02: The Chronicles of Glory

The classroom buzzed with murmurs—low voices, scattered laughter. The sound of impatience brewing in the air as the lecturer still hadn't arrived. Seatmates leaned into each other, sharing jokes, gossip, or half-baked excuses for not finishing their homeworks. Friends grouped together like they're birds on a wire, their conversations punctuated by laughter or the occasional dramatic sigh. It was a normal morning for most of them, but not for Junshen.

He sat there, eyes unfocused, mind tangled in a web of impossible thoughts. His heart pounded with the realization that this was real. That somehow, inexplicably, he'd been thrown five years into the past. It wasn't a dream, a glitch, or a prolonged moment of madness. He was here, five years younger, surrounded by the familiar faces of classmates he hadn't seen in years. His fingers twitched with restless energy, the kind of nervous buzz that only comes when the universe turns on its head.

The panel. It hovered in front of him, faint and translucent, unseen by anyone else. It confirmed everything. The same blue square that appeared whenever he played The Advent of Glory. Only now, it wasn't a game. He didn't need to guess anymore. Whatever brought him back in time had something to do with the game he used to pour his life into. He could see it now—right in front of his eyes—clear as the day that wasn't making any sense.

He squinted at the floating text, his mind racing. The panel, its familiar layout, the same boxes and stats he'd obsessed over for years. This isn't just some illusion.

"Status," he whispered, careful not to draw attention. The words barely left his lips, but that was enough. A cascade of text materialized in front of him:

Name: Junshen Llanard

Age: 20

Class: None

Stats: (various stats appear here, unremarkable except for one line: Undistributed Stat Points: 5

He blinked, studying the details. No class. It made sense—he hadn't chosen one yet. Back in the game, he had proudly selected Summoner, despite it being one of the weakest classes. He had looked up to the legendary player known as the Beast Maker, a summoner who defied expectations, turning what many saw as a joke class into something legendary. Summoners were ridiculed for their inefficiency—summoning a single beast could drain all your mana within minutes. Also, you can buy a beast in the market, beasts that can be tagged along without consuming mana. Players usually chose more straightforward roles: warriors, mages, rogues. Summoners? Rarely. But the Beast Maker had changed that for him.

Junshen remembered the last battle. The Dragon Nest. The final boss. It was meant to be the end of the game, the culmination of years of effort. But no one had defeated it—not even after they threw tens of thousands of players at the dragon. 40,000. That was the number of people in the raid he had been part of, the one where a single swing from the dragon had wiped them all out. All except him. His skill, Black Heart, had kept him alive with 1 HP when all others had fallen. He remembered that moment with eerie clarity. The surge of power, the strange message: "Hidden Quest (The Advent of Glory): Complete."

What the hell was that quest?

He had no idea how he had fulfilled it. He had assumed the power surge was the reward, but now, standing here in his own past, he wasn't so sure. Maybe there was more to it than he could comprehend.

He shook his head, trying to bring himself back to the present moment. Students still chatted around him, unaware of the storm in his mind. The panel flickered, and he quickly whispered, "Panel off." It disappeared. No one noticed. Back in the game, you had to speak commands out loud, but here? It seemed to work just by thinking it, though he wasn't ready for it. Whispering felt safer, more grounded in reality—or whatever this reality was.

"Junshen!"

The call startled him. He turned to see Maki, his old friend, walking into the classroom. His energy always seemed to bounce around like it couldn't contain itself.

"You're late," Junshen casually said.

"Yeah, but Mr. Nahada's even more late than I am," Maki chuckled, plopping into the seat next to him.

Maki had been his friend since their very first semester. They had bonded over shared interests, games, random conversations about life that stretched late into the night. Junshen felt a rush of nostalgia seeing him again, the old Maki, untouched by the years they hadn't yet lived.

"Have you heard about the new game coming out?" Maki asked, his voice low, but excited.

Junshen hesitated. New game? He shook his head slowly, trying to sound natural. "What game?"

Maki's eyes lit up. "The Chronicles of Glory. It's not out yet, but people are already going crazy over it. Controversies and all."

The name rattled in Junshen's brain, nagging at something deep inside him. Chronicles of Glory? He had no memory of this game. The only thing that came close was... The Advent of Glory. Are they the same game or not?

Junshen leaned in. "So, what's the deal with this game?"

Maki shrugged, a smirk curling his lips. "Apparently, the government doesn't want it to release. They're saying it's too addictive or something, but that's just nonsense. All games are addictive, right? This one must have something... more."

The conversation sent sparks firing in Junshen's mind. Too addicting? Government intervention? It mirrored everything he knew about The Advent of Glory. Was it possible that The Chronicles of Glory was just an earlier version? Or was actually something else entirely?

"When does it come out?" Junshen asked, voice low, measured.

"Monday. Just a couple days away."

Junshen's thoughts raced, spiraling into theories, all half-baked but none completely made sense.

---

After class, the lecturer still a no-show, most of the students filtered out. Some had other lectures, others simply took it as an early dismissal. Junshen, needing time to think, walked to Ramen House, a small, cozy noodle shop just off-campus. He had always gone there—five years ago. It was his spot. The place still smelled the same, the savory scent of broth hanging in the air like a memory wrapped around him. Students filled the small space, as they always did, slurping noodles and talking in loud, lively voices.

He ordered his usual—tonkotsu ramen with extra pork, a soft-boiled egg on top. As soon as he took the first bite, the familiar taste washed over him. Just like he remembered. He smiled faintly. Some things didn't change, even if time itself had warped.

But his thoughts were elsewhere. The system panel. He still couldn't believe it worked here, in the real world. And now, he knew more—there was an inventory function. He had discovered it earlier when he casually stashed his bag into the panel and watched it vanish into thin air. It was almost too overpowered. He'd always thought it would be incredible to have access to these kinds of game mechanics in real life, but now that he did? It was surreal.

He stared at the panel again, watching as the inventory displayed the bag he'd stored: Bag x1. A smile tugged at his lips. This was a cheat. He could carry anything, as much as he wanted, and no one would ever know. This is too good.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden commotion. A group of old men, half-drunk, were talking too loudly at a nearby table. One of them, red-faced and unsteady, kept shouting something that made the other patrons nervous. People began to leave, scooting their chairs away to avoid the chaos.

"I'm telling you, everyone's going to die next week!" the drunk man slurred, his voice too loud, too desperate. His friends tried to calm him, but he wouldn't stop. "Monday morning, we're all dead!"

Junshen, finished with his meal, paid no more attention to them. He stepped outside, the cool breeze hitting his face, and walked slowly, still lost in thought. He wasn't tired, not even a little. Not like before. It must be the stats, he thought. He glanced at the status panel again, noticing the five extra stat points he could distribute.

Back in the game, he had learned to carefully manage these points depending on the class you wanted to pursue. More endurance for a warrior, more intelligence for a mage. It had been second nature after years of grinding.

But now, he was faced with a choice. Would he become a summoner again? Or would he try something else? He knew that whatever he picked would shape his future. His hand hovered over the screen for a moment, then he smiled and allocated the points into his mentality stat—a summoner's lifeblood.

I guess some things don't change.