Global Collapse
Synopsis
By the time the traffic light falls out of the sky and almost crushes him, Gu Mian has stopped being surprised.
Windows shatter when he walks past. Elevators jam, brakes fail, ceiling fans choose that exact second to snap loose. Every mishap angles straight for his skull, like the whole planet is playing darts and he’s the bullseye.
Then the Global Evolution Game comes online.
Earth itself boots up a system: billions of people logging in, diving into "instances"—pocket worlds built to test, wound, and remake them. Survive the dungeons, clear the scenarios, and you come back faster, stronger, upgraded. Humanity gets a fighting chance.
Everyone else opens their interface to glowing menus, skill trees, shiny functions. Gu Mian opens his… and finds half the buttons missing.
The game is supposed to be fair. It is not fair to Gu Mian.
His stats are crippled. His tools don’t work right. The system behaves like a half-broken machine around him—except for one glitch: he can put his fist straight through NPCs that no one else can touch.
Inside the Resentful Spirit High School instance, the air tastes of dust and old chalk, lockers howl with voices that never grew up, and the corridors bend wrong in the dark. Players creep through, farming rewards.
Then the sirens start.
[Red-level alert. Catastrophic collapse in progress.]
Classrooms disintegrate into static. Characters flicker out like bad TV reception. The map tears itself apart while the countdown hammers through their ears.
Ten seconds until forced ejection. Ten seconds while the world shreds around him—and Gu Mian, the man luck itself keeps trying to erase, discovers what happens when even the system can’t predict his next move.
In a game built to evolve humanity, his survival is the bug that could bring the whole thing down—or remake it in his image.
Windows shatter when he walks past. Elevators jam, brakes fail, ceiling fans choose that exact second to snap loose. Every mishap angles straight for his skull, like the whole planet is playing darts and he’s the bullseye.
Then the Global Evolution Game comes online.
Earth itself boots up a system: billions of people logging in, diving into "instances"—pocket worlds built to test, wound, and remake them. Survive the dungeons, clear the scenarios, and you come back faster, stronger, upgraded. Humanity gets a fighting chance.
Everyone else opens their interface to glowing menus, skill trees, shiny functions. Gu Mian opens his… and finds half the buttons missing.
The game is supposed to be fair. It is not fair to Gu Mian.
His stats are crippled. His tools don’t work right. The system behaves like a half-broken machine around him—except for one glitch: he can put his fist straight through NPCs that no one else can touch.
Inside the Resentful Spirit High School instance, the air tastes of dust and old chalk, lockers howl with voices that never grew up, and the corridors bend wrong in the dark. Players creep through, farming rewards.
Then the sirens start.
[Red-level alert. Catastrophic collapse in progress.]
Classrooms disintegrate into static. Characters flicker out like bad TV reception. The map tears itself apart while the countdown hammers through their ears.
Ten seconds until forced ejection. Ten seconds while the world shreds around him—and Gu Mian, the man luck itself keeps trying to erase, discovers what happens when even the system can’t predict his next move.
In a game built to evolve humanity, his survival is the bug that could bring the whole thing down—or remake it in his image.
📖 Chapter List
0 Chapters📖