By this point, it’s really only a matter of days until I either starve to death or get killed in some desperate attempt to avoid the aforementioned. Personally, though, I’m leaning towards just starving to death. Worse ways to croak and all that.

More than that, I’ve got to admit that I’m kind of surprised that I lasted this long. Sure, I failed my homelessness-speedrun any%, but what can you do? Maybe I’ll at least place somewhat high in the 17-year-old category, assuming such a thing exists. Then again, if you want to go even more in-depth, maybe there’s even a category for men, and then the lightweight category.

Yes, all things considered, maybe I’ll at least snag first place in the loser-ex-pro gamer-estranged-son-with-criminal-record category. Then again, there probably aren’t too many of those running around on these streets.

…Are there?

Ahh, who knows. I just feel cold. When did I last feel my toes? They don’t wiggle anymore. If I tried to stand up, maybe they’d even snap off like icicles. There must be someone interested in watching that, right? A kid or two I could swindle some money off? Yeah. Somewhere, maybe. But as is, I can’t even really think straight.

It’s cold. Snowflakes have started settling on my ragged clothes. They’re the ones I was arrested in, so they still have a little bit of his blood on them. Damned hack. I hope he got to the hospital too late for them to properly reconfigure his arm. If he’s out of the game, that would mean I’m technically still the World Champion.

…Assuming some other perky young colt hasn’t popped up in these past six months to take back the title.

The thought makes the snow settling atop my body feel even heavier.

I can’t feel my arms anymore but in some half-dying thirst for answers, I shuffle over a little and shove my bare hand in my pocket. I can’t really feel anything in there, but I can hear a few coins clinging together. It’s not much.

My stomach makes an all-too familiar sound, but it’s not like that’s new. And, in these times…

Even if I bought myself an entire cake with these coins, I still wouldn’t live to see the next week. I’m pretty sure of that, at least. So, really, what’s the point? I’m fine with dying. I’ve been dying for six months now. What does it matter if that darkness comes in a month or an hour? It still comes, like an undodgeable homing missile. Either way I’m screwed, so why not do something with it?

Actually standing up is a different matter. My knees make weird crunching noises, but they don’t feel like anything. My hands are stiff and cold, like unwashed carrots. I bet they’d snap off just as easily, too. Standing up takes all the effort left in me, and it leaves me panting and heaving, choking out puffs of white smoke. Finally standing after so long, I can feel my legs tremble. My back is as hunched as ever. Right. So far, so good.

At my feet lies a backpack containing what little things I still have. A towel. A can opener. A few magnets. Stuff like that.

Looking at it, I feel a bit of disgust slither its way through me.

After staring at it for a full five seconds, I decide to leave it behind. I won’t need it. On my way out of the snow caked alleyway I pause at a drainage pipe and shove my hand into the mouth of it, pulling out a small bag of tiny cloudy but transparent crystals. I’m lucky I was smart enough to never start on this stuff, but it’s still a good bribe for the people who weren’t as clever. They never say no.

Limping my way out of the alley fully, I spy up and down the street. Lots of people walking by. Smiling. Chattering. Dressed nice and snug. Fashionably, not that I’ve ever been able to discern that sort of stuff. All I can see is that the fabric is good. For a minute or so, I scan the people walking by, ensuring that I don’t recognize anyone. To stay on the safe side, I bundle my scarf closer to my face, covering most of it. The snow lining the creases doesn’t melt when it meets my cheeks. The cold of the snow doesn’t hurt anymore. Content with my preparations, I sneak out.

I know this city better than I ever did before all this. It’s big, but it makes sense in its places. That’s how I know where the nearest internet cafe is.

The sky is dark and starless, only lighted by the snow drifting down. It’s the kind of night where all you want is to lie down and snuggle into your blanket and pass out of all of this without having to think too much about anything. But the world has never been that merciful.

Passing by the obnoxiously happy pedestrians, I make my way to the Point and Click, a cafe that may not have the cheapest rates but does have something much more valuable.

I stop just outside the front door, stiff hand hovering over the cold metal handle. My eyes glue themselves to a sign out front. To make up for my lack of glasses, I squint as best as I can to make out the words.

How cheeky. That’s today? Makes sense, though I didn’t think about it much. Nonetheless, the brothers who own the place both live in the apartment just above, so without much hesitation I press the doorbell by the side of the door, the sound of the chime echoing through the store and all the way up to the apartment above. Light flickers on in the apartment before travelling down into the cafe. I quickly take a step back, just in time to watch the door slide open. “Yes? How may I­­­­—” his eyes fall down on me and any curiosity and well-meaning dies out. “Oh, it’s one of you. Listen, can’t you read the sign? Nu este deschis—not open. How hard is that to understand? And P-S, no, I’m not giving you a free hand out, so you might as well pick up your little poor-boy satchel and—”

I present the coins.

He gives an exaggerated sigh and rolls his eyes. “Buddy, we’re closed. It’s not that difficult of a concept to—”

I shuffle around in my inventory.

I present the little baggie of crystal meth.

His eyes shine up. “Well…” He licks his lips. “I can always make an exception for a friend, can’t I?”

Proper item chosen. +5 intimacy gained with Co-Owner of Internet Cafe. Friendship with Co-Owner of Internet Cafe has increased from Mutual Resentment to Codependency Through Recreational Mineral-Collecting. +20 EXP. 3825 EXP needed until next level up. Access to Internet Cafe Point and Click gained.

After he’s done his due by glancing around to check if anyone saw our successful interaction, he shows me his open palm and I deposit the little baggie in it. As soon as he has the item in hand, he shoves it into his pocket and opens the door fully. “Step right on in.” Right as I’m about to do just that, he jams his foot in my way. “And, just so we’re clear, you aren’t here for a week-long sleep-over or a full-course New Year’s Eve dinner. You play your games, I have my fun, and then you’re out, get it? I really don’t want to have you tracking dirt and lice and rat-eggs and whatever it is your sort carries in here, you get me?”

A curt nod is all he needs, so that’s all I give. The warmth inside the cafe hurts. It’s stinging something awful and bringing a fair bit more attention to the fact that the insides of my ragged shoes and my ragged clothes and my ragged scarf aren’t wet from molten snow alone. Every step hurts more than the last but I didn’t come here to live.

Once the co-owner takes his leave to go enjoy himself, I sit down by one of the many open computers. I log on. This is the one I always use, so it already has Tendrils of Magic and Madness downloaded.

Five years ago, it was the most popular MMORPG on the market. Every single lobby and every single server were always filled to the brim. Every item the game had to offer was on the market within only weeks of the game’s launch. And still, it kept itself fresh. The in-game economy, miraculously, didn’t collapse for several years, and even when it did, it did so gracefully enough that I could keep up even when most people couldn’t.

But that was no surprise. I was, after all, the greatest TMM player in the world. Not just in the North Europe lobbies, not just in the Europe server, but in the entire world.

Entire groups of other players could face me, and I wouldn’t even blink. It wasn’t a matter of levels—that’s not how TMM was designed. Skill was everything, and I had all of it. Secret Easter eggs, hidden bonus levels, ultra-rare items… I knew things the wiki hadn’t even touched on yet.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

I was, in every sense, unrivalled.

Whenever there was a tournament, I would join basically only as a spectator. The other players would all form parties and do combat in various ways, and then the final winner would face me. I didn’t need to prove myself. Everyone already knew. That’s how it was, and that’s how it should have stayed.

If LetsFraternizeTogether had only known his place, it wouldn’t have come to this. None of it would have happened. Really, it’s all his fault for putting his nose where it didn’t belong and getting so damn invested in a stupid video game.

But enough about him. Games like these cycle through WCs like toilet paper, so I’m sure he’s been dethroned long since.

And now, the game has finally loaded. The music is the same as ever, but the game load screen is some sort of holiday variant I don’t recognize. I don’t like it. But it’s whatever, you know? It’s not important.

The game opens and I type in my username and password, ThatGentleNight2, make sure not to press save password, and press enter. Another loading screen.

Okay. Or you can use the exploit where you clip through the Minos until it goes into the floor and is never seen again, and the game forgets you’re supposed to be taking insanity damage from it. Up to you.

The screen cycles a few times. Server: Europe. Lobby: North Europe 1. Enter.

It takes a while for the potato of a computer to render the lobby, something that took my old computer ‘Zeus’ a mere millisecond. And there, standing in the middle of the screen, just as beautiful as the day I lost him, is my beautiful character. Massive black wings that could only be gained through the paid gacha during a Halloween event. Tentacle effects that shoot out every three seconds that I got for reaching the highest Job category of Old One Oracle. And then the Robes of Endless Fabric, Quasar Staff Manimous, Tendril Crown of Black Silver… Back in the days, just one of these items could bring about a huge bidding war within the entire Europe server. Obviously, though, what I’m wearing right now is only for show. I do have more powerful equipment, but it doesn’t look as cool, so I only wear it for the real battles.

The last time that happened, though, was when—

When…

Well, it isn’t important. What’s important is that I missed this character. Long ebony black hair, icy blue eyes like limpid tears… the whole package. If I looked like this in real life, I wouldn’t have any problems. The girls would be all over me, and the guys would all be jealous, and—

I stare at the screen. Nerfed?

Blink, blink. I can feel my rotting teeth bite into my flaking lower lip. Slowly, I place my fingers to the keyboard.

I lean back in my seat. There. Roasted.

Okay. Alright. You know what? That’s it. Six months ago, I would have let him go like a Cerberus ignoring the barking of a chihuahua. But that’s changed. I’ve needed to cut loose a little. By now, my fingers have thawed, meaning that I am beyond ready.

I lean back. If he was clever, he’d just surrender right now and avoid going gentle into that dark night…

But, obviously, you can’t expect that sort of wisdom from some no-name standard username peanut who can’t even recognize the former ruler of this game. Everyone needs to learn a lesson sometimes. As they say, all kids need a good whooping to understand their place in the world.

I place my fingers against the keyboard and grab the mouse. The movements are coming to me easily now. This guy doesn’t even have any flashy effects or mounts or wings. He’s an obvious pushover, but still too stupid to do the simple courtesy of checking my level before accepting the challenge.

A grin rises to my lips for the first time in several months. It hurts. But it feels good.

A circle arena has formed around my avatar and FreshBiscuitsOhoy, separating us from the common rabble. A counter begins counting down from three on the screen and I ready myself. The second it hits that fateful zero, my brain shifts into gear completely and my character bursts to life with the press of only a few buttons, flinging himself across the screen and twisting and bringing down his gorgeous summoned black onyx sword on the opposing avatar which is—

…No longer there?

I blink at the screen. That’s not right. Where in the world did he go? My brows furrow which hurts but I don’t have time to care as my character flings himself into another burst of movement, flying around the borders of the duel circle like a swallow, here and there. But he just isn’t around anymore. Did he turn invisible? Can they do that now? What the hell is going on?!

My teeth grit themselves. What a coward. What a complete and utter coward.

I pause in my frantic running just enough to type in the chat,

And just as I click send, something smashes into the side of my character and hurls him across the map where he crashes into the invisible barrier around the duel circle. I only just have time to gawk at how my health instantly slips down into the red before my fingers move on their own and narrowly toss my character out of the way of another horribly quick strike. It’s so fast I can barely see it. Is that a hammer he’s wielding? A war hammer?! This is a game about magic and sorcery! Why in the world would you even use a blunt weapon when you can just as easily summon weapons to—

He used a skill. I don’t know which. It looked like his character tossed a small pig plushie at my character and somehow that was enough to stun me and then he caved my character’s head in with his hammer and that was it.

The screen turns dark and monochrome and a single word overlays the whole screen, printed in horrible oversaturated red: DEAD.

In my head, I can picture the screen on his end. A big green letterbox shouts WIN! and a spray of confetti erupts across the screen and all of the surrounding gawkers would use the Cheer and the Jubilee emotes and spam the chat with astonishment and adoration and nobody could ever face you no matter how many they were because just one of you would always be enough to face them all, no matter what, no matter when.

But that’s not what’s on my screen. Just a big, red, DEAD. That’s all.

The chat is being spammed alright, but it’s all just the same thing.

I stare at the chat. After a few minutes it goes silent. Since FreshBiscuitsOhoy got muted I can’t even challenge him to a rematch. If I look out the window, it’s completely dark now. It feels almost like the world is holding its breath. The time is three minutes to midnight. What kind of loser would spend this time at New Years Eve an online game, fighting randoes?

I grind my molars.

Once I respawn, I quickly check the rankings. I must just have been unfortunate and ran into some sort of underground legend, or some secret master. Maybe he was even an NPC hidden boss or something.

…No, that last one’s a bit too unlikely.

But he could secretly be a super high levelled player. I mean, how else would he just—just do that to me? I’m the number one player! If anyone’s doing the curb stomping, it’s me! That’s how it works, and that’s how it is, and—

And…

…And he isn’t even in the top hundred. Not for the world. Not for Europe. Not even for North Europe.

He isn’t even in the top hundred for the server.

Neither am I. My ranking is very clear. It’s right there, written in bold, purple text.

Twelve-thousand four-hundred ninety-fourth.

And what of my rival, nemesis, and enemy? Maybe I was a fool to have hope, to think he’d follow my footsteps and sink into the despair I feel, but…

He’s number eighty-four. internationally. It’s not much. He used to be number one. But now he’s eighty-fourth. At least, unlike a certain someone, he’s actually on there.

He’s doing well.

I feel the buzz in my ears intensify, my vision blurring and blotting, my breathing becoming even more raspy, my joints aching and creaking, my flesh scraping together, and the fever more pronounced than ever. It hurts. Everything hurts. My face feels hot with everything that can make a face hot, but it won’t seep out through tears. Had I always been this pathetic? Is this something new or was I always destined to be this sort or worthless, pathetic loser? My head is on fire. I want to die. Maybe I’m already dead. Maybe I died six months ago. Maybe this is hell. That’d be better. At least hell is perpetual. I’d rather be burnt than tormented like this.

Outside, far away, I can hear a thousand thousand people chant in unison.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

I wonder if my parents and sister are out there among them. Do they miss me? If it were me, I’d be happy I was gone.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

I mean, really. There’s nothing to miss in the least. No skill, no trait, no dream of any value whatsoever. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hate me.

Four.

Three.

Nothing to miss is almost an overstatement. What is there to miss in a void of a person like me? Certainly not my charming personality, or my looks, or my smarts, because God knows I do not have any of those. I am—by all means—nothing.

Two.

Nothing at all.

One.

And nothingness isn’t something you miss.

Zero!

As the world outside the internet cafe windows lights up with cheers for a better year and fireworks and music, the inside of the cafe suddenly lights up as well. But not by any fireworks, no, rather, by a floating, shining text box straight out of a video game.

to join the tutorial.>

…What?

Oh, I see, so this is the light at the end of the tunnel you see when you die. Makes sense.

—No, hang on a sec, what the heck do you mean by tutorial?! Are you telling me my entire life was just the lobby period you spend before you even start the tutorial proper? Is this the menu screen?!

Okay, okay, let’s just relax for a moment. This isn’t real. Actually, it’s not too bad. I’m dying, so I’m obviously hallucinating. Great, I really felt like dying right now. Wonderful. Glad someone up there’s listening for once.

Which button do I press to die?

this invitation?>

…Well, if it means dying, then sure. Why the heck not. Take me there, ferryman.

A second passes.

…Oh, do I, uh, have to press it manually? Talk about outdated models for spiritual death, sheesh. Unbefitting of a dead man, I casually press the Yes button, and in that very second, a third screen pops up.

<[Easy]>

<[Normal]>

<[Hard]>

<[Hell]>

Well, now you’re just asking the obvious. Clearly, a pro gamer must prove himself even in the afterlife. What do you expect me to do if I choose ‘easy,’ go to hell, and LetsFraternizeTogether chose the Hell Difficulty and is doing much better than me? I’d try to off myself and go to whatever afterlife lies beyond the afterlife! Superhell would be my one and only fate. Can’t have that, can I?

The answer is so simple I almost feel like chuckling. Instead, I just casually press the [Hell] button. Afterlife, here I co—