A soft breeze stirred the air as Zi-Cheng followed the trail of fireflies beyond Hazelton’s gates, their radiant glow leading him onward beneath the watchful gaze of the moon. As the silver light cast a serene glow across the night sky, he heard the quiet murmur of flowing water grow louder near the riverbank.

There, an awe-inspiring sight unfolded.

Countless fireflies hovered above the meadow grasses, their lights weaving together like golden streams converging into an endless, glowing sea. The river calmly mirrored the scene, turning its surface into a vast canvas of shimmering light. It seemed that the boundaries of earth and sky had dissolved, leaving only a luminous expanse stretching into eternity.

Zi-Cheng stepped onto the cool grass, his breath hitching as he took in the sight. The fireflies’ glow mingled with the soft ripples of the water, creating a living tapestry of motion and light. Standing at the water’s edge, he felt as though he had stumbled into the heart of a galaxy, with stars scattered across the dark expanse around him.

image [https://i.imgur.com/2TlFxy9.png]

(Who would have thought… my first night in another world would turn out like this?)

Motionless in the sea of light, Zi-Cheng’s heart swelled with quiet wonder. His thoughts faded, replaced by a gentle sense of belonging in this fleeting moment. Without thinking, he stretched out his hand, as if reaching to hold a fragment of the brilliance before him. The fireflies’ soft glow gathered above his palm, delicate and inviting, offering itself to his touch.

But just as his fingertips brushed the delicate luminescence, a rusty kitchen knife materialized out of nowhere beneath the fireflies, slashing downward and narrowly missing his hand!

“Wha––?!”

Zi-Cheng yanked his hand back with a startled gasp. Before he could process what had happened, a loud clatter erupted around him.

Crumpled candlesticks, cracked plates, broken clocks, and even scraps of uneaten food began raining down in a noisy cascade. The fireflies, so serene only moments ago, were now releasing all the trash they had collected from Hazelton into a massive heap.

Zi-Cheng scrambled backward, narrowly dodging an old wooden bucket that crashed to the ground where he once stood. Breathless and shaking, he crawled to a safer distance before cautiously turning to look.

A growing mountain of discarded junk had formed in the meadow, with the fireflies continuing to deposit their collected trash. From the heart of the heap, wisps of pale white smoke began to curl upward, spiraling ominously into the moonlit sky.

“Wait, is the trash... burning?!”

Zi-Cheng squinted at the heap before him, realizing this wasn’t the typical smoke of burning—it was the trash itself breaking apart, flaking like delicate ash and then disintegrating into white smoke, drifting away in the faint breeze.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. This wasn’t just a cleanup—it was total eradication!

“Hey, hey, hey! Hold on a second!” Zi-Cheng yelled, scrambling onto the heap. If he could salvage even one valuable piece, he might be able to use his newfound ability to turn it into much-needed cash!

Yet, the dim moonlight above made it almost impossible to see. To make matters worse, piece after piece dissolved into ash, slipping through his fingers like sand. As the seconds ticked by, wisps of white began curling up from his shoulders and thighs. His tattered clothes were disintegrating, flaking away like ash carried off by the wind.

“Damn it, this isn’t the Avengers! Don’t you go Thanos on me!”

He shouted in desperation, grabbing a handful of junk and pressing it tightly against his chest. Without thinking, he leaped from the collapsing mound, determined to escape with whatever he could hold.

Unfortunately, the momentum carried him too far. His body slammed into a nearby tree, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

As his surroundings dimmed into darkness, he instinctively tightened his arms around the small pile of items he’d managed to grab. Whether they were treasures or worthless scraps, these were his only possessions in this strange new world.

By the time sunlight warmed Zi-Cheng’s face again, it was already nearing noon. The golden rays filtered through the branches above, dappling the ground in shifting patterns of light and shadow. A gentle breeze rustled the grass, carrying with it the fresh, earthy scent of the riverbank.

Sitting up with a groan, he quickly assessed his condition: a swollen lump on his head, tattered rags barely clinging to his body, and an odor so foul it could make anyone gag. Still, despite everything, he seemed to have escaped last night’s chaos relatively unscathed. But as the memory of diving headfirst into a pile of disintegrating trash resurfaced, a cold shiver ran down his spine.

(Lucky that living tissue doesn’t seem to be affected…)

Zi-Cheng let out a bitter laugh. “There’s certainly no Mr. Stark here if I needed to say I don’t feel so good.”

The dry humor did little to lift his spirits as he glanced toward the grassy meadow. The massive heap of trash had vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but an eerie stillness. A few slimes lingered in the distance, cautiously hopping about, their gelatinous forms wobbling with each movement. It was clear that they were keeping their distance because of his stench.

“So even the monsters can’t stand me now, huh?” he muttered with a faint chuckle, shaking his head.

Turning his attention to the items he’d clutched tightly while unconscious, Zi-Cheng spread them out on the ground before him.

A shovel with a broken handle.

A filthy, threadbare towel.

A rusty kitchen knife.

And a sickly little white flower resting in a cracked, weathered vase.

These were the fruits of his reckless endeavor—“spoils” so worthless that even [Developer Mode] couldn’t make them sellable. Zi-Cheng covered his face with his hands, the memory of how close he’d come to losing his life for these scraps gnawing at his thoughts. He could almost hear Chris Coleman’s mocking laughter in his head, adding salt to the wound.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Still, as meager and worthless as they seemed, they were all he had.

Zi-Cheng gently picked up the vase, cradling it in both hands. A faint glow flickered from his palms, reflecting softly on the delicate petals of the flower.

If losing everything had taught him one thing, it was to cherish even the smallest things, no matter how insignificant or worthless they might seem to others.

Under the influence of [Developer Mode – Remake], the cracked vase transformed before his eyes, gleaming as though freshly crafted. Even the murky water inside the vase turned crystal clear. The sickly little flower, once on the verge of death, now stood tall, its delicate petals catching the sunlight and radiating newfound vitality.

“Perhaps this so-called ‘useless skill’ has some real value aft – ugh!”

A sudden gust of wind carried the stench clinging to his body straight into his nose, almost choking him. Without a second thought, he quickly tore off the reeking rags and tossed them onto the ground before leaping into the river.

The cool water sent a shiver through his body, but under the summer sun, it was so refreshing that it revived his spirit. As someone who used to spend all his days cooped up in a game studio, when was the last time he had felt this close to nature?

(Like... never?)

Zi-Cheng laughed and started swimming freely in the river, his movements sparkling under the sunlight, the sound of splashing water echoing across the quiet riverbank. This was a moment of pure liberation, far from the chaos and burdens of his past, a kind of carefree joy he hadn’t felt in years.

As he floated on his back, his gaze wandered to the endless blue sky above, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot about monsters, betrayal, and survival.

(Maybe this world isn’t so bad after all….)

After a long, satisfying swim and with all the grime washed away, an idea suddenly struck him. Zi-Cheng waded ashore, grabbed the filthy old towel from his pile of spoils, and tossed it into the river with a triumphant grin.

“Time to run some tests!”

Zi-Cheng held up his glowing hands, his mind focusing once more.

With the power of [Developer Mode], he discovered that as long as he could pinpoint the “flaws” that needed improvement and clearly define the modifications, the outcome would be significantly enhanced. The result might not always align perfectly with his vision, but it would undeniably be an improvement.

(Just like how we designers work with programmers...)

Many people thought a game designer’s job was about dreaming up creative ideas, but in truth, Zi-Cheng had learned that a good designer wasn’t just a dreamer but a problem-solver—someone who could pinpoint the root of a problem and provide clear, concise instructions for the team to implement.

Applying the same logic here, Zi-Cheng realized that if he simply shouted “Purify” at the old towel using [Developer Mode], it would likely tear the fragile fabric into shreds. So instead, he analyzed its condition carefully, issuing a command to “refine” the fibers first, enhancing their strength and quality. Only once it was sturdy enough did he give the “purify” command.

The result? A luxurious bath towel, softer than velvet and absorbent as a sponge, emerged from the water like magic.

“Like it or not, it’s always about the specifics,” Zi-Cheng muttered with a chuckle, recalling how his lead programmer, Leung Pa-Tu, had drilled into him the importance of meticulous details. Pa-Tu had refused to write a single line of code until every requirement was laid out in the open, a habit that had been frustrating back then but now felt like an unexpected blessing.

Feeling a rare sense of accomplishment, Zi-Cheng ran the soft, freshly transformed towel over his skin. Standing naked on the riverbank, he reveled in the cool breeze brushing against his freshly cleaned body. However, his satisfaction was short-lived as his gaze fell on the tattered, reeking rags lying nearby.

Sighing, he steeled himself to repeat the process on his clothes. But just as he activated [Developer Mode], an unexpected sensation rippled through his right eye, stopping him in his tracks.

“Wha… what is this!”

[Debug Failed]

The words burned into his vision like fiery brands, each letter searing itself into his mind. Zi-Cheng instinctively clutched at his face, his right eye flaring with an unbearable heat that sent sharp pain shooting through his skull.

When Zi-Cheng first arrived at this strange new world, his initial reaction was to shout at the heavens, hoping to summon one of those cliché “status screens” often used as in isekai novels and manga tropes. Back then, he was met with nothing but silence, and the ridicule of Chris Coleman, who had mocked him of his naivety.

Ever since that humiliating moment, Zi-Cheng had resigned himself to the idea that systems, status screens, menus, or anything remotely game-like simply don’t exist in this world.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

A searing pain intensified, his nerves screaming in protest. The words “Debug Failed” consumed his vision entirely, obscuring everything in sight. It was as though reality itself had been overwritten, replaced by the glaring letter and the overwhelming weight of something far beyond his understanding. A primal fear surged through him, his instincts roaring that he had violated some kind of rule – and the price for such transgression might be far worse than death itself.

image [https://i.imgur.com/VM9grz3.jpeg]

“Abort! Cancel the command! Cancel it now!!”

The air around him shifted violently, and the world was swallowed by an oppressive crimson hue. A sharp, mechanical siren-like noise blared in his ears, piercing his mind and senses. The sound reverberated endlessly, grinding his whole being like shards of broken glass.

Finally, two words appeared.

[Debug Terminated]

The glowing light in Zi-Cheng’s hands flickered once, then faded entirely. His desperate cries echoed across the riverbank, but they were drowned out by the residual hum of the sirens that seemed to have embedded themselves in the fabric of this very world.

When the searing heat in his right eye finally subsided, leaving him with an aching throb, Zi-Cheng hesitantly lowered his trembling hands. He stared at the spot where his tattered clothes had been just moments before.

There was nothing left.

The pile of rags he had been working on was gone, reduced to fine, gray ash scattered across the ground, soon to be swept away by the wind.

Zi-Cheng collapsed to a crouch, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

(Why…?)

Tremors wracked his body, not just from the exhaustion but from the sheer terror that still clung to him like a suffocating shadow.

Why had the apple and the vase been successfully remade, while the clothes triggered such a terrifying phenomenon? Beads of sweat dripped onto the ground as he searched desperately for a reasonable explanation.

There was none.

The disparity between the outcomes made no sense. His thought swirled in a chaotic spiral, each theory collapsing under the weight of uncertainty.

Still dazed, Zi-Cheng slowly slumped to the ground. The soft earth beneath him felt cool against his skin, but offered little comfort. The gravity of his situation pressed down on him, and a far more immediate problem began to dawn on him.

His gaze drifted to the empty riverbank, to the open skies above, and then to his own body—bare, vulnerable, and utterly exposed. Butt-naked in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an unfamiliar and dangerous world, how was he supposed to survive?

“No—hell no! This can’t be happening!”