Congratulations! You have cleared all the challenges in the game Pantheon of the Constellations!
You have obtained the Primordial Rune Orin Language (All-in-One Language), which can transform into any rune script.
As I stared at the rune shining with a brilliant rainbow light in the center of the capsule’s holographic screen, I momentarily reminisced about the past.
While others in their twenties were busy worrying about graduate school and job hunting, I devoted my youth entirely to Pantheon of the Constellations and finally achieved what everyone deemed impossible—the complete clearance of all achievements.
Forget about the contract probability; just encountering certain special Constellations had a mere 0.1% chance.
Then there were absurd requirements like spending over 100 million accumulated karma points, or even having to defeat the final boss without getting hit a single time.
It was an endless series of impossible missions that even hardcore players found mind-blowing.
As a result, I had played through Pantheon of the Constellations hundreds of times—so many that keeping track of my playthroughs had long since become meaningless.
The only thing that kept me going was the unique game genre, a Constellation Academy Development Simulation, which provided fresh entertainment each playthrough.
But now, even that has come to an end.
With defeating the final boss being as easy as breathing, and with no more achievements left to chase, I had no reason to continue playing Pantheon of the Constellations.
Just as I was about to open the capsule lid and take in the outside air, a mysterious quest window suddenly appeared on the holographic screen, as if trying to stop me.
[X-Rank Mission: Complete the game as a Constellation, not as a Contractor.]
Risk: All of your character’s talents will be fixed at F-rank.
Return: You can ascend yourself as a Constellation.
Reward: Fate Stone
Would you like to accept this mission? [Y/N]
“X-Rank Mission? Wasn’t SSS-Rank the highest difficulty? And what the hell is a Fate Stone?”
I felt my heart, which had gone cold, start to burn with excitement once again.
Could it be that these insane game developers had hidden a secret mission that only appeared after clearing all achievements?
Or was this just a simple bug?
To be honest, the latter seemed far more likely.
But I figured I had nothing to lose, so I accepted the mission.
And as it turned out, that was one of the worst decisions of my life.
“Kim Sunghoon, you came in dead last again in this quarter’s exam. I’m too tired to even tell you to try harder anymore. Just get inside the Pantheon already. Not that any Constellation would ever choose you as their Contractor.”
“I… I’m sorry for disappointing you.”
Shrinking under the cold disdain of my marksmanship instructor, Han Seongryeong—who, despite coming from Earth like me, had given me some leniency in the past—I stepped into the Pantheon.
The Pantheon was a grand hall where students could form contracts with various Constellations.
And surprisingly, as the lowest-ranked student in the academy, I was given first entry rights.
Of course, it wasn’t a privilege in a good way.
The lower one’s ranking, the less likely they were to be chosen by a Constellation.
In other words, it was practically a public humiliation ritual.
If no Constellation requested an interview within ten minutes, I would be immediately ejected—essentially failing the application process at the first stage.
For someone like me, who had always ranked at the bottom, the Pantheon entry ceremony was nothing more than standing in place for ten minutes as a form of punishment.
And the worst part?
I was forced to overhear the Constellations’ unfiltered judgments—something that other students never had to endure.
Oh look, he’s back again.
The eternal last place.
How does that guy even avoid getting expelled?
Isn’t it kind of amazing?
Even if his talents are trash, he does have a Stigma, so they can’t kick him out.
Every student at the Pantheon Academy owns a Stigma, so it might seem common, but in the human world, only one in ten million people have them.
They’re incredibly rare talents that act as conduits between humans and us Constellations.
In that sense, Kim Sunghoon’s Stigma is actually quite impressive—it’s big enough to cover his entire back.
The problem is, his body and talents are so garbage that it’s like putting a pearl necklace on a pig.
And honestly, isn’t he kind of ugly too?
Ah, fuck this!
From the outside, the Pantheon looked like a Greek temple, but upon entering, it transformed into a vast cosmic space.
Each and every twinkling star in that sky was a Constellation.
Normally, academy students weren’t able to hear their conversations.
But after accepting the X-Rank mission and reincarnating inside the world of Pantheon of the Constellations, I was now both a student and a Constellation myself.
Looking up, I saw it—a tiny, barely visible star dimly flickering in the vast universe.
That was me.
A Constellation modeled after my real self.
Hopelessly weak and utterly pathetic.
The only real skill I had left was the ability to use Orin Language, the Primordial Rune I obtained by clearing all the achievements.
But its conditions were absurdly strict, and the karma consumption was so extreme that I was stuck, unable to do anything meaningful with it.
After enduring yet another torturous entry ceremony and getting kicked out again, I blankly watched the junior academy students eagerly waiting for their turn with sparkling eyes.
“This isn’t working. I need to take some drastic measures.”
At first, when I realized I had been reincarnated into the world of Pantheon of the Constellations, I was overwhelmed with excitement and anticipation.
And why wouldn’t I be?
Even in the game’s online community, I was considered an old-timer, practically a fossil.
I believed that no matter what restrictions were placed on me, I could easily overcome them and rise to the top.
I had grand plans: form a contract with a powerful Constellation, become a rising star at the academy, get into a romance, and even defeat the Demon King.
But reality hit hard.
All my talents were fixed at F-rank.
And that restriction was far harsher than I had imagined.
Whether I trained in swordsmanship, studied magic, or practiced herbalism, I saw no improvement.
At this point, it wasn’t just the Pantheon Temple—I was beginning to dread stepping into the lecture halls as well.
“I really didn’t want to resort to this kind of scam… but I have no choice.”
“I’ll pretend to be a forgotten Ancient God, trick a naive yet talented student into forming a contract, and gather some karma first. Only then can I use Orin Language or buy a decent artifact to start making moves.”
Currently, my Constellation name is “Nameless God 1602.”
Just from the name alone, I was the last thing anyone would ever want to form a contract with.
But if I played my cards right, using the knowledge I had from the game, I was confident there would be at least one student who’d take the bait.
I had no divine authority or sacred weapons to offer right now, but once I gathered karma, I could bestow the power of Orin Language upon them.
It was the classic borrow first, pay later strategy.
To execute my plan, I shifted my consciousness to my Constellation form.
Suddenly, the altar I had been standing on just ten minutes ago appeared before me—not from a first-person perspective, but as if I were observing it from a third-person view.
But as time passed, I encountered yet another obstacle.
Other Constellations.
There was no official turn order, but it was common sense that the more powerful a Constellation was, the earlier they got the chance to conduct interviews.
And since I was the absolute bottom of the barrel even among Constellations, I was treated like garbage here too.
Even after waiting endlessly, if I did finally get an interview with a student, the conversations would always go like this:
“You’re called… Nameless God? That means your legacy has been severed. I’m very sorry, but my family is currently facing political difficulties, so I need to form a contract with someone who still holds some influence in the human world.”
“Your primary authority is word-based magic? I’m really sorry, but I’m purely a martial artist, so your abilities wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“Ah… I’m sorry. I already have a contract with another Constellation.”
“This is bullshit, fuck!”
I am the Pantheon of the Constellations master, you idiots!
If I could just get my hands on one handful of karma to start the snowball effect, I’d turn this whole situation around.
Why, why, WHY won’t any of you give me a chance?!
As I silently screamed in frustration, the final participant of the Pantheon entry ceremony finally stepped in.
That meant that the top-ranked student in the junior academy had entered the Pantheon Temple.
I immediately focused all my attention on them.
But apparently, I wasn’t the only one interested.
Even the high-ranking Constellations who had been sitting in silence until now suddenly started making a fuss.
“So that’s Iris Lunai? Truly a once-in-a-millennium prodigy.”
“Her physical body, magic reserves, and talent—she’s flawless in every aspect. I even heard rumors that she has an excellent personality, too. This competition is going to be fierce.”
“Hmph! It doesn’t matter! If I, the Guiding Sun, declare her as my Contractor, she won’t be able to refuse. You lowly Constellations, step aside! She’s MINE!!”
Fuck.
This just got interesting.