The first thing Meret became aware of when she woke up was the sound of an insistent beeping noise that made her feel like she had just become an extra in a medical drama. The second thing was the sandpaper sensation in her mouth, which was doing its best impression of the Sahara Desert. She cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it, as fluorescent lights blinded her. She blinked against the bright light, her eyes slowly adjusting to the sterile room. White walls, faintly scratchy sheets, and the faint smell of disinfectant—it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was in a hospital.
Her head throbbed as fragmented memories surfaced: the car, Maeve, the desperate sprint, and then the pain rushing through her body. She winced, trying to move her arms, only to discover a symphony of aches and bruises that protested against the effort.
“Meret?”
Her mom’s voice was a lifeline. Before Meret could fully process, her mom appeared at her bedside, her face a mixture of relief and barely restrained panic. “Oh, honey, you’re awake!”
“Surprisingly,” Meret croaked. She was sure she had just sounded like a toad that had just taken up smoking.
Her mom quickly grabbed a cup of water from the bedside table, pressing it into her hands. “Sip slowly, sweetie.”
Meret obeyed, grateful for the cool relief as she swallowed. She handed the cup back, then glanced around the room. “What happened? I feel like I just lost a fight with Truck-kun”
Her mom’s face tightened, a clear attempt to hold back tears. “Not a truck. A car. A very irresponsible car. Honey, you saved Maeve. You—” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed Meret’s hand like it was a stress ball.
“Maeve’s, okay?” Meret asked, her voice raspy.
“She’s fine,” her dad said, stepping into the room with a coffee cup that was only marginally less battered than he looked. “Nico’s keeping her busy. She’s been worried about you, though. We all have.”
Meret leaned back into the pillows, letting the information sink in. So, Maeve was okay. That was good. That was… something. Her head still swam with questions, but at least one of them had been answered.
A little while later, Nico and Maeve came to visit. Maeve shuffled in like she was walking on eggshells, clutching her sketchpad as if it contained state secrets. Nico, meanwhile, looked like he’d been plucked straight from a soccer commercial—messy hair, track pants, and an air of effortless energy that made Meret’s exhausted limbs ache just looking at him.
Maeve was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. “Um… hey.”
“Hey,” Meret said, trying to sound casual despite the fact that she was literally bedridden. “How’s the scooter?”
Maeve winced, her eyes darting to the floor. “I… I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Meret asked, even though she already knew.
Maeve’s voice cracked. “For not looking. For freezing. For—”
Meret reached out and patted her arm. “Stop. It’s fine. You’re fine. We’re both fine.”
Stolen novel; please report.
Maeve didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clutching her sketchpad tighter. Nico, ever the opportunist, decided now was the perfect time to pipe up.
“You’re a hero, you know,” he said, smirking. “Want me to write a speech for your award ceremony?”
“I’ll pass,” Meret said flatly. “But thanks for the offer, Mr. MVP of the season.”
“Hey, don’t be jealous just because you didn’t get a medal out of this.”
“Next time a car’s coming, I’ll be sure to leave it to you, then.”
After her siblings had left, the doctor had checked in and assured her that she was on the mend, Meret found herself alone in the room. Her parents had gone to grab some food from the cafeteria, leaving her with the distant hum of hospital life for company. Meret tried to nap, but falling asleep in a scratchy hospital bed was harder than it looked. She had just closed her eyes when a strange sensation tugged at the edge of her awareness—like when you know someone’s staring at you but don’t want to admit it. She opened one eye cautiously.
And there it was: a glowing blue rectangle floating in her peripheral vision. It was translucent, faintly shimmering, and filled with text in a font that looked suspiciously like the Comic Sans font.
Welcome, User!
Tutorial Mode Initialized.
Meret froze. “What the—?”
She stared at the floating text, her pulse quickening. Was this some kind of post-concussion hallucination? A glitch in her brain? Meret blinked. The rectangle didn’t disappear. Instead, it brightened slightly, as if mocking her confusion.
Before she could decide whether to poke it or just ignore it entirely, another box appeared.
Task Complete: Survive a near-death experience.
Reward: +15 XP.
“XP?” Meret muttered under her breath. “Like a video game?”
Her first instinct was to ignore it. Clearly, her brain was messing with her and the accident must’ve altered her brain chemistry somehow. But the glowing text didn’t seem to care about her skepticism. Another window popped up, its cheery tone completely at odds with her growing irritation:
New Quest: Survive Discharge Day!
Objective: Return home in one piece.
Reward: +5 XP, mild parental relief.
Meret stared at the screen. This had to be some kind of stress-induced hallucination. Had her brain finally cracked under the pressure of being too ordinary? She poked the air where the box floated, but her finger went right through it.
“Great,” she muttered. “My imaginary displays aren’t even touch-screen compatible.”
The screen remained stubbornly in place.
Meret groaned and covered her face with her hands, hoping the gesture would make the hallucinations go away. It didn’t. The screens remained, floating persistently in her field of vision like the world’s most stubborn augmented reality game.
“Im going insane,” she said to herself under her breath. “I did not nearly die just to end up attached to some… game system thing.”
But the glowing rectangles didn’t respond. They just hung there, silently mocking her.
By the time her family returned with sandwiches and juice boxes, Meret had convinced herself that the screens were a product of her overactive imagination. She didn’t bring them up—what was she supposed to say? “Hey, Mom, I’m seeing weird game notifications in real life?” They’d probably just chalk it up to pain meds, and frankly, she wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable “Let’s talk about your mental health” conversation.
Instead, she focused on getting through the discharge process. The nurse came in to remove her IV, and Meret endured the fussing and fretting from her mom with as much patience as she could muster.
When she was finally wheeled out to the car, the familiar weight of awkwardness settled over her. The world outside the hospital looked normal—too normal, like the universe hadn’t gotten the memo about her almost dying.
The car ride home was a quiet affair, filled with the kind of small talk that only served to fill the void. Her mom asked if she was comfortable approximately every five minutes. Her dad spent most of the car ride trying to lighten the mood with puns about hospital food. Meret stared out the window, trying to make sense of everything. The system hadn’t popped up again, but she could feel it lurking in the back of her mind, like an uninvited guest waiting for the right moment to crash the party.
When they arrived home, Meret was greeted with a banner. A literal banner.
“WELCOME HOME, MERET!” it declared in big, bold crooked letters, flanked by what appeared to be poorly inflated balloons. Maeve ran out the car to stand under it, looking sheepish.
“I, uh, thought it would be nice,” she said.
Meret smiled despite herself. “Thanks, Maeve. It’s… festive.”
Her mom ushered her inside, and Meret sank onto the couch, ignoring the ache in her muscles. Her dad made a show of plumping the cushions behind her, and Maeve hovered nearby like a nervous hummingbird.
“Do you need anything?” her mom asked.
“Just sleep,” Meret mumbled.
She trudged upstairs not long after, her body begging for rest. The system didn’t reappear, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was waiting. Watching.
When she woke up from her catnap the rest of the evening passed in a blur. Meret felt like a guest in her own house. Every step she took felt heavy, like she was walking through molasses. The glowing screens decided to make a comeback which didn’t help her crippling sanity. They popped up sporadically, offering useless tidbits of encouragement:
Task Complete: Eat dinner with your family.
Reward: +1XP.
“Wow,” Meret muttered under her breath. “I’m really raking it in.”
She tried to ignore the system, but it was like trying to ignore a mosquito buzzing in her ear. No matter what she did, the screens kept appearing, each one more irritating than the last.
By the time she crawled into bed for the night, she was thoroughly exhausted. Her body ached, her brain hurt, and she still didn’t understand what was happening.
As she pulled the covers over her head, a final message appeared:
Tutorial Mode Progress: 10%. Keep going!
Meret groaned and turned onto her side. “No thanks,” she muttered. “I’m good.”
But deep down, she knew the system wasn’t going anywhere
<3