Prologue: The Game That Ruled the World

The game had no name when it first appeared. No developer claimed responsibility. No announcement preceded its arrival. One day, a single terminal was found in a small, unknown internet café in Tokyo, displaying nothing but a blank screen with the words: "Do you wish to enter?"

By the time the news reached the world, the terminal was gone. But it had already spread.

People whispered rumors. Some called it the work of a rogue AI, an experiment let loose upon humanity. Others believed it was a message from an unknown civilization, a digital artifact beyond human comprehension. No matter the theories, one fact remained: the game existed, and it was unlike anything the world had ever seen.

A full-dive virtual MMORPG that did not require hardware. No headset. No neural link devices. No external rigs. One simply had to log in, and reality would shift.

The first players spoke of landscapes so vivid that they forgot their own world. Of sensations so real that they could feel the wind against their skin, the weight of a sword in their hands. Pain, exhaustion, hunger—it mimicked life with perfect accuracy.

And then, the challenges began.

The game did not have a tutorial. It did not provide a guide. Every new player was thrown into a world that did not explain itself. And yet, those who learned to adapt—those who survived—were granted something beyond mere entertainment.

Power. Fame. Wealth.

A single gold coin in the game could be exchanged for a small fortune in reality. Items fetched prices that rivaled stock markets. Governments, corporations, and syndicates all scrambled to control the most powerful players.

In five years, it became more than a game. It became an economy, a society, a world of its own.

And those outside it? They were left behind.

—

Joshua stared at the rejection email. The words blurred together, but he didn't need to read them. He already knew what it would say.

"We regret to inform you that we have chosen another candidate."

It was the fourth rejection this week.

He leaned back in his chair, massaging his temples. A degree in mathematics—a subject revered for its logic and difficulty—and yet, here he was, jobless, staring at an inbox filled with polite refusals.

"Too many applicants."

"Not enough experience."

"Graduate of a lesser-known university."

Excuses.

At first, he tried reasoning with himself. He would find something. There was always something. But the more he searched, the more he realized the truth: the world had changed, and he had failed to change with it.

Companies didn't just want degrees. They wanted connections. They wanted people who had built reputations, networks, and influence—things that couldn't be proven on a résumé.

He let out a bitter chuckle.

Ironically, the best "career" one could have today wasn't being a researcher, an engineer, or even a doctor. It was being a player.

A professional gamer.

Not just any game, of course. That game. The one that had swallowed the world whole.

Joshua had never played it. Not because he wasn't interested, but because he had been too focused on the "real" world. He had spent his years in college sharpening his mind, dedicating himself to numbers, formulas, and theories—things that once held meaning.

Now?

He looked at his computer screen, at the countless tabs filled with job applications, closed them all, and opened a new one.

For the first time, he searched for it.

The game that needed no introduction.

The only game left.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was frustration. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe—just maybe—he was tired of fighting against a world that no longer made sense.

His mouse hovered over the login page. The words flashed on the screen.

"Do you wish to enter?"

Joshua exhaled.

And clicked.

—

Somewhere, in an unknown part of the world, an unseen force stirred.

A new player had joined.

And the game had just begun.