Vol 1 Chapter 1 – F2P Pride and Getting Kicked from the Clan 【Vol 1 – Expelled from the Clan, NTR’d, and Then Reality Became the Game 】

There was a time I actually believed I could reach the top of the world — through a game.

Second year of middle school. I — Ren Yuuki — was leading a clan I’d built from nothing inside the global VRMMO Dark Fantasm Online. That clan was called Eclipse, and we ran F2P completely.

No money spent, no connections to lean on — just a scrappy little clan clawing to stay relevant. But we sharpened our tactics and efficiency to a razor’s edge and hung on for dear life.

Among our members was a girl named Luna. We’d met in-game and kept playing together ever since. Like me, she never spent a dime — but her mechanical skill and game sense were off the charts. She was my right hand in everything.

“We won’t lose to the rich kids! One day we’ll be number one — and we’ll do it F2P!” We used to say that to each other in chat all the time. We were bonded by trust — or so I thought.

But there was a wall we couldn’t climb.

— Spending money.

The wealthy would buy dozens of treasure chests at a time and crack them all open in one sitting. A-rank weapons, armor, tamed monsters — all of it, practically handed to them. Equipment was bound to whoever opened the chest, so it became a literal badge of power.

They streamed it. And it was overwhelming to watch.

Chests we’d grind for dozens of hours to earn — they were buying in bulk and tearing through them live on stream. Every time a rare tamed monster or high-tier piece of gear dropped, the comment section exploded with praise.

Honestly? Watching those streams, I got jealous. If I just had money… That thought crossed my mind more times than I’d like to admit.

Then they’d stack their overpowered gear and tamed monsters into a single party and blaze through deep-level stages on repeat. The game gave bonus EXP to whoever landed the killing blow — and with their firepower, leveling up was practically instant.

The strategy was simple: use their tamed monsters as meatshields to whittle the enemy down, then swoop in for the killing blow and pocket all the EXP.

Sometimes their tamed monsters got wiped — but they didn’t care. They’d just crack open more chests and contract new ones. They climbed on the backs of sacrificed monsters without losing a second of sleep.

We couldn’t run that grind. Every tamed monster was precious to us. Sometimes we put ourselves on the line to protect them. Other times, we let the monsters take the kill so they’d level up themselves.

Our overall team strength grew — but our personal levels inevitably fell behind.

The strong leveled at insane speeds and just kept getting stronger. No matter how hard we worked, the gap only widened. And even a weak player could skyrocket the moment they joined a powerful clan. Of course, people flocked to the strong. That’s just how it works.

We were F2P — barely keeping up with our own leveling, unable to recruit new blood. We couldn’t break into that tier no matter what we did.

At our best, we scraped into the global top 100. Players who started paying after us would cruise past us in a fraction of the time, expanding their reach into the top 50 — a rank we’d never even touched.

The gap became unbridgeable. I’d feel that despair every time I logged in and checked the rankings.

But I couldn’t blame the system. Games die without revenue. Of course, they protected paying players — it was the only rational business decision. Everything about it was pure capitalism, distilled.

Then there was Levantia — the most famous clan in the country, built on deep pockets and an even bigger streaming presence. Their leader and top streamer, Azuma, laughed me off on camera as “a broke loser who can’t even afford one chest.”

They’d been poaching players and pressuring rival clans for a while. Sooner or later, it was only a matter of time before they set their sights on a small-time outfit like ours.

Levantia didn’t just buy their way to the top — they took over clans outright and headhunted the strongest players from whoever they hadn’t absorbed yet.

And then it happened to us. The majority of Eclipse voted to fold under Levantia’s umbrella.

Someone from Levantia sent over and took the leader’s seat. I was removed.

Luna — the partner I’d trusted more than anyone — voted yes.

“I’m sorry, Ren… They said we’d get five free treasure chests a month just for being affiliated… Honestly, I couldn’t say no to that. I’ve given everything to this clan, but there are limits. I’m genuinely grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But… I’m sorry. I need you to step down as leader.”

Luna had given so much to this clan. I’d never been able to give her enough in return — our rewards were performance-based, and I couldn’t say I’d ever provided an environment worthy of her talent. I agreed to step down.

And then… that moment came.

“Ren. You’re being expelled from this clan. Your F2P habits are too ingrained — you’re a liability at this point. I’m sorry, but we need you gone.”

The new leader’s verdict was delivered coldly.

Luna said nothing. Maybe she’d wanted to object — I don’t know. But the deal had clearly already been settled beforehand. Nobody pushed back. My expulsion was finalized without a single word of protest.

“Thanks for everything, everyone. I had a great time fighting alongside all of you. Even without me — stick together, rally around Luna, and keep pushing.”

I said that and logged out.

Haah… so this is what they call an NTR expulsion. I mean, Luna and I were never in that kind of relationship, so “NTR” isn’t quite the right word — but that’s sure what it feels like. Lost the clan, lost the girl. Feels like being betrayed by someone I actually thought understood me.

In the end, I learned the hard way — there are places effort alone can’t take you. Not the top. Not even the top 100, when money enters the equation.

Years of building Eclipse from nothing. And money just took it all. Took her, too.

I’d cut sleep. Skipped meals. Poured every second I could spare into that game. Years of effort — flipped over by money in an instant. I cried alone that night, drowning in a loneliness and despair I had nowhere to put. That was the truth of it: no matter how hard a broke nobody grinds, money wins every time.

And then — that same winter, while I was still drowning in that despair — another blow landed.

My parents were killed in a traffic accident.

I didn’t have time to cry. I walked away from gaming to take care of my younger brother and sister — both still in elementary school. I didn’t look back.

A few people had followed me out of Eclipse, so I started a new clan — but I told them the truth about my parents and handed over leadership. I don’t know if they believed me. Maybe they thought it was just an excuse to quit. I never found out what happened to that clan after.

I got into high school on a scholarship. But it barely covered anything — so my days went like this: school during the day, convenience store and cleaning shifts at night. I couldn’t let my grades slip, or I’d lose the scholarship. And I couldn’t stop working, or my siblings would go hungry. The days blurred together. Sleep was the first thing to go.

Before I knew it, gaming felt like something from another life.

But then — that night.

On my way home from a shift, I spotted something blazing across the sky.

A shooting star — no. A meteor.

After that, the world began to change.