2240.

Humanity created a second world.

A virtual game world. A realm whose total map area doubled Earth’s.

Fifty years ago, Frostbird—a global gaming consortium—launched *Mystic Box*, a massive fantasy MMORPG. It birthed full-dive holographic gaming.

*Mystic Box* swept the globe overnight. But its sky-high price meant only elites could afford this technological art.

After fifty years of refinement, what began as sight-and-sound immersion now delivered touch, taste, and smell. *Mystic Box* satisfied all five senses—and became startlingly affordable.

The world’s first full-dive game. Half a century later, no rival had surpassed it. A mainstream fantasy title packed with countless elements.

You could find dungeon maps blueprinting medieval wars.

You could find sprawling zones dripping with Victorian steampunk grit.

You could find lawless, maze-like slaughter arenas mirroring Hong Kong’s Kowloon Walled City.

You could find landscapes echoing Italy’s Renaissance-era grace.

…

Yet its core gameplay stayed classic: grind monsters, level up, loot gear to sell, team up to raid dungeons.

Its impact was undeniable. It stretched human activity beyond the standard sixteen waking hours—claiming sleep’s eight hours too.

Life gained a third more time.

Anyone, young or old, could slip on a headset, lie in bed, and let their neural interface auto-log into the game. Their body and mind rested while their avatar played. Or they could game twenty-four hours straight.

Thus, the game became humanity’s second world.

In-game currency tied directly to real money. Virtual factions equaled real-world power.

The world grew peaceful. Conflicts vanished. Because everyone chose to fight to the death—inside the game.

Superpowers invaded this digital frontier, building virtual empires. Nations founded schools training professional gamers.

Game talent now outranked all professions. Elite players became society’s aristocracy—national pillars.

The world changed. Outwardly peaceful, yet inwardly frenzied. Games made life purer and brighter—but also darker, more terrifying.

Was everything truly moving toward good?

---

Our protagonist’s city existed solely to cultivate gaming talent. The entire metropolis orbited one institution:

**[Dragon Scale Gaming Academy - China Region]**

China’s premier gaming university. No grade promotions here—only eliminations.

Fall behind, and you were cut. Show weakness, and you were cut. This world was brutal. Slack for a moment, and others crushed you.

Named **Frost Dragon Special Administrative City**, it honored Frostbird’s legacy. Ranked third nationwide after the Demon Capital and Holy Capital, it eclipsed century-old metropolises in just a decade. Why?

Because of *Mystic Box*.

Nearly every resident worked in gaming. Many handled state-level operations or led top-tier in-game factions.

Here, games were everything. Your rank defined your social class. Only strength earned respect—and this truth cut deeper here than anywhere else.

At school, the weak faced scorn. The powerless faced bullies.

Our protagonist sat at the bottom—of society, of school. Bullied everywhere. Disrespected by all.

He wasn’t tormented for hidden past glories.

No secret savior status earned him suspicion.

No fallen legend status drew sneers.

Simply put: he wasn’t bullied to set up some future power reveal. He was genuinely pathetic.

Weak because he was sick.

Weak because he couldn’t game.

Like 3D motion sickness centuries prior, he suffered full-dive motion sickness. He couldn’t play normally.

In this world. In this city. He’d been spawned in hell mode.

No one could save him. Only he could claw his way out.