===
GLOBAL OBJECTIVE:
[ ] build a scroll hall
[ ] build a name a pvp hall that offers free revive
[ ] build a blacksmith, alchemy hall, and doctor hall
*respawns are now not free, level unlocked please check your stat, each respawn will bring you back down to level 1.*
===
**"WAIT, WHAT? BACK TO LEVEL 1!?"**
"WHO PUT ROGUELIKE IN MY MMO!?"
"I DIED TO FALL DAMAGE JUST NOW I SWEAR TO GOD—"
"RESPAWN TAX?! MY GRIND!"
"Wait free revive in PvP Hall? We're camping that spot, boys."
"Scroll Hall? What is this, a library or a dojo?"
"I'm building the Blacksmith, I NEED MY SWORD BACK."
"Doctor Hall better have the Trauma Center main—my bones aren't supposed to bend this way."
"Alchemy Hall? I call dibs on exploding potions!"
"Can we PLEASE prioritize the PvP revive hall before Leroy dies again!?"
"Guys... it's permadeath if you're underleveled."
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Reactions varied.
From panicked wails to gleeful shrieks of "Roguelike mechanics? LET'S GOOOOO!", the plaza filled with energy.
But neither **Sovereign** nor I flinched.
She stood there, arms folded, a faint breeze tugging at her hair, her gaze already searching for the next challenge.
I leaned on my flagpole like it was a second spine, observing. Thinking.
Then, the notification appeared—personal, quiet, almost shy in contrast to the chaos.
===
PRETENDER
level 10 ( body foundation realm breaktrhrough avaialble)
HEAVENLY DEMON MANDATE
UNDERSTANDING 5%
===
"...Huh?"
My brow twitched.
**Level 10?**
I hadn't even noticed I'd been leveling. The chaos, the fights, the perfect parries, the flags thrown in desperation—they'd somehow added up to progress.
"Guys, I'm level 10 and it says 'breakthrough available'?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, me too!"
"Wait—what's a breakthrough? Is it like prestige class?"
"I thought we were just getting gear… now we're doing cultivation? Hell yeah."
Cultivation... I rolled the word in my mind.
I knew of it, in the same way a tourist knows about Everest. Far, distant, sacred.
But if my [Heavenly Demon Mandate] required defiance to grow... then this "Body Foundation" must be the first chain I had to break.
Another textbox popped up.
Not loud. Not flashy. But intimate—like a whisper.
===
**To break the body is to free the will.**
**To ascend is to bleed.**
**Breakthrough Requirements:**
- 10 minutes of uninterrupted meditation
- Must choose a contradiction
- Must speak a truth that defies your past self
===
My eyes narrowed.
"Choose a contradiction?"
"What even is this game?" someone nearby muttered.
But to me, it all made sense.
"Truth that defies your past self…"
I chuckled.
That was very on-brand for the Heavenly Demon Mandate.
---
Across the plaza, Sovereign raised her hand.
"I've initiated the breakthrough."
Her voice carried command, not invitation.
Of course she figured it out first.
A ripple of aura fluttered around her like petals caught in a breeze.
She sat, legs folded, hands resting on her knees in perfect posture.
And yet the tension in the air was unmistakable.
This wasn't peaceful meditation.
This was a battleground of the soul.
---
More voices chimed in.
"Wait, there's choices during breakthrough?"
"I had to choose between 'Compassion over Justice' and 'Power over Discipline'... what did you guys get?"
"I picked 'Silence over Action'... I think I messed up..."
"You're not supposed to win! You're supposed to challenge yourself!"
---
I tapped on the breakthrough prompt. The screen shifted.
Two options blinked before me. Stark. Provocative.
- **Abandon Glory / Embrace Obscurity**
- **Reject Fate / Forge Chaos**
---
Easy.
I tapped the second one.
**"Reject Fate."**
My body went numb.
Vision narrowed.
Sound disappeared.
And then came the voices.
Not from outside... but from within.
===
"You were supposed to be the prodigy."
"Why did you throw it away?"
"You could've had it all."
"You chose to be forgotten."
===
Their voices came not from the crowd, not from the game's audio—
but from the **void within**.
Old echoes. Familiar. Mocking.
They weren't NPCs.
They weren't even enemies.
They were fragments of me—
the me that stayed behind.
The me who stood on digital podiums.
The me who broke metas and then built new ones.
The me whose name once filled leaderboards and livestream headlines like scripture.
That guy died years ago.
Or so I thought.
---
The arena lights burned into my vision.
The crowd was deafening—screaming, roaring, crying my name like a prophecy.
**PRETENDER! PRETENDER!**
The demon king of PvP.
The madman with the frying pan.
The tournament-breaker.
The patch-killer.
I had taken on metas and turned them into memes.
Then, at the height of it all—
I left.
---
"You were at the top."
"Why disappear?"
"Why waste all that talent?"
Because the applause stopped meaning anything.
Because I forgot why I started.
Because every win felt hollow.
Because even victory became **routine**.
I remember standing on stage, holding the trophy—
and feeling nothing.
Not pride.
Not joy.
Not even relief.
Just… silence.
And in that silence, something whispered:
**"You don't belong here."**
---
So I left.
Traded the arena for a kitchen.
Traded the scoreboard for silence.
Traded the cheers for chopping vegetables.
And you know what?
It was peaceful.
Until now.
Until this moment.
Until this stupid alpha test VR MMO dropped me back into the chaos with a frying pan and a cult classic tag:
**PRETENDER**.
---
Now here I am.
Alone in a field of static.
Face to face with **my ghosts**.
They crowd around me, half-formed—
like glitched-out reflections in broken mirrors.
Their eyes are my own.
Their mouths echo the doubts I buried under layers of rebellion.
"You're just scared."
"You ran away."
"You couldn't take the pressure."
"You couldn't stand to lose."
"You threw away the gift."
Gift?
If it was a gift, why did it feel like a chain?
---
I clench my fists.
My body trembles, not from fear—
from **conflict**.
Because they're not wrong.
Not completely.
That's what makes it so cruel.
---
A choice.
A contradiction.
**Reject Fate. Forge Chaos.**
I breathe in.
Slow.
Steady.
Like I used to, before a finals match.
Before I showed the world that a frying pan could beat a war god.
And then I whisper.
**"I didn't want their stage."**
The words sting.
Because once, I did want it.
Craved it.
Lived for it.
But something shifted.
**"I made my own."**
The silence shatters.
A crack forms across the static void, like a fissure in reality.
Light pours in—not golden, not divine.
**Crimson. Chaotic.**
Like a sun that was never supposed to rise.
---
My body aches.
My chest feels like it's being torn open from the inside.
But I don't stop.
"I walked away not because I was weak—
but because the script was wrong."
Another crack.
Another fracture.
"I don't need to play the part they wrote for me."
The world begins to bend.
The static becomes sparks.
The sparks turn to fire.
"I am the rewrite."
"I am the patch note they fear."
"I am the contradiction."
The system chimes.
---
**Body Foundation Realm attained.**
Strength +20%
Speed +15%
Passive: Unshackled Movement – Attacks after dashes ignore enemy poise.
---
I stood up, breath heavy. Muscles light.
And I wasn't alone.
---
**Sovereign** emerged from her trance, glowing.
Her clothes had changed, subtle, like threads woven by moonlight.
She didn't look at me.
She didn't need to.
We understood.
Let Me Solo It stood nearby.
No words.
No motion.
Just... presence.
He had broken through too.
One by one, the plaza shimmered with cultivators transcending.
Some triumphant. Some shattered. Some... changed.