The final school bell screeched like a banshee finally released from contract.
Students erupted from Seongnam High in a tidal wave of uniforms and teenage despair, but only one of them moved like the building was about to detonate.
Rain.
He shot through the crowd—backpack smacking his spine, tie already half-yanked off, sneakers skidding on the stairs as he practically parkoured down four flights.
Teachers yelled after him.
Pointless.
His head was already full of something louder:
the final boss theme of Requiem Games, the drumline pounding in his skull like a war god kicking down a door.
Tonight, I beat it.
Tonight, I finally beat Requiem Games.
He sprinted through spring wind that smelled faintly of cherry blossoms—didn't look at a single one. His phone buzzed like a dying cicada (Minjun, obviously, sending memes about Rain choking again), but he ignored it.
Only one thing mattered.
Yesterday, he'd told Minjun—with both hands shaking like he was defusing a bomb:
"If I clear the Forgotten God tonight, you're buying me barbecue for a month."
Minjun had wheezed laughing.
"Bro, you've died to that thing two hundred and eleven times. Send me the screenshot; maybe I'll believe it."
Rain grinned just remembering it, breath fogging in the cooling air.
Tonight, that screenshot was coming.
Home Base (a.k.a. The Lair of a Man Who Has Given Up on Laundry)
Rain barreled into his seventh-floor apartment, shoved the key in like he wanted to arrest it, and kicked the door open.
The smell hit like a slap:
old ramen cups, condemned hoodies, and the acidic ghost of energy drinks left to rot.
The room looked like a war had happened here—and the war had won.
Clothes carpeted the floor.
Empty cans formed metallic shrines to poor decisions.
His gaming chair was held together by duct tape and human stubbornness.
Rain didn't blink.
This was holy ground.
He ripped off his school shirt, buttons pinging into the void, then moonwalked into the bathroom in just his slacks. Shower time was not hygiene—it was a ritual.
Hot water: shhhhhh
Off-key singing: WOAH-OHHH—shit, too high
Dance moves: crimes against humanity.
Ten minutes later, dripping, hair a black stormcloud, he threw on a hoodie that definitely should've been declared a biohazard.
He paused in front of the mirror.
Black bangs falling over his eyes.
Pale gamer skin.
A crooked, slightly deranged smile.
"Still prettier than 99% of the male leads in this trash city," he informed his reflection. Wink.
Then he raided the fridge for one last cold cola, cracked it open with a ksshhht, and fell into his gaming throne.
The PC roared awake.
LEDs splashed crimson and violet across the walls like demon graffiti.
Requiem Games booted, the blood-red title screen pulsing like a heartbeat from something ancient and pissed-off.
Rain rolled his neck.
Cracked his knuckles.
Whispered:
"Let's dance, you bastard."
The Climb to Godhood (and Another Death)
The run-up to the final boss was pure muscle memory now.
Side quests? Deleted on sight.
Mid-tier bosses? Reduced to paste by the glass-cannon build he'd perfected over three years.
Forum players still called him insane for running zero defense.
They didn't get it.
Defense was for people planning to lose slowly.
Phase 1: Perfect.
Phase 2: Frame-perfect cooldowns.
Phase 3: Kiting adds like the game owed him money.
Then came Phase 4.
The health bar that never moved.
The no-warning one-shots.
The rage bar that punished playing too safe.
Rain's heart synced with the music.
His palms slickened.
The cola can crumpled a millimeter at a time in his left hand.
50%…
40%…
28%…
He was doing it.
15%.
One more rotation. One more—
The Forgotten God lifted its scythe.
No cast bar.
No telegraph.
Just—
FLASH.
YOU DIED
Red words burned across the screen.
Rain froze.
Two hundred and twelve…
The number hit like a truck doing 180.
All the nights.
All the skipped meals.
All the whispered promises of "just one more try."
Something inside him snapped.
The half-crushed cola can left his hand before he registered it—
CRACK—SPLASH!
Brown soda exploded across the monitor.
"FUCK!"
His voice cracked.
His chair screeched as he shot upright, fists clenched, looking for something else—anything—to break.
Then—
Every light in the apartment died.
BZZZT—
Pitch black.
"…great. Perfect. Fucking per—"
A low hum began.
Deep. Wrong.
Like reality had a loose circuit.
Rain's breath hitched.
The broken monitor flickered—once, twice—and then booted itself up.
Not Windows.
Just one line of text on endless black.
[Do you want to try again for real this time?]
[Y/N]
The letters pulsed.
Waited.
Rain swallowed.
Soda dripped down his wrist.
He reached out with a shaking finger…
and tapped the air over Y.
BOOOOM—!!!
Light exploded.
The world inverted.
Gravity yanked him forward into a void that smelled like ozone and unfinished revenge.
Welcome to the Real Game
When the light died, he stood in a cathedral of shattered marble beneath a sky bleeding red stars.
A blue panel hovered before him.
[Welcome, Player, to the true Requiem Games.]
[Death is no longer an escape.]
[Clear the tower… or become its foundation.]
Rain looked down.
His hoodie was gone.
In its place—tattered black robes embroidered with faint silver runes.
In his right hand—a staff of obsidian and bone humming with hungry magic.
He blinked.
Then he let out a slow, sharp, borderline-crazy exhale.
"…this is so bad."
The panel shattered into glowing motes like moths escaping a flame.
Far above, something ancient opened its eyes.