Ace woke up sprawled on his bed, his hand reaching toward the ceiling.
For a moment he felt lost. Then memories from a different future flooded in as if a dam had burst.
He remembered being thrown into the first Gate, the trials that changed him, and the last step into Heaven’s Gate where he learned the Chessboard Apocalypse was only a tutorial.
He sat up and took in his tiny one‑room apartment. From the bed he could see the kitchenette and the door to the bathroom.
The place offered only a roof, but it was free. The government had given it to him a few months ago when he turned eighteen, because he was an orphan.
His rent was cheap—so cheap that it was covered for a full year. He also received a small allowance to start adult life. The downside was thin walls and neighbors from different orphanages who often stole from one another.
The thought still made Ace grin. He walked to the lone window, opened it, and drew in the morning air.
Below, orphans his age dodged work and spent their allowance on alcohol and cigarettes. Passers‑by glared at them and hurried away. Farther off, traffic flowed and life looked normal.
Ace chuckled and returned to the bed. Instead of lying down he reached under it for the laptop he had bought with his allowance.
He hid it so no foolish neighbor could steal it. After powering it on he browsed social media.
A few minutes later he got a drink and sprawled on the bed again. An hour passed before he visited a corn website and relieved himself into a towel.
His stomach growled, so he ordered his favorite fast food. Within thirty minutes warm food sat on the bed.
He munched chicken wings while watching an anime he had long forgotten.
People overlook this comfort. Life’s hard, but it beats the apocalypse.
He checked the corner of the laptop screen. Three months remained before the first Gates would appear.
He felt he had forgotten something important, yet the thought did not weigh on him. He wanted rest and three months was plenty to prepare.
The first Gate only felt deadly because no one was ready, he reminded himself. I got wrecked there ’cause I skipped the gym. Building muscle’s priority number one—just not today. Today I chill.
Someone banged on the door.
"Hey, you’re living well, huh? Ordering chicken wings! Share some with us!"
Did I change the timeline just by ordering chicken wings? Ace wondered while chewing the time‑breaking wings.
The banging continued. If he ignored it, neighbors would complain tomorrow and maybe beat him.
This neighborhood favored offenders over victims. Bullies here shared one weakness Ace planned to exploit.
He grabbed the empty bucket and walked to the door. He opened it and smashed his fist into the nose of the man in the middle.
The bully toppled and Ace tossed the bucket and bones onto him. He met the eyes of the others.
"Thanks for takin’ out the friggin’ trash," he said, then shut the door.
Outside, the remaining bullies nodded, lifted their friend, and left. They were strong only in a group, and a single gap broke their courage.
Inside, a translucent window flashed before Ace’s eyes.
[You have obtained a passive skill—Brawler (I)]
How the hell do I already have passive skills? The freakin’ Apocalypse hasn’t even started!
He could only use passive skills in this second life—that part was clear. The system had said "As a ranker," so the world already counted him as one. That meant he could prep for the Chessboard Apocalypse even better and grab a big edge when it hit.
Passive skills help talent‑less folks catch up to the gifted. Hard work alone can’t beat raw talent, but these skills level up as you grind, so the hustle matters. A gifted grinder still pulls ahead.
Ace didn’t doubt his own talent.
If he lacked it, he wouldn’t have been the top‑ranked player last time.