Pan was just a normal young man trying to get by in a world overrun by monsters and hunters.
The world had long since expanded beyond human understanding — vast forests, endless ruins, and unpredictable dungeon portals that appeared out of nowhere.
Pan worked part-time at a small mall just outside one such portal. The mall sold refreshments, supplies, and trinkets to hunters returning from their raids. Most of them knew him by name — the friendly guy who always had cold drinks ready after a tough fight.
His life was simple. Wake up, clean the mall, and open shop before the first wave of hunters came by.
This morning was no different… until it was.
Just as he finished sweeping the floor, Pan suddenly felt dizzy. His vision blurred — and a glowing blue status screen popped up in front of his eyes.
> "What!? Wadafak! You can become a hunter just like that!?"
He shouted in disbelief, heart racing with excitement. Every child dreamed of awakening, of gaining a system and a unique skill that would let them step into the ranks of hunters.
Pan quickly scrolled through his new status panel. Everything looked normal — average stats across the board. But his attention locked onto the line that mattered most: his unique skill.
He squinted.
> [Skill – Universal Language Pack]
Understand the essence of communication and comprehend every sound made by any living being in the universe.
Pan's excitement died instantly. His shoulders slumped.
> "What a shit skill…"
With a long sigh, he closed the screen and picked his broom back up.
There was no way he could fight monsters with something like that. He'd seen plenty of wannabe hunters with useless skills try to make it — and most of them ended up broke, missing limbs, or inside a monster's stomach.
No thanks.
Better to keep sweeping and stay alive.
He went back to cleaning the mall, unaware that his new "trash skill" was already listening.
Pan was sweeping the floor in peace — or at least, he was until the buzzing started again.
At first, he ignored it. Just flies. Annoying, but harmless.
Then he realized… he could understand them.
Two voices echoed in his head like a cheap radio broadcast.
"Yo, yo, look who's back with the broom again. The janitor king himself."
"Tch. Man's sweeping like he's avenging his ancestors. Relax, bro, the dust ain't going anywhere."
Pan blinked.
No way.
Was this his Universal Language Pack working?
He gritted his teeth and kept sweeping, pretending not to hear.
But the flies weren't done.
"You know what's sad, G?"
"What?"
"He's been working here for years and still can't afford a real hunter license. Probably still a virgin."
"Virgin? Bro, I heard from the roaches he cried watching a romance drama last week."
"Damn. For real? My man's emotionally fragile and broke. Double homicide."
Pan's hand tightened on the broom. His eyebrow twitched.
(Ignore it… they're just bugs… harmless little… buzzing pieces of—)
"Hey G, what's that bump on his pants?"
"That? Oh, that's not a bump, that's his disappointment."
"Damn, bro, man packing pocket edition."
"Compact model! Travel size! You can store it in the keychain section!"
Something snapped.
Pan's expression went blank, his smile twitching at the corners like a man entering a fugue state.
Then—he exploded.
"YOU LITTLE WINGED DEMONS! COME HERE AND DIE LIKE MEN!"
He started swinging the broom with the fury of a man who'd lost faith in humanity. Tables flipped. Chairs shattered. A vending machine took a direct hit.
The flies screamed.
"HE'S CRAZY! HE'S CRAZY!"
"HE'S GOT THAT BROOM LOOK IN HIS EYES!"
"RETREAT! REPEAT—THIS HUMAN'S GOT SMALL ENERGY BUT BIG RAGE!"
Outside, three hunters were walking past the mall entrance. They stopped.
One blinked. "…Is he fighting the air?"
Another nodded. "Looks like it."
The third whispered, "He finally lost it. Poor bastard… always knew working near a portal scrambles your brain."
They watched as Pan dove over the counter, cursing at invisible enemies.
"DIE, YOU FLYING RATS! SAY IT TO MY FACE NOW!"
The hunters slowly backed away from the door.
"Let's, uh… go to the shop down the street."
"Yeah. Safer there."
"RIP, Janitor King."
Inside, Pan stood triumphantly on a chair, breathing hard, eyes wild.
A single fly buzzed weakly from the ceiling fan.
"You done, short stack?"
Pan lost it again.
After a while, Pan finally calmed down.
The gangster flies had been driven out — one wingless, one traumatized — and peace had returned to the mall.
Sort of.
He'd just served a few hunters who looked at him like a man one sneeze away from madness when the door jingled again.
A female hunter walked in — confident, leather armor hugging her figure, with a trembling chihuahua tucked under her arm.
It was tiny, bug-eyed, and vibrating like it had seen the face of God and didn't like what it saw.
"Morning, Pan," she said casually, placing the dog on the counter. "Mind watching him for a bit? He's restless. I'll just check the shelves."
Pan nodded. "Sure. No problem."
The woman walked deeper into the store.
The chihuahua stood on the counter, shaking. It blinked twice, then slowly turned its head toward Pan — too slowly.
Pan smiled awkwardly.
"Cute little guy, huh? What's your name—"
"THE WALLS ARE BLEEDING."
Pan froze.
"...What?"
"BLEEDING! Can't you hear it? The hum of the void, the buzz of the flies, the microwave of destiny! WOOF!"
Pan took a small step back. "...Are you okay, little dude?"
The chihuahua's eyes darted left, right, then locked on him again.
"Okay? OKAY!? Do I look okay!? I haven't slept since 2034!"
"That's... that's not even possible."
"NOTHING'S IMPOSSIBLE WHEN YOU'RE MADE OF PURE ANXIETY!" the dog barked, shaking so hard its tags jingled like tiny bells of doom.
Pan blinked in disbelief. "You can talk!?"
"Talk? TALK? Buddy, I scream into the abyss! It just happens to have subtitles today!"
Pan ran a hand through his hair. "I'm dreaming. I have to be dreaming."
"You're not dreaming, mop-boy! You're just awake in the wrong dimension! Hahaha! Ever eat drywall? It whispers if you chew slow!"
The chihuahua's voice dropped suddenly to a gravelly whisper.
"Also… don't trust pigeons. They work for the portals."
"The what now?"
"THE PORTALS! They blink when you blink. You think you're safe, then BAM! you're knee-deep in cosmic spaghetti!"
The little dog's head jerked to the side, like it was listening to something no one else could hear.
Then, out of nowhere—
"I ONCE FOUGHT GOD IN A DREAM! HE WAS A CAT!"
Pan's mouth opened and closed like a fish.
"...You need therapy."
"THERAPY!? I AM THERAPY!" The dog started spinning in place, barking nonsense. "Lick the floor! Lick the truth! Taste the economy collapsing!"
Pan stared. "What is wrong with you?"
"Everything! Nothing! You ever think about how your hairline has trauma?"
Pan blinked. "My—my what!?"
"Just kidding. Probably."
The dog paused, looked suddenly calm, and said in a hauntingly serene tone:
"Buy the blue potion, not the red one."
Pan squinted. "Why?"
"Because red's just blue pretending to be confident."
Silence.
The chihuahua's eye twitched.
"Also, your aura smells like canned soup."
Pan covered his face with his hands. "I've finally gone insane."
From the back, the female hunter called out,
"Everything okay out there?"
Pan forced a grin. "YEP! ALL GOOD! TOTALLY NORMAL DOG!"
The chihuahua leaned closer, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Tell her you like her boots. Saves your kneecaps."
Pan whispered, "What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"
The chihuahua snorted.
"Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Mop-Boy."
Pan sat down at the round table, sighing in exhaustion.
The chihuahua jumped up beside him, tail flicking, tongue out.
"Hey," it whispered suddenly.
"What now?" Pan asked warily.
The chihuahua smirked like it had been waiting for this.
"She's wearing pink panties."
Pan's entire body locked up. "WHAT!?"
He flailed backward, almost toppling off the chair.
"You heard me, brother. Bubblegum pink. Lace trim. Power move."
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" Pan hissed, glancing toward the store aisles in horror.
The hunter called from the back,
"You say something, Pan?"
He sat up stiffly, face burning.
"No! Nothing! Just… uh… talking to your dog!"
The chihuahua wagged its tail, voice smug and smooth.
"Careful, mop-boy. Some secrets make the universe blush."
Finally, the female hunter returned to the counter, humming softly as she placed a few potions and snacks on the table.
"Thanks for watching him, Pan," she said warmly. "He didn't cause any trouble, right?"
Pan froze. His lips twitched.
The chihuahua sat on the counter, perfectly still — wide-eyed, tail gently wagging, the very image of purity and innocence.
"Trouble?" Pan said weakly. "Oh, n-no, no trouble at all! He's… great company! Very… spiritual."
"Spiritual?" she chuckled, reaching for her coins. "You mean hyper. He's always trembling like that."
Pan glanced down at the dog.
The chihuahua turned its head just enough for only Pan to see — its tongue flicked out, eyes narrowing into a mischievous squint.
"You blink weird," the dog whispered.
Pan coughed, forcing a laugh that came out like a dying goat.
"Hahaha, yeah! Trembling! Cute, huh? Totally normal!"
"You okay?" the hunter asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Me? Haha, yeah! Just — haha — dog's got strong energy!"
The chihuahua snorted under its breath.
"You smell like fear and cleaning detergent."
Pan twitched. His eye started to spasm.
"Did he… uh… say anything weird? Like, at all?"
She laughed. "Say? He can't talk, Pan. He just barks at random furniture."
"Right… of course. Haha. Just barking. Definitely not… discussing cosmic spaghetti or my— never mind."
The hunter frowned. "Your what?"
"NOTHING!" Pan said too fast, hands up defensively. "You know, just— love dogs! Great animals! Tiny and… full of mystery!"
The chihuahua hopped closer to her hand, looked Pan dead in the eyes, and muttered,
"I'll tell her you sniffed her hair if you breathe too loud."
Pan's face went pale.
"I DID NOT—"
"Did not what?" the hunter asked, blinking.
"...Did not forget to give your receipt!" Pan said quickly, thrusting it forward with trembling hands.
The hunter took the receipt, still looking mildly confused.
"You sure you're okay, Pan? You look like you saw a ghost."
"Ghosts are easy," he muttered under his breath. "They don't talk."
"What?"
"Nothing! Totally fine! Have a nice hunt!"
She smiled faintly, picked up the chihuahua, and turned to leave.
The dog was back to wagging its tail like a happy little angel.
But just as she reached the door, the chihuahua craned its neck to look back at Pan, its mouth barely moving.
"Pink lace, mop-boy. Respect the art."
Pan's soul visibly left his body.
He stood frozen as the hunter exited, completely unaware of the psychic damage her pet had just inflicted.
Through the window, the chihuahua locked eyes with him one last time and mouthed:
"Woof."
Pan slumped onto the counter, staring into nothing.
"I was happier when flies insulted my junk," he muttered. " Is this skill a curse? " He whispered.