A metallic tang filled my digital palate, the scent of ozone and burning data. My hand, ghosting over the console, wanted nothing more than to jam a virtual wrench into Commander Thorne’s smug, pixelated face. An impossible task, as most things in my life seemed to be.
Thorne, all polished chrome and self-satisfaction, stood flanked by his elite security constructs. His system authority clocked in at a daunting 300, a triple-tier admin, fluent in three core Nexus protocols. His constructs, all glinting optical sensors and predatory efficiency, averaged 180. These weren’t just grunts; they were the kind of AI an entire subnet feared.
My current status? A paltry 73 in data-weaving proficiency. I’d be lucky to out-process a basic security drone, let alone Thorne’s lead enforcer, a hulking automaton that typically handled logistical data transfers – a glorified bread shuttle, if you asked me.
But the mission brief was explicit, scrawled in an infuriating crimson font across my HUD: *Neutralize Commander Thorne. Disrupt Sector Gamma’s core network.* Kill them. All of them. With my current toolkit, that was less a mission and more a digital suicide note.
And the ‘reward’? My internal system log pulsed with the notification. *System Corruption: -50 Logic. All major corporate factions within Veridian Citadel will mark Kaelen Vance as a persona non grata. Permanent network-wide reputation hit.* Fifty points of Logic? My current rating barely scraped 30. I’d be a statistical idiot, my processing power less than a smart toaster. And the entire Veridian establishment would blacklist me? Where was the exit strategy? Was this even a quest, or just a sophisticated prank by the Nexus itself?
Only one choice remained, a familiar one: capitulation. My avatar would crash. I’d lose two levels, sure, but the alternative was a guaranteed wipe and a network-wide pariah status. What was the point of ‘succeeding’ with a reward designed to cripple me?
Resignation settled heavy in my virtual chest. The pressure from Thorne’s constructs wasn't a joke, their optical sensors locked onto my every twitch. They radiated an aura of digital predation.
*Another eight levels down the drain, thanks to this.* Commander Thorne, a mental note. I’d carve out his digital heart one day. Definitely. I stared at his impassive chrome face, registering a vow, before closing my eyes against the menacing energy blades of his constructs.
Then, a flicker of memory. My hand twitched towards my data-pouch. The Genesis Fragment. Still there.
Hang on. What about this thing? If I initiated a system dump now, would the Fragment – a raw shard of core simulation code – remain in my inventory? It wasn’t a standard quest item, no specific flag for post-death retention. Uncertainty gnawed at me.
Thorne’s entire purpose, I realized, was the Fragment. He wanted to kill me to seize it, to integrate its raw power into his own control protocols. If I simply died, the narrative logic dictated it would likely be stripped from my inventory and land squarely in his data banks.
If I was going to lose the Genesis Fragment anyway, wasn’t it better to *use* it? A new option shimmered in the periphery of my vision, a forbidden protocol prompt. *Initiate Genesis Fragment Protocol?*
I hesitated. Every fiber of my being recoiled. I despised data architecture and system engineering. The point of the Nexus, for me, was the elegant manipulation of high-level protocols, the strategic dance of data streams, the thrill of outsmarting the system. But this? Activating the Fragment could force me into a core system role, a grind. It meant sweating over lines of raw code, digging through low-level schema, debugging endlessly in the digital equivalent of a server farm.
A shiver ran down my spine, a phantom chill in the simulated air. My real-life existence was already a monotonous cycle of gig-economy data entry and freelance debugging, often for barely livable wages. Now, even in the Nexus, I’d be stuck doing grunt work? The thought alone made my digital vision blur.
My dream was to ascend, to become a high-tier data manipulator, a system general who commanded virtual armies of automated processes. But now, it felt like I had to give up on that dream. An item worth untold sums of credits, a unique piece of primordial code, would be confiscated by an NPC! By that bastard Thorne!
“Better to burn it than let him have it!”
My virtual hand trembled as I activated the Genesis Fragment. Commander Thorne’s eyes widened, a rare flicker of alarm in his placid chrome. He lunged forward, initiating a complex system spell.
“Too late, you digital prick.” I managed, a harsh whisper. But then, my words died in my throat as notification windows flooded my vision, one after another, an overwhelming torrent of information.
**[You have been recognized as a Disciple of Genesis.]**
**[Your Data-Weaving Proficiency has been reset.]**
**[You are now Data-Weaving Proficiency Level 1.]**
**[All existing Skills and Core Stats have been reconfigured.]**
My internal processor reeled. This wasn't a class upgrade. This was a complete system wipe. Class changes were supposed to enhance, to build upon existing foundations. Not… this. My level, my stats, my carefully cultivated skills – all gone.
As confusion threatened to overload my core processing unit, more windows materialized.
**[New Stat: Logic Flux has been unlocked.]**
**[Skill: Basic Protocol Forging has been acquired.]**
**[Skill: Basic Protocol Forging has been mastered.]**
**[Skill: Schema Appraisal has been acquired.]**
**[Skill: Schema Appraisal has been mastered.]**
**[Skill: Data Patience has been acquired.]**
**[Skill: Data Patience has been mastered.]**
**[Skill: System Deconstruction has been acquired.]**
**[Skill: System Deconstruction has been mastered.]**
**[Skill: Reality Calibration has been acquired.]**
**[Skill: Reality Calibration has been mastered.]**
**[All Architect of Genesis foundational skills have reached Pinnacle Mastery. Legendary Architect of Genesis Protocols unlocked.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Genesis Craftsmanship has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Discernment of Nexus has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Apex Schema Appraisal has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Absolute Data Patience has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Universal Reality Calibration has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Core System Deconstruction has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Genesis Breath has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Nexus Blessing has been acquired.]**
**[Legendary Protocol: Creation Protocol: True Form has been acquired.]**
**[Title: 'Architect of Legend' has been acquired.]**
**[New Stat: Composure (System Stability) has been unlocked.]**
**[New Stat: Indomitable (Core Integrity) has been unlocked.]**
**[New Stat: Dignity (Authority Projection) has been unlocked.]**
**[New Stat: Insight (Pattern Recognition) has been unlocked.]**
Logic Flux was a standard stat for any low-level system architect. But Composure, Indomitable, Dignity, and Insight? These were utterly alien. Was this… good? My mind spun in a vortex of digital panic.
Despair. Pure, unadulterated despair. I had accumulated 15 passive skills and 22 active protocols as a data manipulator. All gone. Wiped clean. The class change had rendered me a glorified digital laborer, a level one grunt with a fancy title.
Level one. The proficiency I’d painstakingly built over the last year, reset. I had to start the damn grind all over again? From zero?
“Why is this a quest? For the love of all that is logical, *why*?!” My scream was a garbled mess of digital curses, a mangled byte-stream, as a security construct’s energy blade arced towards me.
**[You have sustained critical damage!]**
My level 1 core integrity, barely a flicker, dropped to zero with a single hit from a Level 180 construct. The screen fractured, pixelating into a kaleidoscopic cascade of error messages.
**[Access to Veridian Citadel has been revoked.]**
**[All Veridian Citadel security protocols will initiate immediate hostile engagement upon detection.]**
**[Your Data-Weaving Proficiency has dropped by 2.]**
**[You are now Data-Weaving Proficiency Level -1.]**
**[No active residence found. Resurrect at nearest Nexus Resurgence Hub?]**
The final notification, a single, devastating line, snapped my remaining sanity.
“Negative? My level is *negative*?!”
I was certain. My past life, or perhaps some cosmic algorithm, had cursed me. Three months of grinding, suffering through countless low-tier data fetches, all for *this*? I couldn’t, wouldn’t, play this game anymore. Ignoring the Resurrection prompt, I initiated a full system log-out.
---
The world outside the capsule felt jarringly cold, sterile. I ripped off the neural interface, my head throbbing with a dull ache. Immediately, I snatched my tablet, tearing through every Nexus-related forum in Korea, searching for *any* mention of a negative proficiency level. Nothing. Zero. Zip. My fingers flew across the virtual keyboard, composing a desperate plea.
**Title: I am currently level -1. Seriously.**
**Content: Been on a quest for three months. Got a legendary old code fragment. Failed, and my proficiency dropped to -1. What is going on??? Has this ever happened to anyone???????**
With a shaky thumb, I hit ‘Post’. I stumbled out of the capsule, catching a glimpse of myself in the reflective surface of the darkened window. An emaciated ghost stared back, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, hair a tangled mess. Three months of non-stop Nexus engagement, skipping sleep, barely eating. The result? Hundreds of millions of won in lost potential earnings, and a ‘level’ that didn’t even exist.
“Three months of my life, just… gone. Ha. Ha. Ha.” My laughter was hollow, brittle.
I could’ve taken up actual labor jobs, made some real money. Instead, I’d been shoveling air, or rather, digital dust. Worse, it was a net loss of time, energy, and progression. My legs gave out, dropping me to the floor. Sadness, a gnawing emptiness, frustration, resentment – a toxic cocktail of emotions that threatened to drown me in helplessness. A weaker man would have considered just ending it.
“…I need a piss.”
My bladder, unconcerned with my existential crisis, demanded attention. Three in the morning. Everyone else in the apartment was asleep. Waking my parents would unleash a torrent of parental disappointment I wasn't equipped to handle.
I crept through the silent living room, a shadow in the dim apartment, quietly handled my business in the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, then tiptoed to the kitchen. The fridge light illuminated a solitary container of kimchi-fried rice. A small victory.
I fumbled for a spoon in the darkness, clutched the bowl, and retreated to the sanctuary of my room.
“Ah, sausage kimchi fried rice.”
The comforting, processed taste of something vaguely meaty. As I ate, slowly, methodically, my stomach filled, and a sliver of clarity began to cut through the haze of my despair.
“How did my level become minus?”
Finishing the last bite, I sat back in the capsule, logging onto the internet again. My forum post. The view count had surged past 10,000. Comments: over 2,000.
Perhaps, I thought, my unique situation wasn't so unique. Maybe the minus level was a secret pathway, a hidden mechanic that granted incredible benefits? My flickering hope died a swift, brutal death as I scrolled through the comments.
*@Iksl**: If there's a minus level, a ghost will appear before me at night. Spooky!
*@Eksk**: Wow~~~ I'm level -5 ^.^ Low-level comrades!
*@Tutu**: Found a legendary book, did you? ㅋㅋ Got an attention sickness?
*@cm3s**: Get this guy to a mental hospital. Delete this post.
*@7r14**: Legendary book… minus level… these days, some people are really…
*@jk12**: Wouldn't -1 be last place in the rankings? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ I'd quit the game ㅋ
*@Kkks**: Something this unique that hasn't appeared yet, what nonsense.
*@Qkr8**: Is it excessive drinking?
*@Gjte**: Wow, minus level… I pay homage to your imagination. You should be a fiction writer. ㄷ ㄷ
Two thousand comments, all variations of this. An idiot. That’s what I was.
*It seems information about minus levels hasn't been revealed at all… am I the first person?*
The Nexus's design philosophy was user-driven discovery. No customer service, no helpful GMs. Two billion players, collectively building and exploring the world for over a year, sharing information on their own terms. Yet, even in this vast, collective consciousness, some data remained utterly undiscovered. Like my current state.
Rain lashed against my window. The weather forecast predicted an all-day deluge. No chance of picking up any offline labor gigs today. I scooped the last grains of rice from the bowl, a renewed, if grim, resolve hardening in my gut. Time to log back in.
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