Twenty-five years ago, a meteorite fell on the world apart. At first, people thought it was just another disaster with burning sky, shaking ground, endless sirens. But then thousands of Gates appeared. Doors of light opened in cities, roads, subways, and even inside buildings. Monsters poured out, killing thousands before the world understood what was happening. Not long after, some humans awakened and began seeing something that normal humans could not see, The System. These people were called Players. They gained roles, skills, stats, and ranks. To keep order, the Player Association was formed. Ranks were decided from G-rank which was the weakest, to S-rank which was the strongest. Guilds rose, money followed power, and Gate clearing became a job, a duty, and a dream. In this new world, becoming a Player meant escaping weakness. It meant having value.
Orin Grey grew up watching all of that from the bottom. At fifteen years old, who already knew what it felt like to be powerless. He walked down the street with a plastic bag full of beer cans, the metal clattering with every step. His shoes were worn and his jacket was thin. Around him, digital billboards were showing famous Players advertising guilds, weapons, and protection services. People were looking up at those screens with hope. Orin looked at them with longing. He wanted to be one of them—not for fame or money, but to leave this life behind.
His dream had always been the same, to become a Player.
But his father had crushed that dream more times than Orin could count.
"Players die young," Hilton always said.
"You're not built for that world."
"Don't even think about applying."
"You were born to work for your father."
Hilton Grey drank every day, bringing new girls with him every day and night, and spoke like he knew everything about survival, yet he never worked, he made Orin do freelancing work to earn money for himself. For Orin, his father's words were chains.
Orin reached their old apartment building and climbed up the stairs slowly. There was no elevator. And by the time he reached at the third floor, his arms were hurting from carrying the bag. The hallway's lights were flickering and casting long shadows on cracked walls. He stopped at the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.
The apartment had the smell of alcohol, cheap perfume and weird smell of something.
Before Orin could say anything, he heard noises coming from his father's room, it's low voices, laughter, and sounds that made his stomach twist. He stood there for a moment, tired and annoyed, then walked closer and knocked.
"Dad," Orin said, trying to sound calm. "I bought your beer."
The noises stopped instantly.
A loud voice of a girl came from inside. "What the hell—!"
Something crashed. Then hurried whispers. Orin was still standing, staring at the door. After a few seconds, the door opened, and a woman stepped out. She looked surprised, seeing him. She was half-dressed, pulling her clothes together while avoiding his eyes.
"This is why I hate kids," she muttered, brushing past him and heading for the main door.
She left without another word.
Hilton rushed out right after her, his face red, his hair messy and anger burning in his eyes. "Are you fucking stupid?" he shouted. "Couldn't you wait? You ruined everything!"
Orin tightened his grip on the bag. "But you told me to buy beer," he said quietly. "I came back as fast as I could."
Hilton scoffed. "Always excuses. You have no idea how hard my life is."
Orin looked at him. "Then why don't you do something about it?"
The room fell silent.
Hilton's expression twisted. "Watch your mouth asshole. You're just living under my roof."
"You don't even let me apply to the Association," Orin said, his voice shaking now. "I can work. I can become a Player. Even G-rank is fine. I just—"
"Enough!" Hilton yelled. "You'd die in your first Gate. You're weak. You always have been."
That was the last straw.
Orin turned away without another word and walked into his small room, shut the door, and locked it. He sat on his bed for a long time, staring at the floor, listening to his father curse and drink outside.
To Orin, Hilton wasn't a father anymore. Just a man who ruined everything he touched.
Eventually, Orin turned on his old computer. The fan made a loud noise as it started up. He opened a game—one where effort mattered, where leveling up depended on skill and patience, not luck or birth. He played it for hours, letting the noise drown out his thoughts. In the game, no one told him that he was weak. No one stopped him from trying.
Late at night, his eyes grew heavy. He shut the computer down and lay on his bed. As he reached to turn off his phone, but he paused. He saw a message that the Player Association application was going to close in 20 mins. He stared at the screen, Hilton's voice was echoing in his head.
"You're weak."
"You'll die."
So with him trembling fingers, he filled in his name, age, and details. Then he pressed submit.
He placed the phone down, turned to the side, and closed his eyes.
Unaware that this small and silent choice would change everything.