little too fast, adrenaline spiking as I take it in. This is insane. Completely insane, and here I am smiling, knowing the insane danger I could be in. But hell, if this isn't the one thing I've always dreamed of…
In any other scenario, I'd be fascinated. Who doesn't want to see this straight out of a manhwa experience unfold? But right now, I'm one part stunned, two parts curious, and maybe a small dose of panicked.
Then, almost though sensing my discomfort, the whole screen glitched, the yellow fading to a shade of red that was way more ominous than the congratulatory message.
OVERRIDE.
My screen shudders, white text blazing as new words pop up, just for me.
You have a saved character preset available. Would you like to load it?
One option. Yes.
The grin on my face widens, my hand already moving. There's no hesitation, no time to think. I want this—hell, I've wanted this forever.
Immediately I feel a shift that goes straight to my bones. First, it was the jacket, the familiar thick green fabric forming around me, snug but flexible, white and red accents cutting clean lines across the sleeves.
Black pants followed, accented with white, and combat gloves that looked worn but durable appeared on my hands. My skin turned a couple shades lighter, and my hair lengthened a little. I noticed my eyes sharpening in the glass reflection from my now-glowing earbuds that materialized in my hands.
And suddenly I feel everything shift again. My senses sharpen, every inch of my skin suddenly aware of more. My vision, my hearing—all of it turns up to eleven, heightened to a level that shouldn't be humanly possible.
At the end of my transformation, a weight settles at my hip: my revolver. Solution's revolver.
No denying it: I look like Solution, the Sablethorn character I spent so much time creating and perfecting.
I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers, feeling them respond with the kind of speed and power I've only ever dreamed of.
A flood of notifications rushes across my vision, each one popping up and disappearing too fast to catch. I can barely make out the first messages.
Congrats on being the first player to reach level five! Level ten! Achievement after achievement dings, and I can't even process them all; it's just one after another, lighting up my eyes.
My fingers move to touch the earbuds that are resting in the palm of my hand. I slide them into my ears, and my vision changes—no, my whole perception changes. The room washes over with a subtle green grid, a faint pulse expanding outward, sending a scan rippling through every corner.
In a heartbeat, I know where everyone is—my classmates, the professor, the position of desks, even stray pencils lying around. It's instinctive, like my senses just leapt ten steps ahead of what they already were.
I barely have time to register it before my system window glitches again, red flashing with rapid, error-streaked messages crowding every corner of the screen.
A bead of sweat runs down my face. This all feels a little too fast.
ERROR... ERROR... You fulfilled the conditions for a hidden achievement! Congratulations! As a reward, you will be free from interference of the Administrators!
Wait, what?
The message blinks, then vanishes without a trace. My system window disappears, leaving nothing but a strange, buzzing silence in its wake. I lower my hands, breathing a little too quickly, my pulse hammering as I take a look around.
No one else seems to have noticed anything unusual about me, too engrossed in their own screens. The room is still pitch dark, yet I can see every single detail with perfect clarity.
Advanced night vision—of course. I'd given Solution that skill in Sablethorn, but experiencing it myself feels like someone flicked a switch in my head.
I swallow, glancing around the room again.
Panicked whispers began to pick up around the room; half-whispered questions like "What the hell is this?" and "This has to be a prank, right?"
It's like watching a fish tank of startled guppies. They glance at each other, looking for the first person who'll have an answer.
That's when I hear Christian, calm and collected, his voice rising above the worried whispers. "Listen up, everyone! This interface...it's clearly from Sablethorn."
A few heads swivel his way, hopeful or at least desperate enough to hang on his words. "It's possible we're about to face some kind of threat once this timer runs out, so you're going to want to pick a powerful class and not screw around with character presets."
I resist the urge to smile. There's always one, right? The guy who feels he needs to lead, explain everything in tidy terms, and assign roles. It feels exactly like the tutorial trope straight out of a web novel.
Christian might mean well, but he's conveniently ignoring the fact that half the people here have likely never played Sablethorn. Hell, some of them barely know how to install a game.
I hear a few voices calling out, "Uh...what should I even pick?" or, "What's a good class?" My classmates are practically looking at him with stars in their eyes.
Christian doesn't miss a beat. He takes a quick headcount, nodding like he's got this under control. "Alright," he says, pointing to a girl in the back, "Sabine, you should go cleric. We'll need support, especially if we're up against any bosses."
He pivots to another student. "Stark, you're going barbarian. And Evie—rogue class. Everyone else, fill in with DPS classes, tanks if possible. We need balance."
There's always the one who feels compelled to assign roles and assume the whole group is going to follow along like a well-trained squad. Anyone who's read a manhwa that involves leveling-up and group survival knows this.
But what Christian doesn't realize—what no one seems to realize—is that if this really is like a game, then survival's going to demand more than just a good class spread. They're going to have to actually understand the roles they're picking.
If they don't, they're as good as dead.
I shift back against my chair, watching the scene unfold. Christian's running a neat little show up front, and everyone's soaking it up as gospel. A few people are nodding, reassured by his makeshift plan.
And sure, he's not entirely wrong.
A balanced team would be ideal if everyone stays together, but in a real-world scenario, that's one massive if. Just a few stragglers or split-second bad decisions and it's over.
So, I stay quiet. No point in adding to the noise, and no point in explaining that Christian's best-laid plans could unravel the second the timer hits zero.
And look, I don't want to seem like a prick or know-it-all. I hate, hate when main characters in stories have the power to save people, but just…dont? That trope never made much sense to me. I just don't know how to convince people to trust me, the guy nobody talks to: that'd just cause more confusion.
Not to mention, since my appearance has changed, I'll be unrecognizable. I wouldn't know how to convince my classmates to listen to me, much less a stranger they've never laid eyes on.
30 seconds left. My eyes flick to the timer in the corner of my vision, ticking down. 29… 28…
The seconds of the countdown tick away, and I watch as my classmates fumble through their selections, excitement and fear flickering across their faces. Christian stands up on a desk and clears his throat.
"If you haven't picked a class, do it now. This isn't the time to be different, or aim for some 'hidden class'—if you don't choose, you'll be defenseless, and I don't want anybody dying during the tutorial."
He's right. In a situation like this, not picking a class would be a one-way ticket to a quick death.
At the front of the room, the lights flicker, brightening briefly before dipping back into darkness. The timer reads 15 seconds now, and the flickering becomes erratic. Shadows leap across the walls, casting an eerie glow over the room, turning everyone's faces ghostly pale as they stare at the screens in front of them.
Then, in a sudden, nearly blinding flash, the lights come on fully. Clinks, clangs, and thuds fill the air as armor and weapons begin materializing in front of the students, landing with metallic weight.
The girl Christian assigned as a cleric stumbles back, a set of gleaming plate armor appearing in front of her. Her eyes widen as she tentatively reaches out, fingers brushing over the etched metal and the faint symbols carved into its surface.
Beside her, another student stares in disbelief at a heavy, double-bladed axe now balanced across his desk, the handle nearly as tall as he is. A spear materializes in the hands of the fighter; he grips it tightly, afraid to let go.
Around the room, students are picking up their weapons, some grinning, others visibly shaken. My own revolver is already strapped to my side, its reassuring weight perfectly familiar.
Before I can get lost in the chaotic scene around me, a new system window flashes in front of my eyes. This one's different: not the familiar yellow, or even red, but purple, with garbled text that makes my eyebrows knit in confusion.
> You have received the unique feature:
[??Immersion??]
I frown and tap on it, and a detailed description unspools.
> ??Immersion??: Allows the [Player] to replicate the personality of their character with greater accuracy. Increased Immersion will align your thoughts and actions more closely with your character.
> Caution! Higher Immersion may result in a loss of original personality.
I stare at the words. Okay…okay, let's think this through. What would this be used for?
Well for one, I could use this to replicate Solution's personality. If there's any truth to this feature's description, it sounds like immersion will amp up my tactical instincts, making them faster and sharper.
If I crank it high enough, I could be thinking and reacting like Solution would. But it also sounds like the higher the percentage, the more I risk losing pieces of myself in the process. Definitely not something to mess with, and yet…
The slider sits at 0% by default. I eye it, weighing my options, and then push it up to 10%.
C'mon, where's the fun in a game with no risks?
Instantly my mind shifts, my thoughts sharpening into clean, tactical fragments. The gears in my head kick into overdrive. I'm suddenly cataloging the room's layout, escape routes, positions of my classmates, weak points, openings—it all filters through my mind with clarity.
Looking around, I suppose Christian is worthy of some praise. Our class of about forty students now looks like a small army, each one busy equipping their newly spawned armor and weapons. While we're still here in the school, I'd say we stand a decent chance against whatever's coming.
Not that I plan to stick around. A few people have finally noticed me—really noticed me—and I can hear every whisper. The realization hits hard when someone mutters, "Is that… an NPC?"
Perfect. I can use this.
Let's face it: I haven't really talked to anyone in this class. They'd hardly remember me anyway. I've read enough stories like this to know that the more you reveal, the bigger a target you become. So why not play into their assumptions?
Let them think I'm not even a Player. That way, if I hold back, they'll assume I'm just following my "programming"— and if I use the full extent of my power, they'll believe I'm an NPC with "special privileges" instead of a rival they need to keep an eye on.
The "Lone Wolf" cliché is starting to make sense, despite it being a common trope. Less risk, less hassle. Less jealousy, too. People tend to target you when you have something they don't.
"H-hey—are you... one of the game's NPCs?" It's the cleric, still awkwardly adjusting her armor. Her voice is shaky, like she's unsure whether it's rude to ask. Perfect.
I tilt my head, watching her as if processing her question. Then I give a slight nod and speak, ensuring to keep my tone formal. "If you're all Players... then the Writ of Binding holds true. The trials have indeed begun."
That line lands with exactly the kind of vague significance I hoped it would; they exchange looks. Their faces fall, and I keep going.
"These lands are unforgiving to the untested," I say slowly, ensuring I put on a grandiose accent. "Monsters lurk beyond these walls, and they will test your strength and resolve. Only those equipped for battle survive the Shadowscape. If you're wise, you'll stay close together. Now…"—I motion to the door—"I must prepare."
"Wait, where are you going?" Christian calls out. He steps forward, his armor clinking.
I stop, slowly turning to face him, keeping my expression just detached enough. "My duties lie outside this hall, in the borders of the Black Marshlands. Should you follow the path of Light, you'll find me there." I give a stiff nod, trying to replicate the rather stiff mannerisms NPCs are known for.
It's really hard not to burst out in a fit of laughter, especially with how serious everyone looks.
I can tell Christian wants to press for more, but he hesitates, and I take the chance to turn away.
Hopefully, they'll think I'm part of this world now. Just another NPC on some rigid questline they might encounter down the road, and right now, that's all they need to believe.
"Wait!" Christian yells.
I stop, turning back with a barely concealed scowl. "I'm standing right here, so let's lose the shouting. What do you want?"
Christian hesitates, his face switching between frustration and resolve before he gathers himself. "If you're an NPC, then you're here for a reason. I bet you're supposed to protect us for now, kind of like a tutorial. Only you don't want to admit it." He crosses his arms. "Am I wrong?"
Before I know it, my hand is locked around his collar, pulling him forward until we're eye to eye. "Call me an NPC again, and you'll have a bullet lodged in your brain before you can blink. I may not be a Player, but that doesn't mean I'm less human than you."
I let go, watching him stumble back, red-faced. The room is dead silent.
"Fine," I sigh, drawing my revolver. "You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for. Let's drop the charade."
Christian's eyes dart to the gun. "W-what do you mean?"
"My name is Solution," I say with a smirk. "And yes, I'm here to 'watch over' you." I roll my eyes, letting the silence do its work. "The way I see it, it's my job to make sure as many of you survive this tutorial as possible. Don't get it twisted, I'd rather be anywhere else."
I take a moment, turning my attention to my revolver, Immortalized Mythmaker. Its name alone is enough to draw some stares. Glowing green and red, its design is both sleek and intimidating, and I've even attached a gun charm—a case for my earbuds.
It's a small detail, but I find myself smiling; they'd never guess how handy that charm's been in-game.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not out to be a complete jerk to these guys, and I don't really enjoy playing the role of the edgy lone-wolf asshole. But let's be clear: I need them to believe I'm from Sablethorn, that I'm less friend and more... y'know, hired hand.
It's nothing personal; it's just easier to keep them from clinging to me, or worse, getting possessive if I pick up anything valuable.
Christian's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Uh, Mr. Solution, sir? You may see us as liabilities, but I'm confident we can pull our weight!"
A grin tugs at my lips. "Oh, really? We'll see if that's true soon enough."
I'd picked up an odd noise a few minutes back, something like the patter of light footsteps, giggling, and skittering. And of course, that could only be one thing.
Without waiting for an answer, I walk over to the classroom door and swing it open, stepping into the dim hallway. A few feet down, I spot a familiar sight: five goblins skulking at the corridor's end. Three wielding daggers, two with bows, and one holding an orb. Magic caster. Interesting.
I glance back at my classmates, gesturing to the goblins. "If you're all so confident, then I'll be testing you right now. Time to see what you're made of."
────────────────────────────
◆ System Notice: [Player Registration – Deferred]
All registered individuals are assigned provisional status until System Integration is complete.
Psychological profiling and trait indexing are automatic. Emotional instability during registration may cause interface delay.
────────────────────────────