Chapter 2: The Dreamer's Reality
The alarm blared, a digital shriek cutting through the synthetic calm of Jason Price's latest dream. In that dream, he was 'The Starlight Swords Master,' a legendary figure standing atop a mountain of vanquished S-rank monsters, a dazzling array of beautiful, powerful women by his side, the cheers of millions echoing across the Earth. He was rich, famous, adored. The alarm, however, was a cruel, insistent reminder of 2023.
Jason slapped blindly at his phone, silencing the noise with a groan. Sunlight, thin and pale, dared to peek through the gap in his ill-fitting curtains, illuminating the battlefield that was his bedroom. Empty instant noodle cups formed a precarious tower on his nightstand, flanked by a half-eaten bag of chips. Clothes, both clean and questionable, lay scattered like fallen soldiers across the floor, mingling with comic books, gaming peripherals, and a dusty textbook on advanced theoretical physics – a relic from a semester he'd barely attended.
He was 25. An adult, technically. In his mind, he was a genius-in-waiting, a diamond in the rough, destined for greatness. In reality, he was a professional procrastinator, a master of the 'later' and the 'someday.'
"Just five more minutes," he mumbled, pulling the blanket over his head. Five minutes to return to the dream, to that world where success was a given, where effort was an optional accessory for lesser mortals. He imagined the headlines: "Jason Price, The Savior of Humanity, Discovers Cure for Procrastination (After a Nap)."
But the real world, as it often did, intruded. The faint, rhythmic thumping from the apartment above indicated Mrs. Henderson was already on her evening power walk. The distant, almost imperceptible rumble of a large vehicle – probably a Hunter transport returning from a raid on a dungeon – vibrated through the floorboards. Even the air, subtly, carried the faint, metallic tang that had become common since the comet hit, a reminder of the world's dangerous reality.
Jason finally pushed himself up, his limbs protesting. He shuffled to the kitchen, a space that mirrored his bedroom's organized chaos. The sink was a monument to neglected dishes, a testament to his belief that "they'll soak themselves clean eventually." He grabbed a stale bagel, grimacing.
"Today's the day," he muttered, not to anyone in particular, but to the reflection of his unkempt hair and tired eyes in the toaster. "Today I'm going to start that online coding course. Or maybe I'll finally organize my comic collection. Or... I'll just figure out what I want for lunch first."
His internal monologue was a constant, grand narrative, a stark contrast to the mundane actions it accompanied. 'A true hero always starts with a hearty breakfast!' he thought, taking another dry bite of the bagel. 'Even the greatest S-rank Hunters need sustenance before facing the horrors of the abyss!'
He drifted into the living room, drawn by the soft hum of his computer. His desktop was a shrine to his aspirations: wallpapers of impossibly cool anime protagonists, shortcuts to game launchers, and a single, glaring icon for a "Novel Writing Software" he'd downloaded six months ago and never opened.
He clicked on his favorite streaming platform. A live broadcast was already in full swing: "Vanguard Guild's B-Rank team clears a Dungeon near a School!" The screen showed a team of armored Hunters, their faces grim but determined, battling grotesque, multi-limbed creatures in a cavernous, glowing chamber. Explosions of elemental magic lit up the darkness, swords clashed against chitinous hides, and a burly warrior with a glowing shield roared as he absorbed a monstrous blow.
"Look at them," Jason sighed, leaning back in his worn gaming chair. "So dramatic. Just hit it harder, guys. Seriously, that's like, basic D-class monster movement. Why are they struggling so much?" He scoffed, as if he, a civilian, possessed superior tactical insight. "If I were there, with my legendary sword, that dungeon would be a cakewalk. I'd just slash everything apart in minutes and then have my team collect the loot while I signed autographs."
He watched, mesmerized, as the lead Hunter, a woman with fiery red hair and a massive greatsword, delivered a finishing blow to the dungeon boss, a creature that looked like a mutated spider-scorpion hybrid. The chat exploded with praise. "Queen Anya is unstoppable!" "Vanguard FTW!" "Best Hunter in the city!"
Jason felt a familiar pang of something akin to envy but quickly tucked it away. "Amateurs. They just don't have my potential. My latent power is probably so immense, the system is just waiting for the perfect moment to unleash it. Can't rush genius, right?"
* * *
The world outside his apartment was a vibrant, dangerous, and exhilarating place. Dungeons, once a terrifying anomaly, were now grudgingly accepted as a part of life. Cities had adapted, building defenses, establishing Hunter academies, and creating powerful guilds that operated like private armies. News channels reported dungeon breakthroughs alongside stock market updates. Children played games pretending to be S-rank Hunters.
But for Jason, it was all background noise. He'd never even seen a real monster up close, beyond the footage on his screen. He'd never felt the thrill of battle, the rush of adrenaline, or the satisfaction of overcoming a true challenge. He was a spectator in a world that demanded participation.
His phone buzzed. It was a reminder from his landlord about overdue rent. He winced. "Right. Rent. Another mundane problem for a future S-rank Hunter to deal with." He swiped it away, then opened a new tab. "Top 10 Easiest Ways to Get Rich Quick."
He scrolled through articles about cryptocurrency, speculative stocks, and online surveys. Nothing that required actual sustained effort. He needed a shortcut, a magic bullet. He needed his dreams to just happen.
As he leaned back, the old gaming chair creaked ominously. A faint, almost imperceptible hum started, not from the computer, but from deep within him. It was a strange, tingling sensation, like static electricity building under his skin. He frowned, dismissing it as a phantom itch. Must be the stale bagel. He closed his eyes, drifting, still dreaming of a life he wasn't living.
The alarm on his phone jolted him back to reality. Time for work. Another night shift at the 7-Eleven, another eight hours of mindless existence. He pulled himself out of the chair with a groan and shuffled to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Blonde hair sticking up in all directions, dark circles under brown eyes, stubble dotting his jawline.
"Look at you," he muttered to his reflection. "Hidden potential. Untapped power. Future hero of humanity." He snorted, splashing cold water on his face.
Outside, the city pulsed with energy. A massive billboard displayed the latest Hunter rankings, featuring a stoic woman in gleaming armor. "Congratulations to Mira Chen on reaching S-rank!" The crowd below cheered as her image flashed across the screen, her accomplishment celebrated like a championship victory.
Jason kept his head down as he walked. The 7-Eleven's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he donned his uniform vest. Another night of scanning energy drinks for Hunters heading to or from dungeons, of nodding politely as they recounted their exploits, of pretending he was just waiting for his moment while knowing, deep down, he was too lazy to work for it.