“Hey, hey, wasn’t last night insane?
The sudden blackout, then the server going down… For a moment, I thought I’d passed out.
Isn’t there any compensation or something?”
“Compensation? Forget it.
If it was because of poor server management, maybe, but it was a natural disaster.
They say the whole world blacked out at the same time.”
“Yeah, and it was down for like, what, one or two seconds tops?
Man, you’re just so greedy…”
“Heh-heh.”
[Starting Village: Moretti]
The plaza of Moretti, one of the beginner areas, was bustling with players.
They were all talking about yesterday’s massive blackout event.
An unprecedented global blackout.
For industries like media, banking, and key infrastructure, even a brief one or two seconds of outage could cause significant disruption.
But for ordinary gamers, it was just a minor hiccup—mere gossip to laugh off.
“But hey, I heard the Phoenix Clan is going for the 10th floor this time.”
“Really? Wow… And it hasn’t been that long since they cleared the 9th floor. That’s incredible.”
“Sigh, when will we ever get to the Labyrinth Tower?”
“Get there? First, we need to get out of the beginner zones. The Labyrinth Tower is in the central continent.”
“Haa… It looks so close, but it’s so far away.”
The players muttered as they gazed at the towering structure piercing the sky in the distance.
A colossal tower visible from anywhere on the continent.
It was the [Labyrinth Tower], the ultimate goal of every player.
[Eviltale], the virtual reality game created by the world’s first autonomous AI, [Ethan].
From its development phase, it was shrouded in rumors.
A new, unheard-of company [Andra] was making a game using an uncommercialized autonomous AI?
And instead of the conventional helmet-based VR systems, they were introducing capsule-like devices capable of digitizing all five senses?
It sounded like something out of a comic book, and at first, people were intrigued.
But as three years passed without significant news, they dismissed it as nothing more than an empty promise.
Then, in the fifth year, [Eviltale] took the world by storm.
From the gusts of wind to the scents in the air.
From the warmth of the sun to the intricate landscapes of buildings.
Even the intuitive intensity of combat.
Everything felt novel and astounding.
A challenge to the impossible.
Those who experienced [Eviltale] even claimed it wasn’t made by humans.
With 300 million concurrent users and 1.5 billion total registrants, the game didn’t just achieve popularity—it consumed the world with fervor.
And so, as always, people were enjoying [Eviltale].
All except for one person.
“P-Please! I’m begging you!
Contact this number for me!”
“No, wait! Call the police! Please…!”
A murmur spread among the players in Moretti’s plaza.
A rumor about a crazy man running around.
- Is that crazy guy still running around Moretti Village?
- Nope. It’s been three days. Now he’s just standing by the fountain with a sign around his neck.
- Yeah, I saw him too. He was crying, saying he’s trapped in the game since the blackout.
- LMAO, attention-seeking loser. If he’s trapped, why’s the logout button working fine for everyone else?
Posts about the man started appearing in the in-game community.
By the tenth day, the whispers grew louder.
“Isn’t that guy… the one?”
“Could he really be unable to log out?”
“No way. If that were true, the developers would’ve done something by now. Admins have been here several times.”
People whispered as they watched the man standing in the plaza.
- There’s a full 24-hour livestream on YouTube. Looks like he really can’t log out.
- Nah, he’s probably just an NPC.
- OMG, what if it’s a hidden quest? 😂
By the 20th day, even the skeptics in the community started to change their tone.
“…Do you think he’s dead or something?”
“No way.”
“Some YouTubers and streamers visited the address on his sign, but there was nothing there.”
“Of course there wasn’t. It’s all fake.”
“Apparently, the police got so many reports they issued a public announcement. They said the ID number doesn’t even exist.”
As the murmurs continued, suspicion and cynicism replaced curiosity by the 30th day.
And that suspicion turned into cruel ridicule.
Drip… drip…
Rain began to fall.
“…”
The man stood silently at the fountain in the center of the plaza, his head hung low.
“I… can’t log out.”
His dry lips barely moved.
“Please… help me.”
His stamina had long been depleted, and he could barely remain standing.
Hunger had maxed out days ago, and his vision was blurred, as if shrouded in fog.
How many days had it been?
He had lost track of time, endlessly repeating the same words.
“Damn it. That lunatic again… doesn’t he ever get tired?”
“They say the ID number on his sign is fake too.”
“Apparently, the police issued an official statement yesterday, asking people to stop filing reports. The ID doesn’t exist.”
“Geez… The things people do for attention these days.”
The reactions were cold and indifferent.
“…I can’t reach my family.”
“…Please.”
Thud.
He collapsed to his knees, bowing his head as if in prayer.
“Please… find me…”
The rain, now pouring like a storm, drowned his quiet sobs.
“Ah… ahhh…”
His tears flowed freely, as if to wash away his accumulated despair.
The plaza was bustling with players, all happily enjoying the game.
It was natural.
For them, returning to reality was as simple as pressing a button.
But for him?
‘What on earth… is going on?’
Even he couldn’t make sense of it.
Clenching his fists on the ground, Woojin muttered.
“Trapped… in a game.”
What he had only imagined was now happening to him.
And yet…
It was nothing like he had imagined.
If he had been alone in this situation, perhaps he would have accepted it.
But the mundane conversations around him kept piercing his ears.
Talk of tonight’s dinner.
Complaints about bosses at work.
Plans for a date later.
Ordinary, everyday conversations.
The players in the plaza casually talked about their lives outside the game.
It was only natural.
They could return to reality anytime they wished by simply logging out.
But for him…
‘I can’t go back.’
How could he explain it?
It felt like being trapped behind an invisible wall, separated from everyone else.
“Logout…”
Clinging to a sliver of hope, he uttered the command again.
“…Damn it.”
Nothing changed.
This place was undeniably real.
And yet…
Ironically, he couldn’t return to reality.
“I’m sorry, but the system says we can’t verify your identity. It seems the ID number you provided is incorrect…”
The game administrator, GM Dane, replied with a hint of irritation to the man before him.
- Hey, who’s in charge of Moretti?
- Um…
- Didn’t you say this would be resolved after my vacation? Why is this lunatic still causing a scene in the plaza?!
- S-Sorry.
Dane sighed as he looked at the dedicated admin chat only accessible to game operators.
It was now the 45th day since Kim Woojin had started making a commotion in the plaza.
“That… that’s impossible! Please check again. My name is Kim Woojin. I’m 35 years old…”
He was still desperate.
“You’ve requested identity verification dozens of times already.”
And the staff seemed just as fed up as he was desperate.
“I’m here today to inform you that our management team can no longer process your identity verification requests.”
GM Dane, team leader of the second operations division, spoke coldly to Woojin.
“…What?”
“Our team never lies to our customers. This is something only admins can see, but I’m making an exception for you.”
Click, click.
With an irritated expression, Dane tapped on a holographic keyboard and turned the screen toward Woojin.
- Identity verification failed.
- The provided ID number does not exist.
“Sir, you mentioned issues with logging out.
Without accurate information, we cannot assist you.”
“I’m giving you the correct information! How could I not know my own ID number?!”
Woojin’s voice rose in panic.
“Our account system, called [World Info], integrates user data not just in Korea but worldwide.”
“And?”
“If the information you provided doesn’t exist, it means either you’re lying…
…or you don’t exist in this world.”
Dane’s voice dropped to a menacing tone.
Flinch.
Woojin’s shoulders tensed as if crushed by an invisible weight.
“If you continue spreading baseless rumors and damaging [Eviltale]’s reputation, we’ll have no choice but to take action.”
“…Damaging your reputation? Do you even hear yourself?”
“Pardon?”
“Fine! Go ahead! Take action! Force logout, ban my account, do something!
Just get me out of this damned game already!”
‘…What the hell?’
Gripping the arm of his own, shouting in frustration, Woojin’s display was so intense it caused Dane, who had been warning him moments before, to falter in surprise.
“Hey, can you check that person’s data code?”
“Uh… Team Leader. About that…”
“Why the hesitation? Is there a problem?”
“We can’t find any information—not just their real-life data but their in-game data as well.”
“What do you mean by that? Are you kidding me? Even if the real-world data is a bluff, you should at least be able to access the character data that’s clearly in the game!”
“You’re aware, aren’t you? While we manage personal data, the in-game data is controlled by [Ethan].”
Team Leader Go frowned deeply at his subordinate’s report.
“So? Even if the AI manages it, we should still be able to access the data, shouldn’t we?”
“There appears to have been an error in the user data on the day of the [Blackout].”
“…An error? The blackout lasted only one or two seconds, didn’t it?”
“Yes. But it seems the short duration of the blackout was actually the problem. Normally, when a blackout occurs, backup power kicks in immediately, but…”
The subordinate cautiously continued.
“Because the blackout was so brief, both the main and backup power systems activated simultaneously, causing a momentary overload.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. The blackout was too short, so it became a problem? Does that even make sense?”
“The development team says it’s the only plausible explanation. Unless, of course, [Ethan] intentionally shut itself down to cause the error. But with the entire world experiencing the blackout, that seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”
“So? The recovery process?”
“It’s undergoing self-repair, but as for the erased data, it seems we’re only able to start saving anew from the current moment onward.”
Grinding his teeth—
“Starting anew? Fantastic.”
Even though he couldn’t see it, his words must have sent a shiver down his subordinates’ spines.
“This hasn’t been leaked to the outside yet, has it?”
“N-no, of course not.”
“Everyone, stay sharp. The media’s already got their eyes on us with all this AI fuss. If this gets out, it’s over. Got it?”
“Don’t worry. Despite the errors, there haven’t been any reports of issues affecting gameplay, like with that man.”
“Plus, setting aside game issues, he’s claiming ID numbers that don’t even exist in real life.”
“Right. His so-called family’s details turned out to be entirely fabricated as well—none of the numbers existed.”
“And R&C Technology? The company he claims to own? Never even heard of it.”
“…Fine. Spin it that way for now. Lead the narrative towards how forced termination or account suspension isn’t possible without authorization from [Ethan].”
“Understood.”
“W-wait…! Wait a second!!”
Woojin, clutching Dane’s sleeve with trembling hands, shouted desperately.
“If you can’t check mine, at least confirm this. Choi Jin-sook. Born in 1959. Her ID number is…”
Clicking his tongue silently, Dane regarded him with frustration.
“We’ve already checked Choi Jin-sook, Kim In-cheol, and Kim Jin-nam multiple times. None of those ID numbers exist.”
“Please, just one more time…! There’s been a mistake, I’m sure of it!”
“I’m sorry, but there are no such people. Are you sure you’re not mistaken? Continuing to insist on non-existent numbers only makes things difficult for us.”
…Mistaken?
Thud—
When Woojin released his grip, his arm fell limply to his side.
The tenuous thread of rationality he’d been clinging to snapped as easily as his grip.
“Haha…”
Being trapped in this cursed game?
Fine, he could accept that much.
But ID numbers that didn’t match?
Alright, let’s even say he didn’t exist anymore.
But…
“Why are you telling me my family—”
Don’t exist either?
“Haha… Is this some kind of hidden camera prank?”
You know, like The Truman Show.
Was everyone conspiring to deceive him like that movie?
His mind went blank.
Even so…
“There’s got to be a limit!!! Why drag my family into this?! Who the hell is doing this to me?!”
Crack!—
Woojin grabbed Dane by the collar.
“Mistaken? Cut the crap! Get me out of this damn game right now!!”
“W-what are you doing?!”
Dane shoved him off with force.
Crash—!!!
Woojin’s body flew backward and smashed into the ground.
With Dane’s administrative power measured at an unquantifiable level and Woojin only a level 10 warrior, there was no contest.
Had they been outside the city, he might have died on the spot.
“Ah…”
Feeling the weight of others’ stares, Dane hurried over to Woojin, looking uneasy.
“My apologies. I’m set to the highest level for handling emergency situations…”
Sob… Sob…
Clutching the hand extended to him, Woojin, face filled with despair, choked out a plea.
“…Please.”
His trembling lips barely managed to form the words.
“Just… let me log out…”
Thud—
His head drooped.
As though all hope had been extinguished, tears streamed from his downcast face.
Buzz… Bzzzt…
It was then.
His hazy vision began to clear, sharpening with unnatural clarity.
“…?!”
Something appeared before him.
[______]
‘…A cursor?’
Like typing into empty space, the blinking cursor began rapidly inputting text.
[Emergency Restoration Program Activated.]
[Identifying Problem…]
‘W-what is this…?’
[Checking Logout Feasibility…]
Bzzt… Crackle…
The lines jittered and scrambled like a malfunctioning TV before reorganizing.
[Connection Port Located: P-09-183 Port]
[1 Available Port Found.]
[Establishing Connection…]
Before Woojin could react, the system began processing rapidly.
[Logout Option Available.]
“W-what…?”
Everything around him fell silent.
The bustling village was gone.
The sky, the wind, and the crowd—all vanished.
He was alone in a pitch-black void.
[Do you want to log out?]
[Yes / No]
“Logout?”
Woojin stared at the system window, his eyes trembling.
“Is… is this real?”
But there was no time to hesitate.
He had to do it.
Click.
Slowly, he raised his hand and pressed [YES].
[Logging out.]
Woosh—!!!
Blinding white light engulfed his vision.
‘Please!’
Clenching his fists, Woojin prayed fervently.
When he opened his eyes…
May he be in reality.
[Logout Complete.]
“…What is this?”
But when he opened his eyes, words failed him.
Logout.
A command to exit the game.
But there was no guarantee which “reality” it would take him to.
Ha… Haha…
“Damn it.”
It was another world.
