[Would you like to live a new life in another world?]
[Yes?] [No?]
[Time remaining: 5:00]
The question echoed like a metallic whisper in his ears—distorted, as if it came from within his own mind.
—Great... Now I'm hearing voices — muttered Xiao Yang, with the automatic sarcasm of someone who'd long since passed the point of emotional exhaustion.
He stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his jeans, and let out a long, almost cynical sigh.
—I should head home... If I still have one — he mumbled.
The city lights blinked in the distance, indifferent. On Xiao Yang's dirty, tear-streaked face, the tears came uninvited. There was nothing left to hold back. No strength. No pride.
—Cheated on... Fired... Kicked out of college... Congratulations, champ... — his voice broke between a forced smile and a stifled sob.
—Abandoned by my family... Of course. What a lovely day...
The irony in his voice was weak, wounded. And with each step, his thoughts pulled him deeper.
Without realizing it, he was already on the bridge. The bottle slipped from his sweaty hand. He hurled it away —
—Shit! — he yelled, more to himself than to the world, hoping the echo would carry away a little of the pain.
The water flowed below, silent and indifferent, like the cloudy sky above. The moon's reflection trembled in the current, distorted — like him.
Alone. No one. No home. No future.
His hands gripped the cold railing. The metal bit into his fingers, but he didn't pull away. He just looked down, weighing the silence.
And then, again —
The voice.
[Would you like to live a new life in another world?]
[Yes?] [No?]
[Time remaining: 1:03]
This time, it wasn't just sound. It was image. A translucent window appeared before his eyes, suspended in the air like a digital mirage.
Xiao Yang didn't move for a few seconds. The screen hovered, insistent.
—Is this... real...? — he murmured, voice trembling.
Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe not. But at that moment, any escape would do. Any promise of getting away was better than this pain.
He raised his hand, slowly, hesitantly. His finger hovered over "Yes."
He paused.
And laughed. A weak, disbelieving laugh.
—Idiot... Of course this is just my imagination...
His finger didn't press anything. The image remained. He turned and began to walk, shaking his head, lost in his own steps.
[Analyzing complete response!]
[Initiating soul transmigration process between worlds!]
[4... 3...]
—Must be the booze... Has to be. I'm too drunk to see this crap... — he slurred.
[2... 1...]
[Soul extraction initiated!]
Something shifted.
He stopped. A chill crept up his spine. His steps faltered.
He looked down.
—What the...?
There, sprawled on the dirty sidewalk, lay a body.
The body of a young man, maybe in his early twenties. Short black hair, carefully combed to the left, as if still trying to maintain some semblance of appearance — even in that miserable state.
Brown shirt. Dark jeans. White sneakers stained with dirt.
He knew that face.
—Wait a second... That's... me?!
His throat tightened.
His heart raced.
His mind refused to accept it, but his eyes confirmed it. It was him. His own body — collapsed, lifeless, discarded like everything he'd once been.
And then, a final message flashed:
[Soul transmigration initiated!]
—What the—?! Uoooo—!
Before he could finish the thought, he felt himself being pulled.
No rope, no wind. Just something invisible and absolute, a force that gave no choice. His entire being was yanked backward, like the world itself had become a collapsing vacuum.
Light.
A white flash swallowed everything. Then silence.
And then —
Only darkness.
—Hello?! Is anyone there?! — Xiao Yang's voice echoed into the void, swallowed by absolute silence.
No answer.
No light, no sound. No sensation to prove the world around him still existed — or that *he* still existed.
—Hello?! — he called again, louder this time, higher-pitched, more desperate.
Only silence replied.
He was alone. Floating in a thick, impenetrable darkness, so complete he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. There was no direction. No time. Only... absence.
Xiao Yang knelt in the air — or on whatever was passing for the ground — and curled into himself, arms around his legs, face buried in his knees.
Maybe if he could ignore the darkness outside, he could quiet the one inside, too.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that.
Minutes? Hours? Days?
Time didn't exist there. Neither did his body. Only his mind — and the fear.
Was this the price? An eternity without light, in exchange for the chance to escape a failed life?
But even darkness, when it lingers too long, becomes unbearable. And so, with a weariness deeper than sleep, he finally raised his head.
He blinked several times, as if his eyes might hurt after being shut for so long. But they didn't.
Pain belonged to those who still had bodies.
And then — a light.
Faint. Pale. But real.
—No... You've got to be kidding me! — Xiao Yang exclaimed, surprised, almost laughing, almost crying. — After all that, this is it?
The beam didn't come from the sun, nor from some divine salvation. It was artificial, translucent. And it came from a floating window in front of him.
Two glowing lines pulsed on the ethereal surface:
[Welcome to the path toward another world]
[To reach your true destiny, you must choose your system path, a body, and a name by which you wish to be known]
—A body and a name...? — he muttered, frowning.
The scene felt too familiar. Floating windows, starting choices... It was just like an RPG tutorial. Or those Korean and Chinese transmigration novels. He'd read stories like this before.
—So what is this...? Am I... making a character? — he asked out loud, suspicious.
[Negative!]
[This choice is offered because I assumed you would prefer to leave behind the name and face of your previous life]
The answer wasn't just text. It came as a voice — female, clear, soft, almost gentle... but artificial.
Xiao Yang jumped back in surprise.
—W-what...? Who are you?! Or rather... what are you?!
He tried to back away, scrambling in the air like a cornered animal. But there was nowhere to flee. No ground, no walls, no "elsewhere."
When he looked down, he realized there was nothing beneath him. Just more darkness. Always darkness.
The window floated in front of him, unmoving — as if it were tethered to him.
Or he, to it.
Instinctively, he tried to fly, or run, or throw himself away — anything to escape that presence.
It didn't work.
No matter how he moved, the window followed. Maybe it wasn't moving at all, and he was just going in circles. Or maybe — deep down — he already knew it was pointless. There were no normal rules here. Only the system.
—Damn it! STOP FOLLOWING ME! — he shouted, but his voice echoed back only to him.
The same feminine voice spoke again, serene:
[I am the system of *****…]
The sentence didn't finish.
The moment it tried to pronounce that name, pain struck.
Xiao Yang gasped.
It was as if his very soul were being twisted — something was crushing him from the inside, point by point, until nothing remained but ashes trembling in the dark.
[Error!]
[System path not yet chosen!]
The pain stopped.
But its echo still throbbed inside his chest.
He didn't understand. Not yet.
But one thing was clear — choices mattered.
And he couldn't stay in this limbo forever.
After trying — and failing — to escape the system's persistent presence, Xiao Yang finally stopped.
There was no way out. That thing — whatever it was — would find him no matter where he went.
Or rather... he had never moved at all. It was the system that surrounded him.
The window lit up again before his eyes:
[There are two paths the system may follow!]
[The Path of the Hero!]
[Those who choose this path will face many hardships at the start of their journey. But in time, they will become the most powerful among all, for their actions must always save those in danger — even at the cost of their own life.]
[The other is the Path of the Anti-Hero!]
[They too will face trials early on, but those trials will shape someone who follows their own moral compass. Like the hero, the anti-hero will soon become the most powerful among all. The difference? They only have to save the ones they choose — enjoying total freedom over their actions.]
[Choose your path.]
Xiao Yang read everything in silence, brows furrowed.
—They both sound awful... — he muttered. — But I choose the anti-hero. I won't be controlled anymore. Not if I have a choice.
The answer wasn't calculated. It was instinct. A spark buried deep, long ago.
All his life, Xiao Yang had been controlled — shaped by force, suffocated by expectations that were never his.
As a child, he wasn't allowed to play like other kids. No running. No shouting. No loud laughter.
He had to study. Always study.
The dream was never his — it was his parents'. A son who would become a doctor. Someone prestigious.
Him? Just a pawn in their game.
His first silent rebellion came in secret, on a random night. Instead of studying, he read his first fantasy story, hidden under the covers, screen dimmed.
In that imagined world, the protagonist was free. Strong. Able to choose his own destiny with his own hands.
Something Xiao Yang had never known.
But that freedom didn't last.
When his parents found out he was "wasting time" on such things, they confiscated the phone. And punished him —
With enough violence to leave him lying there for hours, pain throbbing through every inch of his body.
From that moment on, every time he touched a computer or a phone, he felt eyes watching.
Waiting for one misstep.
So the punishment could return.
They called it education.
He called it a prison.
And even when he grew up — even as an adult — he kept obeying.
Kept saying "yes" to everything.
To his parents.
To his girlfriend.
To the university he never wanted.
To the life that had never been his.
But deep down...
Deep down, all he could think was:
I hate them.
I hate them.
I hate them.
Every time he saw their faces, rage boiled behind his tired eyes. A silent rage, smothered by years of obedience and pain.
So when the choice appeared... there was no hesitation.
Every time Xiao Yang's parents raised their hands against him — and it happened more often than he could count — something inside him cracked. And with each invisible fracture, hatred grew. Quietly. Like poisoned roots spreading through his entire being.
But what could he do? He was just a child. And children have no voice.
If he tried to tell someone, who would believe him?
To others, it was easier to assume he was just another "troubled kid who got what he deserved."
Over time, the punishments stopped being just slaps or shouts. They became carefully crafted acts of cruelty.
One winter night, his parents left him outside the house until 1:30 in the morning. He wore only a thin shirt and a pair of light pants. No jacket. No blanket.
Just the wind, slicing into his skin like blades.
That night, Xiao Yang collapsed on the sidewalk in front of his own home.
He woke up in the hospital.
His entire body ached. His skin, his bones — even his toes trembled.
But in the middle of all that agony, he saw something... different.
—Hello, sweetheart... Are you okay? — asked a gentle voice.
The nurse was smiling. And it was a real smile. Warm. Innocent.
Xiao Yang had never seen something like that directed at him.
He tried to move — and pain threw him back onto the mattress. He gasped.
—W-where... am I...? — his voice came out dry, broken.
—Shh… Don't push yourself. You're safe now. You're in the hospital — the nurse replied, with a calm that felt like magic.
She ran her fingers gently through his messy hair, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
And for the first time in a very long time, Xiao Yang fell asleep in peace.
---
He woke to another voice. Familiar. Hateful.
—So... we can take him home now, doctor? — his mother asked, her tone forced. The concern in her voice sounded like a badly rehearsed play.
—But... what if he collapses again? — added his father, the same fake act in place.
Xiao Yang's hands clenched the sheets. Teeth gritted. Stomach turning.
Hypocrites.
The urge to scream, to get up and expose everything, was almost unbearable.
But he knew what would happen if he did.
So, he took a deep breath.
—Dad...? Mom...? Where am I...? — he asked, voice trembling, forcing a layer of innocence that no longer existed.
His mother stepped closer with a fake smile and ran her hand through his hair like the nurse had done —
Only now, the gesture felt dirty.
—It's okay, my son. We'll be going home soon — she said, sugary sweet.
—That's right — the father added. — Our boy will be home in no time.
He leaned in. And in a whisper that sent ice down Xiao Yang's spine, said:
—You'd better behave. You know exactly what happens if you don't... right?
Xiao Yang felt rage explode in his chest.
He nearly broke character. Nearly.
But he held it in.
By fifteen, he had already learned to hide his fangs — even when his blood boiled.
—It's okay... I want to go home — he replied with a calm smile.
A disguise.
A shield.
The doctor, fooled by the act, smiled back sincerely.
—Don't worry, son. You'll be home soon. Everything will be alright.
He left the room, believing he'd witnessed a touching family reunion. Xiao Yang's father followed a moment later, making sure to look reluctant, as if he hated to pressure his son to leave.
The moment the door closed, the mask came off.
—You really are a clever boy... — said his mother, no softness in her voice now. — All that effort wasn't for nothing.
Xiao Yang looked at her with dark, heavy eyes.
—I'm not going to expose you.
The woman smiled — but it wasn't a smile. It was a warning.
She stepped closer and gripped his face with force, as if to remind him who was in control.
—Watch your mouth, boy.
But before she could say more, her husband's voice came from the hallway:
—Doctor, are you absolutely sure he's okay?
In a heartbeat, the mask snapped back into place.
She released his cheeks and stroked his hair again, returning to her role as the doting mother.
The door opened.
The theater began again.