"Blacksmithing? It's been a while since I've heard that. Crafting weapons the old-fashioned way," Jon muttered, flipping open the first page of the book, its dusty cover creaking slightly. Intrigue flickered in his eyes as he scanned the contents.
Blacksmithing had become a forgotten craft, buried beneath layers of modern innovation. With AI-driven factories and military-grade weapon printers, the ancient forge was a relic. Yet here, in this strange new world ruled by status screens and survival, it suddenly felt... relevant.
He leaned back, fingers running over the rough edge of the page. "There are so many unranked weapons scattered around... and probably more to come." His eyes narrowed with a spark of curiosity.
"Wouldn't it be great to forge my own gear?" he thought aloud, closing the book with a quiet thud and slipping it into his bag.
"Alright, let's look at this properly." He raised his hand slightly and called out, "Status."
[STATUS]
[NAME: JON WHYTE]
[AGE: 19]
[LEVEL: 9]
[CLASS: NONE]
[TITLE: NONE]
[STRENGTH: 30 | AGILITY: 28(+6) | STAMINA: 38(+7) | MANA: 300 | HEALTH: 30]
[SKILLS: INSTANT CALCULATION (FIRST REALM) Lv.5, MOON (FIRST REALM) Lv.5]
[PASSIVE SKILLS: COMPOSURE (THIRD REALM) Lv.5, SOLDIER'S PHYSIQUE (EVOLVABLE)]
[STATUS POINTS: 24]
He stared at the screen, slightly dazed. "So... name, age, level, classic. And is this what I think it is?" He chuckled under his breath, nostalgia tugging at him. He'd devoured enough light novels in high school to recognize this setup.
"Class... Like a job system—healer, summoner, swordsman..." He whistled low. "Wild. A system, in real life. Still feels like a fever dream."
Then his gaze moved to the next field.
"Title... Hmm. I guess it's tied to achievements. Just like in the books." He smirked. "Imagine getting a title like 'Destruction.' That'd be something."
His attention slid to his stats. Strength: 30.
"Wait, what? It was 20 not long ago..." His eyes narrowed. Then he remembered.
"Soldier's Physique, that skill must've boosted my stats." His confusion melted into a pleased grin. The rush of battle knowledge, the body restructuring. It had changed him more than he realized.
He recalled his first look at his status. Everything had hovered around 5, the baseline. Now, with this perspective, he understood: 10 was average, 15–20 was elite athlete territory. But 30? That was superhuman.
"So, I'm now faster than Olympic sprinters, stronger than pro fighters... and it's just the beginning."
The thought made him pause.
"Leveling up from killing zombies... gaining skills like Soldier's Physique. This isn't just survival, it's progression." A slow grin formed. "Feels like cheating, but hey, in a world like this? Cheat all you want."
He considered his stats again.
"So, strength should be like power induced in my attacks, right? Then agility is speed and maneuvering ability, stamina is how long I can last..." He subconsciously looked around after saying the last part and sighed in relief upon seeing no one.
He held out his hand.
A soft, whitish glow shimmered over his palm—a whisper of power. That was mana. However, that was all he could do for now, and activate his skills with it.
'This mana is really interesting.' his head began spinning on ways to use it; however, he was still very limited, and the reason for that is another story for later.
Health was straightforward—if it hit zero, game over.
He noticed Agility lagging behind slightly. "Let's balance it." He focused on his Status.
"Add 2 points to Agility."
A soft rush flooded his limbs.
He instantly felt lighter, sharper. "That's... really something."
Then he moved on to his skills.
They were divided into passive and just skills, which would make them 'active' skills.
'So, passive work on their own most of the time, and the skill is meant to be activated.' He nodded in understanding as he moved on to his skills themselves.
He now had time to check their description as well. However, if there was one thing he knew, it was that the descriptions were too vague.
It just gave him the basic use and left him to the rest, and they were like he saw immediately he got the skills, so he didn't waste time on them.
Done with his self-check, he let out a long exhale and sank into bed, letting the weight of everything crash over him. An hour had passed, filled with revelations. But now, as the silence settled in, his thoughts turned elsewhere.
His parents.
He hadn't brought his phone to the stadium. No way to call. His father's last message kept echoing in his mind: a warning, a whisper laced with urgency.
"Meet us soon."
Was it hope? Or something crueler? A part of him wondered if they'd truly left him behind.
The truth was, their bond had shattered years ago. At sixteen, the warmth disappeared. By eighteen, they were strangers who shared a roof only in passing.
And yet... part of him still cared.
A sigh escaped him.
Perhaps it was the weight of the recent restructuring, or maybe another effect of his composure skill, but a sudden wave of exhaustion hit him.
As his eyes were closing, a girl flashed in his memory, and he wanted to mutter out her name, but he drifted away.
...
IN SPACE, ABOVE EARTH
A place humans could not survive without protection and preventive measures was now a stepping ground for a pair of individuals who defied that rule, using it to take a view. The couple floated, gazing at Earth below, a view reserved for the extremely wealthy or those lucky enough to journey into space.
And even then, most saw it through the safety of reinforced glass. But not this couple. They stood, unshielded and unprotected, watching the planet in all its splendor.
Silence.
No suits. No helmets. Just them, alone against the stars.
"Are you sure?" the woman asked, voice cracking with emotion. Her eyes shimmered with tears, her presence held together by will.
"Yes." The man's reply was resolute, but his clenched fists betrayed his pain. "Let's go."
She gave a slow nod... and vanished.
The man remained, staring at Earth with eyes full of storms. Five minutes passed.
Then he disappeared too.
Only a single tear drifted where they'd stood, trapped in the void.
...
BACK IN THE FEMALE'S DORM, ONE HOUR LATER
Jon's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, the room blurred. Then the memory hit—the status, the system, the chaos.
He washed his face, grabbed his spear, and headed downstairs.
In the lobby, Jenny stood waiting. But she wasn't alone.
Cream-colored hair. Green eyes. A figure that turned heads without trying, Cynthia.
Jenny, chatting with her, didn't notice Jon's approach. However, Cynthia did as their eyes met. Just two seconds—but something lingered in that glance.
Jenny turned. "Hey, are you—whoa!"
Jon blinked in confusion. "What?"
"You look... taller."
He glanced down. She was right.
Just hours ago, he'd stood at 5'10". Now, easily 6 feet.
"Whoa. I didn't even notice," he said, stretching slightly. "Guess that's what soldier restructuring does."
Not much time to process it. In this world, you didn't dwell on changes. You adapted—or you died.
"So... we heading out?" he asked.
Jenny nodded. "Yeah. But, she wants to come too." She nodded toward Cynthia. "I figured it was better to bring her than argue."
Cynthia met Jon's gaze, her expression clear: Even if you say no, I'm still coming.
He sighed, resigned. "Alright."
They approached the dorm's exit. Three security officers stood watch.
"You sure you want to go out there?" one asked, concern etched on his face.
Jon and the others exchanged a glance. Their passive skills hummed beneath their skin, keeping fear at bay.
They nodded.
The doors opened.
The night was darker than usual. Too dark. No wind. No sounds. Even the flickering streetlights seemed muted under the weight of silence.
Zombies were expected. But none greeted them.
They stepped into the gloom.
Jon felt it, power. He was stronger now. If that monster from earlier appeared again, he was confident it wouldn't last more than a few clashes.
Trying to ease the tension, he looked at Cynthia. "Nice to meet you."
"You too, Jon," she said smoothly. Then added, "We might find some behind the hostels."
Jenny nodded. "Sounds good."
"Yeah," Jon agreed.
There was certainty in Cynthia's voice, like she already knew what lay ahead.
And with that, the trio vanished into the night.