That was it. It was over.

  He had thought he could do something. That maybe, just maybe, all the prep, all the hours spent reading lore to get the key and strategizing for the actual fight would pay off. But now? His monitor was broken. His dream of beating the game felt shattered, and with it, his motivation.

  He swore under his breath, letting loose a string of curses. Then, he smmed his back deep into the chair, teeth clenched tight.

  The screen flickered again, the distorted image only fueling his frustration. He felt it rising in his chest—a fiery mix of regret and anger.

  All the work. All the grinding. For nothing. Another loss piled on top of many before it. Another wasted stretch of time that he could never get back.

  Fuck it. Why did I even try?

  He rubbed at his temples, muscles aching from tension. Finally, he reached out and pushed the power button on his PC.

  His friends were probably waiting in some voice call, hyped and ready to strategize for the next attempt. They'd talk about their next move, trade ideas, and gear up.

  But Oren didn't care anymore.

  There was no point.

  Once they lost, once they underestimated the boss, it was as good as a defeat. Why keep trying when the odds felt so stacked against him? When the only certainty was another frustrating failure?

  Besides, his monitor was the only one he had. Without it, there was no next try.

  As the hum of the PC died down and darkness filled the room, he pushed back from his desk. His wheelchair rolled smoothly beneath him as he maneuvered across the floor toward his bed.

  With effort, he shifted his weight, fighting for the right angle, and managed to sit down at the edge of the mattress.

  He looked at his legs—motionless, pale—and grimaced deeply.

  Just seeing them brought a wave of disgust.

  But there was no choice.

  Slowly, carefully, he lifted his legs and swung them up onto the bed.

  The softness of the mattress was a blessing to his tired body. Despite the stiffness in his limbs, lying down was always better than sitting upright. A small mercy in an otherwise hard day.

  He pulled the bnket over himself, wrapping it tight.

  He wanted to sleep. To shut out the memory of the fight and just move on, like his friends probably had already done.

  But sleep didn't come.

  His stomach churned, heavy with sickness.

  He groaned softly and turned onto his back. Adjusting his waist, he tried to find a comfortable position for his legs.

  Then he just stared.

  At the ceiling.

  His mind raced, going over everything that had happened. Analyzing every moment of the game.

  Their strategy hadn't changed much from before. It was solid. Designed to allow quick swaps between attackers and reserves—someone always ready to step in, someone always preparing for the next phase.

  The minions were a constant nuisance, but nothing they couldn't handle. Killing those rank 4 Generals should've been easy, almost routine.

  If it hadn't been for him.

  The Dark Knight.

  The plot of the Grand Visetorium was built around events like this. The developers released new storylines in waves, opening the way into deeper yers of the game world. According to the lore, a massive cliff had opened in the Pacific Ocean, revealing countless gigantic tunnels beneath the surface. Within those depths, an entire hidden world had been discovered—natives, underground civilizations, terrifying monsters, and ancient dungeons long forgotten.

  Pyers named this realm 'The Visetorium.'

  But that wasn't all.

  Beneath the surface world, guarding the path deeper into the Visetorium, was a gatekeeper. An army of ant-like creatures defended a huge tunnel leading to even lower levels. Ten levels. Ten servers, each with its own event.

  Every event had a strict window of time. If pyers didn't defeat the boss or complete the objective before the event ended, they were locked out of that storyline. For high-level pyers, that meant starting over almost from scratch—like dying permanently in-game.

  Usually, it didn't matter too much. Someone always managed to beat the boss and open the path to the next level.

  But this time was different.

  Only those who personally defeated the boss got to advance.

  No more following behind top pyers. No more shortcuts.

  That was why the loss stung so deeply.

  He winced at the thought of grinding for items all over again—just to try this fight one more time.

  Even with the same pn? He doubted it would work again.

  He'd been lucky to pull off those perfect parries. It was a near-impossible feat, a tiny window of invulnerability carved out by split-second timing.

  There was no guarantee he could do it twice.

  And that boss. He was different. It was already weird enough for him to act like he knew their every move. But also actually acting on that knowledge, using our disorientation to just take out our reserve.

  Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head slightly. A scowl forming on his face again.

  None of the gate keepers did this before. Even the ones that had armies were just going all in, using numbers instead of strategy, focusing on the first opponent to come their way and ignoring the ones that stay out of it.

  But he just pyed with them like they were toys. Like he was an actual pyer, knowing exactly what all their abilites were, all their tactics entailed.

  It was really strange.

  And hel frustrating too.

  He just couldn't understand how they managed to develop a monster like that.

  So instead of breaking his mind any further, he closed his eyes and let his breathing slow. Hoping to finally gain some sleep.

  The bnket felt heavier now. Or maybe he did.

  For once, he didn't fight it.

  ---

  Something buzzed faintly.

  His eyes opened, blurry and dry. Pale morning light crept between the blinds, casting soft gray lines across the wall.

  His body felt like stone.

  He'd slept.

  His phone's arm was still signaling the time.

  6 AM.

  It was unusual for Oren to be up this early. Normally, he stayed up te and woke even ter.

  He gnced around his room.

  Trash was still piled in the corners—old pstic bottles, food containers, dirty clothes, and a yer of dust clinging to everything. The room wasn’t rge, but it was decent enough. Thankfully, the government had been generous when it came to supporting the sick. Which, given the public outrage on the streets tely, was a bit surprising.

  Oren didn’t have much of an opinion on any of it. He didn’t know enough to judge, and he intended to keep it that way.

  Politics just weren’t his thing.

  Yawning, he reached over to shut off the arm and stretched his arms overhead.

  His wheelchair sat idle beside the bed. He stripped off the clothes he’d unfortunately slept in and tossed them aside, then shifted his weight and pulled himself onto the chair.

  It took some effort, but he got himself into the bathroom.

  Washing up always took time.

  He used to hate how long it took—struggling just to get onto the stool in the shower, then wrestling through the awkwardness of cleaning and drying himself off.

  But right now? It felt like peace.

  Showering, washing thoroughly, drying off, and slipping into some old clothes lying around took him nearly an hour.

  But that wasn’t really the problem.

  No, the real problem was the monitor sitting right in front of him.

  Cracked. Useless. A grave issue.

  Broken as it was, he'd have to pay for a new one. And his government paycheck was—well, humble, to say the least. Enough to cover rent and meals, sure, but anything beyond that? Extra expenses? They had to be measured. Tight. Picked apart and justified.

  He winced at the thought of spending more money. Things were already rough around the edges.

  But no point in compining.

  He pulled out his phone and started scrolling. He didn't need anything special. Just a monitor that wouldn't crash in the middle of a fight. Something that could hold him over until he had the means to actually repce it properly.

  So after about an hour of scrolling through reviews, discounts, and no-name brands, he finally settled on the cheapest half-decent option he could find.

  Click. Order pced.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared again at the broken screen.

  A wave of disappointment hit him all at once.

  "I'm such a fool."

  Opening the MyChat app, he checked to see if anyone was online.

  To his surprise, they were.

  All three of them.

  He blinked, leaned in a little. Not just idle — all of them were already in a voice call. Active. Webcam icons lit up, mics unmuted.

  He gnced at the clock and scoffed under his breath.

  "This early? Don't they have jobs or csses?"

  They did. He knew they did. Which made this even stranger. None of them should've been online yet, let alone awake and sitting in a group call like it was a zy Sunday.

  He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Argued with himself for a second.

  Then he clicked.

  The screen flickered. Connection stabilized. And before the camera fully adjusted, a flood of noise exploded from his speakers.

  "OREEEEEN—"

  "Bro! What the hell was that??"

  "You just dipped! Vanished!"

  "I thought you rage quit or threw your mouse out the window!"

  Oren winced as their voices smmed into his ears like a wave. The webcam feed loaded. Three faces filled the screen in a chaotic mess of animated expressions.

  Frederick was half-reclined in bed, hoodie pulled over his head like he had slept with it. Oric sat upright at his desk, eyes wide behind thick gsses, his hair a mess. Ryn looked like he hadn't slept, bathed in the pale glow of his screen with a towel still draped over his shoulders, probably fresh from a cold shower.

  Oren leaned back and rubbed the side of his head, already starting to regret joining.

  He sighed. "Yeah, I know. I messed up. Got too greedy."

  The room settled a little. The voices calmed, falling from chaos to something more manageable. Faces turned a bit more serious.

  "Forget that. You almost clutched it," Frederick said, voice still a bit rough like he'd just woken up.

  "For real," Oric nodded. "You had that bastard on a leash."

  Oren scratched the back of his neck and offered a half-smile. "I dunno. Luck, I guess. Wasn't really thinking at that point."

  Ryn clicked his tongue and leaned closer to his mic.

  "We shouldn't have died that easily, though. That was straight-up sloppy."

  Oren nodded, jaw tightening slightly.

  "I felt like we rushed it. We barely talked through a pn. I should've said something, but…"

  "You didn't," Ryn cut in. Not harshly. Just stating.

  "Yeah." Oren exhaled. "I guess I didn't."

  There was a short pause.

  "I guess it doesn't really matter now," Ryn muttered, gncing off to the side of his screen. "We lost."

  And that was that. Nothing else needed to be said.

  Even if something still twisted in his gut — that strange itch of unfinished business, that grudge still burning for the boss that tore them apart — Oren knew he wouldn't grind again. Not anytime soon. That fight had drained something out of him.

  Still, he shifted in his seat and added, "Oh, right. Uh, I kinda destroyed my screen."

  Three sets of eyes turned toward him.

  "Wait, what?" Oric blinked. "Destroyed as in...?"

  "Like, cracked. Fully. Can't see half the screen anymore."

  "You serious?" Frederick leaned forward, squinting at him like it might change the answer.

  Oren nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the edge of his desk.

  "I was pissed. Punched it hard. Dumb, I know. Anyway, I ordered a new one, but it won't be here for like two days. Can't hop on till then."

  A collective groan exploded through the call.

  "Bro, come on!" Oric threw his hands up. "We were finally getting good!"

  "You just said we sucked." Oren shot back.

  Oric scoffed, muttering something the mic couldn't pick up.

  Ryn covered his face with one hand, muttering something under his breath about aggression problems and money.

  Frederick just ughed tiredly, shaking his head, hoodie slipping halfway off. "Guess we're on forced break now, huh?"

  Oren leaned back, exhaling a breath through his nose. "Guess so."

  But even as they settled into quieter conversation — the noise dialed down, voices lower now — a strange heaviness still lingered behind their words. Something none of them quite wanted to bring up yet.

  Something they all felt, but hadn't said aloud.