Riley sighed softly as he walked, his eyes drifting downward to the state of his armor.

It was a mess.

His once-pristine Champion's Set was scratched and torn in several places, the leather seams frayed, the iron plates bent awkwardly at the edges.

There was even a deep tear along his right side, where the shadow clone's daggers had stabbed through.

He reached down and traced a finger along the rip, frowning slightly.

That strike… had gone through like paper.

The clone's blades had ignored the armor's defenses completely, shredding the rare-ranked material as if it were no more than cloth.

'I'll need to get a new armor… one far stronger than this,' he thought, his brows furrowing.

To be fair, the Champion's Set had done well for a time. A Rare-ranked armor set was nothing to scoff at in the early stages of [Apocalypse]. Most players would've killed to get their hands on even a single piece of it.

But the only reason his had worn down so quickly was because of the ridiculous nightmare that had been his profession trial.

Not many players had to face themselves—literally—in a fight to the death.

And even fewer had their bodies pushed that close to the brink.

The armor had done its best.

But it just wasn't enough.

Still, Riley wasn't too worried.

Getting a replacement wouldn't be difficult for him.

Not now.

If everything went smoothly, he should have a new one in his inventory soon. Something better. Tougher. Maybe even Epic-ranked, if the right opportunity came up.

He exhaled again, letting the thoughts settle.

Then, with a simple command whispered in his mind—

"Log out."

His body in the game glowed instantly, a soft white flash wrapping around his form like mist.

And just like that, he vanished.

*

When he opened his eyes again—

He was back.

The cool air of his room greeted him first, followed by the soft feel of his sheets pressed beneath his back.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dull light peeking in through the window, then slowly sat up in bed.

His body moved instinctively.

A low stretch, arms raised above his head, joints cracking gently one by one.

He rolled his neck, then twisted his waist, working out the stiffness in his spine. His muscles ached faintly, though he knew it was just phantom fatigue—mental carryover from the strain of the trial.

Still, it was strange how real it all felt.

Even now, after logging out… it felt like he could still feel the weight of the blades in his hands.

The crackling energy of his Shadow Shroud.

The icy chill of the dark field where he'd faced himself.

Riley exhaled again, slower this time.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, his breathing slow and quiet.

Then a thought drifted into his mind.

'Yeah… I'm supposed to go to work today.'

His face twisted in mild annoyance, and with a tired groan, he slumped back down on the bed, arms splaying out beside him as he let the cool bedsheets swallow him up.

"Ugh…" he hissed under his breath.

He honestly didn't feel like doing anything else today. Not after everything he'd just been through.

Mentally, physically—he was drained.

But still…

It was better if he went.

Not because he cared about the job.

Far from it.

But because he had something to do there.

He wasn't going to work.

He was going to resign.

Completely and officially.

From now on, he'd be focusing most of his time on [Apocalypse]. With the game about to evolve, and the world soon to follow, there simply wouldn't be any space left in his life for anything else.

Especially not for something as meaningless as a job.

It was pointless anyway.

The world would soon be turned upside down.

People just didn't know it yet.

He had been juggling two jobs until now—grueling shifts, night schedules, barely any rest—and yet not once had either workplace acknowledged his effort. Not once had they seen him. Not truly.

Just another replaceable cog in a never-ending machine.

He wasn't bitter about it anymore.

He was just done.

It was high time he freed himself from them.

He let out another soft breath and sat up again, slower this time.

In his past life, he'd also resigned from his job… but that had happened far later. Long after the world had already started burning. When it was already too late.

Back then, he had still tried to hold onto a normal life.

Still tried to balance the game and reality, like a fool.

But now?

He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Not this time.

He also had class today.

But whether or not he was going to attend… he wasn't even sure.

He hadn't really thought about it.

And honestly, he didn't care.

He was studying Biochemistry in a popular college, located several cities away from here. A well-known school, hard to get into unless you had serious connections—or insane grades.

Riley had neither.

The only reason he'd even managed to secure admission there was because of a scholarship.

Not a full one, though.

Just enough to cover his feeding.

Nothing else.

Not his accommodation. Not his books. Not the expensive transport fees that bled his account dry every week.

That transport cost alone was the main reason he'd been working two separate jobs at once, dragging himself from one place to the next like a zombie just to stay afloat.

And the worst part?

All of it still wasn't enough.

After each month's rent and travel deductions were taken out, what remained of his wages barely even qualified as pocket change.

There were times he had to choose between eating a proper meal or getting a bus back home.

He'd gotten used to it.

But he never forgot it.

And now, none of it mattered anymore.

With a soft breath, he finally sprang up from the bed, stretching one last time before heading to the corner of the room where his clothes hung.

He grabbed a plain sweatshirt and a pair of black jeans, slipping them on in quick motions.

They didn't look fancy or stylish or new—because they weren't.

They were old.

Worn.

Substandard even, with frayed cuffs and dull colors from too many washes.

But Riley didn't care much about that.

He wasn't dressing to impress anyone.

He just needed to get through today.

Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he ran a quick hand through his messy hair, then stepped out of the room.

Out of the house.

The morning air hit his face immediately—warm, dry, and mildly dusty from the breeze rolling in from the nearby road.

He locked the door behind him with a quiet click.

Before now, he had already made sure to withdraw just enough cash into his account—enough to clear any debts, pay off loose ends, and handle today's transport and errands without stress.

Some minutes later—

He was standing in front of a supermarket.

The exterior was familiar—bright yellow signage, glass doors slightly smudged from constant use, and a display of fruit crates outside that no one ever really touched.

This was one of the places he worked, the most annoying one.

And now… It was time to finally be done with it.

He walked through the supermarket's sliding glass doors without pausing, ignoring the familiar beeps of items being scanned, the rustling of plastic bags, and the idle chatter of customers discussing prices.

He didn't even glance at the checkout counters.

His feet carried him straight past the shelves, past the fridges, past the fruit crates no one still touched—

—and toward the narrow hallway at the back of the store, where the manager's office was tucked away behind a bland brown door with a peeling sticker that read: STAFF ONLY.

He didn't knock.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

The manager, a woman in her late thirties with sharp brown eyes and tied-back hair, looked up from her desk the moment he entered. Her expression was blank for half a second.

Then her brows furrowed sharply.

"Who… are you?" she muttered, her voice cautious.

Riley froze for a moment.

He blinked once.

Then frowned.

"…What?"

She continued staring at him, suspiciously now, as if he were a stranger who'd just wandered into the wrong room.

Riley's brow twitched.

"I work here," he said, his tone dry.

There was a beat of silence.

She didn't react.

She didn't nod.

She didn't say 'ohhh.'

She just kept staring at him, confused.

It was clear.

She didn't recognize him at all.

"…Seriously?" Riley muttered, reaching into his back pocket.

He pulled out his worker's ID card—the flimsy one they gave all part-timers with a name, a pixelated photo, and the supermarket's logo faded along the corner.

He held it up.

She leaned forward, squinting.

Her eyes widened.

She glanced from the card… to his face… and then back to the card again.

"Oh… I see…" she muttered, slowly blinking. "We do have a worker called Riley… but how come I've never seen you before?"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.