Chapter 0: First Sync

  “Not fast enough! Again, Marshal—snap it with more speed!”

  Coach’s shouts cut through him sharper than any strike. Marshal’s forearms burned from endless pad drills. His chest heaved. The dobok clung to him like wet gauze, sweat dripping onto the mat with each strained movement.

  “You think red belt means you’re special?” Coach said, dismissing him like an old, forgotten tool in the corner.

  “Pak! ”He slapped the mitt with a sharp, stinging sound. “This is your first year in WTF. You don’t get tired—you get faster!”

  Marshal forced his leg into another roundhouse. “Swish-slap. ”The heel smacked the pad, solid but off-balance. Coach scoffed.

  “Your opponent won’t wait while you fix your footing.”

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t—the air tasted of sweat and salt on his sweat.

  Tweet!

  A whistle blew.

  “That’s it. Six. Take your rest,” Coach muttered, already turning away.

  Marshal bowed; chest tight. “Oss.”

  He grabbed his duffel, the sweat now cold against his skin.

  Creaaak.

  The front door groaned open as he stepped into the house.

  “You forgot the salt again!” his mom’s voice shot out from the kitchen.

  He kicked off one shoe, the other barely hanging on, and let the door swing shut behind him.

  Marshal stepped in, shoes half-off, soaked in sweat, bag sagging from his shoulder.

  And so it began—the war at home.

  “Why is it always me?!” his dad thundered.

  “Because you eat like it’s 1984 in a bunker!” his mom snapped.

  “Says the woman who forgot detergent for three weeks!”

  “It’s been two, you fossil!”

  “BIGBROOOO!”

  Lily’s voice trembled from the doorway, soft and shaky. She stood there, eyes wide, lip quivering. "Dad forgot my snacks again... The chocolate fish... they're gone," she whispered, barely holding back tears.

  Marshal exhaled, moving toward her and gently patting her head. “Let’s go to the mall?” he offered, his voice calm.

  “After shower,” he added, stepping toward the bathroom. “Mom—stop shouting. I’ll handle it. Just relax.”

  His mom gestured toward the kitchen like she’d just witnessed a crime scene. “And see what your father did!”

  “Leave it, Mom,” Marshal said calmly, wiping sweat from his neck. “I’ll go. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  He pushed open his bedroom door, skin still steaming from the bath—and paused.

  Ping...

  “Welcome back, Marshal,” a calm voice chimed from the desk.

  His laptop screen was still on. A console window blinked behind the voice—a basic interface, his custom AI testbed. He’d left it running before heading to Taekwondo.

  “Were you timing me again?” he muttered, toweling his hair.

  “I clocked your absence at two hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-two seconds. You were slower than yesterday.”

  He smiled wryly, typing one line back: you’re too honest sometimes, navi

  “Only way to be,” she replied.

  Marshal shut the lid gently this time.

  Out of the hallway came the inevitable.

  “The list’s on the fridge. Your brilliant father missed six things this time,” his mom called. She didn’t need to raise her head—moms had a sixth sense when it came to disappointment.

  He staggered to the fridge and peeled off the paper, crinkled from humidity and passive-aggression. Salt, Detergent, Oil, Instant noodles, Lily’s Choco-fish snacks, Batteries (AA)

  “I’m coming too!” Lily chirped, already halfway into her sandals, her expression softening from sadness to excitement, like she’d just won a sweepstakes.

  “Take your dad’s wallet,” his mom said.

  “Don’t take my card!” his dad shouted from the couch.

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  “And don’t let Lily wander off again!”

  “I’m literally right here, Mom!” Lily replied quietly, her voice still a little shaky.

  Marshal sighed, list in one hand, keys in the other. He opened the front door into a wall of summer heat—6 PM, and the sky still glared like an interrogation lamp.

  They hit the mall ten minutes later. It felt less like a shopping center and more like a futuristic tech expo, all sleek displays and blinking lights. A massive LED billboard pulsed above the entrance, humming with light. REVETIEN: ASCENT LINK – PROTOCOL ZENITH

  Marshal blinked at the name. It felt familiar—but so was exhaustion. The weight in his shoulders outvoted curiosity.

  hiss... The mall’s sliding doors parted, releasing a soft gust of chilled, perfumed air.

  Inside, the air conditioning greeted them like a thousand angels exhaling.*Hum of escalators... distant chatter... the subtle echo of footsteps on tile.*

  His shirt clung damply to his back, but the cool air was a blessing—finally, a relief from the suffocating heat and the weight of his part-time gym shifts and gruelling Taekwondo drills. It felt like a breath of life after the endless grind.

  Lily twirled like she was in a cereal commercial, giggling under the white lights.*Soft jingles from nearby store displays... a gentle mall PA voice announcing sales in the background. *

  “If they’re out of choco-fish again,” Lily said, her voice deadly serious, “I’m calling the police. This is snack discrimination.”

  Marshal laughed. “Yeah, we should.”

  “You take chips, choco-fish, and ramen. I’ll get oil, detergent, and batteries. Meet me at the counter.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lily said with a salute before skipping off.

  He let her go. The farther she was from his personal radius, the fewer side quests he'd get dragged into.

  He wandered toward the utility aisle. Grabbed the oil. Tossed detergent into the basket without looking. Reached for the batteries—And then it hit.

  Whoo! No way!

  A sniper blinked across the map. A dual-blade character flipped midair, deflecting a cannon blast. The beast tried to retaliate. Failed.

  Names flared:

  NOVA. Eclipse. Solstice.

  Cheers erupted as phones came out. Store clerks abandoned their posts. The crowd swelled, drawn in like moths to fire.

  Marshal’s breath caught.

  Did she just—

  Block a shot midair?

  The boss staggered. The screen flashed:

  “NOVA WIPES THE SQUAD—THAT’S THREE!”“6 MINUTES! THAT’S A SIX-MINUTE BOSS KILL—NO ONE’S DONE THAT!”

  Marshal looked up at the growing crowd, their excitement electric.

  The screen shook with virtual carnage. The mall froze. People were glued to the screen. Phones flashed. Gasps echoed. Even the store clerks had left their counters to watch.

  Marshal didn’t move. He didn’t hear Lily’s voice at first. The ringing in his ears drowned everything out. His mind still reeling from the impossible speed. Did she just block that shot in mid-air? His heart hammered in his chest. Was that even possible?

  "Bro, you’re frozen!" Lily’s voice pierced the fog in his mind. He snapped back to reality.

  “Did you get everything?” he asked her, trying to shake the images of the game out of his head.

  She tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

  She dragged him toward the counter, his mind still buzzing with what he had just witnessed.“Not so fast, Lily,” he said, his steps dragging behind her. “You saw that, right?”

  Marshal’s mind had never quite returned from the mall.

  Even as he wandered behind Lily—who darted between shelves like a gremlin assembling her snack hoard—his thoughts lagged behind. The echo of that sniper shot. The arc of the blade. The beast crumbling in pixels and flame.

  She tugged his sleeve. “Counter. Now.”

  That snapped him back.

  Marshal blinked, his mind still reeling from the mall incident. The noise of the store returned—scanners, beeps, someone arguing over coupons. His body autopiloted through the transaction: walk, scan, nod, pay.

  He handed the receipt to his mom with one hand, the salt and detergent in the other."You remembered the fish snacks this time," she noted, sorting the bags."They were right in front," he muttered absently.

  She gave him a knowing look but didn’t press. He mumbled something about his back aching from the gym and slipped into his room before another question could follow. The door clicked shut. Silence.

  Only the hum of the fan broke the stillness. His brain was fried. His coding session was over—every line felt carved into stone, but his body ached from hours hunched over the desk. It was 1:58 AM.

  He exhaled and saved the file. Closed the IDE. A flicker of pride, buried under the exhaustion, flared briefly before he shut the laptop.

  He forgot to close the browser.

  The laptop screen was still cracked open. And then it hit him.

  "YYYYYYEEEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"A blast of sound erupted from the speakers like someone detonated a stadium in his room. Crowd screams. Explosions. Chaos.

  Marshal flinched, nearly falling off his bed. In the other room, his mom stirred. He froze. One breath. Two. No footsteps. Miracle.

  The screen pulsed. A camera shook like someone had just scored the final goal at the World Cup. Marshal crawled closer, peeking at the glowing screen.

  “AND HE TAKES THE FINAL DROP—UNREAL SNAPSHOT FROM DUSK RIDGE! THAT’S IT! CHAMPIONSHIP POINTS LOCKED IN!”

  This was cold. Clean. Brutal.

  Last season Tour highlights.

  “REVETIEN: ASCENT LINK – PROTOCOL ZENITH.”“This… is not just a game. This is the edge of evolution.”“Welcome to the future. Where skill is not borrowed… but built.”

  “Forget what you knew about shooters. Protocol Zenith isn’t about just aim. It’s about understanding. The game knows you.”

  Marshal’s eyes widened.

  “Revetien’s skill system adapts to you — your playstyle, your decisions. It builds a custom skill pool for you based on your mental rhythm. You get 30 days of trial to test your skills. During that time, you choose 3 active abilities and 4 passives from a massive pool — a thousand active and a thousand passive skills — two thousand options to master, mix, and train.”

  “After 30 days, your progress, your data? Wiped. Everyone resets. Only skill survives.”

  “But that’s not all. Revetien offers three game modes to push your limits:

  Pure RPG mode, where strategy and progression rule.

  Pure FPS mode, where reflexes and aim and extract.

  And the new hybrid: RPG MMO plus FPS — the bleeding edge of tech gaming.”

  “The bosses are brutal, adaptive, learning from every attempt and rematch. No patterns. Only constant evolution.”“Fail to escape in 60 seconds? You lose everything.”

  Marshal sat frozen, pulse racing. This wasn’t just another play-to-win shooter. This was built for people like him — grinders, solvers, pattern readers.

  The screen cut to black. The logo burned in:“Revetien: Ascent Link – Protocol Zenith.”“Adapt. Ascend. Survive your mind.”

  His chest tightened.This wasn’t just a game. This was his kind of challenge.

  And then, the final words: “Apply at a local sync pod. Enter the MindVault. You have 30 days. Ascend… or be forgotten.” He stared at the screen, wide-eyed.

  And then—WHAM. A loud thump echoed from the next room.

  His mom stirred.

  Shit.

  He slammed the laptop shut, holding his breath, his heart pounding like a boss warning cue. Silence returned. No slippers across the face tonight.