The obsidian platform vanished, and for a second, my ears popped from the sudden shift in pressure. I expected another misty void, but what I got was a sensory overload that hit me like a physical blow.
I was standing in the middle of a village square, and it was loud.
"Looking for a Tank for the Level 5 Slime Pits! Must have a shield and at least 50 Health!"
"Selling low-grade health pots! Two silver a pop! Don't get caught bleeding out in the woods!"
"New batch of mooks just landed in the plaza. Look at 'em. All shiny and confused."
I stood there like a total tourist, staring at everything with my mouth probably hanging open. The streets were packed with people wearing gear that looked like it belonged in a high-budget fantasy movie—glowing capes, jagged daggers that hummed with energy, and boots that left faint trails of smoke with every step. These were the "Awakeners." In the real world, these people were like celebrities, rarely seen in the North District unless something was going horribly wrong. Here? They were everywhere, haggling over the price of a chicken leg.
But the weirdest part was the vibe. In the real world, everyone was always tense, always looking over their shoulder for the next siren. But here? People were laughing. They were relaxed. It felt like a perpetual holiday.
"Is this what it used to be like?" I wondered, watching a group of Warriors boast about a recent raid. "Before the world became a fortress?"
I shook off the daze and pulled up my inventory. It was a grid of thirty-six empty slots, looking pretty lonely. The first three held my "Newbie Three-Piece Set." I tapped the icons, and my virtual clothes were replaced by the real deal.
[Item: Newbie's Linen Shirt / Pants]
[Defense: 0. Comfort: 1. Itchiness: 10. No durability limit.]
The fabric was scratchy as hell, like wearing a burlap sack, but it was better than being an exhibitionist. Then I pulled out the last item.
[Item: Basic Hoe]
[Attack: +1. It's a hoe. Great for dirt. Bad for dragons. No durability limit.]
I looked down at my bare feet on the cobblestones. No shoes. Awesome. I was officially a barefoot peasant. But hey, "no durability limit" meant I didn't have to pay a blacksmith to fix my gear, which was the only silver lining I could find.
I checked my "Wallet" icon at the bottom of the screen.
[Balance: 10 Copper.]
According to the stuff they taught us in school, ten copper was basically a dollar. A silver coin was a hundred-dollar bill, and a gold coin was a cool hundred grand. I had a single buck to my name. It was a long way from the Central District penthouses, but at least I wasn't starting at zero.
"Alright," I muttered, looking around at the bustling village one last time. "Time to see the office."
I focused on the "Professional Space" icon in my HUD. It was a feature unique to Lifestyle classes—a private instance where we could work without being harassed by monsters or other players. I felt that familiar, nauseating pull again, and the village square dissolved into a blur of color.
When the world snapped back into focus, the noise was gone. It was just me, a fence, and a very large, very messy plot of land.