The apartment door creaked open.
Lee Gun-Woo stepped in slowly, eyes scanning the room he hadn't seen in over a week. It was supposed to feel like home—like safety.
Instead, it looked like a storm had passed through.
Pillows scattered on the floor, the couch cushions lopsided, a hoodie hanging off the dining chair, and a half-finished instant noodle cup on the table. His shoes crunched on something—a broken plastic spoon.
"…What happened in here?" he asked.
Ji-Ah stepped in behind him, arms crossed over her chest as she looked around with a faint sigh.
"I've been in the hospital with you for the past week," she said. "Didn't really come home at all."
Gun-Woo raised a brow. "At all?"
"Nope. Slept on that damn visitor chair until my back turned into stone."
Gun-Woo gave a faint smirk but didn't push it. Instead, he dropped his hospital-issued bag beside the couch and started picking things up. Ji-Ah joined him, moving on autopilot—folding blankets, tossing wrappers, wiping the counter.
A few minutes later, Gun-Woo found an old wooden frame on the shelf.
Dust clung to its edges.
He wiped it clean with his sleeve, then walked over to the wall near the TV. He looked at the empty hook. The one they never got around to using.
A quiet moment passed as he gently hung the frame.
In the picture, their father stood with his arm around their mother, both smiling like they had no idea what the future held. Gun-Woo was just a boy back then. Ji-Ah barely tall enough to reach their mother's waist.
"I still miss them, you know," Ji-Ah said softly.
Gun-Woo turned. She was standing by the kitchen counter now, arms hugging herself, her expression unreadable.
"Me too," he said.
"I just…" she exhaled. "I wish they never left. If they were still here, maybe things would be easier. We could've been a normal family. No dungeons. No danger. Just—just school and birthdays and arguing over dinner."
Her voice cracked near the end.
Gun-Woo walked over to her and placed a hand on her head.
"Hey," he said. "I'm still here."
Ji-Ah looked up at him with watery eyes.
"I know," she said. "But sometimes I think… how long until I lose you too?"
Gun-Woo's throat tightened.
"You won't," he said. "I promise."
"You can't promise that. Not when you keep sneaking into gates like some idiot."
He didn't deny it.
She sniffled and stepped back, wiping her face with her sleeve. "I know you don't like guilds, and you think most of them are trash, but… for your own safety, maybe you should at least join one. Even a small one. Just to have backup."
Gun-Woo let out a breath. "I'll be fine."
"Gun-Woo—"
"Nothing's going to happen to me again."
There was steel in his voice. Not arrogance. Not recklessness.
Conviction.
Ji-Ah stared at him for a second, then rolled her eyes.
"You're impossible," she said, turning to head toward the kitchen. "Anyway, I'm making something edible. You're banned from touching the stove."
"Noted," Gun-Woo said with a chuckle.
He watched her disappear into the kitchen, the smell of ramen packets already starting to fill the air.
His smile faded a little as he looked back at the photo frame on the wall.
His world had collapsed once. Then again. And again.
Now, Ji-Ah was all he had left.
And if this system—this "Player" thing—was real…
Then it was time to build something new.
For her.
Because if she was the last part of his family still breathing, then protecting her wasn't just a responsibility.
It was his reason to exist.
He sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. A familiar jingle echoed as the news feed kicked in.
—"Welcome to RaidWatch: Korea's Top Raiding News Network, bringing you real-time updates from the world of gates, guilds, and glory!"
Gun-Woo leaned back, watching without really watching.
The screen cut to the anchor—a young woman with sharp eyeliner and an even sharper voice.
"In the past twelve months, the global appearance rate of gates has skyrocketed by over 34%. And here in South Korea alone, 48 new gates opened this past week. Of those, 19 were rated Class C and above."
Gun-Woo's jaw clenched slightly.
"And with the increasing randomness of gate formations," she continued, "the public is reminded to remain alert. Gates can now open anywhere—markets, schools, highways. If a gate appears and no raiders are in sight, civilians are advised to evacuate immediately and prepare to defend themselves if necessary."
Gun-Woo exhaled.
So even normal people had to be ready now. Just in case.
"Meanwhile, in entertainment news—"
The screen cut to a flashy montage of raid clips. Explosions. Lightning. A man leaping from a cliff and slicing a stone beast clean in half.
The name at the bottom read:
[S-Rank Raider: Kang Jin-Ho]
The anchor's voice rose with excitement.
"Kang Jin-Ho's latest stream on RaidXStream crossed 500,000 live viewers in just under four hours, making it the second most viewed raid broadcast in Korea! Analysts predict he may overtake current record-holder Park Jae-Hyuk in the coming month."
Clips rolled of fans screaming, sponsors cheering, brand logos flashing on screen like it was a sports event.
The screen cut back to the anchor, all teeth and polish.
"That's all from us tonight. Stay sharp, stay safe, and stay tuned—because in today's world, anything can become a dungeon."
The screen faded to black.
Gun-Woo sat there in silence.
He remembered the screams in that trap dungeon. The dying. The chaos. The blood.
And while he bled out trying to hold back monsters, half a million people were watching some polished S-Class celebrity slice through orcs with branded gear.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"…That's the perk of being popular, I guess," he muttered.
But he didn't say it with jealousy.
He said it with hunger.
Because the world wanted stars.
It wanted gods in armor.
And Gun-Woo? He had been in the dirt, gasping for air, while the world cheered for someone else.
That was fine.
They didn't know him now.
But they would.
—
It was already night.
The apartment, once chaotic and scattered, now finally looked like a home again. Clean floors, folded blankets, framed pictures on the wall—it had been a long week, but something about the air tonight felt… calm.
Gun-Woo leaned against the couch, arms crossed as he watched the last flickers of the TV fade to black. The only light now came from the kitchen—warm, golden, and flickering just enough to make the silence feel alive.
Ji-Ah walked in from the kitchen, holding a steaming bowl.
"Made you something," she said, placing it on the coffee table. "It's nothing fancy. Just ramen with eggs and frozen dumplings."
"Looks like a feast," Gun-Woo said, smiling up at her.
She yawned, stretching her arms overhead. "I'm gonna sleep before I collapse. You should too. You're not exactly in shape to stay up."
Gun-Woo nodded. "I'll join you in a bit."
She looked at him for a second longer, as if making sure he really was okay. Then she disappeared into the hallway, her bedroom door clicking shut behind her.
Gun-Woo sat there, alone again.
For the first time since waking up, everything was quiet. No monitors beeping. No hunters talking. No reporters shouting on TV.
Just him.
And the system.
He exhaled, then leaned forward slightly.
"All right," he said. "Tell me more."
The room didn't change, but something did shift. A sound—like a distant hum—settled in his ears, and the air in front of him shimmered.
Then—
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
You have been recognized.
As a human granted a Game-Type Interface, you are classified as: Player.
[Your assigned class: Attack Raider
Status: Active]
[Though you are not a true 'Player' in system-origin terms, your mental structure is compatible with Player traits.]
[Dungeon completion will reward you with.]
• Experience
• Skills (Passive / Active)
• Equipment
• Class Evolution Potential
[You have been chosen for adaptation. Not destiny.]
[Survival will require strength.
And strength will require raids.]
[All you have to do…
is Raid.]
Gun-Woo stared at the glowing blue text hovering in the air. It wasn't just some game pop-up. It wasn't flashy or overdone.
It was cold. Precise. Real.
And it made his heart pound.
He leaned back on the couch, watching as more panels flickered open.
[Class: Attack Raider]
Role: Frontline damage-dealer.
Traits: Adaptable. Aggressive. High-risk, high-reward.
Stat Scaling: Strength + Dexterity priority.
[Current Status:]
Attack Power – 0%
Skills – None
Equipment – None
Tips:
→ Complete dungeons to earn skill unlocks.
→ Clear rating affects quality of rewards.
→ Higher difficulty = higher return.
He narrowed his eyes, reading every word carefully.
"Attack Raider, huh…"
It wasn't a surprise. He'd always been a brawler, even in school—never one to sit back and throw spells or strategize from the rear. He was made for this kind of role. Direct. Raw. Violent.
"And I get rewards just for clearing dungeons?" he muttered.
[Confirmed]
Performance-based rewards will be granted upon each successful raid.
You may receive:
• Attribute Increases
• Skill Drops
• Unique Items
• Class Mutation Paths
Stat growth is nonlinear.
Play smart.
Raid harder.
Gun-Woo chuckled.
It was stupid. Insane, even.
He almost died. He wasn't even supposed to be in that gate. The logical thing to do was forget about all of this. Get a job. Lay low. Let the world burn and just live quietly with Ji-Ah.
But…
The warmth in his chest said otherwise.
He remembered the fight. Not the fear. Not the pain. But the rush. The fire. The clarity of standing between death and the people trying to survive it.
The moment he picked up that mana-resistant blade and charged in…
He felt alive.
"Raid, huh…" he whispered.
He sat up straighter, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. The light from the system panel flickered across his face, washing out everything else.
He smiled to himself.
"How about we start tomorrow, system?"
The panels blinked once.
Then vanished.
And in the silence that followed, Gun-Woo sat there in the dark, the ramen on the table now growing cold. But he didn't care.
There was only one thought in his mind.
This wasn't the end.
It was the beginning of something.
Something bigger.
Something worth fighting for.
—