Ian stormed into his apartment, slamming the door so hard the walls seemed to tremble. “Charlie… John… I knew it.” His hands shook as he fumbled with his phone, his entire body humming with barely contained rage.


    Back in high school, John had always stolen the spotlight. Effortlessly charismatic, he drew people in—especially the girls—without even trying. Meanwhile, Ian followed every rule: strict diets, grueling gym routines, and endless rehearsals of clever pickup lines. Yet no matter how hard he worked, it was always John who they noticed.


    When Ian finally landed his dream job, he thought he’d left John behind for good. But no—John still outshined him, breezing through QA tests and earning glowing praise from their shared boss. Ian had swallowed bitter defeat then, but this? This was worse.


    Now, in the live game—his chance to finally get ahead—John was back. And not just back, but transformed. Now a girl. A beautiful one. And if that weren’t enough, a hero.


    A hero.


    The phone rang as Ian’s fist crashed onto the desk, the wood groaning under the force. His jaw clenched. John hadn’t admitted the truth, but Ian knew. He’d always known.


    “Yes?” A cool female voice answered at last.


    “You were right,” Ian hissed, venom dripping from his words. “It’s him. I’m in. I don’t care what it takes—I’m going to ruin his game.”


    “Perfect,” the voice replied, calm and calculated. “We’ve determined that pushing the target’s friend—Damon—will provoke him. His file shows a history of volatility.”


    Ian blinked. Damon? Violence? “Are you sure?” he asked, skepticism cutting through his anger. “Damon’s tame. He wouldn’t—”


    “We’re positive. He’s a critical part of the plan. But if Damon fails, you’ll need to step in.”


    Ian exhaled sharply, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Fine,” he growled. “Whatever it takes.”


    ***


    Sunlight filtered across my face, and I stirred, stretching out. Wait—where the hell am I? The bed I was in definitely wasn’t mine. As I looked around, the word “luxurious” leaped into my mind. The furnishings, the tasteful decor… This had to be Lucas’s bedroom. A slight sense of ease washed over me, and I even managed a small smile.


    What? No! I jolted up and threw the blanket off. Clad in just a long-sleeve black shirt with a weird, anonymous mask printed on it, I scrambled around the room. My heart raced as I took in the sight of various items scattered across the floor—my left shoe, my bra, my other shoe. What the hell happened last night?


    The last clear memory I had was seeing Ian’s face as he walked into the bar, and then whiskey. A lot of whiskey. Beyond that, it was just a blur—vague impressions of navigating a restroom, everything hazy after that.


    I can’t believe it. This body is so pathetic it can’t even handle three drinks without crashing.


    I quickly put my bra back on, slipped the shirt over it, and kicked those traitorous shoes into the corner. Evil things! Taking a cautious peek through the slightly cracked bedroom door, I saw the coast was clear—no one lingering in the living room.


    Relieved, I opened the door wider and padded toward the kitchen, yawning. The aroma of melting butter and something delicious sizzling on the stove hit me, and I found Lucas cooking up breakfast, the smell alone making my stomach growl.


    But how was I supposed to ask him what happened? Was it okay to just… ask? As I settled at the table, still chewing over how to phrase it, Lucas placed a steaming omelet in front of me. “Good morning, Charlie,” he greeted with a gentle smile.


    I nodded, digging my spoon into the omelet. Despite my best effort, my mood was written all over my face. “Morning. Can you… tell me what happened yesterday?” I took a bite, the warm, fluffy egg melting on my tongue. It was so good that I couldn’t help but close my eyes for a moment. Yummy!


    “Nothing!” he replied so quickly and loudly, I nearly choked on my spoonful of omelet.


    “Then why… we’re here?” I managed with my mouth full, savoring every bite. How can something so simple taste this incredible? Swallowing, I beamed at him. “Seriously, this is amazing! What’s your secret? How did you make it taste this good?”


    Lucas sat down across from me with his own plate, shrugging modestly. “Thank you. Just a little salt and butter, nothing fancy. As for last night… Well, you got pretty drunk at the bar, but aside from going on and on about living in a simulation, everything was fine.”


    “Then why are we here?” My question made him laugh, a full, hearty laugh I didn’t find funny in the slightest. With a furrowed brow, I kicked him under the table. “Not helping!”


    “Sorry, sorry! So, you wanted to take a taxi, but after a few rounds, you became fixated on ‘conquering the devil’s shoes’—even though, by then, you couldn’t walk barefoot without my help. When we finally reached your apartment, you insisted you’d carry me in the game, but said you first needed to master walking. And that’s how we ended up here.”


    “And…?”


    Lucas glanced away, lowering his voice. “You fell outside a few times and dirtied your dress, so I gave you one of my shirts. Then I crashed on the couch.”The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    “Oh,” I said, nodding as I stretched and stifled a yawn. “Yeah, that sounds like me. So that’s all, right?”


    “Of course! Nothing else!” A wave of relief washed over me—no shady encounters, no disasters. Just… a bit of a mess, but no trouble.


    I devoured the rest of the meal, finishing just as Lucas’s watch buzzed. He glanced at the message, but his expression froze. His spoon clattered to the floor, the metallic sound echoing in the silence. I grimaced—what a waste of perfectly excellent breakfast!


    “Charlie… you were right. You were freaking right!”


    I rubbed my eyes and leaned in to peek at his watch, but he had already dismissed the message. “I’m always right, but what are we talking about this time?”


    “The reality…” He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “It’s a simulation. Our friend Pearl confirmed it. She thinks the game is the reality… it doesn’t make sense. I hope not but, we might be… we’re… just NPCs,” he stammered, his hands visibly shaking.


    “Oh, that?” I replied, trying to keep my tone casual. “Yeah, I figured. Kind of suspected it, anyway. But what difference does it make? It’s not like you can just hack the system and turn into a god.” A grin crept onto my face as a mischievous thought surfaced. “But… maybe we can exploit it. Imagine all the things we could do if the world’s a game!”


    “Right?” Lucas’s voice dropped, his face growing pale. “But what if we’re only NPCs… and they’re the players?”


    Seeing the panic building in his eyes, I reached across the table and held his hand. “So what? What changes, really? I mean, look at me—two days ago, I wasn’t even a girl! This world, simulation, game, whatever it is, it’s already bizarre. Why let it shake you?”


    Another beep came from his watch, and Lucas’s face drained of all color. His gaze darted around the room as if something evil was closing in on us.


    “You need to go. Now. Out the back window, jump!” His voice rose with urgency, and before I could process it, he had gripped my arm, practically dragging me from the table. I tried to wriggle free, but my smaller frame was no match for his strength.


    With a last shove, he pushed me into his bedroom and slammed the door before I could protest.


    I darted from one wall to the other, then reached for the doorknob, but stopped, hand hovering. Lucas wouldn’t have shoved me in here if there wasn’t a good reason. Maybe I should think this through… or at least prepare a good slap for him later. Pressing my ear against the door, I tried to make sense of the muffled voices from the living room.


    “Lucas, why are you doing this?” a woman’s voice demanded, sharp and disapproving. “We told you—no more questions. And yet, you just keep pushing.”


    Lucas responded, but his voice was faint, almost defeated. “I owe you money, not my soul. I’ll ask as many questions as I damn well want.”


    “Then pay up,” she retorted. There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps drawing closer. “No? Then until you clear that debt, you’ll stay away from Pearl and anyone else. Especially them. Do you understand?” A second, gruffer voice chimed in, punctuated by the crash of something breaking—a vase, maybe, or that fake flower he always joked about.


    “Our boss doesn’t like questions,” the woman’s voice said, icy and final.


    Should I step in? I was weighing my options, heart pounding, when I heard a chilling sound from the other side of the door, one I knew all too well—the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.


    Years ago, in the dead of night, strange noises dragged me from sleep. I crept down the stairs, and that’s when I heard it—the unmistakable, cold click of a gun being cocked. Seconds later, gunshots shattered the silence, and my step-parents collapsed right before my eyes.


    That night, something in me cracked. It was my first memory, a seven-year-old frozen in place, staring at death. Now, with the same sound ringing in my ears, my mind spiraled, weighed down by the horror of that memory, like a barrel crashing down on me. My palms grew slick with sweat as a voice inside screamed, You can’t go out there!


    No. Not again. I have to save him.


    I rubbed a sleeve over my eyes, desperate, and sprinted toward the living room.


    Correction—I tried to sprint. My feet wouldn’t budge.


    I was rooted to the floor, as if every nerve was paralyzed. Move! Now! It’s my fault he’s involved, that he reached out to that damn Pearl because of me. He can’t die because of me!


    A surge of fierce determination broke through, and I slapped my face to snap out of it. Finally, I burst through the door, shouting in a voice that shook with fear, “Honey! I—I got something in my eye, I can’t see! Help!”


    I staggered into the room with both sleeves pressed to my eyes, shielding myself in a panicked, blind act. Great job, John, real smart. Now, if they shot, I’d never see it coming. My heart hammered so hard I half-expected it to echo through the room, and actual tears pooled beneath my lashes, blurring my vision even more. Maybe they’d think I was really crying. One more point for acting.


    Instead of gunfire, I felt Lucas’s familiar warmth as he rushed to me, his arms wrapping around and his scent grounding me. He hugged me tightly, his hand gently stroking my hair as he whispered, “Sweetheart, just a second. I’ll help you.”


    His voice, oddly tender, reassured me, and my knees buckled, letting his embrace hold me up.


    A disdainful scoff came from across the room. “Pathetic. Saved by a girl. One week, you hear me, kid? One week.” Two sets of footsteps moved toward the front door, and a loud slam signaled their exit.


    Lucas sighed, his voice heavy with emotion. “I want to kiss you right now, you know that?”


    I pulled away, quick and firm. “No. Don’t go there.” My voice sharpened. “Now, tell me—what was that all about?”


    He took a deep breath, staring at the floor. “I told you I owe a lot of money, didn’t I? They want ten thousand by next week.”


    “Then sell the apartment.”


    “I can’t. I don’t actually own it—I just live here because I once helped the building owner recover some old videos of her husband. Even if I sold every piece of tech I have—computer, monitors, capsule—I’d barely scrape together a few thousand. And they’ll come for another ten thousand the month after.”


    “I get it,” I said, resolute. “I’ll carry you.” I marched to the bedroom, grabbing my heels with trembling hands. This was all my fault. All my fault, damn it.


    Lucas followed me, trying to help undo the straps on the shoes, but I swatted his hand away. He leaned on the door, watching as I fumbled, my frustration mounting. “Charlie, you can’t go outside like that. Here—take some clothes from the drawer.” He pointed to a sports bag, and I pulled it open, barely noticing what was inside.


    “I’ll go like this, watch me!” I took a step, nearly tripping, and grabbed the drawer to keep from falling. That did it—the shoes came off.


    “Wait, please! You can’t help me in the game. You’d have to amass a fortune. You’d need to make at least a third of the game’s total sales,” he protested, desperation in his voice.


    “Just a little over five thousand gold. It’s doable.” I pushed him away from the door. Well, I tried to—he held his ground, blocking my way.


    “Fine,” I muttered, swinging my shoes over my shoulder and squeezing past him on his left. With my smaller frame, I slipped by. Win! “Now go, log into the game. I need you to identify something.”


    He glared, but didn’t stop me.


    I shot him a sad smile. “Hush. Just go.” And I hurried down the stairs, ignoring the receptionist’s confused look as I rushed outside. Tears streamed down my face the entire trip home.


    Lucas, you will not die. Not this time.


    Fine, you twisted world. I’ll take the risk—I’ll exploit whatever I have to, even if it gets me banned.