Out of all people, why am I the ntred protagonist

I push myself up, my body aching with the aftermath of battle. It feels like I've been wrung dry—every muscle heavy, sluggish, yet somehow… whole.

A dull soreness lingers, like the ghost of pain that should have been unbearable. I brace myself, hesitating before lifting my left arm.

It moves. Effortlessly.

No pain. No torn flesh. No shattered bone.

I glance down at my tattered white shirt, the only proof that my shoulder had once been caught between the great wolf's monstrous jaws. Yet my body? Good as new.

It doesn't make sense.

Just what the hell happened to me?

"System, what exactly did you do while I was out?"

[System]: Oh, nothing much. Just, you know… saved your life. Healed your wounds. Fixed that nasty shoulder. Oh! And before you freak out—yes, it was a quest reward. No, it wasn't listed. Minor oversight. Won't happen again.

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. "A little warning next time would be nice."

[System]: Tsk, tsk. No gratitude at all. I literally stopped you from dying.

I let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I owe you one."

[System]: Mhm, you sure do~ (ꈍᴗꈍ).

I shake my head, a small smirk forming. "Man… if this feature existed in the actual game, I would've saved so many hours."

I run a hand over my torso, fingers tracing where the deep wound should be.

Nothing.

No scar—just smooth, unblemished skin.

It's as if the great wolf's claws had never torn into me, as if my body had been reset.

Only the shredded remains of my white T-shirt, stained with dried blood, serve as proof of the brutal battle.

"It's time to find that thing."

I step into the hallway, the air thick with the scent of rust and mildew. Dim lights flicker above, casting jagged shadows along the cracked walls. Each step I take echoes through the empty subway, the sound bouncing back as if the darkness itself is listening.

No signs of life.

Only the rhythmic sound of my own footsteps.

But I know it's still here.

A faint neon sign flickers at the end of the corridor—barely holding on.

Sandwich Subway.

The logo is half-peeled, hanging crooked on the wall. The glass door resists as I push it open, hinges letting out a low, aching groan.

Inside, the kitchen is frozen in time. Dust clings to the steel countertops. Rusted appliances stand as forgotten sentinels. The faint scent of stale bread lingers beneath the layers of decay.

I step behind the counter, running my fingers along the shelves.

"It has to be here somewhere."

I start rummaging through old cabinets, knocking over empty condiment bottles and forgotten utensils. My breath fogs in the cold air, each second stretching longer than the last.

It's here.

I can feel it—something waiting in the silence.

A faint glint catches my eye beneath a layer of dust and grime.

Reaching out, I brush away the filth, revealing the cracked leather cover of an old, forgotten book.

Found it.

An S-rank trait manual—one that most players overlooked, buried beneath countless retries and endless dungeon runs. I only stumbled upon it after relentless exploration, trial, and error.

This thing will change everything.

I don't waste time. With a flick of my wrist, the book vanishes into my inventory, safely tucked away for later.

Stepping out of the ruined kitchen, I take one last glance at the abandoned shop before heading back into the darkened subway.

Oh right, I still have those two random equipment chests.

Might as well open them now.

"System, open both chests."

Ding!

A faint glow flickers before me as two chests materialize, their lids creaking open.

You obtained:

— [Invisibility Cloak (Blue)] – Grants invisibility for 10 seconds. (Stealth just got a whole lot easier.)

— [Sharp Blade (Green)] – A well-forged weapon with exceptional edge retention. (Penetration +5—nothing fancy, but it'll get the job done.)

Not bad. The cloak will be a lifesaver in tight situations, and the blade… well, a sharper sword is always better than a dull one.

I equip the cloak immediately, feeling the lightweight fabric drape over my shoulders. Time to see what else this dungeon has in store.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, outside…

I turned to the old man, his weathered face creased with worry. "What did the man look like?" I asked.

He stroked his chin, recalling the figure who had disappeared into the portal. "Jet-black hair… maybe around six feet tall. Wore a plain white T-shirt, looked a little rough around the edges."

"Got it. Thanks for your cooperation."

A gust of wind swept through the area as a figure stepped forward.

Scarlet hair billowed in the night air, crimson eyes locked onto the swirling remnants of the now-fading portal.

"Youngsters these days…" the voice was smooth yet edged with quiet authority. "They have no idea how dangerous a dungeon is—no matter how low its rank."

With a sigh, the red-haired individual narrowed their gaze.

Time to see if this reckless fool made it out alive.

.

.

.

"System, check the status outside the dungeon."

[System]: Sure thing! (╹▽╹)

A brief silence, then—

[System]: Whoa… you've got quite the crowd waiting for you. Civilians, reporters, and… oh? Several high-ranking raiders too.

I expected this.

Even a low-ranked dungeon can spell disaster if left unchecked. To the public, it's a terrifying unknown. To the raiders, it's a battlefield.

What's waiting outside is a trap I need to escape.

I exhale, gripping the Invisibility Cloak in my inventory.

Ten seconds of complete invisibility. A short window, but enough if I time it right.

It's now or never.

. . .

The portal shudders, its surface rippling violently.

The tension in the air thickens.

"Something's coming out!"

The raiders step forward, weapons ready.

The reporters raise their cameras, fingers poised over the shutter.

The portal swirls violently—then, in an instant, collapses into nothingness.

A stunned silence follows.

One of the raiders furrows his brows. "What the—?"

Nothing.

No monster. No survivor. Just empty space.

"Strange…"

Then—a faint thud.

Barely audible, like someone brushing past.

The red hair raider stiffens, instinctively glancing to her side. Her eyes scan the area—but there's nothing there.

Her heart beats a little faster. Did I imagine that?

It's too early to be hallucinating.

Minutes pass, and the tension fizzles out.

With nothing to report, the raiders lower their weapons. The reporters pack up. Civilians disperse.

The crowd, once buzzing with anticipation, slowly fades away.

Unaware that someone had already slipped past them.

.

.

.

"That went well," I gasped, my breath still unsteady.

Aside from the minor bump into that tall woman, everything had gone smoothly. I hadn't gotten a clear look at her—not that I had the time. Slipping past the raiders unnoticed had been my priority.

I exhaled, my pulse still racing.

I could've looted the carcasses of the dire wolves, but that would've raised too many questions with the authorities. I wasn't about to stick around and explain myself.

At least I managed to grab something.

I opened my palm. A massive, jagged tooth—pristine white with faint crimson stains.

A trophy from the mutated great wolf.

This could be used for enchantment… or maybe I could forge a dagger out of it.

I clenched the tooth tighter, feeling the sharp ridges dig into my skin.

This day… I would never forget it.

The thrill of fighting on the edge of life and death.

The adrenaline of a desperate gamble. The taste of near defeat—of almost brushing against death's door.

And yet…

I have never felt more alive.