Chapter 1: I Want to Live as a Home Security Guard

A packet of instant ramen had two garnish soup packets inside.

“Huh?”

Did I open two bags? I checked carefully, but no matter how I looked, the garnish soup really came from a single packet.

I’ve seen kelp doubled inside ramen that tasted like it had animal stock, but two garnish packets?

It’s not like the garnish powder is an amoeba that splits on its own.

Strange, sure, but even if I posted on the internet about finding double garnish soup, people would just say I opened two bags and faked it. Nobody would care.

“Tch.”

I chuckled to myself, thinking that somewhere out there, someone might have ended up with ramen without garnish soup.

Better than not having the powdered soup at all, right?

“No eggs, huh.”

I usually try to get some protein in, mostly because my parents nag me about it.

Tuna’s a bit pricey, so eggs are the best.

Problem is… I don’t have any.

I thought about running out to buy some, but…

“Ugh, too much hassle.”

Well, with double garnish, the dried mushrooms inside should make up for the nutrients.

I put the water on to boil and reached for my phone. Right then, I saw a message from school.

“Ah.”

The little joy from getting double garnish soup instantly vanished.

Shouldn’t have looked.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna go to school.”

The holiday mood had peaked Friday night.

But now, just thinking about school soured everything.

‘I don’t want to go to school.’

‘Want me to hit you before you go, or will you just go?’

‘Mom, didn’t you say if you made money from stocks you’d buy a building in my name and let me live off the rent? Then what’s the point of school? It’s not like school pays me.’

That was what Mom had said, humming happily when her stocks had gone up sixfold.

I didn’t take it literally, but I thought of it as a dream, a bit of hope.

What kid would say no if Mom promised to buy them something they really wanted?

If she did that, I’d have happily made “filial duty” my full-time job.

The problem was… that dream and hope turned out to be worthless scraps.

‘Shut it, brat. Didn’t I tell you not to bring up stocks? And why aren’t you going to school, huh?’

In the end, I got smacked on the back.

Well, if you’d just sold when I told you, none of this would’ve happened…

Dad, who’d been watching our little comedy skit since morning, finally spoke up.

‘Still, you should go to school. You need to function in society.’

‘But I really don’t want to. Dad, you hate going to work too, right? Then isn’t it fair that I hate going to school? Instead of going, I could just learn stocks and make some—’

‘You’re a teacher, you idiot. You have to go to school to earn money.’

“…Oh. Right.”

That convinced me.

‘With that salary, don’t waste it on stocks. Earn money through real work.’

‘This is exactly why I’m complaining—because with that tiny salary, what else am I supposed to—ugh!’

‘Aren’t you leaving yet?!’

My back couldn’t take any more hits.

So ended my modest dream of earning money while staying cozy in my room.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

The messages kept coming.

I’d landed this teaching contract job right before the semester started, rented a place, and had been commuting to school for about four months.

Last Thursday, I handed in my resignation—then retracted it.

Their argument that I should at least finish the contract made sense.

And honestly, I’d just started spending more thanks to my “employment,” so losing even a little income would hurt.

So I gave in.

But even after I retracted my resignation, my school must have sensed I might ditch anyway, because they kept sending me next week’s tasks.

“Man, being nagged makes me want to go even less.”

The truth was, I didn’t want to go at all.

People only make money after grinding themselves down to be chosen by someone richer—an individual, a company, or a nation.

Compared to those born into money, all we can do is grovel and beg.

Which is why… I don’t want to go to work.

Why do some people live lives where money just rolls in while they sit at home, but not me?

If I spilled boiling ramen water on my foot, maybe I could at least take sick leave. But hey, what if tonight’s lotto numbers hit first prize? Better not risk it.

“Possible.”

While waiting three minutes for the ramen, I browsed some funny posts on my computer.

“Survive locked in a room for a year, win billions.”

That kind of joke post kept popping up endlessly.

It’s not like anyone could actually apply, and even if they could, no one would actually pay. But the fact that I kept clicking must mean I wasn’t the only one entertained by the fantasy.

I sat down with the ramen on a small table.

And then—

Something strange appeared before my eyes.

“…Huh?”

Oh, great.

Must be the steam from the ramen blurring my vision, making my retina misfocus.

Maybe it was just an afterimage from dreaming about a game last night.

“Ugh!”

Suddenly, a blinding light shot out from somewhere.

What the hell is that?

[Muahahahaha! I have come to destroy your world! I am—!]

As the light dimmed slightly, a bug-like creature in spiky armor appeared, walking on two legs.

Then came a booming voice.

It sounded weird, but to my ears it was translated into Korean.

‘Your world? I am… what the hell kind of introduction is that?’

Cringe.

Even in school, if someone introduced themselves like that, they’d just come off as a weirdo. Nobody would actually want to hang out with them.

Might as well just say, “Oii, hisashiburi.”

That line was so cheesy it was unbearable.

“Weird…”

Still, I snapped a picture of the odd-looking creature with my smartphone.

The zoom worked great, got a clear shot.

[Hahaha! Nobody’s here? What a shame. I wanted someone to be shocked.]

Truth be told, I was shocked.

If some bug walked in on two legs, shouting it would destroy humanity, of course it’d be terrifying. But…

“What is this, a cockroach?”

It was way too tiny—just gross, really.

About the size of a housefly…

[Or maybe they’re all too scared and hiding!]

In front of a glowing white light the size of a coin, this tiny thing kept ranting.

What is this? Some hidden-camera prank?

I wasn’t sure if the sound was actually coming from the bug, or from next door, or maybe even upstairs.

But when it laughed, “Ahahaha!”, I clearly saw the bug put its hands on its waist like a person.

Was this some kind of micro figurine? A character?

And it could talk?

“…Why is my phone auto-editing this?”

The enlarged photo I’d just taken showed the bug with an added “LV” label and a short description, like a monster encyclopedia entry.

Well, photo apps do have gimmick filters like that.

Maybe the AI mistook this weird bug for some fantasy creature.

[Is someone there? Won’t you come out?]

Wait… it really was speaking.

Despite being in the same room, it felt like I was talking to myself.

Still, it did sound like Korean.

The bug looked around, then froze.

[Fine. Let’s see if your world can withstand this!]

It raised its arms and slammed the floor.

“…Wait, huh?”

Goddammit.

It actually made a hole in my apartment’s flooring.

Do you know how much of my deposit they’ll deduct just for one hole?!

[Strange land… seems you lack the power to resist me. In that case—]

The hole looked like someone poked the floor with a pencil.

Maybe they wouldn’t charge for damage that small. But still—

My old landlord back in college once made me pay for even the tiniest scuff from a desk chair.

What if this current landlord’s the same?

[It’s too late. None of you detected us—your mistake.]

Sounded almost like a person talking.

The bug stopped ranting, then crouched by the glowing light.

Its body started swelling and bubbling like dough rising.

It transformed grotesquely—

Into a wiggling maggot the size of a thumbnail clipping.

[Behold! This is my true form—]

“Ugh, gross as hell. What kind of bug is this, f***!”

That was enough. I tried to find a flyswatter, but gave up and just smacked it with my hand.

Smack!

…Goddammit.

Usually when you squash a bug like a moth or fly, it doesn’t feel liquidy.

Well, unless it’s a mosquito full of blood.

But this thing? When I hit it, some strange glowing energy coated my palm.

And suddenly, countless messages appeared before my eyes.

<Level Up!>
<Level Up!>
×50

“What the hell is this?”

About fifty game-like level-up messages floated before me.

Like when you open a shady website full of pop-ups.

This wasn’t normal.

And the squashed bug—what even was it? Some invasive species?

At least I’d gotten a photo.

“Huh?”

Through mutation, you can generate a dungeon. Creatures born inside this biological dungeon will transform into forms suitable for the dimension.

The photo now had a bizarre description attached.

“…Am I still half-asleep?”

Usually eating wakes me up.

Back in school, the guys dozing off before lunch would revive instantly once food came out.

Of course, they’d get sleepy again afterward.

<Depending on the Mutant King’s stats, bonus points are added to Strength.>

“…What the hell is this?”

Floating text listed stats like Strength, Stamina, Magic, Intelligence, Speed, Skill, Luck, and Charm.

There was a red triangle cursor floating next to them.

If I pressed it, would the stats really go up?

“All over the place, huh.”

Apparently, I’d gained 50 levels. The points had been evenly distributed across the eight stats.

+3 Strength, +15 Stamina, +0 Magic… stuff like that.

<On level up: +1 random stat, +1 point to allocate.>

A total of 50 points were waiting to be distributed.

But in Strength, it said: You defeated the Mutant King.

Instead of 1 point per stat, I could raise Strength by 0.5 each time.

Weird.

Still, maybe this was just a dream.

Or maybe there were drugs in that garnish packet, making me hallucinate.

But hey—if I could dump all my points into Strength and start at over 100, why not?

Dream or not, how could I resist a double-stats event?

Who knew when I’d get another chance.

So I raised my Strength to over 130.

Meanwhile, the other stats were still in the single digits.

“Huh? Whoa?”

Suddenly, power surged through my body.

Was it because I’d raised Strength so much?

My t-shirt and shorts started feeling tight.

My thighs, arms, chest—every muscle swelled with power.

“….”

I glanced below my waist.

…Would that count as “Strength” too?

Could I literally snipe a fly midair with piss pressure?

“What the hell is going on?”

Still, I really did feel stronger.

I clenched my fist—it looked powerful even to me.

My room was small, but I had enough space to do some push-ups.

I wasn’t a gym rat, but I did the occasional bodyweight workout.

I’d read in Secrets of Life and Death that even exercising once a week reduced the risk of heart disease by a big percentage.

“Oh? Whoa. Whoa!”

Back when I left the army, I could manage 75 push-ups in 2 minutes—barely hitting the “special forces” standard.

But nowadays, even 30 left me winded.

Now?

“75… 76… huh?”

I wasn’t even out of breath.

“120! Wait, seriously?”

I stopped at 120.

I probably could’ve kept going.

My body felt warmed up, but I wasn’t tired at all.

Strength was clearly up.

And Stamina had risen too, so my breathing stayed steady.

“Am I… stronger?”

My body felt heavier yet lighter, solid yet agile.

Thinking of baseball, I mimicked a pitcher’s motion and threw a punch.

There are always people you’d love to sock in the face if you could.

At least I could pretend.

BOOOOM!

“…Huh?”

My punch didn’t even connect, but the drywall shattered.

Through the partition, plaster and concrete crumbled.

A fist-shaped hole pierced straight through.

I’d literally punched a hole to the next apartment.