When Jimmy opened his eyes again, sunlight was pouring through his window, birds were chirping outside, and his mother was banging on his door like she was trying to collect a debt.
"Jimmy! You'd better not be late for school again!"
Jimmy sat up so fast he nearly headbutted the wall.
He was in bed.
That was wrong.
The last thing he remembered clearly was sitting at his desk with one hand on the mouse, staring at a black screen.
His room looked normal.
Desk. Chair. School uniform. A pile of clothes on the floor. Computer on the corner table.
He stared.
Then he grabbed his face with both hands.
Still had a face. Good.
Then he looked around again.
Still a room. Good.
Then he remembered the countdown. The black screen. The message.
James Lin, do you accept?
Jimmy threw off his blanket, lunged for his computer, and smacked the power button.
Nothing exploded.
That was a promising start.
The monitor lit up. The desktop appeared. Jimmy clicked around frantically, opening every shortcut and checking his downloads, his bookmarks, his Discord, and his browser history.
No Monster Hunters 5.
The launcher wasn't there.
The game folder wasn't there.
The giant event banner he'd been reading the night before? Gone.
Jimmy froze with one hand still on the mouse.
"...No."
He checked again.
Then a third time.
Then he opened the search bar and typed:
Monster Hunters 5
Nothing.
Not the game.
Not the forums.
Not even a blurry fan wiki made by middle-schoolers with too much time and bad grammar.
Jimmy slowly stood up.
"No, no, no, no, no."
His mother banged on the door again.
"If you're dying in there, do it after breakfast!"
"I'm coming!"
Jimmy yanked on his uniform, shoved his feet into his shoes, and stumbled out of his room still in a daze.
His mother was already setting food on the table. His father sat nearby with a newspaper folded open in one hand and tea in the other, looking as calm as ever.
Jimmy sat down.
He tried to relax and shove last night's confusion aside.
Then he looked at the newspaper.
EASTERN PERIMETER REPORTS LOW WYVERN ACTIVITY THIS WEEK
Jimmy stared at it for a full five seconds.
His father took a sip of tea. "Good. Last month was annoying."
Jimmy looked up slowly.
"...What?"
His father lowered the paper just enough to glance at him. "What, what?"
Jimmy pointed at the page. "That."
His father followed his finger.
"The wyverns?"
Jimmy almost choked on air.
He put down his fork.
He was no longer hungry.
On the walk to school, things only got worse.
Or rather, everything was exactly the same and nowhere close to it.
The streets were familiar.
The shops were familiar.
The old man who sold fried buns on the corner was familiar.
But he couldn't say the same about the fifteen-foot steel watchtower at the end of the road.
Or the emergency shelter signs built into the sidewalks.
Or the giant reinforced fence running along the eastern edge of the district with ANTI-BEAST BARRIER - DO NOT CLIMB painted across it in bright yellow letters.
Jimmy slowed to a stop and stared.
An old woman pushing a stroller had to steer around him. She followed his gaze and frowned.
"Teenagers," she muttered.
Then she kept walking.
Jimmy turned slowly and looked up.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"This is fine," he told himself.
It was not fine.
He still made it to school just before the gates closed, mostly because panic was excellent cardio.
By the time he got to class, he was breathing hard, sweating lightly, and spiritually exhausted.
He collapsed into his usual seat by the window in the back corner.
That, at least, felt normal.
Then he looked out the window and noticed the school's athletic field had a row of spear racks set up beside it.
Jimmy closed his eyes.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
"Jimmy, bro."
Jimmy turned.
Bobby had just dropped into the desk beside him, face as round and cheerful as ever.
For one glorious moment, Jimmy felt hope.
Bobby would know.
Bobby had to know.
"Fatty," Jimmy said immediately, grabbing his shoulder, "what happened last night?"
Bobby blinked.
"I slept?"
"No, before that. The event. The release. Monster Hunters 5."
Bobby blinked again.
Jimmy leaned in. "The game."
Bobby leaned back.
"What game?"
Jimmy stared at him.
"Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Act dumb."
Bobby looked offended. "I'm not acting."
Jimmy pointed at him. "Now that's the problem."
Bobby stared for another second, then reached out and touched Jimmy's forehead.
"Are you sick?"
Jimmy slapped his hand away. "Why would I be sick?"
"You're talking nonsense before first period. That's not your usual schedule. Usually you wait until lunch."
Jimmy lowered his voice. "Bobby. I'm talking about Monster Hunters 5. Online game. Boss raids. Drops. Events. Global leaderboard. Heaven-Slaying Sword King? Ring a bell?"
Bobby's face went blank in the pure, innocent way of a man who had never heard a single one of those words in that order before.
Then he frowned.
"Jimmy."
"What?"
"Why would I play a game about monster hunting? I'm already sick of school as it is. Are you okay?"
Jimmy opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
The bell rang.
Mr. Windham entered.
And with him came the final destruction of Jimmy's remaining mental stability.
Mr. Windham set down his satchel, adjusted his round brown-rimmed glasses, and wrote on the board in neat, merciless letters:
INTRODUCTION TO MONSTER CLASSIFICATION
Jimmy stared at the board.
Then at Mr. Windham.
Then back at the board.
Mr. Windham turned around.
"Today," he said, "we will review the six major behavioral categories of common low- and mid-level beasts, along with the differences between territorial aggression and hunger-driven attack patterns."
Jimmy slowly raised one hand.
Mr. Windham narrowed his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Lin?"
Jimmy took a breath.
"Why?"
The entire classroom turned to look at him.
Mr. Windham blinked once. "Why what?"
"Why," Jimmy repeated, "are we learning that?"
The silence in the room twisted into something judgmental.
Mr. Windham stared at him over his glasses the way a man might stare at a chair that had suddenly started speaking.
For once, Mr. Windham seemed at a loss.
"Because," he said carefully, "it would reflect poorly on the school if we were to choose a lesson plan based on whatever you're dreaming about in class instead of paying attention."
A girl in the front row let out a quiet giggle.
Jimmy turned to Bobby.
Bobby mouthed, Are you okay?
Jimmy was not okay.
Mr. Windham continued as though Jimmy had not just suffered a total collapse of reality.
"Now then. Who can tell me the primary difference between a burrow-type ambush predator and a nest-defending pack beast?"
Half the class raised their hands.
Jimmy felt faint.
Mr. Windham called on a student, who answered with terrifying confidence.
"Burrow-types rely on terrain concealment and short-range burst attacks, while pack beasts prioritize area control and coordinated pressure."
"Correct."
Mr. Windham nodded with approval and began drawing a labeled diagram of something called a Razorback Mantis.
Jimmy stared at the board.
He knew that monster.
He knew its weak points.
He knew its attack pattern.
He knew because it had been an early-game nuisance in Monster Hunters 5: fast, annoying, lightly armored, and prone to fake-retreat behavior if you pressured it from the left.
His stomach dropped.
No.
No, no, no.
This was not "sort of similar."
This was exact.
Mr. Windham tapped the diagram with a piece of chalk. "Mr. Lin. Since you seem so engaged today, answer this. If a Razorback Mantis corners you in a narrow passage, what is the worst possible thing you can do?"
Jimmy muttered almost automatically.
"Well, run in a straight line."
The classroom went silent.
Mr. Windham paused.
Jimmy paused.
Bobby turned to look at him with round eyes.
Jimmy had not meant to say that out loud.
Mr. Windham narrowed his gaze. "And why?"
Jimmy stared back.
"Because it angles its forelimbs inward before the lunge. If the space is narrow, it wants you moving predictably. Lateral movement cuts the attack line and buys enough time to strike the joints."
Another silence.
Then Mr. Windham slowly set down the chalk.
"...Correct."
Three students near the front actually looked impressed.
Jimmy's confusion reached new and terrible heights.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of psychological damage.
By lunch, Jimmy had accepted three facts.
One: the world around him had changed.
Two: nobody else remembered it being different.
Three: he was apparently enrolled in a school system that considered "how to defeat an insect monster" a valid academic objective.
Bobby sat across from him in the cafeteria, chewing loudly while Jimmy stared into space.
"So, bro," Bobby said, "are you going to explain why you suddenly know monster theory better than honors students?"
"No."
"Okay."
Jimmy rubbed his temples. "Fatty. After school, you're coming with me."
Bobby froze halfway through lifting a piece of pork. "That sentence has never once led to anything good."
"I need information."
"You need therapy."
"I need both. We're starting with information."
Bobby pointed at himself. "Why am I involved?"
Jimmy looked at him flatly. "Because if this is all real, I need someone with enough body mass to distract danger for at least three seconds."
Bobby looked deeply offended.
"...That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
After school, Jimmy dragged Bobby toward the edge of town.
The city opened up into a semi-wild stretch of training land marked by low fences, warning signs, and a wooden gate with a painted board overhead:
GREENHIDE THICKET - BEGINNER HUNTING ZONE
RECOMMENDED FOR SUPERVISED STUDENT EXERCISES
Jimmy stopped dead.
He knew this place.
Not vaguely.
Not emotionally.
Exactly.
Greenhide Thicket was one of the first zones in Monster Hunters 5. Low-level mobs. Mild terrain hazards. Decent herb spawns. Terrible loot. Every beginner farmed here until they were strong enough to leave.
Bobby looked at the sign, then at Jimmy.
"You brought me to a hunting zone."
"Yes."
"Without permission."
"Yes."
"Because you're having some kind of academic crisis."
"Spiritual crisis," Jimmy corrected. "Academic implies this is school-related."
Bobby eyed him.
Jimmy ignored him and stepped through the gate.
The forest beyond was quiet.
Too quiet.
Tall grass swayed in the breeze. Twisted roots cut through the earth. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in broken strips of gold. Somewhere in the distance, something gave a low clicking cry.
Jimmy's pulse quickened.
He remembered this map.
He remembered the routes, the herb nodes, the safe ledges, the hidden chest near the fallen stone arch, and the player killers who used to camp the beginner paths...
But Jimmy didn't have time to let it sink in.
A voice called out from the trees.
"Well, well. Look what wandered in."
Three men stepped out from behind the brush.
No.
Four.
The leader had a red mohawk, two eyebrow piercings, and the kind of expression that suggested he practiced looking dangerous in reflective surfaces. He had a short blade at his waist and a sleeveless leather vest that seemed less like armor and more like a cry for help.
Behind him stood three goons of varying quality.
One was tall and narrow-faced.
One looked like he had lost an argument with a barber.
And the third already looked nervous, which Jimmy respected.
Bobby whispered, "Jimmy."
"I see them."
"Those are delinquent hunters."
"In my defense," Jimmy muttered, "I was hoping for smaller problems."
Mohawk spread his arms dramatically.
"How's it going, fellas? Enjoying a nice stroll after class?"
The other goons snickered behind him.
He glanced toward Bobby's shoes.
"Man, those are some nice shoes. Lemme see 'em."
His hand slipped to his waist, where a dagger was visibly tucked.
The goons around him took a step forward.
Bobby shivered.
He let out a sound that was almost a squeal.
"We don't want any trouble. I- I can give you money."
He reached for his pocket as Jimmy grabbed his hand.
Jimmy looked at him.
Then at the guy with the mohawk.
"Can I be honest?"
Mohawk sneered. "What?"
"Your whole vibe is lame."
Bobby made a strangled noise that might have been panic.
Mohawk's eye twitched. "What chu playin' at?"
"I'm just impressed you found the confidence to show up in public with that cut. I would've stayed home."
The tall goon next to Mohawk stepped up.
"Nah, this dude got a mouth on him. Lemme at him. Nobody disrespects our man Brother Mako like that."
Mohawk looked pissed.
He gave the order. "Beat this fool's ass."
The goons rushed forward.
Jimmy moved on instinct.
And immediately discovered that instincts and actual physical ability were not, in fact, the same thing.
His foot slipped on loose earth.
He twisted wrong.
The tall goon clipped him in the shoulder and sent him stumbling backward into a tree.
Pain exploded down his arm.
Jimmy sucked in a breath.
Right.
New body.
Terrible.
Very underleveled.
Also terrible.
Bobby shouted, "Jimmy!"
Then, to Jimmy's absolute horror, Bobby planted himself in front of him with both fists raised.
His entire body was shaking.
He looked like a dumpling trying to wage war.
But he stood there anyway.
"Back off!" Bobby yelled, voice cracking halfway through. "You... you ugly third-rate hunters!"
A brief silence followed.
Jimmy blinked.
Mohawk looked offended and, somehow, intrigued.
The tall one asked the others. "Did this tubby just call us third-rate?"
The barber casualty looked over at Bobby. "I think he just did."
The nervous one looked genuinely hurt.
Mohawk stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "Fine. We'll start with the fat one."
Bobby whispered without turning around. "Jimmy."
"Yeah?"
"I have made a terrible decision."
"I know."
"If I die, tell my mother I fought bravely."
"You're not dying."
"How do you know?"
"I'm deciding very hard that you aren't."
The thugs lunged.
And then the world stopped.
A translucent blue panel flashed into existence in front of Jimmy's eyes.
Not beside him.
Not in the air for everyone else.
Directly in front of him.
His breath caught.
The letters were bright, crisp, and heartbreakingly familiar.
Legacy Profile Detected
User Recognition Complete
Username: Heaven-Slaying Sword King
Jimmy stared.
Then another panel appeared.
Current Physical State: Severely Nerfed
Combat Experience: Retained
Skill Authority: Partial Restoration Available
A third panel slid in.
Would you like to activate Adaptive Combat Assistance?
Jimmy looked at the panel.
Looked at Bobby.
Looked at the incoming fist of a low-level thug with bad posture and worse intent.
And then, very suddenly, Jimmy started laughing.
Not polite laughter.
Not even sane laughter.
The kind of helpless, disbelieving laughter that burst out of a man who had spent all day thinking he was losing his mind, only to be vindicated at exactly the most inconvenient moment possible.
Mohawk skidded to a halt.
"...Why is he laughing?"
Jimmy wiped at one eye.
"Oh, thank God."
Bobby glanced back wildly. "Jimmy, this feels like a bad time for a breakdown!"
"This," Jimmy said, pushing himself to his feet, "is actually the best I've felt all day."
He looked at the panel.
Then selected:
YES
Something shifted.
No giant explosion.
No dramatic aura.
No beam of holy light from the heavens.
Just clarity.
Pure, terrifying clarity.
Jimmy suddenly understood where everyone was standing, how much pressure was on each foot, which shoulder was tense, whose center of gravity was off, where the next attacks would come from, and how badly all four of them needed better instruction.
He exhaled.
Then moved.
The first goon swung.
Jimmy stepped half an inch to the side.
The punch passed through empty air.
Jimmy chopped him in the wrist, kicked his ankle, and watched him collapse with an extremely undignified yelp.
The second came in from the left.
Jimmy ducked, grabbed the idiot's sleeve, and redirected him straight into Mohawk.
The two crashed together.
Bobby gaped.
Jimmy looked at the nervous one.
The goon froze.
Jimmy sighed, picked up a loose branch from the ground, and flicked it like a baton.
It cracked against the boy's knuckles.
He dropped his knife instantly and clutched his hand.
"Ow!"
Mohawk roared and charged.
Jimmy's eyes narrowed.
There it was.
Heavy right foot.
Committed shoulders.
Too much forward momentum.
No recovery option.
Absolute amateur hour.
Jimmy stepped aside at the last second and shoved him lightly between the shoulder blades.
Mohawk flew past him, tripped over the first fallen goon, and face-planted directly into the dirt.
The forest went quiet.
Jimmy stood in the middle of the path, breathing steadily, one hand in his pocket, like this was all only mildly inconvenient.
Bobby looked at him as if he had just evolved into a new species.
Mohawk pushed himself up, dirt all over his face, eyes wide with something that no longer resembled confidence.
"What... what are you?"
Jimmy considered that.
Then smiled.
"A bad matchup."
Mohawk's expression cracked.
The nervous goon dropped to his knees first.
"I'm sorry!"
The barber victim followed immediately.
"Please don't cripple me, sir!"
The tall one, still clutching his wrist, fell flat on his face.
Mohawk looked around at his collapsing subordinates with pure betrayal.
"You cowards!"
Then Jimmy looked at him.
Mohawk dropped too.
Straight to both knees.
Hands on the ground.
Forehead almost touching the dirt.
"I'm sorry!"
Bobby's mouth fell open.
Jimmy stared at the four kneeling thugs.
As the tension snapped loose, Jimmy tilted his face toward the sky.
A nearly maniacal laugh escaped him.
The goons on the ground froze stiff.
"Yeah, that's right! I'm your grandfather now!" he continued.
"That's what you get for messing with a pro gamer."
He folded his arms.
"You four."
All of them flinched.
Mohawk looked up shakily. "Yes, sir?"
"Congrats, you work for me starting today."
There was a pause.
The nervous one burst into tears.
"Thank you, boss!"
Jimmy blinked. "That was fast."
Bobby turned to him. "You can't just collect criminals!"
Jimmy looked at the kneeling group.
Then at Bobby.
"Counterpoint," he said, "I absolutely can."
Bobby pressed both hands to his face. "This is the worst day of my life."
Jimmy clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. You'll get used to it."
"I don't want to get used to it!"
"That's the spirit."
Jimmy turned back to the former ambushers.
"Names."
"M-Mako!" said Mohawk.
"Dren!"
"Pell!"
"S-sorry!"
Jimmy frowned. "Your name is Sorry?"
The last one sniffed. "No! I mean, I'm sorry! My name is Tilo!"
Jimmy nodded. "Right. Work on that."
Then he looked up through the trees at the late afternoon sky.
The world had changed.
Or maybe he had.
Either way, the facts were obvious now.
He was really here.
This was really the world of Monster Hunters 5.
He still had the system.
He still had his experience.
And even though his body had been nerfed so hard it was honestly insulting, that just meant one thing.
He could climb back up.
Jimmy smiled slowly.
There it was.
A goal.
A proper one.
Regain his strength.
Figure out why he was here.
And eventually become so absurdly powerful that reality itself would have to explain what it thought it was doing.
Bobby was still staring at him in awe.
"That was amazing," he said. "Since when were you that strong?"
Jimmy put a hand on his chest.
"Fatty," he said solemnly, "I have always been incredible. The world is simply late to the realization."
Bobby snorted despite himself.
Behind them, the four kneeling lackeys nodded frantically.
"Yes, boss!"
"Truly terrifying, boss!"
"Unmatched talent, boss!"
Jimmy glanced at them. "You're all terrible at this."
"We can improve, boss!"
Jimmy smirked.
"Good," he said. "Because we're going to need experience, money, equipment, information, and probably better shampoo."
Mako instinctively reached up to touch his mohawk.
Jimmy pointed into the distance, toward the deeper woods beyond the beginner path.
"Let's move."
Bobby stared. "Right now?"
Jimmy's grin widened.
"Of course right now."
He had been an ordinary student yesterday.
Today, he had a system, a confused best friend, and four crying former criminals calling him boss.
Honestly?
Things were looking up.