As I got out of Fang's mom's gray SUV, I called out, "Thanks!" and gently closed the door. Even though it felt like her curious gaze was still on the back of my neck, I didn't turn around and walked toward my house. The street had settled into a calm dimness in the early evening. The white, gray, and black apartments, stripped of the morning's sunlight filter, now looked tired under the pale yellow glow of streetlights. A light breeze rustled the collar of my jacket; in the distance, a dog's bark and the faint jingle of a TV drama from a neighbor's apartment formed the familiar symphony of the neighborhood. My backpack grew heavier on my shoulder as I pulled out my keys, the cold metal slipping between my fingers. Yuki had evening study sessions, so there was no one at home to open the door. I turned the key and pushed the door open, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the silence.
Stepping inside, the morning's mess greeted me—as if time had frozen during my hours at school. Boot prints on the entryway rug, krep crumbs on the kitchen counter, Yuki's half-finished glass of orange juice on the coffee table… The house bore our chaotic but warm signature. Still no sign of Dad. I checked his phone—no reply, no missed calls. The familiar knot of worry tightened in my chest. His disappearances weren't new; sometimes, as if wrestling with an invisible burden, he'd vanish for weeks. But he never failed to send money, which made us feel he was "okay." Maybe he just needs a break, I told myself, but as his words—"Haoyu, one day the sky will whisper its secrets to you"—echoed in my mind, a void grew inside me. I missed his smile, his stories.
I headed to the kitchen, following the grumble of my stomach. Ignoring the counter's mess, I poured some cornflakes into a bowl—raisin-filled, slightly sweet, Yuki's favorite kind. I grabbed the milk from the fridge, but of course, it was down to the last drop; Yuki's empty carton from her morning rush stood guilty. This girl… I thought, smiling. I found a spare carton in the pantry, poured it over the cereal, and dug in. The crunch of the flakes, the coolness of the milk, and the sweet raisins made school's exhaustion fade for a moment. The evening light streaming through the kitchen window cast the counter's crumbs in a dim shadow. I left the bowl in the sink, muttering, "I'll wash it later"—classic Haoyu procrastination.
The house was quiet, but the mess was getting on my nerves. Yuki wouldn't be back from study until late, so cleaning was on me. Sighing, I got to work. I started with Yuki's room; the door was ajar, and inside was a warzone. Open textbooks, scribbled notes, a crumpled sweatshirt in the corner. Her bed was a tangle of sheets, with dirty socks and shirts scattered on the floor. How can this girl be so messy? I thought, but grinned as I gathered the laundry. Tossing it into the hamper, I remembered Yuki as a kid, shouting, "Haoyu, let's race to clean the house!" Those races had turned into my solo cleaning missions. I tidied the living room table, loaded the dishwasher, vacuumed the rug. The house slowly regained its familiar order, but Dad's empty chair stung every time I glanced at it.
Once cleaning was done, I retreated to my room, exhaustion sinking into my bones. I tossed my uniform to the floor—I'll deal with it tomorrow—and slipped into my pajamas. A gray, baggy t-shirt and blue pajama pants, the perfect "laze around" uniform. I reached for my sock drawer, but finding a decent pair was a treasure hunt. The cheap socks we bought fell apart after two washes; the torn ones piled up in Mom's "recycling" corner. I found a gray pair, slipped them on—sleeping without socks was a no-go for me.
Sitting on my bed, my eyes drifted to the black matte VR headset on my desk. Galactic Game Online's starry skies, Alex's sharp gaze, the weight of my sword… They were calling me. School's noise, Fang's fake smiles, Yuan fading into the crowd—all that was the real world. But the game? That was my world. I grabbed the headset, its smooth surface cool in my hands. My heart raced, the familiar thrill of adrenaline coursing through me. As I put on the headset, I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, and in a moment, the real world vanished.
When the VR headset settled over my eyes, the real world—the house's silence—faded away. After a brief darkness, Galactic Game Online's starry sky and the place where I'd parted with my master embraced me. I blinked, and there I was: right where I'd left off. After walking for a while, the town came into view. Around me, the rustle of dry grass blown by the wind, the rhythmic clank of a distant blacksmith's hammer, and the murmurs of NPCs blended together. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and leather, but beneath it, there was a faint metallic tang, like the promise of adventure. The Sinclaire medallion brushed my fingers in my pocket—I was back in the game.
The rendezvous quest was still 26 days away; until then, all I could do was sharpen my sword with wolves. Most players ditched the starting town ASAP, diving into the vast map. But rumors said the kingdom was controlling the capital's borders with an iron fist—a death trap for newbies. I chose caution over haste. Instead of a fast but fragile rise, I wanted slow, rock-solid growth. My sword mastery sharpened with every wolf I cut; my Passive Stat Points grew with every swing. So, I turned back down the dusty road to the town's entrance. On the way, I spotted the player group I'd followed last week. They were one person short—probably dead, but I knew they weren't NPCs. Death in the game was just a respawn, so I shrugged and moved on. No time to cry for anyone.
When I stepped off the sticky, tar-like road onto the town's stone-paved sidewalks, about 15 minutes had passed. Reaching the main street, I noticed the crowd had visibly thinned. The first day's chaos—hundreds of players shouting, NPCs hawking quests, market stalls buzzing—had given way to a calmer hustle. There were still plenty of people: leather-armored adventurers, traders lugging huge bags, players sharpening swords in corners. But the wild crowd was gone. Most are probably level 15 by now, I thought. People without school lives, unlike us high schoolers, were glued to Galactic Game Online, leveling up. We were at a disadvantage, but I didn't care—my path, my pace.
At the town square, I ran into the guy who gave me the quest. Bearded, with a glint of a warrior in his eyes, the NPC stood behind a wooden stall. He wore a worn leather vest, faint tattoos on his arms. "Heeey, kid!" he shouted, letting out a hearty laugh. "Bit late, but you don't look weak!" His mood was so high that even nearby NPCs smiled at him. Caught up in his energy, I decided to butter him up. "Of course, sir!" I said, grinning. "You're as stylish as ever, not a hint of your warrior aura fading!" My words rang like an over-the-top theater scene. Two NPCs nearby raised their eyebrows in disgust—one crossed their arms, the other rolled their eyes. But the guy, pleased as punch, flashed a toothy grin. "Hah, I like you, kid!" he said, puffing out his chest.
Then he got serious, leaning on the stall. "Trouble? You're here, so something's up," he said, furrowing his brows slightly. I cut to the chase: "Yeah, I need to know where the sheriff is." He scratched his chin and pointed ahead. "That building over there, looks like a Soviet-era stone heap. Sheriff's in there." The NPCs beside him nodded in agreement, one lazily pointing at the same gray, blocky building. "Thanks!" I said, heading off with quick steps. The guy called after me, "Good luck, kid!" his laughter echoing across the square.
As I approached the sheriff's building, the town's dusty air gave way to the smell of stone and old paper. The building really did resemble Soviet architecture: rough gray stone walls, small windows, a rusty sign at the entrance. I pushed the door open and stepped into a dim lobby. It felt like an old bill-payment office—ticket machines, a few NPCs on plastic chairs, and, of course, old folks. A gray-haired man clutched a crumpled paper, waiting his turn; an auntie hugged her bag, muttering. Young people probably switched to autopay, I thought, chuckling. But the vibe was no different from real-world government offices—same dull, heavy air.
I walked to the counter. A woman with a milf hairstyle—short, voluminous, slightly wavy—stood there. Her white shirt had rolled-up sleeves, but her face screamed she hated all of humanity. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice sharp and weary. Her glare practically shouted, "Don't make work for me." Wow, I thought, this game is too real. They'd copied the shitty attitude of real-world clerks perfectly. Sitting all day scribbling papers, yet treating everyone like a criminal. It was unbearable, but if you had business, you had to suck it up. Taking a deep breath, I stayed calm and said, "I'm here to see the sheriff about the wolf hunt quest."
Without rolling her eyes—but looking like she wanted to—she handed me a number. "Go in when your number shows on the screen," she said, zero enthusiasm in her voice. She tapped her pen on the desk and turned back to her papers, dismissing me entirely. I took the number and slumped into one of the hard plastic chairs in the lobby. The screen ticked forward slowly—47, 48… Mine was 53. Great, we're waiting, I thought.
Sitting on the plastic chair, the wait in the sheriff's dim lobby dragged on with maddening slowness. The numbers on the screen—49, 50, 51—seemed to move lazily on purpose. Elderly NPCs grumbled around me, one clutching a crumpled paper tightly, another's bag nearly slipping from their lap. The milf-haired woman's pen-tapping at the counter was a rhythmic symphony of impatience. Finally, when "53" flashed in red on the screen, a "Finally!" ran through my mind. I sprang up, pushed open the door, and stepped into the sheriff's office.
The sight inside was nothing like I'd imagined. I expected a typical politician's office—polished wooden desk, flags, maybe a couple of fake award plaques. But this… was different. Worn maps on the walls, a rusty sword rack in the corner, a desk cluttered with papers and a half-drunk glass of beer. The sheriff was a total surprise. A massive scar ran from his right eye to his chin, splitting his face in two—like he'd danced with a monster's claw. The scar gave him a cool, weathered old warrior vibe. His hair was a mix of black and white strands, clearly just starting to gray. His body wasn't a muscle mountain, but the taut posture under his leather jacket screamed he was still in shape. I stared at him so long that a sly smile crept onto his face. "Sit, kid," he said, gesturing to the chair across his desk, his voice deep and gravelly.
"What's the problem, son?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. I got straight to the point: "Can you help me sell the wolf pelts from the hunt quest?" The sheriff nodded with a smile. "We'll take 'em gladly," he said, pulling a paper from his desk drawer and sliding it toward me. "This is the Nova Mercenary Community's entry form. Sign it, and you'll get a GalPhone and a badge. With the phone, you can see quests from afar and won't need to come here to sell pelts. Text, and cargo drones will pick up your load within an hour." I looked at the paper—official seals, fine print, typical contract vibes. Without hesitation, I grabbed the pen and signed. Instantly, a notification flashed in my vision:
[Community System Unlocked!]
Nova Mercenary Community [K-Level Mercenary] Locked.
"Hey, what's this rank system?" I asked, curiosity piqued. The sheriff leaned back in his chair, scratching his chin. "Simple, kid," he said. "You start at K: K, K+, K-+, K++, then F-, F+, F-+, F++. There's more above, but you'll need to rank up to get there." He grinned, as if he knew how long that marathon was. Ranks? I thought. Whatever, I'll just keep sharpening my sword. I liked the guy's chill vibe. "Thanks," I said, standing up. The sheriff grabbed something from his desk and said, "Welcome gift," handing me a badge and a small device resembling an asthma inhaler. "Quick Heal MK-1. From the heart," he said, winking. "Modern Kingdom tech, injects nanobots into your blood, mimics platelets at hyperspeed. Rare stuff, only sold in the mercenary unit." I took the device, its cold metal surface sliding in my hand. Not bad, I thought.
When I stashed the badge in my inventory, a hologram appeared:
[Quests]
[Delivery]
[Store]
The design was simple but functional—the game's minimalist aesthetic was everywhere. Curious, I clicked the Store tab. The list was long, but my access was limited:
Quick Heal MK-1: 10 N-PSG Quick Heal MK-2: 30 N-PSG Mercenary Class Transition Voucher: 5800 N-PSG Laser Beam MK-1: 100 N-PSG …
The list went on for pages, but I couldn't click most of it. K-Level grunts get what they get, I thought. Without doing quests, I couldn't earn N-PSG (Nova Currency), so I skipped the store and went back to Quests. Only two quests matched my rank: Wolf Hunt and Park Cleanup. Sweeping a park? No way. I picked Wolf Hunt without thinking. I'd earned 22 N-PSG selling pelts to the sheriff—my first cash in the mercenary unit. Instead of spending it, I decided to save. The system popped up a familiar notification:
[Quest Window]
Quest Name: Wolf Hunt
Quest Type: Hunting / Supply
Description: Hey buddy, what're you waiting for? You're already doing this quest, get lost!
Objective:
Hunt 20 'Small Wolves.'
Quest Details:Location: Wilds around the town (no exact coordinates, rely on local knowledge). Difficulty Level: Unranked (Small Wolves are fast and agile but usually roam alone). Recommended Equipment: Any class weapon. Delivery: Ship 20 wolf pelts via drones.
Reward: 20 N-PSG 5 Stat Points
The snarky tone in the description reflected the system's cheeky spirit. Get lost, huh? We'll see about that… I thought, chuckling. The stat points in the reward caught my eye. I'd have to go a long time without unlocking a class, so I decided to spend them. "Stat window," I thought, and a panel opened in my vision:
[Stats]
Health: 4 [+3]
Strength: 8[+20]
Endurance: 3 [+8]
Intelligence: 2 [+42]
Spirit: 1 [+0]
Charisma: +7 [+3]
Free Points: 55
System Note: Race essence required for locked stats. The system thinks your intelligence stat is incorrect!
Incorrect? My intelligence stat had shot up to 42—maybe from my human race, maybe my real-world knowledge. The wolf quest had given more points than expected; maybe it was tied to that crazy wolf pack fight last time. The stats were straightforward: Health for survival, Endurance for stamina, Intelligence for strategy and magic, Spirit seemed locked, Charisma for NPC chats. I didn't need Charisma, and dumping points into Health to tank damage wasn't my plan yet. Intelligence was already sky-high. I distributed the points:
20 Endurance 20 Strength 10 Intelligence 5 Health
My new stats:
[Stats]
Health: 9 [+3]
Strength: 28 [+20]
Endurance: 23 [+8]
Intelligence: 12 [+42]
Spirit: 1 [+0]
Charisma: +7 [+3]
Free Points: 0
I wanted to check my status one last time:
[Status]
User: Haoyu Chen
Physique: Basic Human Physique [Level: 1]
Bloodline: NONE
Affinity: Space and Time
Profession: NONE
Of course, nothing changes, I thought, a slight smile on my face. But my new stats felt like a surge of power in my veins. I drew my sword from its sheath, the steel's soft chime cutting the air. As I ran toward the wolf grounds, the dusty road crunched under my feet. This time, I was set on taking down five wolves at once.
Reaching the wilds outside the town, the sky was draped in an orange and purple twilight. The wolf grounds were a rocky plain—bushes rustled in the wind, howls echoed from distant hills. The air was thick with damp earth and a predatory scent. I gripped my sword with both hands, feeling my new strength stat pulsing in my muscles. My endurance made my steps light and steady. Come on, wolves, I thought, scanning the plain. This time, the show's mine.
Suddenly, a rustle rose from the bushes. Five small wolves emerged, their eyes glowing red, moving as a pack. Their gray, matted fur and gleaming teeth shone in the twilight. One stepped forward and howled, the others joining in—a war chant. My heart raced, but instead of fear, the familiar fire of adrenaline surged through me. I pointed my sword forward and—
The first wolf lunged from the right, its claws tearing at the ground. I swung my sword in a diagonal arc, my new strength stat making the steel slice like a storm. The wolf collapsed with a whimper, its blood splattering the dirt. But the other four didn't stop—two from the left, one from the front, the last from behind. Thanks to my endurance, I spun swiftly, swinging my sword low to slash the front wolf's chest. It fell, groaning, but the one behind leaped, teeth aimed at my shoulder. I ducked fast, raising my sword to pierce its belly; it flipped in the air and crashed to the ground.
The last two wolves were cautious, circling me, growling, looking for an opening. I was drenched in sweat and blood, but my endurance held strong—my breathing steady, muscles ready. Let's end this, I thought. I stabbed my sword into the ground, pausing, locking eyes with the wolves. The one on the right made its move; I yanked my sword free and spun like a ballerina, the steel's whistle slicing the wind as I severed the wolf's neck. The final wolf let out a desperate growl and lunged, but my intelligence stat kicked in—I predicted its move, sidestepped, and brought my sword down in an arc, landing the killing blow. The wolf crumpled into a heap on the ground.
The plain fell silent, only the wind's howl and my heavy breaths audible. Around me, five wolf corpses, blood-soaked earth, and red droplets dripping from my sword's tip. My chest swelled with pride—this was my cleanest fight yet. My new stats had turned me into a machine. The quest panel popped up:
[Quest Update]
5/20 Small Wolves hunted.
Rumors about you are spreading!
The mercenary unit entry from the last quest was an unlisted reward. This system was sneaky. I gathered the pelts and stored them in my inventory. Fifteen wolves left, I thought, pressing on to complete the quest…