Chapter 3: The World I Created (3)

As soon as he woke up, he knew exactly what his first task was. He intended to thoroughly dig into the newly acquired status window.

He was a veteran gamer among veterans, having conquered every genre imaginable. Back in the day, he’d made quite a name for himself.

“Developers always leave at least one path through every obstacle for the player.”

A reward following a crisis turned into opportunity—that was the essence of a game’s fun.

Only then did Lee Taebaek regain the smile he’d lost. Changing his mindset had cleared his head.

“Especially since this is the game I made.”

Laykuns was a sandbox open-world RPG.

It was meticulously designed so that any obstacle could be cleared by fully utilizing the terrain, player bases, and character stats.

“First, let’s check the map objects.”

Lee Taebaek scanned his surroundings before shifting his gaze to the serving hatch. The purple soup was rotting away. Bubbles frothed from whatever they’d boiled into it.

“That’s worse than the electric chair.”

Yeah. Better skip meals entirely.

He sat cross-legged in a formal meditation pose. Imagining himself strapped to the electric chair in that position made his body hair stand on end.

“I have no intention of dying.”

Lee Taebaek shook off the chill creeping up his back. Even rolling in dog shit, this world was still better than the next.

He would survive, no matter what it took.

But finding a way out in this barren cell seemed impossible. If he at least had a metal spoon, maybe—but with a plastic one, even scooping soup was iffy.

“I didn’t expect silverware. But plastic spoons that can’t even match metal ones… fitting for a world full of cyber chrome and plastic.”

Lee Taebaek let out a self-deprecating sigh.

But it was too early to abandon hope! He mouthed the words “Operator Mode” silently.

His left eye seemed to open, then both eyes widened fully. The Buff and Nerf authorities shimmered visibly before his naked eyes. He’d finally figured out the trigger to summon the status window. A great achievement!

“Now I can breathe a little easier.”

He wiped the sweat pooled in the wrinkles of his hand. Then he stared intently at the status window again. So focused was he that it felt like his gaze might pierce right through it.

“Buff raises two stats by about 10 for 5 minutes.”

All stats were unified at 5.

Adding 10 made 15. At 10 Agility, he’d be as fast as a track athlete. 20 was the gateway to superhuman levels, enabling superhuman physical feats.

In short, 15 was right between mortal and superhuman—an ambiguous threshold. Unless he hit 20, the superhuman gateway, dodging bullets at 15 Agility was out of the question.

“Even if I spot a flaw in Brain Prison or a gap in security…”

Even if he luckily slipped the encirclement, a stray bullet would turn him into Swiss cheese. If it were a sloppy prison he could escape with footwork alone, wouldn’t the fact that there’s only one escapee ever be suspicious?

Breaking through Brain Prison’s security with raw physical ability was simply too much.

Think of it like a game, Lee Taebaek.

Agility was out for the reasons above. Mental only shone in psychologically unstable states, so not particularly useful here…

Lee Taebaek continued his deductions, eliminating Life, Mental, Strength, Agility, Magic Power, and Faith one by one.

…After a long while, he closed his eyes, then half-opened them. Without hesitation, he buffed Strength.

The change was immediate.

Power surged through him, muscles writhing from within. Veins bulged red across his body.

“Let’s do this.”

He spread his arms wide. The chains linking his manacles stretched taut. His lungs expanded greatly. Blood vessels throbbed on his forehead, teeth grinding fiercely.

“Grraaaaaah!”

Blood trickled like thistle sap along the chains from the center point, dripping in beads. Each rattle of the iron links in the air sent drops falling.

“Haa, haa.”

The chains sagged, tracing a parabola downward. As expected, they were intact.

“Damn… Thought my wrists might snap first…”

Lee Taebaek alternated rubbing his sore, aching forearms. As anticipated, brute force couldn’t break the chains.

“It’s Brain Prison. No way these are ordinary manacles.”

They were surely special-made, infused with cutting-edge tech. Tough as hell, damn it.

Still, one corner of his mouth crept up slyly. At least this test let him feel the Buff’s effect firsthand.

“If Strength were just 3 higher, I could’ve snapped the shackles.”

But setting aside the positive impression, the situation was grim. Roughly speaking, it’d take a full week to cut through that metal mass at Strength 15.

That assuming good luck—pure theory.

The guards in Brain Prison were all top-notch. They reacted sharply to the slightest change. They’d spot anything suspicious immediately.

And even if he broke the chains, the real problem remained.

As Lee Taebaek turned his head sideways, a fly landed delicately on the bars right on cue. The moment the buzzing insect met the iron…

Zzzzt!

The fly vaporized instantly. A foul burnt smell rose like the fleeting soul-trace of a lost life.

“As expected of a prison with ‘thunder’ and ‘brain’ right in the name. No idea whose head that idea came from, but it’s brutally clever.”

Lee Taebaek nodded solemnly.

A stark reminder. Passing through the bars was impossible.

…Wait, why had he forgotten that? He’d overlooked it despite the shimmer right before his eyes.

Taebaek focused on the word “entity.”

In the dictionary sense, an entity meant any physically existent matter. By that logic, didn’t electricity qualify as an entity too?

If it worked. Nerf the power, then Buff Life and Faith to boost stamina and self-recovery, and he might stand a chance against the electric chair.

But even then.

Even at 15 Life and Faith, the limit was 5 minutes. Surviving the chair by the skin of his teeth still left escape impossible on his own.

In the end, external intervention or help was essential. Come to think of it, even the sole escapee hadn’t broken out solo—he’d had backing to flee Brain Prison.

“Resistance.”

As the name implied, the classic resistance force that popped up everywhere.

Unlike other games where they were pathetic punching bags, in Laykuns, their power was formidable. Even gangsters with knife scars on their faces tread carefully around the Resistance.

Made sense—they were the city government’s main target. If they cowered, the government’s prestige would tank too.

But that was irrelevant to him. Lee Taebaek was a total lone wolf, not even an orphan.

No blood ties, regional bonds, or school connections—nothing. His only “acquaintances” were the guards about to club him soon.

Speaking of which, beating time was approaching…

“Ha, haha, hahahaha!”

Laugh. Laugh your ass off.

As Lee Taebaek let out a despairing guffaw, he felt a gaze piercing his skin.

Cold sweat beaded at his temples. Until just after waking, he’d sensed no presence at all.

“That means the other party deliberately concealed their presence.”

In this world, Presence Concealment was the exclusive domain of top-tier powerhouses.

That alone meant all their stats were at least 30+. As mentioned, 20 was superhuman; 30 was monstrous. Typically fifth-rank elites or fifth-circle grand mages.

Such a monster was watching him. …Had he been too noisy?

Lee Taebaek flicked a creaky glance beyond the bars. Two gazes clashed hotly in the air.

“…!”

The next instant, his eyes widened in shock. He nearly yelped in surprise.

“I concealed my presence, but watching you made me drop it momentarily. Couldn’t help it—too intriguing. Sorry if I interrupted your preparations for the afterlife.”

The gaze’s owner broke the silence. Cinnamon skin, imposing build. It nailed the intimidating face Lee Taebaek had designed as the character artist.

“If I had to excuse myself, it’s just that I’ve never seen a death row inmate raging like you. Quite the novelty.”

The man grinned dangerously, flashing fangs. Beastly savagery oozed from his lips.

“Your eyes are so lively too. …Almost like you’re planning to break out of Brain Prison.”

He heard nothing. An indescribable relief and joy simply washed over his chest.

“It’s him.”

Brain Prison’s one and only escapee. The man himself spoke.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d chat with you until the electric chair. Ah, almost forgot introductions.”

Lee Taebaek knew how the man would introduce himself.

“Yamamoto. My comrades call me Yama casually—you do the same if you like. Can’t be stingy with someone about to leave this world, hahaha!”

Yamamoto was an alias.

The man only revealed his real name to those he acknowledged.

He was a romantic eccentric who prized warrior spirit in this dystopia, backed by monstrous power to uphold his banner.

Moreover, the legendary Resistance fighter who’d first escaped Brain Prison, elevating their fame. He couldn’t approach this man deferentially.

Lee Taebaek opened his tightly shut eyes. Anxiety, tension, unease—all crumbled like sugar.

“…You say you can’t be stingy, yet you give an alias. What’s that about?”

He spoke softly, chin slightly raised.

“9th Special Platoon, Battalion Commander Kang Hyeonseong of the Resistance. You thought I wouldn’t know your face?”

“……”

“Well, you had your reasons, I’m sure.”

Even if the man’s face wrinkled in fury, Lee Taebaek was confident he could talk his way through.

“…You. Do you even know what you’re saying? You must be suicidal.”

“Telling a death row inmate he’s suicidal. Funny joke, Kang Hyeonseong. Nice warm-up before playing with the guards. Anyway, enough chit-chat.”

Who was the creator that molded Kang Hyeonseong?

Lee Taebaek himself.

“Nice to meet you.”

The last words were sincere, Hyeonseong.