The first thing Li Yuhan noticed was that the sky wasn’t real.
It looked convincing — blue, cloud-filled, even with sunlight brushing his face — but if you stared long enough, you could see faint grids rippling behind it, like the entire sky was just a badly rendered wallpaper.
“Great,” he muttered. “So even the heavens lag here.”
DAP stood beside him, clipboard in hand. Or rather, a floating screen that pretended to be a clipboard.
> “Welcome to System Academy, Li Yuhan. Training ground for authorized users, debuggers, and—”
“—Unpaid interns?” he cut in.
DAP blinked. “Correction: disposable test subjects.”
“…That doesn’t make me feel better.”
All around him, students were walking across a massive campus made entirely of code. Transparent corridors floated midair, hexagonal tiles shifted underfoot, and holographic trees occasionally buffered before reappearing.
Each student wore a uniform that looked like a mix between a tracksuit and a gaming headset. Some were sparring with glowing weapons; others were meditating in front of screens filled with rapidly changing code.
Yuhan glanced around. “What is this place? A hacker’s playground?”
DAP replied flatly. “Think of it as… boot camp for people who broke the universe a little too hard.”
“Comforting.”
Before he could ask more, a booming voice echoed through the air.
> “New recruit detected! Step forward, anomaly!”
A tall man descended from above, riding what looked like a floating keyboard. He wore a long black coat, shades that probably had built-in sarcasm filters, and a smirk that screamed I’m your worst instructor.
> “Name’s Commander Hex. I run this place, kid. You break it, you clean it.”
Yuhan raised an eyebrow. “Nice ride. Logitech or Razer?”
Hex’s smirk deepened. “Funny. Let’s see how long that humor lasts.”
He snapped his fingers. The ground beneath Yuhan transformed into a glowing training platform surrounded by hovering drones.
> “Training Simulation 01: Code Stability Test.”
“Goal: Survive.”
“Survive what—”
BOOM!
A blast of static erupted beside him, forming a monster made entirely of corrupted data. It had no face, only a screen flashing random words like “ERROR,” “DELETE,” and “404.”
“Okay! Cool! Definitely not terrifying!” Yuhan shouted, dodging as it swung a glitchy arm his way.
DAP’s voice came calmly over the system link.
> “You can neutralize it by focusing your code signature. Channel your glitch—don’t resist it.”
“Channel it? I barely understand it!”
> “Then learn faster.”
He threw up his hands, instinctively forming the same glowing symbols that had appeared back in the classroom. This time, they responded—threads of light weaving into his palm.
The corrupted creature lunged. Yuhan thrust his hand forward, and a burst of white energy erupted, shattering the monster into digital dust.
The platform dimmed. The drones powered down.
Hex landed beside him, folding his arms.
> “Hmph. Not bad for a kid who nearly crashed an entire school.”
Yuhan gasped for air. “Not bad!? I almost died in tutorial mode!”
DAP approached, analyzing his readings.
> “Stabilization rate improving. Sync ratio: 67%.”
Hex raised an eyebrow. “Sixty-seven? That’s higher than half our cadets.”
Yuhan blinked. “So… does that mean I’m a genius?”
Hex grinned. “No. It means you’re one bad mood away from deleting us all.”
The training platform reformed beneath his feet, this time expanding outward into what looked like an entire digital city — half pixelated, half realistic.
Neon lights blinked, code rained from the skies, and every few seconds the environment glitched, swapping colors like a corrupted video file.
Li Yuhan stared around in disbelief.
“Don’t tell me this is part of the test…”
Hex smirked. “Congratulations, kid. You survived round one. Now let’s see if you can survive the real thing.”
He pointed toward the horizon, where the sky flickered.
Out of the static emerged multiple figures — human silhouettes, but with flickering faces and hollow, echoing voices.
> “Welcome to the Simulation Arena.”
“Please select difficulty: Impossible.”
Yuhan’s mouth dropped open. “...How about we go with Easy, huh? Just to warm up?”
DAP crossed her arms. “The System doesn’t offer ‘Easy.’”
“Of course it doesn’t,” he muttered, summoning a faint glow in his hands again. “That’d be too human.”
The first corrupted figure dashed forward, moving faster than logic should allow. Yuhan raised his arm instinctively, forming a barrier of code. It shimmered like a mirror, reflecting the enemy’s attack back at it.
The reflection hit, and the figure shattered like glass.
Yuhan blinked. “Did I… just block that?”
DAP smiled faintly — her first almost-human expression.
> “You adapted mid-execution. Impressive.”
Hex nodded approvingly. “Kid’s a natural. Still dumb, but natural.”
Another wave of corrupted avatars rushed in, this time more organized. Yuhan rolled under a strike, kicked another into static, and launched a burst of digital light from his palm.
Every hit felt strangely natural, like his body remembered what his brain didn’t.
It was both terrifying and thrilling.
Then, as the last enemy faded, everything froze.
A chime echoed through the arena.
> [System Announcement: New user synchronization achieved — 91%.]
[Access granted: Advanced Debug Mode.]
Hex whistled. “Ninety-one? That’s rookie record.”
Yuhan looked down at his glowing hands. “Wait… what does ‘Advanced Debug Mode’ do?”
Before DAP could answer, the entire environment distorted again — not like before. This time it was different. The colors dimmed, the light turned red, and an enormous system symbol appeared in the sky.
> [Unauthorized process detected.]
[Origin: External Source.]
DAP’s eyes widened. “This isn’t part of the training…”
A dark shape appeared in the distance — humanoid, but… broken. The code around it twisted, resisting analysis. Its voice was distorted, layered, almost human—
> “Found you…”
Yuhan froze. “What the hell is that?”
DAP’s voice trembled. “An independent process. Something that shouldn’t exist inside the System Academy.”
Hex’s tone dropped low. “Kid, brace yourself. That’s no training bot.”
The entity’s flickering eyes locked on Yuhan, glitching between hundreds of expressions before settling on one… identical to his own.
It smiled.
> “Hello, Li Yuhan.”
“Or should I say—Version One.”
End of Chapter 5
Preview – Chapter 6: Error: Duplicate Found
A perfect copy of Yuhan has appeared inside the System.
It knows his thoughts. His habits. Even his jokes.
But when it starts rewriting his code — and his memories — the line between real and artificial begins to collapse.
And Yuhan must face a terrifying question:
> What if he’s the clone… and not the original?
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