CHAPTER 1: PROLOGUE:THE EXTRA

Chapter 1: Prologue: The Extra

The room was dark—too dark.

Faint light seeped through cracks in the old wooden shutters, dust swirling lazily in its path. On the cold stone floor, a boy stirred. His lashes trembled, and finally, pale-blue eyes blinked open.

...Where am I?

The thought hit like a jolt of lightning.

Michael Willson sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his temple. His body ached, and his breath fogged faintly in the chilled air. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.

This wasn’t his apartment.

No cluttered desk stacked with soda cans and instant noodle cups.

No humming PC tower with its faint blue glow.

No squeaky chair stained with coffee.

Instead—

A single wooden table stood in the center of the room, its surface buried beneath open tomes and faded scrolls. The smell of parchment and candlewax filled the air, like a scholar’s study frozen in time.

Michael’s pulse quickened. He stumbled to his feet, legs still shaky, and approached the table.

That’s when he saw it.

An envelope lay neatly atop the books. Dark red wax sealed it shut—shaped into a dragon coiled around a sword.

Something about it felt heavy. Final.

With trembling fingers, he picked it up, broke the seal, and unfolded the crisp letter inside. A bronze token slipped out and clattered onto the wood. Numbered on its surface, clear and sharp, was 754.

Michael’s eyes darted to the letter. He read. And as he read, his lips grew dry.

---

The Letter

Date: 2 February, 3892

To: Mr. Michael Willson

It is with great honor that we inform you of your selection to participate in the 367th Year Entrance Examination of Arcade Hunter Academy – the foremost institution for cultivating elite Hunters across the world.

Your Entrance Examination has been scheduled for 15th March, 3892.

Your Token Number is: 754.

This token number is unique to you and serves as your sole identification during the examination process. Without presenting this token, entry into the examination grounds will not be permitted.

The Entrance Examination will assess candidates across four trials, designed to measure your worthiness to join the Hunter ranks:

• Endurance Trial – A physical test to evaluate stamina, resilience, and survival capacity.

• Intelligence Trial (Written Exam) – An assessment of strategy, tactics, and decision-making.

• Skill Test (Combat Exam) – A demonstration of combat aptitude with your chosen weapon or technique.

• Special Exam (Hidden) – A classified trial, revealed only to those who progress.

Candidates are advised to arrive at the Arcade Hunter Academy Examination Grounds no later than 09:00 AM on the examination date. Late arrivals will be disqualified without exception.

We extend our best wishes for your success and look forward to witnessing your potential.

Signed,

Herald Crimson

Principal, Arcade Hunter Academy

Bearer of the Order Seal – Council Elder

---

Michael’s hands shook. He lowered the letter, but his mind was screaming.

"...Wait. No. No, no, no. This... this can’t be real."

His voice cracked, desperate. He pressed his hands against his chest, his arms, his face. Every nerve tingled as if to mock him.

And yet—the letter did not fade. The token still gleamed under the dim light.

He swallowed hard, staring at the words that glared back at him.

Arcade Hunter Academy.

The name punched the air from his lungs.

That academy. That name. It was too familiar. Too impossible.

"...This is... the game’s tutorial stage."

His knees nearly buckled.

The game. The Eclipse of Hero – The World’s End. The one he had played for years. The one where the protagonist—Leon Lionheart—began his journey.

The one where the world was doomed to be destroyed.

His Past Life

Memories came rushing back, drowning him.

Samar. That was his real name. Samar, thirty-four years old. A corporate office worker by day, a content creator by night.

And a gamer. Not just any gamer.

The gamer.

For eight years, The Eclipse of Hero was his life. He was Rank #1 on the global leaderboards, the undisputed PvP champion, the raid leader whispered about in guild chatrooms like a living legend. People paid real money just to have him carry them through dungeons. His in-game name had more value than his real-world salary.

The golden age of MMOs. Laggy internet. Chunky monitors. Begging his parents not to pick up the phone line while he was in the middle of raiding the Demon Castle. For Samar, it was paradise.

Until... now.

Now he was inside it.

Michael’s lips trembled.

"If this really is the world of Eclipse of Hero..." He clenched his fists. "...then this planet is destined to end."

Because he remembered. He remembered the story.

Leon Lionheart would grow, defeat the Demon God, only to watch him self-destruct and annihilate the entire planet. Humanity and the other races, gone. Wiped out.

That was fate.

But fate had shifted.

Michael’s—no, Samar’s—eyes hardened, glinting with icy resolve.

"If I’m here... then I’ll change it."

---

The flood of memories came like a river bursting through a broken dam. They weren’t Samar’s memories—no late-night gaming sessions, no office cubicles, no city smog. These were warmer. Heavier. They smelled of iron, leather, and smoke from the forge.

Michael Willson.

That was his name now.

The second son of Darius Willson, a B-Class Hunter who once roared across dungeons with a sword of steel and pride sharper than the blade itself. His father’s voice echoed in his mind—gruff, commanding, but steady.

"A sword is not for glory, Michael. A sword is for survival. For family."

His mother’s face surfaced Lilly Benrick, Mage of the twin elements, fire and frost. Her hair, pale gold, always pulled back in a loose braid, her laughter carrying warmth even through the coldest winters. But when she fought, her eyes became ice. She was a woman who could burn an ogre to cinders and freeze a wyvern’s wings in the same breath.

The guild the Willson Adventuring Guild wasn’t noble. It wasn’t legendary. It wasn’t even particularly wealthy. Officially, it was ranked #7652 on the global Hunter Registry, one insignificant speck among tens of thousands. But it was stubborn. It endured.

Five B-Class Hunters. Sixty-three C-Class. Forty-five D-Class.

A family, bound not by fame or ambition, but by grit.

Their work was modest—clearing E- and C-Rank dungeons, slaying beasts that threatened trade routes, selling mana stones to merchants. It was enough to keep the guildhall lit. Enough to put bread on the table. Enough to let the younger generation dream.

Michael grew up inside that dream.

He remembered the hall’s worn wooden floors, polished only by boots stomping day after day. He remembered the banners—faded, patched, but never replaced, because his father said "A scar is proof of survival." He remembered sparring in the courtyard, his father correcting his grip again and again, until his palms bled raw.

The boy Michael Willson was not extraordinary.

He didn’t awaken to a rare trait at ten. He didn’t dazzle anyone with his sword talent. He wasn’t like Leon Lionheart—the golden protagonist destined to carve his name into legend.

Michael was simply... ordinary. A swordsman-in-training, born with a meager Ice Affinity. Useful in some ways, but limited. His guild whispered hopes, his parents whispered dreams, and Michael himself carried the weight of all of it silently.

He wanted to rise. For them.

But the reality of the Willson Guild was suffocating. Hunters grew older. Wounds piled up. Their rivals—the noble guilds with royal backing, the factions with wealth and influence—saw the Willsons as relics waiting to vanish.

That was why the Arcade Hunter Academy Entrance Exam had mattered so much.

The Academy was not merely a school. It was the crucible where heroes were forged. Those who graduated became pillars of society: elite Hunters, faction leaders, noble guards, even kingslayers. To enter was to grasp a future beyond mediocrity.

And Michael Willson—the ordinary son of a fading guild had dared to apply.

He remembered the day he left for Atlan City. His father’s hand, heavy on his shoulder, calloused fingers pressing down with quiet pride.

"You carry the Willson name now. Don’t shame it."

His mother’s embrace—brief, but warm, as if afraid he might never return.

"Come back stronger, Michael. Strong enough that no one dares to call us small again."

Those words dug into him like thorns. They were love, but also chains.

So he worked.

By day, he delivered coffee in a bustling corner café, bowing politely to Hunters and officials who barely spared him a glance. By night, he trained alone in the parks, his sword slicing through cold air until his breath came ragged and his arms trembled. His body wasn’t blessed, but his will... his will refused to break.

For Michael Willson, the Academy wasn’t just an opportunity. It was salvation. For him. For his family. For the Willson Guild that refused to die quietl

The memories settled.

Michael lifted a hand, staring at the faint lines etched across his palm. This wasn’t Samar’s hand—the soft, pale hand of a man who spent more time at a keyboard than under the sun. This was Michael’s hand. Calloused, scarred, and young.

"...So this is who I am now," he whispered.

Fifteen years old. White-haired. Blue-eyed. Born into mediocrity, bound by expectation, yet burning with a desire that had never been extinguished.

Not a hero. Not a chosen one.

An extra.

But extras could rewrite stories too.

---

Michael’s brows furrowed, another thread of memory unraveling.

The inn room in Atlan City. The days spent serving coffee at a café, training alone in parks under flickering lamps. His dream to pass the Academy’s entrance exam—not for himself, but for his guild’s pride.

The letter that came. The potion beside it.

It had promised power. A single drink to raise his rank.

...He had drunk it.

And then—darkness. His throat burned. His vision blurred. His lungs clawed for air until everything collapsed.

Michael’s hand trembled. His breath caught.

"...That wasn’t a gift."

That was a scheme.

A poisoned setup.

Someone had used his desperation as the perfect trap. And now... now he was in this body, this world, with someone else already sweeping away the evidence.

"...Who was it?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Who killed me?"

---

And then it came.

A sound that didn’t belong to this room.

DING—!

Lines of blue light shimmered before his eyes.

---

[ Congratulations, Host, for regaining your lost memory. ]

[ The System has been successfully activated. ]

[ Merging Host’s status with world framework... ]

[ Merge complete. ]

---

Michael froze, staring at the glowing text hanging in the air.

His lips curled upward.