Chapter 3: Awakening

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The steady pulse of the heart monitor echoed through the quiet hospital ward, slicing through the silence like a ticking clock.

"He's waking up," Lee Ji-Ah said, her voice cracking with relief.

She stood at the side of the bed, fingers clutching the edge of the blanket like if she let go, he might vanish again. Her eyes glistened, and for once, her sharp tongue was still.

On the other side of the bed sat Han Tae-Suk, left arm strapped tightly in a sling, thick bandages peeking from beneath his hospital gown. His expression was calm, but the lines on his face betrayed a week of long nights.

By the door, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, was Choi Do-Jin.

Expression unreadable. Gaze distant.

He hadn't said a word since stepping into the room. Typical.

Gun-Woo's eyes twitched.

Then his brows furrowed. His head shifted slightly, as though surfacing from a nightmare.

Slowly—almost painfully—his eyelids lifted.

A wave of harsh, white light flooded his vision. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nose. His throat felt like sandpaper.

"…Where…"

His voice came out rough. Dry.

Ji-Ah leaned closer, tears pooling. "Gun-Woo… You're awake. Oh my god. You're actually awake."

He blinked, eyes adjusting. His whole body ached—muscles sore, ribs tight, like he'd been thrown off a cliff and then set on fire.

Which… wasn't far from the truth.

"You're in the hospital," she said gently, her hands brushing back his hair. "You've been in a coma. A whole week."

A week?

Gun-Woo sat up slowly, the sheets rustling against his hospital gown. His arms trembled under his own weight. Every movement screamed pain—but he managed to sit upright.

His gaze drifted toward Tae-Suk.

"…You all survived?"

Tae-Suk nodded, a faint smile forming. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

Gun-Woo scoffed under his breath. "I didn't do anything. If anything… I was just a weight. A liability."

Tae-Suk shook his head. "Nah, kid. The Council might see you as someone who lacks everything—but I don't. I saw someone who refused to run. Someone who stood their ground when everyone else was falling apart. That's not weakness. That's potential."

Gun-Woo stared at him for a moment. Then nodded, barely.

Tae-Suk rose to his feet with a groan, steadying himself against the bedrail.

"We'll be heading out. I need to brief the Raiders Council about what happened inside that hellhole."

Gun-Woo looked up quickly. "Wait."

Tae-Suk paused.

"Don't add that I was there."

"…What?"

Gun-Woo's eyes locked on his. "I'm not a registered Raider. I don't have a gate entry permit. If you mention my name… I might be fined, blacklisted. Maybe even banned from entering any gates ever again."

He clenched his fists.

"Please. Don't include me."

Tae-Suk was quiet for a second. Then he chuckled, a low, knowing sound.

"Alright, kid. Your secret's safe."

He gave a casual salute with his good hand and walked toward the door, Choi Do-Jin following silently behind him.

The door clicked shut.

Now it was just the two of them.

Ji-Ah exhaled slowly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her expression changed—harder, more serious.

"You really scared me, Gun-Woo," she said softly. "Do you even understand what could've happened?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"Mom's gone. Dad's gone. It's just us. You're the only family I have left, and you went into a dungeon alone. Not just any dungeon—one with a goddamn trap that nearly killed you. You don't even have a permit. You're not licensed, you're not registered… hell, you don't even have a team."

Her voice cracked.

"I can't lose you too, okay? I can't go through another call saying you might not wake up."

Gun-Woo looked down at his lap.

"…I made a promise to Mom," he said quietly. "That I'd become a Raider. Not for the fame. Not for the money. Because it was her dream. And because it's mine now too."

He looked up at her.

"I'll be careful, Ji-Ah. But I'm not stopping. No matter what."

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then she stood and wiped at her eyes. "I'll go talk to the doctors. See if you can be discharged."

He nodded.

As the door closed behind her, silence returned.

Gun-Woo let his body relax into the pillows. His gaze drifted toward the mounted TV on the wall. The volume was low, but he could make out the words from the broadcast.

"—another record-breaking clear time by Korea's top guild, the Storm Breakers, as dungeon raiding continues to dominate social media trends. Live-streams of raids across Asia have hit an all-time high, with some top-tier Raiders crossing into celebrity status. The Korea Raiders Council reports over twelve million concurrent viewers tuning into the Silverfang Guild's Tier-A dungeon broadcast last night, sparking renewed interest in live raids as entertainment—"

Gun-Woo exhaled.

It had become more than survival now.

Dungeon raiding was the new center of modern life. Status, power, fame, wealth—it all came from stepping into the unknown and coming back alive.

And he was still a nobody.

Still—

Ping.

Something blinked in front of his eyes.

A translucent interface. Light blue. Floating just above his line of sight.

His breath caught in his throat.

"What the…?"

The screen adjusted and snapped into full clarity.

[ You have met the requirements to become a Player. ]

[ Lee Gun-Woo ]

[ Class Assigned: Attack Raider ]

He stared at the words, his pulse spiking.

"What the fuck is this…?" he muttered under his breath.

No one answered.

The floating interface shimmered softly, pulsing with an unnatural glow that didn't reflect on the walls, the bed, or anything else in the room. Just hovering there. Like it existed in another layer of reality.

"Am I… hallucinating?" he whispered.

[ No. ]

[ This is real. ]

The letters typed themselves in real time, pixel by pixel.

Gun-Woo flinched.

[ You have been chosen for something greater. ]

His expression twisted. "Oh great. Here we go. The chosen one cliché."

He leaned back into the pillows, watching the next line materialize.

[ Your disbelief is noted. You are not required to care. Only to survive. ]

"…What the hell are you?" Gun-Woo asked.

The interface pulsed again. And then—like a damn floodgate opened—more windows exploded into his vision.

One.

Then three.

Then seven.

Then more.

A flurry of data spilled across the air in front of him, text and symbols flickering like they were being etched into his retinas.

Gun-Woo winced and raised a hand instinctively, but nothing stopped it. The windows weren't physical. They were in his mind—but somehow real.

His pupils trembled, eyes tracking the flood of information as it started dumping every piece of data like a firehose to the brain.

[ CLASS TYPE: ATTACK RAIDER ]

Aggressive frontline combatant.

Excels in direct engagement and high-damage output.

Relies on melee proficiency, mobility, and physical enhancement through skills.

High risk. High reward.

Survivability: LOW.

Scaling Potential: EXTREME.

"…That's encouraging," he muttered, blinking fast.

[ CURRENT POWER LEVEL: 0% ]

[ Combat Capabilities: Unawakened ]

[ Mana Core: Dormant ]

[ Weapon Affinity: Weak ]

[ Skill Mastery: 0% ]

[ Title: None ]

[ Passive Abilities: None ]

[ Active Skills: None ]

[ Unique Trait: None ]

[ Evolution Level: N/A ]

[ Dungeon Clearance Rate: 0% ]

"Okay, okay—goddamn. I get it. I suck."

The system didn't slow down.

[ CURRENT STATISTICS ]

—Strength: 4

—Agility: 5

—Endurance: 4

—Perception: 5

—Mana: 2

—Vitality: 4

—Luck: 3

Gun-Woo exhaled sharply.

"That's… not terrible?" he said. "I mean, it's not great, but at least I'm not starting with ones."

[ Status: Normal Human Parameters Detected ]

[ Raider Grade: Unranked ]

[ Evaluation: No immediate potential. Advancement dependent on effort, decision-making, and survival under extreme conditions. ]

[ Combat Skills: None ]

[ Support Skills: None ]

[ Defensive Skills: None ]

[ Special Traits: None ]

[ Raider Inventory: Empty ]

[ Rewards Claimed: 0 ]

[ Reputation: Non-existent ]

[ Notoriety: 0 ]

[ Alignment: Neutral ]

[ Tip: Clear dungeons to receive rewards. ]

[ Tip: You are now bound to the System. All gates entered will now sync your progress. ]

[ Tip: Death inside a dungeon will result in permanent termination of progress. ]

[ Tip: Be creative. The System will only reward results. ]

Gun-Woo rubbed his temples.

It felt like he was being hit in the face with a textbook. There was no slow onboarding. No helpful tutorial. Just blunt-force exposition straight into his brain.

"This is like… the worst app experience of my life," he mumbled.

The system didn't react.

Of course it didn't.

He stared at the last few lines that lingered:

[ You are a Player now, Lee Gun-Woo. ]

[ Rise—or die. ]

The moment he finished reading that last line, the windows all collapsed inward. Like paper folding into nothing. They vanished with a soft blink of light.

Silence returned.

He blinked. And again.

Nothing. No screens. No data. No voice in his head.

Just the quiet hum of the heart monitor and the faint noise of the television still rolling news on celebrity-ranked Raiders and dungeon clears.

Gun-Woo leaned back into his pillow, head spinning.

What the hell had just happened?

He had entered a dungeon illegally. Got sucked into some freakish trap dungeon. Fought alongside actual registered Raiders. Died—like, legitimately died—and woke up a week later in a hospital bed with a… system?

His fists clenched lightly.

[ You are a Player now. ]

It kept echoing in his mind. Whether he believed it or not didn't change anything.

Because if it was real—if even half of what it showed was real—then this was his start.

He had something now.

Even if it was small. Even if it was just a flicker in the dark.

A knock came from the door.

Then it opened with a soft click.

Ji-Ah peeked in, holding a small clear folder with hospital documents. She smiled when she saw he was still sitting upright.

"You're free to leave," she said. "They want you on light movement for a couple of days, but other than that, you're good."

Gun-Woo looked at her.

Then smiled faintly.

The system was gone now. Vanished like it had never been there.

But even as she helped him up and began folding his discharge papers, he wasn't thinking about the hospital, or his bruised ribs, or the endless lecture she was probably going to give on the way home.

He was thinking about what this meant.

Whatever had happened in that room… whatever that system was…

There was only one thought ringing loud in his head:

This is the beginning of something.

Something big.

Something that might just change everything.