Ryan slammed the door to his room, cutting off the noise of the bustling market forces outside. He dropped his college books onto his bed with a heavy thud, not even bothering to look where they landed. All he wanted was ten minutes. Just ten minutes to shut off his brain, forget about the lectures, the crowded streets, and the overwhelming noise of the city.

  He collapsed into his chair and booted up his console. The screen flickered to life, displaying the logo: Heroes of the Realm. It was his escape. There was something about the strategy game that hooked him—the way you could send heroes to fight in stages, the tactics involved, the way the synergy builds worked. It wasn't just about smashing buttons; it was about control. Watching the little units move exactly where he told them to, executing his plan without hesitation. It was the only place where things made sense.

  He grabbed the controller, leaning back as the menu music started. Finally, some peace.

  The loading screen faded, and Ryan selected his saved campaign. On the screen, his army of knights and mages stood ready, awaiting orders. He moved the cursor, highlighting a squad of ranged units and ordering them to the high ground, perfectly positioning them to flank the enemy.

  A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. This. This was what he loved.

  "Move there," he muttered, pressing the button.

  Instantly, the archers turned and marched to the exact spot. No questions, no complaints, no hesitation. They just obeyed. He watched the tactical map, shifting his heavy cavalry forward to crush the center line. It was perfect symmetry.

  "Hold the line," he whispered.

  The units locked shields. The enemy charged, and Ryan’s trap snapped shut. It was a slaughter, efficient and clean.

  He leaned back, staring at the digital soldiers celebrating their victory. A thought crossed his mind, one that had been flickering in the back of his head for weeks. How cool would it be to actually be a commander? Not just pressing buttons on a screen, but standing on a real battlefield. The weight of command, the power of absolute authority.

  In the game, his word was law. If he said retreat, they retreated. If he said charge, they charged. To have that kind of respect, that kind of terrifying control in the real world... it sent a shiver down his spine. He wasn't just a player here; he was a god. And for a moment, looking at the pixels dancing on the screen, he wished the real world worked the same way.

  Ryan blinked. The victory music cut out abruptly, replaced by a low, resonant hum. The tactical map dissolved into static, and in the center of the screen, a notification pulsed with a strange, silver light.

  Query: Would you like to upgrade to a harder game y/n?

  Ryan stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the 'Exit' button out of habit. But the cursor wouldn't move to the menu. The only active option was the prompt.

  "A harder game?" he muttered, scoffing. "I'm playing on Legendary difficulty. What's harder than this?"

  He looked around his dorm room, half-expecting one of his roommates to jump out and yell "Pranked!" But the door was still closed. The room was silent. The notification just sat there, waiting, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

  Curiosity, that same trait that had made him min-max every character build in Heroes of the Realm, got the better of him. It wasn't an ad. It didn't look like any system update he'd ever seen. It felt... heavy. Significant.

  "Upgrade," he said, feeling foolish for talking to his TV, but he pressed the y button.

  The screen turned black, and for a second, Ryan thought his console had crashed. Then, text began to scroll across the void, rapid and relentless.

  Initiating transfer...

  Target acquired: Ryan Vance.

  Class Compilation...

  World synchronization starting...

  "Oh, shit," Ryan whispered.

  The wind was knocked out of him. Ryan gasped, his lungs struggling to expand in the thin, cold air. He was falling like the ground was pulling us from under him, wohw oowh ohwwoooo as fravany was tuned off, then with a thud he landed on something very hard.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  One minute, he had been sitting in his ergonomic gaming chair; the next, he was sprawled on unforgiving stone.

  His vision swam, blurry shapes dancing in the darkness. He scrambled to push himself up, his fingers scraping against rough rock. Where’s the floor? Where’s the carpet?

  Slowly, the chaotic buzzing in his brain faded, replaced by the flickering orange light of torches. He blinked hard, forcing his eyes to focus.

  He wasn't in his room.

  He was in a cavernous hall, the walls looming high above him, made of ancient masonry. But it was the figures surrounding him that made his breath hitch.

  They weren't people.

  They were animals. But they were standing on two legs, wearing elaborate clothes. A badger in heavy plate armor stood to his left, clutching a spear. To his right, a rabbit in a robe adjusted its glasses. He pushed himself back, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. This has to be a prank. VR? Did I buy a headset?

  His gaze snapped forward, toward the center of the room.

  On a raised dais sat a massive throne. And lounging on it was a lion. He wore a mantle of deep crimson velvet trimmed with gold, a heavy crown resting on his majestic, tawny head. The firelight danced in his amber eyes, eyes that held a weight of wisdom and terrifying power.

  The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the crackling of the torches. The lion didn't move immediately; he just watched Ryan with an intensity that made the summoned hero feel like a bug under a microscope.

  Finally, the lion turned his massive head slightly to the side.

  "Has the hero summoning succeeded?" the lion’s voice rumbled, deep and resonant, shaking the very air in the hall.

  A figure stepped out from the shadows behind the throne. It was a ram, towering and imposing, curled horns gleaming in the firelight. He wore robes that shimmered with arcane symbols, a staff clasped in one cloven hoof.

  "Yes, my Lord Aslan," the ram replied, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "We have summoned a hero from another world."

  Ryan tried to scramble backward as the ram approached, but his legs felt like lead. The creature didn't seem threatening, merely clinical, like a doctor examining a new patient. The ram stopped a few feet away and held up the slate—a smooth, rectangular tablet made of dark stone that hummed with faint, blue energy.

  "Hold still," the ram grunted, tapping the slate.

  A beam of light shot out, washing over Ryan. It didn't hurt, but it made the hair on his arms stand up. He blinked rapidly as numbers and symbols flashed before his eyes, overlaying his vision like a HUD from a video game. The data hovered in the air for a moment before stabilizing on the slate for the ram to read.

  Status Report

  Name: Ryan Vernon

  Race: Human

  Level: 1

  Class: Puppet Master

  Ryan stared at the floating text. It was exactly like his character screens back home. Puppet Master? That was... niche. Even in the most complex RPGs, puppeteers were usually npcs, weird and gimmicky.

  The ram frowned, tilting his head as he analyzed the data. He turned back to the throne, tapping the slate with a hoof.

  "My Lord Aslan," the ram called out. "It appears the summoning was successful, but the result is... unexpected."

  The air in the hall grew thick with disappointment. King Aslan let out a long, weary sigh, his golden eyes losing their fierce edge and replaced by a look of utter defeat. It was the look of a man who had sold his soul for a miracle and received a party clown in return.

  His voice is flat. "We prayed for a Warrior. A Mage. A Savior to lead our armies against the darkness." He looked at Ryan, who was still dusting off his jeans, and shook his massive head. "And instead, we get a toy-maker."

  Ryan opened his mouth to argue, but the lion raised a massive paw, silencing him instantly.

  "I have no use for entertainers," Aslan declared, turning his gaze away dismissively. "Jonathan. Get rid of him. Throw him into the dungeon."

  Ryan’s eyes went wide. "Wait, what? The dungeon? I didn't even—"

  A figure stepped out from the line of guards. It was a cat—a short, lean feline wearing an outfit that looked like one of the three musketeers. He had navy dark fur, a feathered hat cocked jauntily on his head, and leather boots that shone so brightly they reflected the torchlight. A thin blade hung at his waist, looking deadly despite the dandyish appearance.

  "Yes, my King," the cat purred, his voice smooth and oily. He bowed low with a flourish, then straightened up, grinning at Ryan with sharp, white teeth. "Come along, little toy-maker. Don't want to keep the King waiting."

  Ryan’s mind raced. This is a mistake. This is a massive misunderstanding. But as the cat guard—Jonathan—grabbed him by the arm, he realized that logic wasn't going to save him here. He was Level 1, weaponless, and completely at the mercy of a giant talking lion who thought he was a court jester.

  "Let's go," Jonathan hissed, dragging Ryan toward a heavy iron door. "The rats will love your act."

  "Wait, hold on!" Ryan stumbled as the cat shoved him toward the archway. "My name isn't 'toy-maker'."

  He dug his heels in, trying to force the feline to stop, but Jonathan was surprisingly strong. The cat’s grip was like iron. He whirled around, his feathered hat fluttering, and glared up at Ryan with cold, slit-pupiled eyes.

  "I don't care what your name is," the cat sneered, leaning in close. "Trash is trash." He leaned back slightly, tapping the hilt of his thin blade. "But if it matters for your headstone, I'm Juno. Sir Juno."

  Ryan blinked, the name registering. Juno. The cat looked like some kind of swashbuckler out of an old storybook, but there was a hardness in his eyes that had nothing to do with theater. He wasn't just a guard; he was a knight. And he clearly had zero patience for summoning mishaps.

  "Right, Juno," Ryan said, holding up his hands. "Look, I can explain the class. It's not what you think—"

  "Save it for the rats," Juno cut him off, kicking the heavy iron door open. The smell of damp moss and stale water wafted out, making Ryan gag.

  With a rough shove between the shoulder blades, Juno sent Ryan tumbling down the stone stairs into the darkness below.

  "Enjoy your stay, 'Hero'," Juno’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs, dripping with mockery as the heavy door slammed shut with a resounding boom.