Lord of Solva: Players as My Pawns

The glow of multiple monitors bathed the room in a dim blue haze. A mess of instant noodle cups, half-open books, and scattered papers covered the desk. The faint hum of cooling fans filled the silence.

Shaoran sat in his chair, hunched forward, staring at the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving.

His mind was still stuck in that other place.

One second, he had been there—bleeding, overwhelmed, dying. The next, the system had yanked him back, and suddenly, he was here. Home. On Earth.

He reached for a cold cup of noodles, took a bite, and immediately regretted it. Stale. How long had he been gone?

His eyes flicked to the system interface.

[World Administrator Panel]

[Population: 0]

[Resources: Insufficient]

He scrolled down. A red warning pulsed at the bottom.

[Hostile Entities Detected: 37… 38… 41…]

He exhaled sharply. The monsters were increasing. Slowly but surely, a hole had formed in the middle of his world—the source of the infection. The creatures crawled out in waves, spreading like a disease.

"Shit." He rubbed his temples.

The worst part? He had no idea what to do.

Over the next few hours, he experimented.

Jumping back. Coming back.

The system allowed him to move freely between worlds. He learned the limits fast— depending it power storage level.

He already learn few stuffs. 

If he died there, the system forcefully ejected him.

His body disappeared from Earth when he entered the world.

That last one was dangerous. If anyone noticed him missing… no, if he vanished for too long, people would start asking questions.

But there was one positive.

Every time he returned, he got stronger. The system had some kind of adaptive feature, reinforcing his abilities based on the threats he faced.

The problem was, he wasn't the only one getting stronger.

The monsters were evolving.

By the fifth jump, he encountered one that moved faster than before. By the eighth, one broke through his makeshift defenses.

By the tenth, he nearly died again.

His hand trembled as he reached for another noodle cup. Empty. The room reeked of old food, stale air, and exhaustion. He hadn't slept. Hadn't even turned on the lights.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

He froze.

Another knock, harder this time.

"Shaoran, open the damn door."

Tanisha

He exhaled. Tanisha.

He dragged himself to the door, pulling it open. She stood there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

Her dark brown eyes flicked past him, straight into the disaster that was his apartment.

"Dude… what the hell?" she muttered.

Shaoran rubbed his face. "What?"