"Ding-dong!"
The doorbell rang inside the luxurious mansion. Hearing the chime, a blond guy jumped off the sofa in his room and hurried down the stairs. His figure was lean but athletic. His clothes—simple pajamas and a T-shirt—were clearly of high quality.
He quickly reached the main door and opened it, excitement on his face.
"Hey, Max! I wasn't expecting you... this..."
"early... in... the... morning."
The blond guy's excitement plummeted as he saw Max standing at the door, covered in cuts, bruises, and some foul-smelling green goo.
"Ray... would you mind if I used your bathroom real quick?" Max asked his expression as lifeless as a dead fish.
Rayan forced an awkward smile. He stepped back and gestured toward the bathroom.
"Sure... go ahead."
"You have my utmost appreciation," Max muttered and headed in. The gooey liquid sticking to him made him want a bath, but something else was more urgent—he really needed to take a dump.
It had been almost an hour since Max was thrown out of the black portal, and he still couldn't wrap his head around what had happened. The flow of events felt unreal, playing over and over in his mind.
"Should I report this to NSDR..."
The thought crossed his mind. After all, NSDR was the authority responsible for handling all incidents related to dungeons and gates.
But another thought followed:
"If I do that, the government will probably seize my home, and I'll have nowhere to go."
Max bit his nails as he looked around the lavish bathroom—golden fittings, gleaming white tiles, and a soft, warm light. Everything screamed luxury.
"Nah... in my condition, that'll be too much trouble. NSDR doesn't even give money for gate reports… and who knows what they'll do about a black one?"
Max hesitated for a second, then flushed. As he stepped out, he found a maid waiting, holding a bunch of clothes.
"Young master has sent you clothes and a towel. He requests you join him for breakfast after your shower," the maid said politely.
Max got the hint. He took the clothes with a slightly embarrassed smile and returned to the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, Max stepped out, clean and dressed, and made his way to the hallway, where Rayan and his butler were waiting. Max took a seat while the maid gently bandaged his wounds.
No one spoke for a few minutes. Then Rayan broke the silence.
"Care to explain who did this to you?"
"...The usual. It doesn't matter much," Max replied after a brief hesitation.
"Heeehhh," Rayan frowned, somewhere between angry and annoyed.
"You always call me after you get beaten up. You know, if you did that a minute earlier, I might actually save your ass?"
"Young master speaks the truth, Master Max," the butler added calmly.
Max sighed.
"It is what it is, Ray. I'm already indebted to you for helping me this much."
"Tsk." Rayan chuckled.
"There you go, whining again."
Max felt conflicted. He was sitting on a premium leather sofa, wearing expensive clothes, and eating gourmet food. Everything here screamed luxury—something Max thought he didn't deserve.
"Ray... I was wondering..." Max hesitated.
"What would you do if you woke up one day and found a portal had appeared in your house?"
Rayan paused.
"Did a portal appear in your house?"
"Heh, nope! Who said that? Hahaha!" Max denied awkwardly, laughing.
"I was just imagining… you know, a hypothetical scenario… hehe."
Rayan's expression suggested he didn't believe a word, but the next second, his demeanor shifted to one of calmness.
"Stop dreaming about miracles. Things like that don't happen."
Still… Rayan smiled, looking up at the ceiling. He extended his hand like he wanted to grab something.
"If a low-rank portal appeared in my house, I'd probably use it as a personal training ground and get strong."
He hopped off the sofa and took a fighting stance, punching the air.
"And then I'd become the strongest and beat every bully in the city!"
The butler added with a nod,
"In that case, I shall be standing behind, cheering for the young master!"
Max smiled. It was only Ray who could say something so absurd and still make it sound believable. "I thought you'd report that to NSDR."
"Nah, I don't know about others, but I want to get strong as fuck!" Rayan continued to perform aerobatics against invisible opponents.
"I see," Max calmly nodded, "Anyways, It's time for me to leave."
"Hey, where are you going now?" Rayan asked, seeing Max quietly walk toward the door.
"Wanna do a 1v1 in Dungeons and Dragons?"
"No thanks. Today is Friday!" Max waved politely.
"Ohh!" Rayan slapped his forehead and rushed to the kitchen.
"Wait there a minute…"
Max paused, confused. Rayan reappeared with a small basket full of fruit and handed it over to them.
"There you go! Also, I can ask my driver to drop you off."
"Ahh… sorry, thanks. You're already helping me too much. I'll just walk," Max declined and slowly walked out while Rayan kept waving until the door closed.
Once Max had gone, the butler spoke up.
"I do not intend any disrespect, but may I ask, why do you help Master Max so much?"
"Huh?" Rayan looked confused.
The butler elaborated.
"From what I observe, you two come from entirely different worlds. You don't study in the same schools, nor do you share the same economic or social background. I can't help but wonder why."
"Tsk," Rayan chuckled.
"You overthink. Let's just say... we share some history together."
...
..
.
Max walked out of the mansion and started down the road. He needed to reach the city hospital, which was quite far from Rayan's place. Honestly, he could've used a lift. But Max didn't want to depend on his only friend too much.
The quiet, luxurious garden came to an end, and Max found himself among the bustle of the crowded streets.
Towering skyscrapers pierced the clouds. Modern vehicles zipped along the roads while some hovered effortlessly in the air. Flying cars were nothing unusual anymore—for those who could afford them. Gone were the days of petting cats and dogs; nowadays, almost everyone has a spirit animal by their side.
Holographic ads floated in the air, and vendors shouted out flashy product offers—but Max paid no attention. His mind was stuck on what Rayan had said earlier.
Can I really use the dungeon for myself… and become stronger? Max pondered. He was nothing like Rayan—practically his opposite. Rayan was tall, kind, strong, and rich. Max, on the other hand, was barely scraping by on government allowances.
He wasn't good-looking. Average height. Black hair. No combat training. No techniques. Nothing. Compared to someone like Rayan, there was only one word Max could think of for himself.
"Loser… I'm just a loser in comparison," Max muttered under his breath. But the crowd didn't care. Why would they? He wasn't someone worth noticing. Not even someone worth being counted in the crowd.
He reached the hospital and headed straight for the same room he had been visiting for the past four years. Room number 1105. He could've walked there with his eyes closed.
Knock knock!
He tapped lightly on the door, but there was no response. Pushing it open, he stepped inside to see the same dull hospital room. The same layout. And the same man—head wrapped in bandages—staring out the window with the one good eye he had left.
"I told you not to come here," the man said in a deep, gruff voice. "How many times do I have to repeat myself?"
Max didn't reply. He simply placed the basket of fruits on the table, pulled a chair next to the bed, and sat quietly.
"You're finishing high school soon. Almost 18. I'm guessing you still haven't reconsidered your decisions."
Max took a breath. "No."
"Argh…" The man clenched his fist, his bloodshot eye turning toward Max. For a second, it looked like he might shout—but he held back. "Why are you so hell-bent on destroying your own life?"
His voice carried more than just frustration. It was pain and regret.
Max looked at him and stood up calmly. "Because I want to see you get well. And I want to do… what you couldn't."
Without another word, he turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, the man's voice stopped him. "Then go throw yourself into that hell… and take those fruits with you. I don't need any of that crap."
Max didn't argue. He picked up the basket and stepped out. He was 17—nearing 18—but he already understood one harsh truth about this world that most refused to admit:
The world belongs to the strong. The weak survive only at the mercy of others.
That was Earth in the 22nd century. It didn't matter what your passion or profession was—if you weren't strong, you were just waiting to die. That's why Max wanted to enroll in military training like everyone else, turning 18.
A person's aptitude determines their rank. Their rank determined their future. Parents invested in mana crystals and techniques to give their kids a head start. Rayan had multiple techniques and an enhanced body. Even the poorest individuals could afford basic fighting manuals.
Max had none of that.
He walked through the bustling streets, slowly transitioning into the slum-like neighborhood where he lived. Rayan's suggestion made sense for someone like him, but it wasn't practical for someone like Max.
"Then again… why should I even risk my life?" Max asked himself aloud, strolling casually.
That's when he heard something in the air—movement.
Thud!
Too late to react—a fist-sized stone smashed into his face. Max collapsed, clutching his bleeding nose.
"Yo! Look who it is! Guess which brat showed up? Hahaha…" came the mocking voice of the man who threw the stone.
Tall but lean, with three others behind him.
Max looked up. Each one had a wristband—three were indigo, and the one in the center had a blue band.
Shit… I'm unable to deal with this today. Max tried to get up. "What the hell do you want?"
SLAP!
A hard slap sent him crashing back to the ground.
"Oh-ho! You think you can ask us questions?" one of them jeered.
Laughter erupted from the group.
The guy with the blue band grabbed Max by the hair and stared him down. "Heard you're wearing some expensive clothes today. What if I want them?"
'These assholes… I really don't want to deal with this today', Max thought. "Fine… you can have it all."
"Huh?" The bullies were caught off guard.
Max didn't hesitate. He took off everything Rayan had given him—the T-shirt, pants, and even the fruit basket—and placed it all on the ground.
So much for wearing clothes… Max cursed internally and turned to walk away—or at least tried to do so.
"Oi! Didn't you hear me?" the leader growled. "I said everything you have!"
Max turned, staring at them. Three indigo. One blue. And him? Without even needing a test, he knew—he wasn't even violet-tier. Not in a million years could he fight back.
"I'll do it," he said quietly, letting go of his pride. He began to lower his underwear.
This wasn't the first time this had happened to him. And likely not the last.
Bang!
A heavy kick slammed into his shoulder, nearly knocking him over.
"How dare you try stripping in public, you perv!" the bully laughed, his friends following suit. Another kick landed on Max's ribs.
"I… "Max tried to say something, but the words choked in his throat. Rage boiled inside him.
"I'm going to kill you all!" he shouted, grabbing a rock and throwing it.
"Too slow," the leader sneered, catching his arm and slamming Max onto the pavement like a rag doll.
Cough! Blood spurted from Max's mouth.
Winning had never been an option. And nobody was coming to save him. Not the police. Not the administration. They could stop these crimes, but they didn't. Because they didn't want to.
One of the bullies charged and kicked Max again, sending him flying against a wall. The rest joined in, raining down kicks like he was nothing more than trash.
Max didn't move. He played dead.
Eventually, they got bored and left. But Max didn't even notice the moment the beating stopped—he was too numb.
'So much for asking… why should I be strong…' he chuckled in his head. He tried to get up. Somehow, he managed to stand. Limping, battered, and broken, Max dragged himself back to his small, cramped home.