Ji‑ho's eyes narrowed at the glowing panel.
'Persistent, aren't you…'
[ The God of Magic, Albus acknowledged you as a candidate to inherit his power ]
[ Would you like to accept his quest? Upon accepting, progress will rapidly increase ]
Ji‑ho declined and pressed No. The panel dissolved — only to reappear instantly.
[ The God of Magic, Albus strongly admires your refusal. It interprets your restraint as humility. Progress greatly increased ]
—————
[ Unique Skill: Albus' Blessing ]
God of Magic, Albus watches those under his care with a careful eye. Certain conditions can draw his attention.
Progress: 18.00%
—————
[ Would you like to accept his quest? Upon accepting, progress will rapidly increase. ]
Ji‑ho's finger jabbed the No button again and again, each press sharper than the last. The panel vanished, only to reappear instantly.
Progress: 22.00%
Progress: 25.00%
Progress: 28.00%
He sighed, 'This is ridiculous…'
Another pop‑up shimmered back.
[ The God of Magic, Albus admires your persistence. Your refusal fuels his desire to make you his successor ]
Ji‑ho pressed the No button once more, slower this time. The bar climbed again.
—————
[ Unique Skill:Albus' Blessing ]
God of Magic, Albus watches those under his care with a careful eye. Certain conditions can draw his attention.
Progress: 30.00%
—————
Ji‑ho's finger hovered over the button, his movements slowing. He had pressed "No" so many times that the repetition itself felt like punishment. The panel kept shimmering back and the progress climbing higher with every refusal.
And take note, he hadn't even played the game yet. Not a single monster fought, not a single quest completed. Yet here he was, trapped in a loop of endless pop‑ups, forced into a battle of persistence against a god before the tutorial was even over.
"…Enough," he muttered, voice flat with fatigue. "Fine. I'll accept. Not because you asked, but because I'm tired of pressing."
'I'm already exhausted, and I haven't even logged a minute of gameplay.'
His voice held no reverence, no curiosity, just the dull weight of exhaustion.
[ You have accepted the quest 'Albus' Successor' ]
—————
[ Albus' Successor (EX) ]
Difficulty: Unknown
Quest Type: Divine Binding
The God of Magic, Albus, has chosen you as his first successor. Unlike ordinary quests, this one is not about exploration or combat alone — it is about proving whether you can endure the weight of divine interference.
— There is no time limit.
— You cannot withdraw.
— Acceptance grants unique magical enhancements tied to Albus' legacy.
Quest Clear Condition: Complete all Albus' trials
Quest Clear Reward: Unknown
[ Quest in progress ]
—————
[ First Trial: Albus' Past (SS) ]
Quest Type: Exploration / Investigation
Difficulty: SS
Long ago, the Byuma spoke of a city beloved by Albus, overflowing with his blessings and steeped in magic. Yet, despite its brilliance, the city was swallowed by time, leaving behind only fragments of rumor and fading echoes in legend.
Clear Condition: Locate the lost city and retrieve the Albus' records of magic from the city library
Clear Reward: Summon one of the Twelve Celestial Servants (EX)
[ Quest in progress ]
—————
[ The God of Magic, Albus was totally grateful towards your courage and willfulness on becoming his very first successor. Progress increased exponentially ]
—————
[ Unique Skill: Albus' Blessing ]
God of Magic, Albus is watching those who are under him very carefully. Certain conditions might catch his attention.
Progress: 40.00%
—————
Ji‑ho exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing at the glowing panel.
'Grateful, is he? More like relentless. I rejected him, yet he keeps pressing.'
He brushed the message aside with a tired shrug.
'No point wasting energy on regret. I accepted it, and the system won't let me withdraw. No time limit means I don't have to rush. I'll let it sit, and when the moment comes, I'll deal with it. Until then, it's just another pop‑up to ignore,' he thought.
————— *** —————
At that same time, in the Korean branch of Phantasy Realm's creator, the meeting room was heavy with silence. Screens glowed, faces looked troubled, but Ji‑ho would have called it predictable. People panicking over variables they couldn't control — nothing new.
"What's with the sudden call?"
Im Seong‑cheol, one of the creator of Phantasy Realm, entered with a drained look carved deep into his face. Months of sleepless nights had hollowed his eyes, and now, ten minutes after launch, the game had already betrayed him.
"Sir, we have a serious problem."
A female voice was heard steady, but her eyes betrayed unease. "Codex Albus, it's been triggered."
The words dropped like a verdict. Seong‑cheol sat heavily, his gaze dull, waiting. Han Ji‑won, head of operations for the Korean branch, projected the player's profile onto the wall.
The screen glowed with a single name:
[ Player Name: Shade ]
Seong‑cheol frowned. "Shade? That's all?"
Ji‑won nodded. "Yes, sir. The system only displayed his in‑game alias. No real identity attached."
The room filled with uneasy silence. Glances darted between the developers, each one unsettled by the anomaly.
Seong‑cheol's voice sharpened. "Run the registration records. Whoever Shade is, the system shouldn't be hiding it from us."
Ji‑won hesitated, then pulled up the registration form. Her expression stiffened as the real name appeared.
Seong‑cheol leaned forward, scanning the entry. His brows furrowed. "Kim Ji-ho… that name sounds familiar."
Ji‑won nodded slowly. "It does. But there are too many Kim Ji‑hos out there. The system only gives us a name and email address, nothing else."
The room stirred with uneasy murmurs. One developer whispered, "Isn't there a Kim Ji-ho who's a celebrity?"
Another added, "I know a Kim Ji-ho who runs a popular cooking channel… and isn't there an idol with that name too?"
Someone else muttered, "Even the president's son is named Kim Ji-ho, isn't he?"
Ji‑won shook her head firmly. "We don't know which one this is. No flagged connections, no confirmed background. Just a name that could belong to anyone."
The silence in the room thickened. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Seong‑cheol exhaled slowly, his voice low and deliberate, "…There's only one option left. Activate the Developer's Eye."
Gasps rippled through the room. One developer leaned forward, alarmed. "Sir, that protocol was never meant for live players. It was designed solely for debugging during system updates. If we use it now —"
Seong‑cheol's gaze hardened. "We don't have a choice. The VR capsule scans the player's body and mirrors their exact build inside the game. If Shade truly triggered that quest, then the capsule already holds his physical data. The eye is the only way to force a visual."
Ji‑won cut in, "The system enforces safeguards. Even if we activate the eye, the player's face will remain masked. It's hard‑coded to prevent developers from abusing the tool to spy on identities."
Seong‑cheol's jaw tightened. "So we'll only see his build?"
Ji‑won nodded. "Yes. His proportions, posture, and physical outline will be mirrored exactly. But the system will blur his facial features. That mask cannot be removed without destabilizing the capsule."
The room fell into tense silence as Ji‑won entered the override command. The projector flickered, static crawling across the screen. Then, slowly, the image resolved a figure standing in the game's starting zone.
It was Shade.
His build was unmistakably human. The proportions, the posture, even the subtle way he shifted his weight mirrored the body inside the capsule. The VR system had replicated him perfectly.
But his face was obscured, blurred into shadow.
Seong‑cheol leaned forward, "Why can't we bypass it? The eye was designed to be togglable. We should be able to disable the mask."
Ji‑won shook her head, her tone uneasy. "That's what the documentation says, sir. The blur was meant to be optional — a toggle for testing purposes. But the moment the game went live, the option vanished. It's locked now."
Seong‑cheol's brows furrowed. "Locked? By who?"
Ji‑won hesitated, then admitted, "We don't know. It isn't us. It isn't in the capsule's code either. The toggle just… disappeared. No trace of who or what removed it."
A murmur spread across the room. One developer whispered, "So the safeguard isn't just a feature, it's enforced. But by what?"
Seong‑cheol's jaw tightened. "The capsule? The system? Or something higher?"
Ji‑won's voice dropped to a near whisper. "We can't say. All we know is that the mask can't be lifted. Even our override commands fail. It's as if the game itself decided to protect the players the moment it launched."
The room fell into heavy silence. No one spoke, no one moved. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on them, and for a moment, it seemed as though no one knew what to do.
Finally, Seong‑cheol broke the stillness, "Our plans for the following year may have been slightly ruined. However, there's nothing we can do about this. Just proceed with the preparations, and I'll be the one monitoring this kid from time to time."
The meeting ended. Ji‑won and Seong‑cheol remained behind in the room. All of a sudden, Seong‑cheol laughed; not lightly, but with a hollow echo that filled the empty space.
Ji‑won was startled. "What's the matter, sir?"
He gradually forced himself to stop, though the smile lingered unnaturally. "Nothing. It's just… interesting."
"Codex Albus was supposed to be discovered a year and several months later. It was an absolute shock, knowing that it triggered only ten minutes after the launch. Is that what you're laughing at, sir?"
"Yes, you're right. It's just so funny."
Ji‑won's voice trembled. "So what should we do now, sir?"
Seong‑cheol leaned closer, his tone low, almost conspiratorial. "You should already know the answer to that, right? I guess it's starting."
He let out a baffled laugh, the sound sharp and unsettling. Ji‑won froze, unable to grasp what he meant. She was unaware of what he was truly saying or what had already begun.
The words and laughter lingered in the air. The room grew colder, the silence heavier. Beyond the walls, the hum of the servers no longer sounded mechanical but alive — a chorus of whispers, as if she was listening.