Arga stared blankly at the glowing screen, fingers tapping absentmindedly on his keyboard. The clock on his wall blinked 01:12 AM. A school night, not that it mattered to him anymore.
"One more match," he muttered.
His room was dim except for the LED glow of his custom-built PC. Posters of military games and anime girls lined the wall, and a half-eaten instant noodle cup sat beside his mousepad. Outside, rain tapped against the window in a steady rhythm.
Point Blank – Login Successful
The loading screen flickered. He adjusted his headset, cracked his knuckles, and leaned in. This was his world. Here, he wasn't some quiet, average student who got ignored in class. Here, he was 'Ryger_21', a name feared in sniper duels and bomb missions.
Headshot. Double kill. He grinned.
In the real world, people talked about grades, universities, and future careers. Arga talked about KD ratios and weapon skins. He used to want to be a soldier — until his parents shut that dream down. "Too dangerous," they said. "Unrealistic." So he found his own battlefield.
The match ended. Victory. MVP. As always.
He leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh. But just as he reached for his drink, the screen flashed—white. Blinding.
"What the—?"
A sharp ringing filled his ears. The room vanished. His chair, his desk, his walls—gone. All that remained was the sensation of falling. His heart pounded. His body froze.
Then… impact.
Hard ground. Dust. A humid, metallic scent filled his nose. Shouts echoed nearby—military commands, gunfire, boots pounding concrete.
Arga opened his eyes.
He wasn't in his room anymore.
He was holding a real rifle.
He was wearing a tactical vest.
And a bullet just hit the wall next to his head.