With that, she turned to the next guest, who appeared to be made entirely of mirrors and was arguing about check-out times.
Card in hand, Ah'Ming turned toward the elevators.
There were four of them.
Three looked normal. Brushed steel doors. Soft music chiming from somewhere overhead.
The fourth had a faint reddish sheen and a floor indicator that skipped numbers when he watched it too closely.
He swallowed.
"…Okay," he told himself, stepping forward. "Room 404. Just a room. Just a hotel."
The elevator doors slid open.
The inside smelled faintly of chlorine and old paper.
He stepped in anyway.
Ah'Ming pressed 4.
The button lit up obediently, a calm amber glow that suggested nothing in his future plans was about to be respected.
The elevator began to move. Smooth. Quiet. Too smooth. Like it was gliding through intention rather than floors.
With nothing else to do and a rising sense of dread to occupy, Ah'Ming summoned the system again.
The blue light unfolded in front of him, neat and professional, like it hadn't just thrown him onto pavement earlier.
|STATUS
He tapped it first.
A pane expanded, listing him in uncomfortable detail. Name. Current evaluation grade. Stats that made him look far braver on paper than he felt. A small note at the bottom helpfully labeled "Narrative Role: Protagonist (Provisional)".
"…Provisional my ass," he muttered.
Was everyone called provisional protagonist? It certainly explained how… unique some of the other people he'd seen had looked.
Next tab.
|INVENTORY
The items slotted into place with tidy icons. It was pretty empty.
|Resort Newspaper.
|Child's Drawing.
|Box of Bone Marrow Egg Tarts.
The last one pulsed faintly, as if offended by his earlier comment.
He did not open it. He was not ready.
Next.
|MONSTERPEDIA
A grim little thrill went through him.
The tab opened to a mostly empty catalog. Greyed-out silhouettes. Locked entries. One or two low-tier creatures already filled in with sparse descriptions and a disturbingly cheerful progress bar labeled "Knowledge Improves Survival Odds!"
He closed it before curiosity could get him killed.
Then he noticed the final tab.
|TEAM
He tapped it.
Nothing happened.
The icon was washed-out, unresponsive, like a feature from a demo version he hadn't paid for.
"…Oh," he said quietly.
Not in a team. That tracked. He thought of Huipao, of the others. They were probably in a team. They were in a guild too. Maybe if he joined a guild, another tab would appear too.
He exhaled and leaned back against the elevator wall.
That was when the doors slid open.
Soft chime. Pleasant. Deceptive.
Ah'Ming stepped out without looking up, still frowning at the empty team tab.
The air hit him immediately.
Dry. Dusty. Thick with age.
Not chlorine. Not flowers. Not whatever expensive nothing hotel lobbies or corridors were supposed to smell like.
This smelled like paper.
Old paper.
The kind that had absorbed decades of quiet.
"…Wait."
He stopped walking.
Lifted his head.
Shelves.
Endless shelves.
They rose around him in concentric rows, stacked floor to ceiling with books of every size and binding. Ladders on rails creaked faintly as they moved on their own. Green-shaded lamps cast pools of light across long wooden tables scarred with ink and time.
Somewhere far away, a page turned.
Ah'Ming slowly turned around.
The elevator was behind him.
Its indicator glowed.
3
Level three.
"…No," he said flatly.
Level three. The same level as the egg tart emporium. The same number. The same trick.
"This is not level four," he informed the universe.
The universe did not respond.
The elevator doors slid shut with a final, contented thunk.
"Hey!! Wait?!"
He lunged forward and stabbed at the call button.
Nothing.
No light. No chime. The panel was dark, smooth, dead.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It's been five minutes."
The air in front of him shimmered.
A system screen snapped into place, larger than the others, with none of the usual cheer.
|SUB-STORY #2482: THE LIBRARY
|MAIN INSTANCE #4238: RESTFUL RESORT
He stared at it.
Slowly, his expression went from disbelief to tired fury.
"Seriously?" he demanded. "I just got out of one."
The system, as usual, did not apologize.
Somewhere between the stacks, something shifted.
A chair scraped.
A whisper rippled through the shelves, not words exactly, but the sound of too many voices trying not to speak at once.
Ah'Ming squared his shoulders.
"…Fine," he said, again. Because apparently that was his brand now.
He took a step forward into the library.
A small plaque on the nearest shelf flickered to life as he passed.
|Please keep quiet! Do not disturb the Peace.
...
Strangely enough, nothing happened.
No quest marker. No dramatic music sting. No helpful ghost librarian shushing him into action.
The library just… existed.
Rows upon rows of shelves stood in patient silence, the lamps humming softly, the air thick with the expectation that something should be occurring. Ah'Ming waited for a system prompt to drop. It did not. He waited for a voice, a shadow, a monster shaped like overdue fees.
Nothing.
"…Okay," he said to the quiet. "So this is one of those."
He wandered for a bit, shoes whispering against the floor, until he found a couch tucked between two shelves. It looked inviting in the way only furniture that had never tried to eat anyone could. Worn leather. Deep cushions. The kind of couch that suggested naps and questionable life choices.
Ah'Ming sat.
The couch accepted him without incident. A good sign. Probably.
He eyed the nearest shelf, then immediately looked away.
Nope.
One, he didn't like books. Not really. Reading was work. Manhwas at least had pictures and clear pacing. Two, there was a very real chance these books were written in… whatever language monsters used. Teeth. Static. Regret. Hard pass.
He leaned back and waited.
Time stretched.
Enough that his thoughts began to echo.
"…Maybe the system doesn't work inside substories," he murmured, tapping the air out of habit.
Nothing unfolded. No blue panels. No tabs.
Instead, two simple lines of text blinked into existence in the corner of his vision, small and almost shy.
|CURRENT VIEWERS: 12,483
|CURRENT LIKES: 14
He blinked.
"…Huh."
Fourteen.
Out of twelve thousand.
That was… a ratio.
"Wow," he said softly. "Tough crowd."
He slouched deeper into the couch, equal parts irritated and resigned. Maybe this was some kind of endurance test. Maybe the library wanted him to get bored. Maybe it fed on impatience. Maybe the books were waiting for him to make the first move so they could judge his literary taste.
Then—
Pop.
A sharp sound, like a cork being pulled from reality.
Ah'Ming sat up.
Pop. Pop.
Three more in quick succession.
Light flared between the shelves, brief and disorienting, and figures stumbled into existence like dropped items in a game world.
People.
A woman in a windbreaker spun in place, immediately defensive. A lanky guy in sandals looked down at his own hands, then at the shelves, then whispered, "Nope," under his breath. Another person appeared halfway up a ladder, yelped, and clung to it for dear life.
Teleportation.
More players.
Ah'Ming scanned their faces.
None of them were familiar.
No shadowblade(?) guild. No teammates. No one he could anchor himself to.
The viewer count ticked up by a few dozen. Likes did not move.
The library remained silent.
From somewhere deep in the stacks came the faintest sound of pages rustling, as if something had just been very pleased.
Ah'Ming exhaled.
"…Guess I wasn't the main event after all," he muttered, standing up from the couch.
He straightened his jacket, looked at the newcomers, and then at the endless shelves.
"Alright," he said, to himself, to them, to the unseen audience watching for something interesting to happen.