Chapter Text
You suppress a yawn as it threatens to escape, propping your cheek against your palm. Your posture is languid, almost bored—eyes half-lidded as you slip into the channel of a newbie Dokkaebi. You expect clumsy carnage, given it's the first main scenario and mistakes are bound to be desperate. But the scene unfolding before you is far worse than anticipated.
Pure chaos.
Screams tear through the air, raw and animal, layered over frantic sobbing and the wet, sickening sounds of bodies colliding and breaking. Panic infects every movement—people tripping over one another, hands shaking, eyes darting as the timer ticks mercilessly. The Dokkaebi's laughter echoes, bright and delighted, as if this is nothing more than entertainment. Some cling to strangers, begging, desperate for survival. Madness reigns—unfiltered and ugly.
You watch it all with detached disinterest, blinking slowly.
This is boring. At this rate, no one is going to survive, and your time is being thoroughly wasted. The channel is a mess—panicked civilians flailing beneath a ticking timer, the Dokkaebi's cheerful commentary offering nothing but mockery. You're about to dismiss the feed entirely when you see him.
Your spine straightens without you realizing it, the lazy slouch bleeding out of your posture. Your fingers, still pressed to your cheek, go tense. Amid the disorder, the man moves differently. His expression is set—jaw tight, eyes sharp—calculating even as blood splatters across his clothes. He doesn't scream. He doesn't hesitate. There is fear there, yes—but it's restrained.
Your gaze zeroes in on him, unblinking.
While others flail, he adapts. When panic spreads, he endures. Every choice he makes feels intentional, every movement edged with quiet resolve. You find yourself following him through the bloodshed, ignoring the rest as if they've faded into background noise. For the first time since entering the channel, you feel awake.
By the time it ends, only five remain standing.
The rest lie motionless, bodies twisted in grotesque stillness—payment rendered in full. After all, failure demands death.
A soft, amused breath leaves you. The corner of your lips lifts, just slightly, as your attention lingers on him—bloodied, exhausted, but alive.
Interesting.
“Huh,” you murmur, your voice light, almost pleased. “I want to support him.”
The decision settles easily, like it was inevitable all along.
And so, the sponsor selection begins.
<SPONSOR SELECTION>
- SELECT A CONSTELLATION.
THE SELECTED CONSTELLATION WILL BE YOUR RELIABLE SPONSOR.
- ABYSSAL BLACK FLAME DRAGON
- DEMONIC JUDGE OF FIRE
- SECRETIVE PLOTTER
- PRISONER OF THE GOLDEN HEADBAND
- THE QUEEN OF REDEMPTIVE RUIN