“Look at this fucking loser. Scrawny-ass arms and a worse posture than even the girls.”

A harsh kick came from behind, knocking Cian to the ground, hands scraping roughly against the dusty surface. He felt a stinging sensation all across his body.

Bruises.

That’s what he was covered in, head to toe. Black and blue would be an understatement— they were so horribly inflicted that tinges of green streaked across the edges of each large mark. Cian flinched when he felt his bloodied knees open up again, sand grinding into the thin cuts. He lowered his already-bowed head even more, biting his lip raw.

“If you’re not even going to take this seriously, don’t even bother.” A sharp voice coldly spoke from above. Cian moved his eyes upwards slightly and eyed a pair of white boots, faintly dusted in fine grains of sepia sand.

Another kick slammed into his back, knocking his head into the ground. Cian saw stars for a moment, his vision blurring a vivid green, his ears filling with static. When he regained consciousness, he heard the group around him muttering to one another, footsteps moving away from his figure. They slowly left, their speech growing fainter. Faraway laughter shot out like a thunderclap, grating in his disquieted ears.

He didn’t bother getting up and fell onto his side, finally breathing a sigh of relief as his tormentors finally left. His eyes squinted at the bright sky, a heavy layer of clouds smearing over an otherwise sunny day.

“Those bastards.”

A singular drop of rain fell onto his cheek. Then two. Then four, and then ten. A downpour of rain began, the cool deluge soothing his burning wounds. His eyes stung, and a few warm drops gently slid down his face, eventually losing themselves in the growing puddles around his body.

Mustering up the last of his force, he held up a trembling hand and flipped off the quavering sky.

“Fuck you.”

—

Arc slowly opened his eyes, lazily rubbing the hazy tinge from his sight. His body was covered in a warm quilt, and his pillow was soft and welcoming.

Mom?

For a split second, he forgot where he was.

Cruel reality hit him like a truck. And that was a feeling he knew all too well.

Damnit. Here he was, still stuck in this shitty game. Just yesterday he had arrived, and yet it felt like an eternity ago. Climbing stiffly from his bed, he walked over to the mirror. As he had done the day before, he lifted his shirt and poked at the abs, admiring his figure.

“Nice.” If there was something he could get behind, it was this.

His eyes traveled downwards, past his hips and thighs, but stopped at his knees. On them was a set of large white scars— some kind of bygone scrape or cut. He hadn’t noticed them yesterday and was just about to examine them more closely when faint footsteps sounded outside his door.

“Cian? It’s time to get up, baby. You’ve got the shift for today as well.”

Arc cursed in his mind. Shit, can’t she take over for once?

“Shit, can’t you take over for once?”

Huh?

“Are you in a bad mood again?” His mom’s voice was a bit muffled, and Arc heard her quietly sigh. “I’m sorry I have you work the store every day, but… you know your father’s situation. I have to be with him in the hospital.”

Arc was stunned at this sudden turn of events and was struck speechless. Cian spoke for him instead.

“I know, I know! But let me see him for once, yeah? I miss him too.” His voice came out a bit hurried, a bit excited, and a tad bit mischievous.

Arc froze. What’s going on? Since when was Cian such a character?

His mom paused. “Just for today, look over the store, alright?”

“Fine, fine.” Cian sighed. Arc frowned. What the hell was that? The whole exchange flew by and left him with more questions than answers.

Arc gnawed at his bottom lip in frustration. He hated being controlled by the system, being forced to follow lines like some D-List cannon fodder character. Do I have to know all about Cian in order to know what to say? He paused.

“Fuck.” Arc muttered lowly. “It probably is like that.” Arc cursed at his luck— if only he had received Cian’s memories, he’d be smoothly cruising as a reincarnated transmigrator, ready to receive his OP superpowers and martial arts skills.

Instead, here he was, stuck with a quasi-functional system with some shitty-ass premise that he had no way to escape.

If I don’t get any information, then I’ll have to find it myself? Arc sighed for the nth time. And again. Nth squared time.

“I guess it won’t hurt to try.” He glanced around his room. So where do I start? There isn’t some kind of autobiography hidden in his room, right?

...That would be too convenient.

Right?

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

[ System Tip: Cian likes keeping his darkest secrets in his nightstand drawer! ]

Arc was about to kill someone, right then and there.

Reluctantly, and internally cursing at the system, he went over to and opened the scuffed wooden drawer. Inside were a few aged vials that looked suspiciously like snuff bottles, some loose scraps of creased paper, and — if you would believe it — an inconspicuous notebook that screamed ‘diary’.

“...is this my cheat code?” Arc could feel his luck changing. He hurriedly grabbed the worn book and pushed it open, excitedly leafing through the crammed sheets. Pressing his finger down onto a specific page, he looked over the messily penned writing.

And he was illiterate.

“FUCK!”

Arc had forgotten— the NPCs used their own written system for so-called ‘NPC things.’ Anything the players could interact with would be in English, but for things that weren’t shop items or storefronts, NPCs used a completely different language.

You can’t be serious. Who came up with this broken system?? I just want to talk…

“Cian? Come on, it’s almost time to go.” And he had also forgotten that he still had work.

Once again following some kind of intrinsic habit, he threw on his uniform and brushed up his hair. He shoved the diary into his bag and rushed out of his room.

Today as well, his mom was waiting at the door. They left together, and Arc grabbed a brown sugar bun from a street vendor.

Chewing on the sweet bread, he really felt that being in this world had, though not many, at least a few upsides. I never got to try Oneiro’s food… if I can, I want to try the legendary meat skewers in Southern Hippolyta… Daydreaming of his ideal future, he accidentally bumped into his mom, who had been walking in front of him.

“What’s going on?”

“Some fight between adventurers.”

Arc raised his eyebrows. He edged around his mom’s stopped figure and watched the ensuing conflict. Surrounded by waves of people, a tall man and a cloaked, smaller girl were at odds with one another. By the looks of it, the man was actually an NPC.

In fact, there were adventurer NPCs. They would be the ones ‘trapped’ in dungeons, who would warn you of bosses, etc… NPCs had a big role in Oneiro. That was one of the biggest appeals— a dynamic world filled to the brim with unique characters.

Thinking back on it, Arc had actually only seen a few actual players. The brown-haired girl from yesterday was one, and a handful of other customers seemed to also be novice players.

As for that annoyingly clumsy guy… it wasn’t certain. Based on his behaviour, it was as if he had acted out a perfectly two-dimensional character to a T— the atypical ‘klutzy, new adventurer’. But at the same time, NPCs really didn’t have that much character variance. There was no way the game could have characters with complex storylines and intertwining personality traits, nor were they usually afforded that degree of eccentricity. The servers and databases wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Right?

Right?

Arc was snapped back to reality when he heard a heavy clunking noise arrive from behind the crowd. The people quickly parted, and massive armoured figures stepped into the ring.

Watchmen, Arc commented. Despite the foreboding name, these “Watchmen” were basically just town sentries. They were covered head to toe in metallic plates, brandishing heavy axes and shields.

The female player scowled at their appearance. Her pale hair flew wildly as she hurriedly searched for an escape route, her eyes jumping from one spot to another.

The light pupils rested onto Arc’s thin figure. Arc raised his eyebrows, shoving the last of his bun into his mouth. He grabbed a wooden sword from a nearby stand, weighing it in his hand.

A bit heavy.

The girl bolted towards him, slashing her blade towards his body. Arc held up the sword, preparing to parry her blow. Yet, before he could flick his wrist towards the base of her blade, he felt an inexplicable wave of fear wash through his limbs, and his joints locking up. Time seemed to pass insatiably slow, and Arc watched his wooden blade being sliced like butter. As the sword flew at his chest, someone yanked his body aside, throwing his limp frame towards the paved ground.

The girl’s golden eyes lingered on Arc’s for a split second before she leapt away, her steps melting into the rooftops.

Around Arc, the crowd parted as the Watchmen turned to capture the girl’s fleeing figure. But before they could even take a step, their bodies froze, the metal plates screeching harshly at the sudden stop.

Arc gaped. “No way…” Watchmen chase targeted players until the boundaries of the city. You’re telling me she’s already reached the outer walls?

“What do you mean no way?!?” An angered yell came from Arc’s side. “I just saved your hide and you’re just sitting there, staring!” Cian’s mom lifted him to his feet. “I… you scared me.” She began to sniffle, but quickly smeared any trace of sadness from her expression with trembling hands. Instead, she started lecturing Arc.

“That was really dangerous. Plus I have to pay back the street vendor you stole the training sword from. When did I raise my child to be so frivolous…” Hands on hips, she sighed. “And I understand that you wanted to be an imperial knight, but a dream’s over when it’s over. I don’t know exactly what happened when you went off to do your training, but since then, you’ve changed. I’m not being harsh, I just want to tell you honestly— please, honey, give it up. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore.” She paused. “Cian?”

Arc only stood quietly. He didn’t know what to say, and it seemed like Cian didn’t know either. “I…” I wanted to be an imperial knight? He looked down at his hands. Faded callouses dotted his palms, and thin white scars crisscrossed between each bump.

“Wake up.”

Arc flinched, lifting his head to stare at his mother. It seemed like he imagined it, but for the briefest of a second, her face wore an expression of striking shock, before it vanished without a trace.

“Wake up, you’ve got work in a few minutes.” She laughed airily, turning around. As she was just about to trod forward, her body stopped. Arc’s mother turned to look at him, making a pained face. “Arc.”

“...yeah?”

“Arc.” She slowly wandered towards him, her voice dropping to a low mutter. “Don’t do that again, alright?”

Arc hummed in agreement. Just as he was about to open his mouth to respond, he felt a soft embrace enveloping his figure.

“Please.”

It’s warm.

Stopped in surprise, his heart began to prickle as emotions swelled up. His eyes stung, and a few warm drops gently slid down his face. Whether it was Cian or Arc crying at that moment, it didn’t matter.

Arc was only eighteen. Arc had just graduated high school.

Arc had an annoying older sister, a pair of loving parents, and a stray tabby cat he liked to feed in the morning.

Arc had Em. He had Cass, Ger, Dye. Arc wasn’t by any means thriving, but he wasn’t suffering, either.

And it all came crashing down.

A single truck was what it took. A truck and some sleepiness. And here he was, in a game he used to play, with not a single familiar face but what felt like a million sinister adversaries.

He faced his situation with feigned indifference, suppressing his despair, his fear, his agitation.

Now, those bottled emotions finally materialized in one cataclysmic moment.

Why? Why me? What’s happening? Who are you?

Do you know me?

Arc’s vision grew misty. He heard cascading echoes, shouts of his own name. The world around him seemed to melt into a puddle— just a reflection, just a splash to be stepped in and skipped away from.

Just a dream;

But he wasn’t waking up anytime soon.