"Damian Vale?"
"Yes, that's me."
Branwick Safe Zone. Branwick First Private Hospital.
Ophthalmology Department.
"So, can you describe your symptoms for me again?"
The doctor glanced at the test results in his hand, then turned slightly, his gaze sweeping over the teenage boy who had just sat down in front of him.
His hair was a messy shade of dark ink, slightly covering his eyebrows. Not exactly conventionally handsome, but there was something oddly magnetic about his presence.
Right now, though, the boy looked utterly exhausted. Heavy dark circles under his eyes made him look like someone who had just stumbled out of bed after… well, something intense.
Are you sure you're in the right department?
But more pressing…
"Excuse me, but smoking isn't allowed in here," the doctor said, pointing at the cigarette in the boy's mouth.
"Oh, my bad, doc." Damian Vale bit down on the slender yellow-and-white stick and chewed it to bits. "It's just candy. No need to panic."
"…"
After a pause, Damian finally said, "Lately, my eyes have been acting up. Sometimes everything I see gets covered in this weird red tint. One blink and it's gone. Blink again, and it's back. Also, whenever I look at anything black—especially shadows—I get this strange, indescribable feeling."
"How long has this been happening?" the doctor asked.
"About three months, give or take. It wasn't this bad at the start." Damian's tone was a little off. His eyes weren't looking at the doctor but just above his head—several centimeters higher.
Something seemed to be forming there in his vision.
A deep crimson blur was condensing. It rolled and writhed, like a loading bar charging up. The red formed a long strip, and near the middle, light particles began to gather, shaping into… a number?
Three months ago, while organizing his bookshelf, a white-covered book had fallen and smacked him right in the eye. There'd been a sharp pain—and then… everything started to change.
Since then, his vision began to mutate.
At first, it was just faint lines above people and animals. Then came colors. Then more lines. More details. Now…
Well, there was also something he hadn't mentioned yet.
Whenever he looked toward a shadow, he always felt like there was something—like a writhing black mist—moving inside it.
Was he haunted?
Just in case, he'd also booked an appointment with the Contamination Department.
Damian blinked.
The crimson strip above the doctor's head sharpened, its shape becoming more precise, and the number in the center began to clarify.
What the hell is that?!
Damian's pupils contracted sharply, a cold shiver running through his entire body. He trembled.
"What's wrong?"
The doctor followed his line of sight upward.
Realizing he was being too obvious, Damian quickly said, "Sorry. I think I'm a little nearsighted."
The red strip stabilized above the doctor's head—a rectangular bar with a segment in red. Right in the center, it read: 18%.
Its form and look… it resembled a health bar straight out of a video game.
Or maybe… a battery icon on a phone?
Damian studied the doctor more closely.
Large surgical mask, wrinkles near the eyes, half-gray hair, and surprisingly sharp, energetic eyes.
If that really was a health bar, then 18% probably meant the guy didn't have long to live.
"You drink?"
"Right now?"
"…??" The doctor stared, confused.
"Sorry, I spaced out," Damian coughed lightly.
"Having trouble focusing? You—ugh, never mind. Just open your eyes. Let me take a look."
The doctor stood up and pulled out a small flashlight—or maybe it was a laser pen. Either way, it flicked on with a beam of white light.
"Look left."
"Look right."
"…"
After the examination, the doctor returned to his seat.
"Nothing serious. All the results look fine. Mild conjunctivitis. I'll prescribe some eye drops. Use them for two weeks."
"Got it."
After thanking the doctor, Damian turned and left the examination room.
Pushing open the door, he drew in a long, cool breath.
Doctors, nurses, patients, even passersby…
[68%]… [75%]… [57%]
Dozens—no, hundreds—of health bars appeared above people's heads.
"Excuse me, coming through."
A middle-aged man clutching his left eye approached, blood visibly seeping through his fingers.
Despite the injury, his health bar read a solid [81%].
As Damian walked through the corridor, he observed everything. The more he saw, the more convinced he became: those bars and numbers really were health bars.
In the surgical wing, patients with broken bones had generally lower HP. In internal medicine, it varied—some looked fine but had alarmingly low bars.
Overall, unless someone was in a wheelchair or on a stretcher, it was rare for a health bar to dip below 40%.
What was going on with the ophthalmologist?
Forget it. He's a doctor—he probably knows already.
Damian looked down at the payment slip in his hand. After a brief pause, he stuffed it into his jacket.
Why bother treating anything now?
This had to be a system power. A cheat.
He could see health bars?
But what was the point of that?
Lost in thought, Damian drifted toward the hospital exit.
"Aberrant activity has been detected during nighttime hours. If you encounter anything unusual, please contact The Dawnhall immediately. For your safety, avoid going out after dark."
The hallway's overhead screens played a loop of public service announcements.
"To ensure the safety of all citizens, The Dawnhall is launching a new recruitment drive for nighttime patrol units."
"It's been one hundred years since the Cataclysm. We've established strongholds across the nation. The Aberrants are in retreat. The future belongs to Veylund."
"Thanks to our collective efforts, the economy is booming. Our cities are safer than ever before."
A hundred years ago, an abyssal rift tore open over the continent of Noctherra. Terrifying, monstrous Aberrants emerged, ravaging the land and trampling over everything in their path.
After a century of brutal war, the nation of Veylund established a series of impregnable Tier One Safe Zones, along with many Tier Two and Tier Three Zones.
Branwick was one of the Tier Twos.
It had been nearly a year since Damian crossed over into this world. Gradually, he was adjusting to life in a place where supernatural powers were real.
In fact, he considered himself lucky.
At least the world had calmed down. If he'd arrived during the chaos of the early years, ten or twenty years after the Cataclysm… he'd never have survived.
A stable city. Food, shelter, safety.
That was a kind of happiness too.
Damian let out a long sigh, popped a candy cigarette into his mouth, and stepped out of the hospital.
Time to go home. Rest up. Maybe figure out what the hell this health bar stuff meant.
He tightened his jacket and bent down to tie his shoelace.
The weather felt unusually gloomy today—a little damp, a little cold.
He finished tying the lace with a neat little bow and slowly stood upright—then froze.
Icy dread crept through his body like black water, starting from his chest and crawling down his limbs until his hands and feet went numb.
His eyes widened.
The street ahead was completely empty.
The buildings around him had turned to shades of black and gray, like the world had been stripped of color.
Broken windows, rotting streetlamps, lifeless trees.
Strange creatures, each the size of a car, climbed and leapt across the buildings. Their limbs were unnaturally long, their muscles twitching like coiled springs.
Another grotesque beast, bloated like a waterlogged corpse, squirmed across the street in a macabre, twisted dance.
Others appeared like smoke, their forms shifting and flickering at the edges of his vision.
Damian's vision zoomed out—again, and again.
Dozens of monstrous shapes wandered the streets, rooftops, and alleys.
Soldiers in black-and-red combat suits darted through the chaos, blades flashing, cutting down aberrant horrors.
Damian struggled to breathe.
He looked up.
Suspended in the sky above was a vast starfield—except in its center burned a dark, blood-tinged sun.
Above that sun, a single, long red bar hovered.
"If what I'm seeing is real… then we've got a serious problem. What the hell is this?"
His fingers trembled. He crushed the candy stick in his teeth.
Suddenly, the world of black and gray washed away like a tide receding—like it had never existed at all.
Life returned to the world.
Voices, movement, colors—
Pedestrians, swaying trees, honking cars.
Everything felt… alive again.
Damian looked around in a daze.
"Careful, Grandpa! Watch your step…"
"Yo bro, need any stamina boosters? Legit stuff—goes for fifty grand on the market, I'll sell it for ten. You'll be a beast all night!"
"Mommy, that weird uncle is just standing there. Why's he so weird?"
Damian opened his mouth to speak—then closed it again. He didn't know what to say.
His eyes flicked from face to face until they landed on the hospital's external screen.
"Year 100 of the Cataclysm. The Dawnhall remains the steadfast shield of our people. Our world grows stronger. Our cities are safer than ever."
Damian looked up again.
A gentle yellow sun hung in the starry sky—warm and radiant.
Above it, a long red bar hovered.
Yes.
Our city… is perfectly safe.
At least, he hoped everything he saw was just a hallucination.