When Donald turned around out of reflex to see who had sneaked into his room—boom.
He wasn't in his room anymore.
Instead, he found himself standing in a place made of nothing but pure white. It was like an infinite room, stretching endlessly in width and depth. The walls glimmered like crystal glass, and so did the floor, but the way it all shimmered gave off an unsettling feeling, like the floor wasn't safe to stand on at all.
Donald didn't even flinch.
He'd grown somewhat used to the system's twisted games. Each new trick it pulled no longer shocked him the way it did in the beginning.
He just stood there.
He took a deep breath.
"Okay… now what?"
Clearly, he was either talking to himself—or to someone else. But since there wasn't anyone else in sight, it was safe to assume he was addressing the only thing that ever seemed to drag him into these bizarre situations.
The system.
But the system didn't respond. It left him there, in that cold white space, making him feel like he'd finally lost his mind.
The silence weighed on him.
"I'm talking to you, you damn system. Now what?! What do you actually want from me?!"
He was demanding answers again.
But, as usual, there were none.
The system gave him no guidance, no prompts, no clues. Just dumped him here—and vanished.
It was maddening.
Sure, he was in the body of a five-year-old, but he still had the mindset of a grown man. And Donald, being Donald, wasn't going to sit and sulk. He began trying to piece everything together.
From what he remembered before being dragged here, the system had displayed something. Something he'd stared at for a long time. He needed to remember it. That might be his only way out.
"Okay… from what I know and have learned these last couple of days," he muttered to himself, "this system loves to play mind games. And for whatever twisted reason, it likes tormenting me in the process. So… how is this any different?"
Donald started pacing the room, deep in thought. Only two questions consumed him:
Why was he brought here?
And how could he escape?
He spent what felt like hours trying to solve it. Using every ounce of logic, memory, and instinct he had. As a psychology major, he knew how to break patterns—yet nothing worked. Every time he got close to a breakthrough—boom. His thoughts would crash. His mind would wipe itself clean like a chalkboard, and he'd forget it all over again.
He screamed in frustration.
"Argh!!! This is frustrating! Why can't I figure it out? It's right at the top of my head!"
He continued pacing—and didn't even realize when pacing turned into walking. He was so lost in thought, he hadn't noticed the miles piling up beneath his feet.
"No, no, no—I have to figure this out. If I'm lucky, I'll go back home, fix everything, save mom… maybe it hasn't been that long. A few hours? A day?"
The hope lit something inside him.
But Donald had no idea that hope was pointless.
Because every thought he had—every assumption—was wrong.
The system wasn't testing his detective skills. It wasn't playing a game this time. It wasn't even toying with him for fun.
It was training him.
For something deeper.
Something unknown.
And something the system had no intention of revealing just yet.
Donald finally stopped walking and looked behind him—only to realize he had traveled nearly five to six miles without knowing.
"How the hell did I get all the way here?" he muttered, astonished.
But there was no time to dwell on that.
Thinking like that would only slow him down. He turned to face forward—and what he saw gave him a spark of hope.
"Has this always been here?" he wondered aloud.
There, in front of him, stood a door.
It was blood red.
Its doorknob was jet black, like a lump of coal.
"Yes," he whispered, eyes widening.
His golden ticket.
His way out.
The door wasn't far—maybe three or four more miles away. At least, that's what he thought. In truth, he was much closer than he realized.
"Okay, Donald. You can do this," he whispered, hyping himself up.
He took one step forward—nothing happened.
Another step—still nothing.
Five more steps.
Still clear.
He was being cautious. Calculated. Mindful of the system's unpredictable nature. Since arriving in this void, the system hadn't spoken once—and that was more disturbing than anything.
But everything seemed okay.
He relaxed.
And finally started walking at a normal pace toward the door. The closer he got, the more it seemed like the distance was shrinking.
Before he knew it, he was standing in front of it.
Just as he reached for the handle—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Three gentle knocks.
Soft.
Normal.
Like a child knocking politely on a bedroom door.
And that's what made it disturbing.
Donald knew better than to open the door, even though the knock had sounded like a child politely knocking on a bedroom door.
Thanks to his university education, he remembered an assignment where, in order to better understand human body language and instinctive behavior, he and his classmates had to watch documentaries about psychotic serial killers.
And from all the hours he spent watching those disturbing films, one thing had stuck with him: the knock he'd just heard wasn't from a child.
And it was certainly not from anything human.
So, Donald slowly retreated his hand and began to back away—quietly, cautiously, careful not to alert whoever—or whatever—was on the other side.
Everything was going according to plan.
Until—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The notification board appeared again.
[ GO CHECK TO SEE WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR ]
Donald blinked.
Seriously?
The system had asked him to do wild things before, but this—this—was beyond wild. It was pure madness.
He ignored it.
[ GO CHECK TO SEE WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR ]
The system repeated.
Donald was stubborn. In fact, his persistence was one of the few things about himself that had never changed, even after transmigrating. He refused to obey the command. He didn't trust the system—not one bit. He had every reason not to.
In his eyes, the system wanted to kill him—and not kill him—all at once. Its intentions made no sense.
[ GO CHECK TO SEE WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR ]
Still, the message remained.
"No," Donald said firmly.
[ GO CHECK TO SEE WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR ]
Again.
"Look, I'm not doing that, okay? So forget it," Donald snapped.
But then the message changed.
This time, it wasn't a suggestion.
It was an order.
[ GO CHECK TO SEE WHO IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR ]
[ FAILURE TO DO SO WILL RESULT IN THE SYSTEM TAKING CONTROL OF THE HOST ]
Donald scoffed. "Ha! Yeah, right," he said, not taking the threat seriously.
To show just how much he didn't care, he turned around to face the opposite direction. He wanted to make it very clear he wasn't afraid of the system's scare tactics.
But the moment he turned away—
He felt it.
Something phased through his body. Like an invisible hand had passed straight through him—but didn't exit the other side.
And then—
The system appeared again.
Right in front of his eyes.
[ INITIATING BODY POSSESSION PROTOCOL ]
What followed made Donald wish for death.
His body cracked violently, as if he were being squeezed through a meat grinder. His spine twisted. His legs and knees bent in the wrong direction—toward the door. His feet spun unnaturally, like corks being twisted off a bottle.
His arms and hands were the worst of it all.
He felt his bones snap. His fingers twisted one by one, like strands of cotton candy being spun in a machine.
The pain was excruciating.
He screamed—loudly—but he couldn't even hear his own voice anymore. His body had been bent, broken, and reconfigured.
His torso now faced the door.
The only thing not turned yet was his head.
But even that didn't last.
His own hands moved—against his will—grabbing his head and forcefully snapping it toward the door with a sickening crack.
Then another system message appeared.
> [ BODY POSSESSION SUCCESSFUL ]
[ SYSTEM TAKING OVER HOST'S BODY ]
[ INITIATING BODY MOVEMENT ]
Donald's body began to walk toward the door.
He wasn't in control.
He felt every movement, saw everything—but he could do nothing to stop it.
When he reached the door, his body stood still, almost expectantly.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The knock came again.
Gentle. Calm. Innocent.
But Donald wasn't fooled.
His hand—not his own will—reached for the door handle.
He fought with everything he had.
But it was no use.
And just before he could touch the knob—
BOOM!
The door exploded inward with brutal force, slamming into Donald and launching him backward, all the way to the center of the room.
And it hadn't just burst open on its own.
Someone had pushed it.
That someone was now lying on top of the broken door—on top of Donald.