I wake up to the blaring sound of my alarm, a harsh reminder that another day at Cube awaits. I stumble out of bed, groggy and disoriented. The morning routine begins with a quick shower, followed by the mindless task of brushing my teeth. I glance at the clock and realize I'm running late. Hastily, I throw on my Cube Cadet uniform, a symbol of discipline and conformity.
With a backpack slung over my shoulder, I head for class. The corridors are a sea of uniformed cadets, each lost in their own thoughts. The first subject of the day is World History III. The professor, a son of a bitch with a penchant for laziness, sits at his desk, humming knowingly while assigning yet another reporting task to the class.
To be fair, he does offer insights into the intricacies of history, and he's quick to correct any factual errors made by the cadets. It's a strange dynamic, a mix of annoyance and begrudging respect. Me? Well, despite juggling dual courses, I managed to navigate through the academic minefield. Duh, I'm smart. I mean, my intelligence stat is over 7, for whatever that's worth…cuz honestly, sometimes, I don’t feel it.
The Cube, an imposing militaristic facility, stands as the bastion for aspiring superheroes, a haven for those seeking to master the art of combat. It's renowned for offering the coveted Hero Course, a rigorous program that molds individuals into formidable defenders of justice. Yet, amidst the clang of swords and the crackle of energy in the training arenas, there's an anomaly—the persistence of General Academic Courses.
As I navigate the metallic halls, the juxtaposition strikes me. The Cube, with its high-tech weaponry and combat simulations, seems an odd place for lectures on History and Literature. I, too, find it amusing that despite the superhero-centric focus, I'm still labeled a cadet.
But fairness creeps into my thoughts. History and Literature, it turns out, hold their own importance in this superhero-filled world. The knowledge of bygone eras and the literary intricacies of the past have proven invaluable in the treacherous task of dungeon delving. Cube, perhaps foreseeing the connection between the old and the new, persists in offering a well-rounded education.
In the realm of heroics, dungeons have emerged as peculiar phenomena, and items with mysterious origins have flooded the world since the advent of Outcall. Strangely, many of these dungeons and artifacts trace their roots back to known historical events or literary tales.
I enter the classroom, and a quick glance reveals that all the cadets are already here, a rare occurrence that even the professor has made it on time. Those opting for the History Course are a select few, a small enclave within the larger militaristic institution. Today, we number only a dozen. It isn't so bad, I think. At least I still have some semblance of classmates in this sea of future heroes.
I exchange a nod with the professor, a silent acknowledgment of our shared commitment to this less-trodden academic path. Heading for the podium, I set about the familiar routine of preparing for the lesson. With swift movements, I connect my datapad to the HoloScreen, ready to unveil the intricacies of the past through the pixels and holographic displays of my damn PowerPoint presentation. The soft hum of technology fills the air.
I step up to the podium, adjusting the microphone to address the small gathering. "Good morning, fellow cadets, and to you too, Professor Snape," I announce, the reference to a certain fictional character causing a flicker of amusement within me. However, the sterile silence that follows reminds me of the altered reality of this world. In this version, there's no such thing as a Harry Potter movie, and the reference falls flat.
Clearing my throat, I dive into the substance of my report, focusing on the drastic shifting of Superpower Nations after World War 2. Professor Snape, with his sharp gaze, interrupts, adding a twist to my task. "While at it, compare it to the power shift after Outcall," he instructs, his voice carrying a subtle challenge.
Internally, I roll my eyes. "Yes, sir," I respond, my attempt to suppress a laugh not going unnoticed. I can almost feel Professor Snape's penetrating gaze on me, a silent acknowledgment that he's well aware of my subtle amusement. "First and foremost," I continue, regaining my composure, "the most glaring difference is evident to all. During World War 2, we didn't have champions. However, during Outcall, we not only had one—Shin Myungchul—but many more, like the Nine Stars."
Professor Snape hums softly in agreement.
"As we all know, Outcall is an apocalyptic event that has changed our worldviews entirely," I state, capturing the attention of the cadets. "Towers start popping up, and dungeons begin to proliferate, creating an ungodly amount of monsters. Even to this day, no one can explain why it is happening," I add, pausing for effect. The mystery of Outcall hangs in the air, an enigma that continues to baffle even the most brilliant minds.
"But World War 2? We know how it happened. It was man-made," I continue, drawing a sharp contrast. "Though we cannot really say the same for Outcall since we have no proof if it was Mother Nature’s work, or say… a Godly entity’s work. Yeah, I know, conspiracies, right? And that is not what history is about."
Professor Snape, the embodiment of stern wisdom, interjects, "Indeed. Unknowns are barriers most difficult to unravel," he comments, offering an agreeing look. "That is why physical proofs are most important in verifying historical facts." His words emphasize the critical role evidence plays in unraveling the mysteries of the past, even in a world where the lines between natural and supernatural blur with each passing day.
With a flicker of holographic symbols representing the Allies and the Axis, I continue the presentation. "Moving onwards, we can roughly agree that World War 2 was fought between two forces—the Allies and the Axis," I explain, the illuminated symbols casting a subtle glow across the classroom. The historical conflict comes to life in the form of glowing icons.
"When the war ended, and the Allies celebrated, the biggest benefactor of the war was America," I assert, the holograms shifting to emphasize the impact. "Why? It was simple. America championed the Allies. Basically, America was the strongest. Soon, America became an uncontested Superpower," I declare, the holographic presentation seamlessly transitioning to display the iconic American flag, a symbol of triumph and dominance in the post-war era.
"But then Outcall happened," I continue, the holographic symbols of war giving way to a depiction of the upheaval caused by the apocalyptic event. "What the world knew as common sense was shattered. The rules of war drastically changed, and everyone suffered for it," I state, the gravity of the situation evident in the holographic scenes of chaos and destruction.
"Korea? Korea suffered too, but less in comparison to other countries," I note, the holograms adjusting to highlight the relatively milder impact on the Korean peninsula. The room is filled with a somber acknowledgment of the shared global suffering, yet a recognition that the burdens were not evenly distributed. Outcall, it seems, reshaped not only the physical landscape but also the geopolitical dynamics of power and suffering.
"I would spare you the conspiracy details of Shin Myungchul being possibly a time traveler or oracle," I say, injecting a touch of humor into the otherwise serious discussion. The holographic display shifts to show enigmatic images of Shin Myungchul, a figure wrapped in whispers of mystery. "But, as we all knew, he was the only person who seemed to know of the 'new rules of war,' thus allowing him to forge a path forward without contest. Because Korea had him, Korea suffered less," I conclude, the holograms illustrating the strategic advantage that came with Shin Myungchul's seemingly prescient understanding of the post-Outcall world.
"Shin Myungchul was a member of the Nine Stars—they are literally our National Heroes—our champions during Outcall," I declare, the holographic images shifting to showcase the esteemed figures of the Nine Stars. Their heroic deeds come alive in the luminescent display. "When other nations were fumbling and trying their best to survive, our country was thriving. Because of these champions, look at what Korea had become—an uncontested Superpower."
The holograms now depict the flourishing landscape of a powerful Korea, a testament to the impact of the Nine Stars. "Seeing the two parallels of how America and Korea rose to power, we can conclude that 'might' makes right—it is true, it is a fact, and it has been historically proven many times over," I assert, the room bathed in the glow of historical truths.
"One thing I'd like to highlight is," I say, the holographic display shifting to a somber scene of wartime devastation. "During World War 2, the most frightening thing was the number of people's deaths. It reached the point that not a single family would not have a dead kin." The holograms illustrate the grim reality of the wartime era, the toll of lives lost imprinted in the historical record.
"But this was what made Outcall different," I continue, the holograms now transitioning to depict the aftermath of the apocalyptic event. "The most frightening thing about Outcall was the number of failed governments and vanished countries it had created." The room is filled with an air of unease as the holographic scenes portray the geopolitical fallout of Outcall, the disappearance of entire nations, and the collapse of established systems. The cadets absorb the chilling truth of a world reshaped not just by death but by the erasure of entire civilizations.
For a fleeting moment, I feel whimsical, a lightheartedness that contrasts with the weight of the historical narratives. Nevertheless, I quickly regained my focus, continuing the presentation and drawing parallels between what had happened in Outcall and the events of World War 2. "Outcall, an outright chaos, and World War 2, a kind of organized chaos," I state, the holographic display capturing the essence of the comparison.
The room is filled with the cadence of my voice and the shifting images that convey the tumultuous nature of both events. The whimsy dissipates, replaced by a contemplative atmosphere as the cadets absorb the nuances of chaos—whether it be the unbridled upheaval of Outcall or the structured tumult of World War 2.
I wake up to the blaring sound of my alarm, a harsh reminder that another day at Cube awaits. I stumble out of bed, groggy and disoriented. The morning routine begins with a quick shower, followed by the mindless task of brushing my teeth. I glance at the clock and realize I'm running late. Hastily, I throw on my Cube Cadet uniform, a symbol of discipline and conformity.
With a backpack slung over my shoulder, I head for class. The corridors are a sea of uniformed cadets, each lost in their own thoughts. The first subject of the day is World History III. The professor, a son of a bitch with a penchant for laziness, sits at his desk, humming knowingly while assigning yet another reporting task to the class.
To be fair, he does offer insights into the intricacies of history, and he's quick to correct any factual errors made by the cadets. It's a strange dynamic, a mix of annoyance and begrudging respect. Me? Well, despite juggling dual courses, I managed to navigate through the academic minefield. Duh, I'm smart. I mean, my intelligence stat is over 7, for whatever that's worth…cuz honestly, sometimes, I don’t feel it.
The Cube, an imposing militaristic facility, stands as the bastion for aspiring superheroes, a haven for those seeking to master the art of combat. It's renowned for offering the coveted Hero Course, a rigorous program that molds individuals into formidable defenders of justice. Yet, amidst the clang of swords and the crackle of energy in the training arenas, there's an anomaly—the persistence of General Academic Courses.
As I navigate the metallic halls, the juxtaposition strikes me. The Cube, with its high-tech weaponry and combat simulations, seems an odd place for lectures on History and Literature. I, too, find it amusing that despite the superhero-centric focus, I'm still labeled a cadet.
But fairness creeps into my thoughts. History and Literature, it turns out, hold their own importance in this superhero-filled world. The knowledge of bygone eras and the literary intricacies of the past have proven invaluable in the treacherous task of dungeon delving. Cube, perhaps foreseeing the connection between the old and the new, persists in offering a well-rounded education.
In the realm of heroics, dungeons have emerged as peculiar phenomena, and items with mysterious origins have flooded the world since the advent of Outcall. Strangely, many of these dungeons and artifacts trace their roots back to known historical events or literary tales.
I enter the classroom, and a quick glance reveals that all the cadets are already here, a rare occurrence that even the professor has made it on time. Those opting for the History Course are a select few, a small enclave within the larger militaristic institution. Today, we number only a dozen. It isn't so bad, I think. At least I still have some semblance of classmates in this sea of future heroes.
I exchange a nod with the professor, a silent acknowledgment of our shared commitment to this less-trodden academic path. Heading for the podium, I set about the familiar routine of preparing for the lesson. With swift movements, I connect my datapad to the HoloScreen, ready to unveil the intricacies of the past through the pixels and holographic displays of my damn PowerPoint presentation. The soft hum of technology fills the air.
I step up to the podium, adjusting the microphone to address the small gathering. "Good morning, fellow cadets, and to you too, Professor Snape," I announce, the reference to a certain fictional character causing a flicker of amusement within me. However, the sterile silence that follows reminds me of the altered reality of this world. In this version, there's no such thing as a Harry Potter movie, and the reference falls flat.
Clearing my throat, I dive into the substance of my report, focusing on the drastic shifting of Superpower Nations after World War 2. Professor Snape, with his sharp gaze, interrupts, adding a twist to my task. "While at it, compare it to the power shift after Outcall," he instructs, his voice carrying a subtle challenge.
Internally, I roll my eyes. "Yes, sir," I respond, my attempt to suppress a laugh not going unnoticed. I can almost feel Professor Snape's penetrating gaze on me, a silent acknowledgment that he's well aware of my subtle amusement. "First and foremost," I continue, regaining my composure, "the most glaring difference is evident to all. During World War 2, we didn't have champions. However, during Outcall, we not only had one—Shin Myungchul—but many more, like the Nine Stars."
Professor Snape hums softly in agreement.
"As we all know, Outcall is an apocalyptic event that has changed our worldviews entirely," I state, capturing the attention of the cadets. "Towers start popping up, and dungeons begin to proliferate, creating an ungodly amount of monsters. Even to this day, no one can explain why it is happening," I add, pausing for effect. The mystery of Outcall hangs in the air, an enigma that continues to baffle even the most brilliant minds.
"But World War 2? We know how it happened. It was man-made," I continue, drawing a sharp contrast. "Though we cannot really say the same for Outcall since we have no proof if it was Mother Nature’s work, or say… a Godly entity’s work. Yeah, I know, conspiracies, right? And that is not what history is about."
Professor Snape, the embodiment of stern wisdom, interjects, "Indeed. Unknowns are barriers most difficult to unravel," he comments, offering an agreeing look. "That is why physical proofs are most important in verifying historical facts." His words emphasize the critical role evidence plays in unraveling the mysteries of the past, even in a world where the lines between natural and supernatural blur with each passing day.
With a flicker of holographic symbols representing the Allies and the Axis, I continue the presentation. "Moving onwards, we can roughly agree that World War 2 was fought between two forces—the Allies and the Axis," I explain, the illuminated symbols casting a subtle glow across the classroom. The historical conflict comes to life in the form of glowing icons.
"When the war ended, and the Allies celebrated, the biggest benefactor of the war was America," I assert, the holograms shifting to emphasize the impact. "Why? It was simple. America championed the Allies. Basically, America was the strongest. Soon, America became an uncontested Superpower," I declare, the holographic presentation seamlessly transitioning to display the iconic American flag, a symbol of triumph and dominance in the post-war era.
"But then Outcall happened," I continue, the holographic symbols of war giving way to a depiction of the upheaval caused by the apocalyptic event. "What the world knew as common sense was shattered. The rules of war drastically changed, and everyone suffered for it," I state, the gravity of the situation evident in the holographic scenes of chaos and destruction.
"Korea? Korea suffered too, but less in comparison to other countries," I note, the holograms adjusting to highlight the relatively milder impact on the Korean peninsula. The room is filled with a somber acknowledgment of the shared global suffering, yet a recognition that the burdens were not evenly distributed. Outcall, it seems, reshaped not only the physical landscape but also the geopolitical dynamics of power and suffering.
"I would spare you the conspiracy details of Shin Myungchul being possibly a time traveler or oracle," I say, injecting a touch of humor into the otherwise serious discussion. The holographic display shifts to show enigmatic images of Shin Myungchul, a figure wrapped in whispers of mystery. "But, as we all knew, he was the only person who seemed to know of the 'new rules of war,' thus allowing him to forge a path forward without contest. Because Korea had him, Korea suffered less," I conclude, the holograms illustrating the strategic advantage that came with Shin Myungchul's seemingly prescient understanding of the post-Outcall world.
"Shin Myungchul was a member of the Nine Stars—they are literally our National Heroes—our champions during Outcall," I declare, the holographic images shifting to showcase the esteemed figures of the Nine Stars. Their heroic deeds come alive in the luminescent display. "When other nations were fumbling and trying their best to survive, our country was thriving. Because of these champions, look at what Korea had become—an uncontested Superpower."
The holograms now depict the flourishing landscape of a powerful Korea, a testament to the impact of the Nine Stars. "Seeing the two parallels of how America and Korea rose to power, we can conclude that 'might' makes right—it is true, it is a fact, and it has been historically proven many times over," I assert, the room bathed in the glow of historical truths.
"One thing I'd like to highlight is," I say, the holographic display shifting to a somber scene of wartime devastation. "During World War 2, the most frightening thing was the number of people's deaths. It reached the point that not a single family would not have a dead kin." The holograms illustrate the grim reality of the wartime era, the toll of lives lost imprinted in the historical record.
"But this was what made Outcall different," I continue, the holograms now transitioning to depict the aftermath of the apocalyptic event. "The most frightening thing about Outcall was the number of failed governments and vanished countries it had created." The room is filled with an air of unease as the holographic scenes portray the geopolitical fallout of Outcall, the disappearance of entire nations, and the collapse of established systems. The cadets absorb the chilling truth of a world reshaped not just by death but by the erasure of entire civilizations.
For a fleeting moment, I feel whimsical, a lightheartedness that contrasts with the weight of the historical narratives. Nevertheless, I quickly regained my focus, continuing the presentation and drawing parallels between what had happened in Outcall and the events of World War 2. "Outcall, an outright chaos, and World War 2, a kind of organized chaos," I state, the holographic display capturing the essence of the comparison.
The room is filled with the cadence of my voice and the shifting images that convey the tumultuous nature of both events. The whimsy dissipates, replaced by a contemplative atmosphere as the cadets absorb the nuances of chaos—whether it be the unbridled upheaval of Outcall or the structured tumult of World War 2.
