The Hell System
Right before that accident, I survived along with my dad and Jihoon. My stepmother didn't make it. The truck that hit us sent our car rolling down a steep hill, and she was the one who took the worst of it. The impact crushed her ribs, her skull cracked open against the dashboard, and by the time help arrived, she was barely recognizable. A part of me knew she didn't suffer long—her body was too broken to hold on. Talk about a crash course in family dynamics.
But I didn't feel anything when she died. Not a single tear, not even a hint of sadness. Maybe because I spent all those years pretending, forcing myself to accept that she was my real mom when she wasn't. I guess my Oscar-worthy performance of "loving stepson" finally had its curtain call.
After that accident, my dad was the one who suffered the most. For years, he was just... empty. It was like he was physically here, but everything else about him had faded. You could stare at him for hours and never see him smile. But who the hell would force someone to smile when they don't even have the strength to? I mean, what were we supposed to do, hire a professional tickler?
Then he died, too. Takotsubo syndrome—broken heart syndrome. A poetic way to say that grief killed him. Before he passed away, he gave me this green crystal necklace. It was his most treasured possession, but honestly? I can't wear it to school. It looks ridiculous. I'd look like some lost native kid who took a wrong turn at the reservation and ended up in AP Chemistry. I may not have inherited my dad's intelligence, but at least he left me something valuable.
And who knows? Maybe this thing is worth a billion if I sell it. I hear the market for "tragically inherited jewelry with emotional baggage" is really booming these days.
— This is my personal cringe journal, Amir, out. (Of both parents and fashion sense, apparently)
—————————
I was just taking a bath to relax after everything I'd gone through—things no regular person should ever go through. That's when it occurred.
A translucent green screen materialized in front of me, floating in mid-air like something from a science fiction film.
> [One Soul Collected]
[First requirement achieved]
[Preparing to Launch the Hell System]
"The hell what?" I blurted out, water streaming down my cheeks.
Before I could process it, another notice appeared, accompanied by two options.
> [Do you wish to continue?]
[YES | NO]
"No fucking way." I instantly tapped 'NO.'
Click.
> [The No button is currently unavailable.]
"...Huh?"
I tapped again.
Click. Click. Click.
> [The No button is currently unavailable.]
I clamped my eyes shut, attempting to convince myself I was hallucinating. However, when I opened them again, the screen was gone.
I breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Shit... skipping meals is more dangerous than drugs," I mumbled, running my hand through my damp hair.
But my relief did not last long.
Flicker.
The screen reappeared, brighter than before.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
I began touching randomly on the screen, attempting to close it.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
> [You have reached the limit.]
"...Reached the what?" I looked at the message, puzzled. "I guess I don't have a choice, huh?"
I sighed and pressed 'YES.'
Click.
New text appeared on the screen.
> [Processing data...]
[Update available.]
[Do you truly wish to continue?]
[YES | NO]
"It does sound interesting..." My curiosity eventually won.
Click.
> [Updating the system... 0.2kb/s / 50,000G]
"...This is some kind of software, isn't it?" I said, staring at the frustratingly sluggish progress indicator. "Maybe I can figure out what's going on with this thing..."
Even after I finished showering and getting dressed, the screen remained at the border of my vision. It followed me while I ate breakfast, unwilling to leave.
"It's literally stalking me," I explained, peering at the interface. "How do I turn this thing off—"
That's when I noticed it—a small, nearly invisible button in the corner.
> [Archive Function]
[Do you truly wish to continue?]
[YES | NO]
"...I really don't have a choice, do I?"
Click.
The system immediately replied.
> [Analysis of Host Deficiencies...]
[Low Stamina detected.]
"Stamina what?"
> [Preparing to Perform Basic Exercise.]
"Wait, what—"
Before I could respond, my body moved by itself, plummeting me to the floor like a puppet on strings.
"The fuck is happening?!"
> [Preparing Push-Ups.]
[0/200]
"NOOO—!"
> [1/200] [2/200] [4/200]
And just like that, I was forced to participate in the Hell System's exercise program.
---
System Status Update
Host: Amir
Current Activity: Forced Exercise Protocol
Progress: 4/200 push-ups
System Integration: 500MB/50,000GB (In Progress)
Archive Function: Activated
Host Compliance: Involuntary
—————————————————
Deep in the heart of Hell, Aram lounged on his obsidian throne, his expression growing darker with each passing moment. Through a shimmering portal before him, he watched his supposedly "chosen" host struggling pathetically with the Hell System's basic exercise protocol.
"Disappointing," he muttered, watching Amir barely manage another push-up.
[System Status: Host Performance Below Minimum Requirements]
[Current Progress: 4/200 Push-ups]
[System Strain: Critical]
The Hell System itself was struggling just to move Amir's body. Each push-up forced the system into an auto-repair loop just to maintain the exercise protocol. This was hardly the performance expected of a potential Gecoren—a title reserved for those rare mortals capable of mastering Hell's power.
A shadow shifted in the darkness, materializing into a tall figure who knelt before the throne. This was Efraim, the demon who had created the Hell System, Hell's master programmer who had perfected digital systems long before humans even discovered electricity.
"My Lord," Efraim's voice carried a mechanical undertone. "The system cannot maintain its update. We lack sufficient souls to power it."
[System Update Speed: 0.2kb/s]
[Required Data: 50,000GB]
[Soul Energy: Critically Low]
Aram tapped his fingers against his throne. "And if the human proves too weak for the system's power?"
"The previous host..." Efraim paused. "His soul was completely destroyed under the strain."
Silence filled the chamber. Human souls weren't just fuel—they were the raw material from which demons were born. Usually, they harvested souls by spreading chaos and terror near the host. But Aram had always preferred a more refined approach.
He believed in cultivating fear naturally—through whispers, nightmares, and paranoia. Direct demon encounters often made souls reject the fear, tainting their purity. But fear that grew on its own? That was true power.
But right now, watching Amir struggle with mere push-ups, Aram had no time for patience.
His silence was command enough.
Efraim raised his hand, summoning a writhing vortex of screaming souls. Their tortured cries echoed through Hell as they were drawn into the system's core.
[System Overclocking Initiated]
[WARNING: Injecting Soul Energy]
[Host Stability: Unknown]
The very foundations of Hell trembled.
Above, Amir had no idea what was happening. The system's sluggish update suddenly accelerated to impossible speeds.
[Update Progress: 45GB/s / 50,000GB]
[Physical Adaptation: Active]
[Pain Suppression: Disabled]
His muscles burned as an invisible force pushed him beyond human limits. Each breath came out ragged, his arms shaking violently.
"THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!" Amir screamed, his body moving against his will.
On his throne, Aram's lips curved into a cold smile. Soon, they would see if this human was truly worthy of becoming the third Gecoren—or if he'd just become another soul in Hell's collection.
The real test was about to begin.
---
**System Status:**
- Host: Amir
- Current Task: Forced Exercise Protocol
- Soul Integration: In Progress
- System Update: Accelerating
- Risk Level: Maximum
Here's a more naturally human-written version while keeping the symbols and numbers:
The Hell System's Brutal Workout
The moment my arms gave out on the fourth push-up, I knew I was fucked.
>[4/200]
"This is such bullshit," I wheezed, my arms shaking like a chihuahua in winter. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it, and my stomach? That traitor was basically high-fiving the floor every time I tried pushing up.
The system did this weird pause thing, like even IT couldn't believe how pathetic I was being.
>[Adjusting Workout Based on Host Performance...]
"Wait, adjusting? No, fuck that—"
Before I could finish bitching, my body snapped into position like a puppet—legs bent, arms locked behind my head, and then—
>[Initiating Sit-Ups]
>[0/100]
"Oh fuck me."
First rep? Pure luck. Second? Straight torture. By number ten, my gut was being a total dick about it, basically becoming its own resistance band against my thighs.
>[12/100]
"Who the actual fuck does a hundred sit-ups?!" I screamed, barely getting my shoulders off the ground before gravity said "nope" and slammed me back down.
>[26/100]
"Why am I even doing this shit?! I was made for Netflix marathons, not this CrossFit from hell!"
By fifty, my gut felt like it was being wrung out like a soaked sponge. Every breath came out in wheezing gasps, like an overworked vacuum on its last leg.
>[Sit-Ups Complete]
>[Next Exercise: Jump Squats]
"I'm gonna die. Like, literally die."
>[0/50]
My legs bent on their own and—WHOOSH. Up went my body, down came reality. My knees were like "nah fam" and my thighs were screaming bloody murder.
>[20/50]
"My fat is literally fighting back!" I gasped, sweat pouring down like I was a human sprinkler. "This isn't what my body was meant for—"
>[50/50]
I ate shit. Face-first. Right into my own sweat puddle.
>[Final Exercise: Burpees]
>[0/30]
"You sadistic piece of shit."
Drop. Flop. Try to jump. Fail spectacularly. Repeat. Each burpee was basically me giving physics the middle finger. My gut was doing its own interpretive dance every time I hit the floor, and by twenty, I swear I saw Jesus waving at me from the finish line.
>[29/30]
"Just... one... more... motherfucker..."
>[Exercise Complete]
>[Host Status: Unconscious]
Didn't even finish my last "fuck you" before everything went black.
System Status:
Host: Amir (Unconscious, Probably Dying)
Current Task: Recovery Mode
Soul Integration: 70%
Update Progress: 90%
Risk Level: Extremely High
Meanwhile, in Hell, Aram watched Amir collapse like a sack of potatoes with the most "done with this shit" expression possible.
"...What a fucking mess"
—————————
Meanwhile, inside the Ulsan Metropolitan Police Headquarters...
As Park Joon-hyuk's fingers tapped his desk, the office air seemed weighty with conflict. Back stiff as a rod, Officer Kim stood before him observing his superior's face deepen with every second. Ulsan's city lights glittered across the glass, creating lengthy shadows across the poorly lighted chamber.
Park tossed the report down, and the sound of paper smashing on wood sliced through the quiet. "What the devil am I looking at, Officer Kim?"
"Sir, I've triple-checked everything in that report," Kim said, his voice consistent in face of mounting pressure.
Park let out a quick exhale, incredulity written on his face. "So you're telling me... Lee Bum-Kon, the most agile killer in Korea, got impaled by a streetlight thrown from the ground like a goddamn javelin?"
"Yes, sir," Kim said without hesitation.
"And we're supposed to believe that?" Park grumbled, pushing forward in his chair. "Who the devil could do something like that?"
"No one, sir. That's the problem." Kim's words hung in the air like a heavy cloud.
Park fell back, running his hands over his exhausted face. "The problem is that this shouldn't have happened at all. A man who's nearly impossible to track just smoothly went straight to hell. And we have no explanation for it."
Kim took a tentative step forward, his shadow stretching across Park's desk. "There's more, sir. The CCTVs around the scene went out just before it happened."
"Went out?" Park's gaze furrowed.
"Yes, sir. When they came back online, all they captured was what looked like an explosion. But when we arrived, there was no actual blast—just a cracked road and shattered streetlight pieces."
Park's jaw tightened visibly. "And no one's going to see those recordings, right?"
"No, sir. We already pulled everything. Nothing leaves this department."
"Good," Park mumbled, his gaze turning to the city outside his window. "What about the hotel?"
"Paid off. No media, no leaks. The entire area was locked down before anyone could start asking questions."
A flat, humorless laugh from Park's throat. "So let me get this straight. We have an assassin killed in the most ridiculous way possible, surveillance that conveniently failed, and a hotel full of people who suddenly know how to keep their mouths shut." He breathed deeply. "This is bullshit."
The hush that followed was deafening. Both guys stared at one other, the weight of the terrible situation crushing down on their shoulders.
"And this stays between us," Park finally murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever this is... whatever did this... it never happened. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. Never happened." Kim's serious remark echoed in the darkening office, confirming their unspoken bargain.
"Eleven crimes in one damn day… a top assassin impaled by a streetlight… CCTV feeds that rewrite reality itself." He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if the next case report says the bastard got struck down by God himself."