MTLNOVEL Chapter 2: Buisness
Was that a dream?
Shaoran's consciousness drifted between reality and the lingering remnants of something surreal. His body felt heavy, yet his mind buzzed with a strange clarity. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. The first thing he saw was the sky—a dull gray, framed by towering buildings. The scent of dust and chemicals filled the air.
Then came the voices.
"He's awake!"
"No way! He actually survived?"
People crowded around him, their faces filled with disbelief. Some were recording with their phones, others whispering among themselves. A sharp ringing echoed in his ears, and as his vision cleared, he noticed the paramedics kneeling beside him. One of them, a young man in uniform, was checking his pulse.
The moment the paramedic felt a beat, he paled.
"HOW CAN THIS BE HAPPENING!!!" The man stumbled back, nearly dropping his medical kit. "That's... that's impossible!"
Shaoran groaned, forcing himself to sit up. His head throbbed. His clothes were covered in dirt. He glanced around, confused, trying to make sense of what was happening.
What the hell happened to him?
The murmuring crowd filled in the blanks.
His bus had been speeding down the road when disaster struck. A section of the vehicle had suddenly torn apart—an entire piece of the floor ripped open without warning. Passengers barely had time to react before the chaos unfolded.
Shaoran, who had been fast asleep in his seat, had the worst luck—or the greatest, depending on how one looked at it.
The force of the accident sent him tumbling downward, straight through the gaping hole in the bus floor.
But fate had one more trick up its sleeve.
Coincidentally, right beneath the bus was an open manhole.
Shaoran had fallen directly into it.
And just when things couldn't possibly get worse—
A truck full of sand happened to be passing by at that exact moment.
Its destination? That same manhole.
Right after he dropped in, the truck stopped and, as if mocking the very concept of probability, unloaded its entire cargo into the hole.
Burying him alive.
The only reason he had been rescued was pure luck—or perhaps some twisted joke. A news crew had been reporting on the hazardous manhole at that exact location. The moment he fell, everything was captured on live television.
Within minutes, emergency teams arrived. After an hour of frantic digging, they pulled him out.
His pulse was missing. He was declared dead. His body was intact, but he wasn't breathing. No heartbeat. All the blood had frozen, as if time had stopped. When they made a small cut on his hand, the blood didn't pour out—it just sat there, unmoving.
But the medics had bigger problems to deal with. A bus full of people had crashed, flooding them with casualties. Still, one of them made a mental note of this strange phenomenon.
Shaoran sat there, staring at the ground, trying to process the absurd chain of events.
Then—
He laughed.
A full, unhinged laugh. One that made the nearby paramedics shift uncomfortably and bystanders take a cautious step back.
This wasn't normal. It wasn't even a coincidence at this point—it was the kind of thing that happened to main characters in ridiculous stories.
First, he had a weird dream about being isekai'd. Now this?
What kind of absurd luck did he have?
The laughter slowly faded, and as he lifted his hands to wipe the dirt off his face, something caught his eye.
His breath hitched.
On the back of his hand, the tattoo was still there.
A sharp jolt of realization shot through him. His fingers trembled as he touched it, and the moment he did—
A system screen appeared before his eyes.
The same cold, mechanical text. The same interface.
It was real.
This wasn't just some leftover dream or a hallucination from being buried alive. The system was here. It had followed him.
A surge of emotions crashed into him, but he pushed them aside for now. There were more pressing matters. He turned to one of the attendants nearby and asked for his bag.
The officials had taken it for inspection but, after finding nothing suspicious, returned it to him.
He reached out, grabbing the worn fabric.
The instant his fingers made contact, his tattoo glowed.
A strange word appeared in his vision.
Inventory.
The pronunciation was… Mulvik.
His instincts kicked in. He muttered the word under his breath, and his bag opened on its own.
Inside, thousands of gold coins sparkled under the dim light. Each piece was polished, glimmering with an otherworldly shine.
And beside them—small, smooth, round spheres.
He exhaled, memories flooding back. Right.
He had earned an absurd amount of gold by selling things that shouldn't have been valuable.
His clothes.
His blood.
Even his hair.
And those mysterious spheres?
They were something else entirely.
They belonged to an AI civilization.
An orc had sold them to him, claiming they were the newborn babies of his AI partner. Shaoran had no idea how that worked, but the orc had been serious about it.
And what had Shaoran traded in exchange?
His smartphone.
More specifically, a smartphone filled with pirated songs and animated h-mangas.
The orc had completely lost control of his lust at the sight of those… questionable files.
Even in different worlds, some things never changed.
Shaoran sighed, rubbing his temples.
Evening had settled by the time Shaoran reached home.
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Notice: You will be forcefully transported to the academy in 10 hours. Please make sure you are lying down and in a safe place.
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Ding!
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"You have 23 new messages."
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Shaoran chuckled. I guess I made more friends in a few hours than in the rest of my life.
The messages were filled with bizarre requests—people hoping he could bring them all sorts of strange things. He had barely settled in, and suddenly, he had become a businessman.
He took a deep breath, Just now, he had done something he hadn't in three years—he called that friend.
Even when he was at rock bottom, his pride had never let him ask for help. But this time? He really needed it.
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Teleportation in 03:36:23.655
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A short man in glasses stood outside, casually browsing his phone.
As soon as Shaoran got close, the man looked up in an instant—his movement faster than light. Within two seconds, he was in front of him, wrapping him in a bear hug.
Shaoran let out a grunt, bending his knees slightly to match the height difference.
"You're fast, man." He grinned. "I thought I'd see you tomorrow or the day after."
Jerry stepped back, adjusting his glasses before waving a boarding pass in front of him.
"I took my wife's chopper," he said flatly. "She's gonna kill me, but WTH. My secretary already notified me when you got dumped into that hole. I called everyone I could to get you the best support. When you called me, I was already halfway here. I even sent a car to take you to a hospital, but it looks like they missed you." He shook his head. "Anyway, let's go. Full checkup, no excuses."
Hearing Jerry ramble nonstop, Shaoran couldn't help but smile. Some things never changed.
After some back and forth, he managed to calm Jerry down and led him inside.
The room was a mess—papers scattered everywhere, an empty food container on the table, and clothes tossed over the couch. Jerry barely reacted. Instead, he walked in, dusted off a chair, opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and sat down like he owned the place.
"What's going on? You didn't call me about your accident. Hell, knowing you, you wouldn't tell me even if you got nuked. So... wassup?"
Shaoran didn't answer right away. He simply grabbed a glass, rinsed it, and poured himself some water.
Then, he walked to the corner of the room, grabbed his bag, and turned it upside down.
The air hummed. A rune glowed on the bag's surface.
And then—gold.
Piles of it.
Jerry first smiled. Then blinked. Then his face twisted into pure disbelief.
"...What the actual fuck?" He slowly stood up, staring at the gold like it might explode. "Man. That bag... is that magic or something?"
Shaoran lit a cigarette, inhaled, then exhaled slowly.
Jerry wasn't done. He grabbed the bag and inspected it. "This thing looks normal... nothing special... wait—" He suddenly pulled out a knife and stabbed the fabric.
Shaoran's eyes widened.
Before he could say anything, the tear sealed itself right before their eyes. The knife, however, remained embedded in the bag. Jerry grunted, trying to pull it out, but it wouldn't budge.
"...Alright, yeah. This is some bullshit." Jerry let go of the bag and moved to the gold instead. He picked up a coin, feeling its weight. Pure. Real. Not a fake.
Shaoran took another sip of water before finally speaking.
"Jerry. I know you have a lot of questions." His voice was calm. "Don't ask. I can't answer. Not now."
Jerry narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Shaoran exhaled another puff of smoke. "Half of the gold is yours. I want 500K UC in my bank account in 10 minutes. No backtrace. All in clean, white cash."
Jerry scoffed, crossing his arms. "Half of this gold is worth at least 3 million UC. And you're asking for 500K?"
Shaoran shrugged.
Jerry shook his head. "I don't want your gold." He leaned forward. "But I do want in. Whatever the hell you're involved in? I want a piece of it."
Shaoran met his gaze.
Jerry was no fool. He wasn't the type to be blinded by money—he had enough of it already. What he wanted was leverage.
=============================================Notice: User has deluged a hint of #CENSORED# event to a target.Action Required: Bind the target or eliminate the target, or use system assistance to eliminate the target.Failure to act will result in a random selection by the system.
Available Options:Bind as Partner (Locked) (Female only) (4/4)Bind as Blood Member (Available) (3/3)Bind as Knight (Available) (50/50)Bind as Follower (Available) (500/500)Bind as Slave (Available) (5000/5000)
Time Remaining: 444 Seconds
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Shaoran froze as the system message appeared before him.
What the hell...?
His heart pounded. This wasn't just a casual system notice—this was a kill or capture order. On Jerry.
Jerry noticed the shift in Shaoran's expression. His instincts kicked in immediately. His eyes sharpened. "You're involved in some serious shit, aren't you?" His hand went to his belt. "From the way you look, someone—no, something—doesn't want you talking about this."
Jerry glanced around, then pulled out a compact laser pistol.
"Whoever the fuck is eavesdropping—show yourself!" He raised the gun, eyes scanning the room.
Before he could fire, Shaoran stepped in, pushing down on Jerry's shoulder. "Calm the hell down and listen."
Jerry shot him a sharp look.
Shaoran exhaled. "I know you can read situations fast, but this is worse than you think. I didn't plan for this. I didn't expect it. And I sure as hell didn't want you dragged into it."
Shaoran clenched his jaw. "But fuck it. You wanted in? Now you're in. No turning back. No second chances."
Jerry was about to argue when Shaoran's hand hovered over the system screen.
He chose Blood Member.
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Blood Binding Initiated.
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Two transparent knives materialized midair.
Jerry's eyes widened. "What the—"
Before he could react, he pulled the trigger.
A laser shot blasted toward one of the knives—only for the blade to slice through the beam like it was nothing. The remaining energy veered off, nearly scorching Shaoran's cheek.
The first knife darted down like a missile, stabbing up from the floor straight into Jerry's chest.
The second knife plunged into Shaoran's heart.
Pain.
Unbearable, searing pain.
Both of them collapsed, hands gripping their wounds. Blood flowed from their chests, but instead of spilling outward, it moved in a perfect circular motion.
A magic circle formed beneath them—filled with unreadable glyphs.
Their blood met at the center.
BOOM.
A shockwave exploded, slamming them against opposite walls.
Everything went dark.
Shaoran's eyes fluttered open.
The system timer now read: 2 hours remaining.
He was lying in bed. The entire room was... clean.
Jerry sat nearby, tapping away at his laptop, looking completely unbothered. A suited woman massaged his back, her expression professional.
Shaoran shifted slightly—only to realize two more women were massaging his feet.
"...Oh, damn."
Jerry looked over at the sound of movement. Noticing Shaoran awake, he stretched and stood up.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty finally wakes up."
He pulled out a thick bundle of cash, handing some to each of the women. They accepted it with a bow before leaving the room.
Now, it was just Shaoran and Jerry.
Jerry turned back to him, rolling up his sleeve. A tattoo-like mark pulsed faintly on his forearm.
His gaze was cold.
"You have a lot to explain, Sha." His voice was low, serious. "Especially this goddamn tattoo... and the game-like bullshit that keeps popping up whenever I touch it."
He sat down, crossing his arms.
"I never believed in fantasy crap, even when I was a damn pro player. But this? This is some next-level shit."
He exhaled, rubbing his temples.
"Now tell me. What do these timers mean? What's with all these new system screens? And why the hell am I suddenly in a Metaverse Chat, Universe Chat, World Chat, Regional Chat, and Area Chat—with only one other user I can't access?"
Jerry leaned forward.
"It's you, isn't it?"
Shaoran took a deep breath.
Time to explain.