May 19, 2000, 12:00:00
The date burned itself into Matthew's mind like a brand. The year 2000—when he was just twelve years old. May 19th—a meaningless date to most, the kind nobody would remember if asked randomly on the street.
But for Matthew, it was different.
He would never forget that day. Even in his twilight years, even if dementia claimed his memories, that Friday in sixth grade would remain etched in his soul. Because it was the last day he lived as the carefree young master of a wealthy family.
Because the very next day—May 20th—his father would be taken away by the authorities for allegedly manufacturing and selling controlled knives, along with illegal possession of firearms. From that moment on, his life would spiral into ruin.
Matthew's eyes turned red. An indescribable aura radiated from him—if one had to put a name to it, it was killing intent. Ironically, despite having just taken a life on the battlefield, he hadn't truly understood what "killing intent" meant until now.
His rage wasn't directed at his father, nor at the authorities who had arrested him. No—Matthew had always believed his father wasn't stupid enough to risk everything for something as petty as illegal weapons sales. Their family had already been wealthy. There was no need.
Which meant only one thing: his father had been framed.
Staring at his childlike body and the date on the door, Matthew didn't hesitate. He shoved against it with all his strength. If this door truly led back to that day—to the world he'd lost—then maybe, just maybe, he could uncover the truth in time. If his father had been wronged, Matthew would make sure the real culprits paid.
But the door didn't budge.
That was when he noticed the text was grayed out—like a disabled option on a computer screen. In the corner, smaller words caught his attention:
[Civilization Level: 4]
...
...
[Activation Requirement: System Level 2]
What the hell? Panic surged. Time was slipping away. If he couldn't get through this door soon, he'd lose his chance to save his father. Even if he found evidence later, it wouldn't undo the damage—the seized factories, the shattered reputation, the life they'd lost.
He drew back his foot, ready to kick the door down—then froze.
The timestamp hadn't changed.
12:00:00.
Not a single second had passed.
Relief and confusion warred within him. Was time frozen? What kind of twisted game was this?
"Civilization Level 4... that must be my world's ranking. But what's this 'System Level'...?" His muttering trailed off as realization struck. "Wait—System Level?"
He scrambled back to the stone table, where the display still showed its grid of colorful tiles. At the center, one stood out:
[System Status]
Matthew reached for it—then cursed. His stubby child arms couldn't reach the middle of the massive screen.
With a grunt, he hopped onto the table's edge, balancing precariously on the narrow stone border. Teeth clenched, he stretched out his hand—
And slammed it down on the tile.
The moment his finger made contact, the selected tile expanded rapidly, spreading across more than half the desktop in the blink of an eye. Rows upon rows of data appeared, making Matthew's head spin:
[Portable Armory System (v1.0.11689_beta)]
[Host Identification: Matthew Ho]
[Current System Level: 1]
[War Points Required for Next Level: 1000]
[Current War Points: 0]
[Current Resource Points: 0]
[Current Special Skill Points: 5]
[Current Bonus Skill Points: 10]
[Maximum Daily Production Capacity: 100]
[Maximum Inventory Capacity: 1000]
What the hell is all this?! Despite his urgency, Matthew carefully examined each line of data. One item in particular caught his attention—Current System Level. It clearly showed "Level 1," while the Main World door had stated an activation requirement of "System Level 2." This meant his current level was insufficient to open the portal back to his original world. He needed to reach Level 2 first.
But how to level up? Matthew's gaze dropped to the next line: War Points Required for Next Level. Did this mean accumulating enough war points would allow him to level up? Seeing the number "1000" beside it, he frowned. How was he supposed to obtain war points when his current count stood at zero?
Testing a hunch, Matthew—still precariously balanced on the desktop's edge—tapped on the words "War Points."
He hadn't really expected to find answers here, already bracing himself for a long struggle. But the result surprised him—the words "War Points" turned out to be a hyperlink. With his tap, a small window popped up displaying:
[System Upgrade Metric: When selling weapons/equipment at or above minimum price, system will award corresponding War Points based on transaction. Note: All world currencies and items of equivalent value accepted.]
Matthew froze. When he'd first seen "Portable Armory," he'd held onto a sliver of hope that it might be metaphorical. But now the truth was undeniable—this was a literal arms factory, a system for manufacturing and selling weapons. And Matthew would never forget how his family's life had been destroyed by exactly such things.