Chapter 1: The warehouse Keeper goes out.

‘Terra Chronicles’

It was a game that swept the world before the Great Calamity.
This game had a story, gameplay, and even monetization that satisfied gamers, earning it the title of a true “god-tier” MMORPG.
Looking back now, it feels like some divine being created Terra Chronicles to prepare humanity for the impending disaster.
That’s why not everyone who turned into a game character was a Terra Chronicles player, and the developers only ever appeared on social media.
The story, though subtly different from our current world, was unmistakably set in a fantasy-like future where Earth had fallen into ruin.
It’s just a theory, but people casually call the other side a god, and most have picked up on this much.

I was an internet novel writer.
Not a big shot, but I made enough to get by.
One day, wondering what to do with my spare time after writing, I started playing Terra Chronicles.
As expected of a god-tier game, it was fun.
The problem was, before I knew it, I was spending money on the game—pouring cash into a game that didn’t even require it.
And not just a little, but enough to strain my living expenses.
It was like I threw savings out the window, spending like water.

That became a problem.
A writer’s income is already inconsistent.
Spending heavily on the game was a critical hit to my livelihood.
I was so hooked that I barely managed to keep up with my novel serialization.
I wasn’t broke, but I couldn’t keep going like this with what I had.
And then the Great Calamity turned everything upside down, so what more is there to say?
To cut back on gaming, I ditched all the items on my main character and started focusing on a storage alt character I’d made earlier.

The alt character was purely for storage.
It existed to support the main character’s limited inventory.
It was filled with junk items that others would toss up on the auction house.
I didn’t level it up properly; I just dumped experience growth capsules—earned from excess EXP after hitting max level—into it and reached max level through non-combat content that others enjoyed.
Its stats were barely invested in combat abilities.

When my main character ran out of fatigue points needed to play, I’d occasionally mess around with the alt.
I built a house or treated it like a relaxing management simulation game.

No matter how many times I blinked, I had become my alt character.

“No way my body actually became this in reality.”

All I could do was sigh.
It’s not like I can’t use skills at all.
Unlike people who became famous RPG characters, I have a unique, almost cheat-like ability.
In Terra Chronicles, combat skills require a massive investment of skill points.

Looking back, maybe that’s why they were so expensive—it was meant to translate into reality.
But this character? I completely ignored combat skills and dumped all points into leftovers.
For example, passive skills—architecture, painting, scholarship, and various other fields.

I pulled a flowerpot from my inventory and placed it on the desk.
I planted a seed in it.
Then, I filled a rainbow-colored watering can and sprinkled water.

[Grain has been produced.]

Crops are produced instantly.
This is just one example.
I have no intention of retiring to a farming life.
Beyond this, I can cook, fish, mine, gather resources, and more.
In short, this alt character was built purely for relaxation, straying completely from the game’s usual track.

No, it’s not like I’m entirely out of options.
I have countless items.
The world is fair, after all.
It turned everyone into game characters fairly.
So, what do I have?

“A ton of items.”

To be precise, mostly consumables, but I have enough to live independently.
Even the premium items you get from spending money are stacked up here.
Like I showed earlier, plants that are insanely good for farming.
Or the items regular players would dump on the auction house to clear inventory—I have all of them.
So, there’s no real issue.

If I’m being picky, this body is way better than my old one.
That body had health issues, after all.
My old job was so tough that I chose to work from home.
This body feels much better, honestly.

‘I won’t starve to death out here.’

Enough with the privileged talk—compared to regular people, this alt character body is actually pretty great.
There are plenty of non-Terra Chronicles players out there, after all.
My novel serialization was already stalling.
The biggest issue is that the publishing company I was contracted with went bankrupt after the Great Calamity.
Of course, it was the one that got directly hit by a monster attack.
Three years have passed since the Great Calamity, so who knows how much longer I could’ve held out?
It’s time to move on.

Some people call this transformation an “awakening.” Terra Awakening, or just Awakening.
The government even set up a weird department called the Awakened Management Agency to register awakeners.
They apparently help useful awakeners join guilds or something like that.
The problem is me.

Even if I can make a living, the world looks at me differently.
There’s an invisible hierarchy, so to speak.

Top-tier awakeners and everyone else.
Even though formal class systems were abolished long ago, every era has its hidden hierarchies.
Users differentiate themselves by skill, level, and class.

‘Since I’ve awakened, should I head to the agency?’

I left my house and headed for the Awakened Management Agency.
After the Great Calamity, the world seemed ruined, but with the emergence of magic stones and magic, things changed.
Portals, which used to exist only in games, can now be used for a fee.
Public institution portals are free if you have a purpose.

On my way to the portal, I glanced around.
The streets were filled with all sorts of people.
Elves, hulking giants, dwarves, and other races.

There were even blacksmith shops, rare in a modern civilization driven by advanced technology.
Those places craft gear for people, and they say the quality is far superior to mass-produced factory weapons.
Maybe the gods intended to turn this world into a fantasy one.
Some people occasionally stared at me.

Personally, I think this body is pretty cute.
I’m not being vain—it’s true.

It’s a storage character, so I spent hours perfecting its customization.
I combined customization stats from the internet to create the most optimally cute appearance for this character.
If you don’t put effort into customization, you don’t grow attached.
Looking around the street, though—

People who half-assed their customization, like those who made their faces too flat or simplistic, ended up looking miserable after awakening.
Some had eyes, nose, and mouth crammed in the center with too much empty space around them.
Of course, those are rare cases, and reality seems to adjust things so people at least look human or humanoid.
Now that I think about it, if I’d picked a proper class, wouldn’t I be revered?

Like a queen bee raking in cash?
Honestly, that sounds like a hassle.

Those thoughts didn’t last long.
Before I knew it, I stepped onto a strange platform portal with hexagonal runes and arrived at the Awakened Management Agency.
Seoul has a central agency, but local community centers handle agency tasks too.
The portal to the central agency is in the city center.

*

“Hello.”
“Yes, hi. Are you here about awakening?”

The staff greeted me warmly at first.

“Yes.”
“The Republic of Korea Awakened Management Agency always welcomes new awakeners!”

Sure, let’s see how long that smile lasts.

“Uh, a storage character? Like, beyond an alt, just a warehouse?”
“Yes.”

The air in the agency turned cold in an instant.
I could hear some staff in the distance snickering.
They’re mocking me.

“Alright, I see. Before we proceed with formal registration, I need to confirm something. What name would you like to use? On your awakener ID, you can use either your Terra Chronicles nickname, your real name, or both.”
“What do most people prefer?”
“It’s a bit of a gamble. If someone has a weird nickname, they often stick with their real name. Like if it’s something crude or offensive. But if the nickname causes disputes, the agency will force a change to the real name. There was this one guy whose nickname was ‘OurMom,’ and apparently, he caused so much trouble that other awakeners complained it felt like they were insulting their parents every time they cursed him out. So, the agency forced him to switch to his real name.”

Makes sense. But in my opinion, someone with a bold nickname like ‘OurMom’ was definitely stirring up trouble on purpose.

“That’s wild.”
“Your nickname’s no slouch either, you know.”
“Mine? Why?”

My nickname’s pretty normal, I thought.

“GM, really?”
“Well, with the [Warehouse Keeper] title attached, it becomes GM Warehouse Keeper. People might mistake you for a Game Master and make a fuss.”

I said that, but honestly, as a storage character, I didn’t get involved in much drama.

“Nicknames have a lot of freedom, but I thought they couldn’t be duplicated. How’s that possible? Especially for that one.”
“It just worked when I made it.”
“When did you start playing Terra Chronicles?”

The staff asked with a puzzled expression.
Yeah, a name like GM does have a certain vibe.
It’s just two letters, no extra fluff—just GM.

“I reserved the name before the game launched, but I started playing long after the official release.”

That’s the beauty of auto-clickers.
I wasn’t the first, but I was high enough in the queue to snag GM, probably.

“That’s impressive.”

I could hear the staff muttering that it would’ve been better if I’d been a combat class.
Well, what can I do? I didn’t expect this either.

“I’ll use both names.”
“Registration complete. But man, what a shame. A storage character, of all things.”

The staff’s face was tinged with disbelief.
Oh well, nothing I can do.
The government wants strong awakeners.
The monster invasions were stopped thanks to awakeners, but humanity’s lands are still being taken over by external forces.

“Thank you.”
“Yes, well, formally speaking, over there is the guild bulletin board. You can find guild recruitment notices there or check out various awakener communities and the agency’s website.”

The staff handled it pretty well.
Some harsher ones would’ve laughed in my face outright.

“Is that so?”
“To be honest, um, it’s a bit awkward to say, but…”

Just say it.
I’m useless in combat, and it’s uncertain if any guild would take me.
I didn’t come to the agency to get guild perks anyway.

“I get it. You mean it’s hard to join a guild and I might face discrimination.”
“Yes.”

The staff muttered that my nickname and appearance are perfect, so why am I stuck with an alt character?
What can I do?
If it’s not some grand name, I’ll just live on my own.
People are meant to live alone sometimes.
Even without a job, going solo into a dungeon doesn’t sound too bad.