It didn’t.
I really had become leaner, stronger, and… taller?
I looked down at my pajama bottoms. They stopped above my ankles. Yes, definitely taller.
“Great,” I muttered. “I’m going to need a new wardrobe now.”
Back in my room, I went through jeans one by one, only to confirm the horrifying truth. Everything was too short.
“Was it leveling that made me grow?” I whispered. “Or Vitality? What was my—”
Before I finished the thought, a familiar window popped into view.
Name: Miguel Valencia
Age: 17
Level: 5
HP: 130
MP: 20
Class: Street Brawler Trainee (Rare)
Vitality: 34 (+10% → 37)
Strength: 30 (45 with equipment)
Endurance: 25 (44 with equipment)
Dexterity: 10
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 10
Skills:
? Blunt Weapons Lv 5
? Throwing Weapons Lv 5
Abilities:
? Sweet Spot (Class Ability)
? Adaptive Density (Jellyfish Jacket)
Even though I’d seen it before, something about it appearing here—in the real world—hit different.
Realer.
I tested my theory and opened my inventory.
It worked. The window opened in front of me.
I tried summoning a knife.
Nothing.
“Okay… so I can see everything, but I can’t use anything out here,” I said, pacing. “Gear exists… just doesn’t manifest. Makes sense, I guess.”
I had questions—way too many—but before I could dig deeper—
“Mike! You’re going to be late! Get ready and come have breakfast. Your sister is waiting for you!” my mom yelled from downstairs.
“Coming!”
I threw on the only thing that kind of still fit—an oversized hoodie—and headed down.
In the kitchen, I grabbed a piece of toast and shoveled a quick forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth.
“Alright, let’s go,” I said, motioning to my little sister.
“About time,” Ellie groaned, slinging her backpack on.
“Yeah, yeah. Bye, Mom. See you later.”
Mom shouted a distracted “Bye!” from across the room, too busy wiping the counter to actually look at me.
Thank God.
I was not in the mood to explain how I grew over an inch and got ripped while sleeping.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I dropped Ellie off at her school, then parked in my high school’s lot and sat there for a second.
I pulled up my notifications.
Floor 1 Completed. Ability Unlocked
Choose 1 of the following:
- Adrenaline Rush (Common)
Active Ability
For 20 seconds, each time you take damage, gain:
? +5% Strength (stacks up to +25%)
? +5% Movement Speed
? +10% Pain Resistance
Cooldown: 1 hour
After effect: –5% Strength for 10 minutes - Skull Cracker (Uncommon)
Active Ability
Your next blunt attack becomes a Crushing Blow:
? 200% damage
? +50% Sweet Spot bonus
? Stuns target for 2 seconds
Cooldown: 30 seconds - Density Breaker (Rare)
Passive Ability
Blunt weapon attacks forcibly stabilize enemy density, rendering them weak to blunt damage.
Adaptive defenses are ignored.
Blunt attacks deal +20% effective damage.
The choice wasn’t hard. I was not planning on fighting another squishy, blunt-absorbing nightmare ever again.
Density Breaker.
Also… rare. The gamer in me was satisfied.
I headed to my first class and took my seat. That’s when Emma walked up to my desk. After months of not speaking, today of all days she decided to say hi.
“Hey, Mike,” she said. “How you doing?”
“Uh… fine. You?”
“Good,” she said. Then paused. “Hey… I had the strangest dream last night.”
My heart dropped.
“Oh yeah?” I asked carefully.
“Yeah. I was this princess trapped in a castle. The guy who captured me was this jellyfish thing. The dream started kind of… gory. I think I was tortured?” She frowned. “It’s hazy. But then you showed up. You killed it and got me out.”
“…Oh yeah?” I said, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
She smiled faintly. “Very heroic, Mike. Why couldn’t you be more like that when we were dating?” she said with a little humor.
She brushed her hair back, and that’s when I saw it. I stood up so fast my chair screeched.
I grabbed her wrist. “This,” I said, pointing at the burn mark. The same one. Same place. Same shape. “When did this happen?”
She blinked. “Huh? I don’t know. Maybe my curling iron? You okay?”
I wasn’t. If she was real in the dungeon. If she could get hurt there.
Would she have died if I hadn’t saved her?
My chest tightened. I started breathing faster. The panic wasn’t just about her.
It was that old feeling again—the one that hit me the night Dad died. The feeling that everything depended on me, and if I messed up even once… someone else would pay the price.
“Mike, relax,” she said gently. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
I let go and sat back down.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Sorry.”
She walked back to her desk, glancing at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. I didn’t hear a word for the rest of the day. School wasn’t even on my priority list anymore.
At least it was Friday because I needed time to figure out what the hell the Dream Dungeon really was. ??The rest of the school day passed in a blur. Bells rang. Teachers talked. I nodded at the right times and answered questions on autopilot, all while my mind stayed somewhere else, counting hours. I drove home in silence, radio off, hands tight on the steering wheel. The familiar streets felt… wrong. Too normal.
Dinner was exactly the same as always. Mom talked about work. Ellie complained about homework. I nodded, chewed, laughed when expected. From the outside, nothing had changed.
But everything had. There was nothing normal about today.
In less than three hours, I’d be back in the Dream Dungeon. Fighting for my life, and apparently other people’s lives, not to mention Earth. Back with the System. Back with monsters. Back with the blank mannequin that knew way too much about me.
I excused myself early and went to my room. On top of my dresser sat my dad’s old baseball glove. The leather was worn and soft, the stitches frayed from years of use. We used to play catch every day before he died. It didn’t matter how late he got home or how tired he was, if I asked, he always said yes.
He even set up a tee inside the house, no matter how much Mom hated it. She especially hated it after I broke the TV that one time. She yelled at him more than she yelled at me, and I still remember the exact look on his face—half apologetic, half “please don’t kill me”—while Mom scolded him like he was the kid instead of me.
Those memories kept me going after he passed. He was the one person who never made me feel small, never made me feel like failing was the end of the world. Every time I missed a fly ball or struck out, he wouldn’t get mad or disappointed. He’d just ask me one question:
“Did you give it your best?”
That was all he cared about. That was enough for him. I was always enough for him.
I picked up the glove and gripped it tightly, the familiar scent of old leather hitting me harder than I expected.
“Dad… if you can hear this,” I whispered, “just know I’m doing the best I can.”
I checked the time before lying down.
9:10 p.m.
Early. Earlier than I usually went to sleep. As nervous as I was, I had questions, and tonight, I planned on getting answers. I lay back, stared at the ceiling, and closed my eyes.