Five Years Ago — The Dead Zone
(A.k.a Aether City's favorite place to dump people they don't want to officially kill.)
When they shoved me through that cursed portal, I landed hard enough to bounce. Not kidding, an actual bounce. My back hit something sharp, my ribs screamed and the wind was punched straight out of my lungs like the city's taxes punched out my savings.
I groaned, rolled over and tried not to puke.
All around me: crumbled buildings, half-scorched runes glowing faintly, air so thick with old magic it smelled like burnt plastic and broken dreams. Above, the sky was grayish-purple like someone tried to filter a sunset but forgot what color was.
Welcome to the Dead Zone.
The place where failed magic experiments go to rot.
And now? Apparently where disgraced ex-nobles go to die quietly.
The Hero's voice echoed in my memory:
"It's tragic… but Dante lost control. I had to defend myself."
Yeah. "Tragic" my—
A low snarl cut through my inner monologue.
I turned. Something in the shadows was watching me. Dozens of tiny eyes blinked.
…Nope.
I staggered up, clutching the single thing they let me keep: my wand. Cracked. Flickering. The magical equivalent of a busted power bank.
My stomach growled.
I had no food, no water and no working spells. I was alone, cancelled and stranded in a place where even the shadows had anxiety.
But I was still Dante Vale.
And I wasn't going to die like a side character in someone else's redemption arc.
Day 2: Emotional Support Rock
By the second day, I'd eaten what was probably moss… or magical carpet fuzz. Either way, it made me hallucinate that a rock was giving me financial advice.
I named him CEO Pebble.
He told me to invest in revenge.
I started listening.
Day 3: The Vending Machine of Destiny
I was half delirious, half frozenand fully ready to lie down and let a mildly cursed squirrel finish me off.
That's when I saw it.
Tucked between the ruins of what looked like a collapsed arcade and a spell lab was… a vending machine.
A big one. Chrome-lined, glowing softly, untouched by dust. It stood tall, humming gently, like a final boss disguised as a snack break.
And across the screen, in bright red letters:
INSERT ONE MISERABLE LIFE TO BEGIN.
"…Is this a prank?"
I limped toward it, drawn like a broke college student during finals week. I touched the screen.
It zapped me. Obviously.
Pain shot through my arm, down my spine, and straight into my brain. For one horrifying moment, I saw all my trauma flash before my eyes—including that one time I got rejected in front of the school choir.
And then—everything went black.
SYSTEM INTERFACE: KINGMAKER ONLINE
Welcome, Disgraced One.
Your life has been evaluated.
Status: Tragic. Broken.
Iconic Potential: High.
Initializing Starter Pack…
Passive Skill Unlocked: PETTY CLAPBACKS™
Active Skill Unlocked: EMOTIONAL DETACHMENT (LVL 1)
Style Modifier: Villain Drip Enabled
Trait Acquired: YOU'RE THE MAIN CHARACTER NOW
Do you accept these terms?
I squinted at the floating blue interface, still woozy. "…Do I get a refund if I die again?"
No refunds.
No sympathy.
Maximum drama.
"…I'm in."
Glow-Up.exe
My body jolted as if someone plugged me into an illegal mana socket.
My heartbeat synced to a rising bassline. Lights burst behind my eyelids. Code, magic, and pure vengeance spiraled through my veins like espresso laced with ambition.
I blacked out again.
When I woke up—something was different.
No, everything was different.
Dante 2.0
My wand? Upgraded. Sleek obsidian core, shimmer-engraved with runic lines and mood-based LED.
My robes? Gone. Replaced with a tailored black jacket, reinforced with woven spell-thread. It adjusted to my aura and always smelled like high-end cologne and fresh litigation.
My face? No longer tired. Sharper. Colder. Somehow hotter.
My stats? Off the charts.
My sass level? MAXED.
And in my head, a voice purred:
K1NG: Welcome to the glow-up, sir. Shall we destroy your enemies, fix your posture and conquer capitalism?
I grinned.
"Hell yeah."
Building an Empire From Nothing (And Spite)
Beneath the Dead Zone, I found a half-collapsed metro station. Abandoned. Magical residue still humming faintly through the rails.
Of course I claimed it. Then started restoring it.
Then came the others.
Outcasts, dropouts, cursed interns, mages with criminal records for graffiti spells. Even one raccoon who used to be a hedge fund manager.
Together, we built Ashvale Enterprises—a rogue magic-tech startup fueled by recycled mana, cursed patents, and the collective urge for vengeance.
Every week we added a new floor.
Every month we absorbed a failing underground company.
Every single day, my name disappeared a little more from the surface.
Until now.
Present Day – Aether City
Back in the city, my elevator rises smoothly through Ashvale Tower, 60 floors of enchanted steel, anti-drama wards and mood lighting set to "I'm So Back."
I check my reflection in the mirrored wall.
Flawless with a sharp suit. Crimson tie enchanted to self-adjust. Eyes glowing just faintly with mana—like a man who's seen the void and came back with stock options.
K1NG: Shall I send a passive-aggressive email to the Hero now?
"No," I murmur, smirking. "We'll do it live."
The elevator dings.
Game on.