Chapter 01….
“Assistant Manager, you’ve worked hard. I didn’t want to have to let you go either.”
Assistant Manager Lee Ji-han didn’t know what expression to wear at the awkward smile from his department head.
He couldn’t understand why he, of all people, had to be the one leaving the company instead of an incompetent manager.
“I know you stayed up every night to meet deadlines. And your severance will be generous too.”
He had worked hard.
Not once had he lived lazily.
Even when he was part of the national representative reserve force, even when he realized he had hyperfocus syndrome.
Even when he had to give up gymnastics—the craft of a lifetime—due to an overwork injury, or the day he joined a small, ordinary company for his family.
And even now, at this very moment.
“…You’re not listening again, huh? Hoo.”
“Pardon?”
“Look, communication is the most important thing. Communication. In work, in life—communication. What’s the point of working so hard if you’re completely absorbed in your own world?”
Lee Ji-han couldn’t answer. It wasn’t that his response was worthless—he simply didn’t know what he could say.
“I’m sorry.”
A high school graduate, someone with virtually no skills.
He could have answered “gymnastics,” but with lifelong injuries, he couldn’t even exercise.
During that short period working as a junior in sales under this small superior, his self-esteem had been utterly shattered.
“Ah, whatever. What am I even saying? Still, thanks for everything, Ji-han. I hope you do well wherever you go. Don’t take it too hard.”
Lee Ji-han kept his mouth tightly shut and finally detached himself from that small superior he had worked under.
“…Is that supposed to be a boast?”
“Not a boast.”
“You couldn’t say a word! Ah, frustrating!”
His friend, Kim Soo-ho, who had been his only friend and a long-time rival since childhood, slammed his fist into his chest and downed some beer.
“…Other employees said similar things. Seniors, juniors alike.”
A bitter smile spread across Ji-han’s lips.
Seeing that, Kim Soo-ho got fired up and punched Ji-han’s shoulder hard.
“Ah! That hurts! Really hurts!”
“I don’t understand why you live like such a pushover. It’s frustrating, that’s why I’m doing this, because it’s frustrating.”
“…I was grateful. That company was the only place that accepted my broken body.”
Hyperfocus syndrome.
Once Ji-han concentrated on something, he couldn’t let go.
He didn’t notice his body being damaged or someone calling for him.
He was the type who had to finish what he started until it satisfied him.
“Everyone said it was burdensome. Scary too… seniors, juniors alike. They went pale in fear.”
It wasn’t ordinary ADHD—it leaned more toward obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and no matter which hospital he visited, there was no clear diagnosis.
“Hey, that damned company just needed someone cheap to stay up all night. They were super busy, right?”
“Maybe so.”
“Even I, a loafer who quit my job to stream, knew you were a pushover. Sigh.”
A loafer.
Ji-han envied Kim Soo-ho.
Someone who pursued everything they wanted and could chase their dreams without stopping.
“Still… I envy you.”
“Envy me? A loafer?”
Whenever Ji-han looked at Kim Soo-ho, it felt like his own time had stopped at a certain point.
Arms and shoulders, legs and waist.
Injuries so severe that he was forced to quit gymnastics.
Ji-han’s time had stopped there.
“Yeah, I envy you.”
“Then you should take a break too. Oh, you got fired, right? From the company? Then take this chance to relax.”
“…I need to get another job. My parents worked hard for me.”
From fourth grade until adulthood—twelve years—Ji-han lived as a gymnast. Sure, the education office, school, and association provided support, but raising one athlete required a lot of money.
His parents had to provide for him, and his one beloved younger sister had to give up a lot.
That’s why he threw his body to the extreme for his family.
He broke several unofficial records and seemed destined for the reserve force, but the mysterious hyperfocus syndrome held him back.
“I need to repay them.”
“No, your parents aren’t that suffering! Why feel indebted? Hmm, maybe it’s weird if I say that?”
“I need to repay my sister too.”
“Repaying is important, but resting is too. You said stress triggers your symptoms, right? Staying up, forcing concentration… your parents even contacted me recently, asking me to take you out and let you breathe a bit.”
It didn’t sound like a lie.
Kim Soo-ho was genuinely thoughtful, treating Ji-han’s parents like his own and acting affectionately toward them.
“…So, how do I let myself breathe?”
“I knew you’d ask, so I found a way.”
Kim Soo-ho smiled.
And the idea he suggested was none other than:
“How about playing a game?”
“The one you play?”
“Exactly. Apparently people with physical or mental issues use full-dive VR for rehab. I checked—it seems effective.”
“Hmm?”
“There’s data showing it helps with social anxiety or panic disorders. Why not try it?”
Kim Soo-ho smiled again.
Ji-han lightly tossed a corn kernel at him and exhaled heavily.
“I probably don’t need rehab. Maybe.”
“Just enjoy it casually. There are many short, fun games now, and the device even has alarms to tell you when to stop.”
Despite their rocky history, Kim Soo-ho was the friend who genuinely cared in situations like this.
Ji-han asked:
“So, how do I start?”
“Oh, wanna try? Good. First, drink. Let’s drink. Think after drinking! Cheers!”
Almost moved by this—but this guy wasn’t a friend.
‘A rival, that’s all.’
His priority seemed more about getting drunk than curiosity about the game.
“…Cheers.”
And so, for the first time, Ji-han drank with Kim Soo-ho until he was completely drunk.
Thirsty.
He probably overdrank for the first time in his life yesterday, as his memory was spotty.
Opening his eyes, he saw an unfamiliar ceiling—it wasn’t his home, but Kim Soo-ho’s.
“…Is this… a capsule?”
He hadn’t messed with his friend’s things before, but after hearing about it all night, he decided to try.
Ji-han inserted the card on the table into the capsule.
Click.
-This card scans your body info. It’s tied to the capsule ID. Except for theft or physical tampering, it’s extremely safe. Don’t lose it.
Drunk, he had even completed the body scan.
Remembering last night, he smiled slightly at the little rebellion he was committing.
Whirrr…
Lying in the capsule, Ji-han activated it, recalling fragmented memories.
-This is a popular game? Hmm, I’ve got a good broadcast reputation. Zero Ground is the current trend. What game? You’ll see.
He tapped the Zero Ground icon.
Vroooom!
At first, his vision flickered.
A spinning headache from his hangover, nausea.
But the capsule was expensive—he forced himself not to vomit.
“…Ah.”
The smell of steel hit him.
He was in a hangar, a massive airplane behind him, able to transport dozens.
-I’ll explain simply. Solo, duo, trio, squad—none of that. Only solo. Ignore rankings like silver, gold, platinum. Play standard games only.
“Standard games?”
But Ji-han didn’t know there were two types of standard games:
One, casual games with no MMR restrictions.
“This must be it.”
The other, called the “unlimited channel,” was a streamer’s graveyard—pro and veteran players testing new builds and techniques—a hell.
He didn’t know which he chose, but one thing was certain:
-Prepare to drop!
As the match started, his view shifted.
A strong wind hit his body—unbelievable realism.
He had never stood on a plane, but this must be what skydiving felt like.
-Deploy!
Players jumped one by one.
Instinctively, Ji-han followed into the blue sky.
Swaaash!
He didn’t know the controls, but moving, running, jumping happened as naturally as in real life. A strange, instinctive smile appeared.
Bang!
Parachute deployed. He landed safely.
-Survive until the last moment. (100/100)
The intuitive goal of the game.
Entering an empty building felt instinctive.
[Ga-ha]
[What? Did the host return?]
[Thought today was a break? He said he’d see a friend.]
[You knew he wouldn’t turn off the stream, huh? Thought you could escape our 20-person squad?]
[Huh? Not the host?]
[Then who?]
A small window popped up with a flood of text, but Ji-han didn’t notice.
With senses heightened, he couldn’t see it.
[He can’t see us?]
[Who is he?]
[Did someone hack the host? Who’s this?]
His senses sharpened: air, wind, smell, vision—all brushed past him.
This minor stress narrowed his vision, leaving only one goal: survive.
“So, survive from… what?”
A blank slate—he didn’t know what he needed to do to achieve the goal.
[Is he a newbie?]
[Wow, a newbie in this game?]
[Where did he even enter?]
[Isn’t that the unlimited channel?]
Tat-tat-tat-tat!
Gunfire rang out.
“Huh!?”
Ji-han flinched instinctively.
The sound was so real, it felt like he was in the middle of a battlefield.
“…I have to dodge bullets?”
It wasn’t just bullets.
Kwahhh!
A shell landed in front of the building. Flames shot up.
Deafening sound, heat, chaos. Ji-han crawled instinctively behind the building.
[Lol, crawling? Hide behind cover, lol.]
[Lol, this raw excitement—haven’t felt it in ages.]
[Newbie? Host! The hacker is a Zero Ground newbie!]
Text kept popping up—but it didn’t matter. He moved only to survive.
[Lol, look at his serious face.]
[Kind of handsome though, huh?]
[Host! Your hacker’s handsome and a Zero Ground newbie! Get up!]
Standing tall.
After crawling for a while, Ji-han stopped as the gunfire ceased.
[? What now?]
[Standing up?]
Then:
Tat-tat-tat!
[Lol, fast!]
[What? Some track athlete?]
[Lol, he just runs? Newbie, grab a gun!]
He started running—just running.
[? Can’t see in front?]
[Gun! Gun behind the tree!]
[He’ll die running straight ahead.]
Bang!
A lurking player raised a gun. His finger slowly moved toward the trigger.
Click!
“Huh?”
Bang!
[Huh?]
[?]
[What just happened?]
[??????]
Time slowed only for Ji-han.
Hyperfocus made senses sharper, and he experienced a perception of slowed time.
Bang!
Time it took the ambushing player to shoot, for the bullet to travel, and for Ji-han to react—all in a split second—but to him, it felt elongated.
Whee!
Ji-han launched into the air, spinning in the sky.
A perfect acrobatic move, ingrained from years of gymnastics.
[What the hell?]
[? That’s even possible?]
[Am I dreaming?]
For viewers, it was a never-before-seen move.
“Is this how I dodge?”
All the Olympics, gymnastics, and national team accolades faded behind.
In a corner of a full-dive game:
“…Easy.”
A new history had begun.
