Insomniac Player

Two hours.

That was all it had taken for human civilization to collectively prove one timeless truth.

If enough people stood in the same place, someone was going to start a fight.

Across the world, every Class Change Tower had become a sea of humanity.

Millions crowded around the colossal crystal structures.

People pushed.

People shoved.

People climbed over railings.

One particular guy tried to climb another particular man.

It ended exactly as expected; security barriers no longer existed.

Traffic lights no longer mattered; queues had become a distant memory.

The only law everyone seemed to agree upon was: Whoever reached the front first... won.

"Stop pushing!"

"I’ve been waiting here since morning!"

"My grandmother is in front!"

"You don’t even have a grandmother here!"

"I have one somewhere!"

The arguments escalated, and then fists started flying.

A young office worker punched a construction worker.

The construction worker responded by introducing the office worker to the pavement.

Three strangers immediately joined the fight despite having absolutely no idea what it was about.

Nearby, an elderly woman calmly sat on a folding chair while eating sunflower seeds.

She watched the chaos with the expression of someone enjoying an entertaining television drama.

"This generation has no patience," she muttered.

Unfortunately... The situation only worsened.

In several major cities, such as New York, the crowds became so dense that people were knocked to the ground.

Those behind continued pushing, unaware of what had happened ahead.

Panicked screams echoed through the streets.

Emergency responders rushed forward; some managed to pull people to safety.

Others struggled simply to move through the overwhelming crowd.

The world had survived monsters; it was now discovering that humanity could be equally dangerous.

Yet despite the panic... Nobody wanted to leave.

The underlying motivation driving the crowd’s persistence was clear: the pursuit of power.

Every person standing there believed the same thing.

If I become stronger first... I’ll survive. Fear had replaced patience, and hope had replaced reason.

Meanwhile, another surprise spread across the globe.

Weapons. Or more accurately... The lack of them.

Several military bases attempted standard equipment inspections.

The results confused everyone. A soldier picked up his assault rifle, and he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.

He checked the safety, removed the magazine, reloaded, and tried again. Still nothing.

The weapon remained completely inert. Another soldier tried a pistol, and a third tested a sniper rifle.

Every result was identical; the weapons hadn’t broken. They simply refused to function.

At first, commanders assumed sabotage. Then the System Help Menu was updated.

Weapon Compatibility Notice

Certain equipment now requires professional compatibility.

Modern firearms may only be operated by individuals possessing compatible firearm-related professions.

Unauthorized users will be unable to activate System-restricted equipment.

Silence filled the room; one private slowly raised his rifle. "So... now it’s just a very expensive stick?"

Nobody answered. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Across the world, police departments encountered the exact same problem.

Armed officers who had confidently maintained public order only hours earlier suddenly found their greatest advantage disappear.

Riot shields still worked, batons still worked. But firearms? Nothing.

Several officers stared in disbelief as civilians simply ignored their warnings.

The old balance of power had vanished overnight.

At one police station, an officer desperately pointed his service pistol toward a violent man throwing bricks. "Stop!"

The criminal laughed. "What are you going to do?"

The officer squeezed the trigger.

Click

Nothing happened; the criminal laughed harder.

The officer quietly lowered the pistol. "...This is embarrassing."

Without professional changes, authority meant very little.

Combat professions granted real strength. Not theoretical strength, real power, and the entire world noticed.

It didn’t matter whether you were rich or poor, a celebrity or a janitor. An executive or a university student.

Without a profession, you were simply another ordinary human trying to survive an extraordinary world.

Powerful individuals reacted quickly. Business magnates hired private security. Former athletes gathered with trusted friends.

Wealthy families occupied entire blocks surrounding nearby Class Change Towers.

Barricades appeared; temporary checkpoints followed.

Some claimed they were protecting civilians; others made no effort to hide the truth.

"We reached here first."

"This area belongs to us."

"If you want to enter..."

"You wait."

Not everyone accepted that arrangement; arguments became fights. Fights became battles.

Humanity, it seemed, required very little encouragement.

Far from the growing unrest, inside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of a coastal city, nearly fifty young men and women gathered around folding tables.

Most of them wore matching black jackets bearing a familiar emblem.

Dark Pit Guild.

Once, they had been nothing more than a competitive gaming community.

They raided dungeons, cleared difficult bosses, and argued endlessly about balance patches.

Stayed awake until three in the morning discussing optimal equipment builds.

Now... those late-night conversations suddenly felt like military training.

A lean young man stepped onto a wooden crate. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes.

His voice, however, remained calm. "When we played games..."

A few chuckles spread through the room.

"How many times did we joke that we’d dominate if the world ever became one?"

Someone laughed. "I said I’d become the strongest tank."

"You also said you’d shower every day."

"Let’s focus." The lean man ordered. The room erupted briefly before settling again.

The guild leader folded his arms. "Well..."

He looked toward the crystal tower visible through the warehouse window.

"The joke’s on us. The world actually listened."

Silence followed, then smiles appeared. Excitement gradually replaced uncertainty.

"We already understand party compositions."

"We know resource management."

"We know grinding."

"We know boss mechanics."

He pointed toward everyone gathered. "We’re starting ahead of most people."

Several members nodded enthusiastically. "The majority of our guild members are in a tutorial. So here’s the plan. Those who haven’t caught the opportunity, like us... Go immediately.

No delays, no sightseeing and absolutely no heroics."

The crowd answered together. "Yes, Guild Leader!"

The warehouse immediately exploded into organized activity.

Unlike the crowds outside, they weren’t thinking individually. They were thinking as a guild.

Several hundred kilometers away... A very different meeting unfolded.

Inside the New York Police Headquarters, senior officers surrounded a long conference table.

Maps covered the walls, and status screens floated above nearly every participant.

Coffee cups sat untouched; nobody had time to drink.

A gray-haired commander broke the silence. "We’ve lost communication with federal command."

No one looked surprised.

"Our first priority is restoring operational capability."

A younger officer leaned forward. "Then we need class changes."

Heads nodded.

"We should identify every officer who receives the Gunner profession. They’ll restore our ranged capability."

Another detective immediately shook his head. "I disagree."

Several eyes turned toward him. "If this really works as the System describes..."

He tapped his status screen. "...then every combat profession has value. We shouldn’t focus only on firearms."

An older captain frowned. "This isn’t some video game."

"No." The detective quietly replied. "It isn’t."

He gestured toward the city visible outside the conference room window. "That’s exactly the problem, if we keep pretending this is the old world... We’re going to lose the new one."

Silence filled the room. Finally... the commissioner sighed. "We adapt."

No one argued after that. Because adaptation had already become humanity’s greatest survival skill.

Around the globe, governments reorganized. Companies reorganized. Guilds formed. Neighborhood alliances emerged overnight.

Some people searched for power, some searched for safety, and some simply searched for missing family members.

Above every Class Change Tower, the same message remained suspended in glowing blue letters.

First Generation Tutorial

Status: In Progress

Every few minutes, anxious eyes drifted upward.

Parents wondered if their children were alive.

Children wondered if their parents had survived.

No one knew what the Tutorial truly contained. No one knew how many would return. No one knew that.

If humanity had learned anything during the first two hours of the System’s arrival...

It was this:

The world had changed.

The rules had changed.

But people... people were still wonderfully, spectacularly human.

That while they stood safely beneath the seemingly peaceful skies.

A chronically sleep-deprived young man named Damien was somewhere in an unfamiliar forest, trying to convince an oversized neighborhood uncle that hiding from monsters was a perfectly respectable survival strategy.