Ethan logged into Rebirth Online, ready to dive into the escapism he desperately needed after the events of the day. The moment his character materialized in the bustling hub city, however, he was bombarded with the same topic he had been trying to avoid: the reveal about Phoenix’s age.
Global chat was alive with chatter, and nearly every third message mentioned Phoenix.
[PlayerOne]: Can you believe it? Phoenix was a kid the whole time?
[StarChaser22]: Explains why he never showed up to post-tourney parties.
[SilentBlade99]: I heard Zane was super close to him. Probably why he spilled the tea.
[FireLord]: Imagine being Zane and having the guts to replace a legend and expose him. Respect.
Ethan clenched his jaw, his fingers hovering over the chat box. He wanted to ignore it, but the relentless stream of misinformation was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He teleported to a popular leveling dungeon, hoping to gather a party and lose himself in some grinding. Yet even here, the topic persisted.
[DarkWolf_98]: Yo, did you see the clip? Zane basically said Phoenix was a school kid.
[MagicFury]: Makes sense. No wonder Phoenix retired early.
[SkyRunner]: Zane’s gotta be tight with Phoenix to know that stuff. Like, best-friend level.
Ethan sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to form a group without someone bringing it up. He decided to set the record straight.
Typing into the local chat, he wrote:
[Ash_]: Zane and Phoenix aren’t close. The only reason Zane knows his age is because of an incident with alcohol, not some deep friendship.
The chat immediately lit up with responses.
[FireLord]: Oh? Do tell.
[DarkWolf_98]: Sounds like someone’s jealous Zane got the inside scoop.
[MagicFury]: What do you know about it, anyway?
Ethan hesitated. He didn’t want to stir the pot further, but the memory of that ridiculous incident with Zane came flooding back.
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It had been during a post-tournament celebration. The team had gathered in their suite to relax after a hard-fought victory, and Zane, being Zane, was determined to play the role of the cool older guy.
“Hey, Phoenix!” Zane had said, flashing a cocky grin. “What do you drink? Whiskey? Vodka? Or are you more of a fancy cocktail kind of guy?”
Ethan, who had been scrolling through his phone on the couch, didn’t even look up. “I’ll take a soda. Thanks.”
Zane frowned. “Come on, man. Live a little! I’ll have it shipped straight to your place. What’s your address?”
Ethan had sighed, realizing Zane wasn’t going to let it go. “I don’t drink, Zane.”
“Why not? You don’t like the taste?”
“No,” Ethan replied flatly. “Because I’m underage.”
That had stopped Zane in his tracks. But instead of dropping the subject, Zane had taken it as a challenge.
“Underage? Nah, you’re pulling my leg. Prove it.”
Ethan had groaned but eventually pulled up his ID to settle the matter. Zane had leaned over, squinting at the screen.
“Whoa,” Zane had said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You’re seriously still in school?”
“Yes,” Ethan had said, deadpan. “Now drop it.”
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Back in the game, Ethan sighed as he typed out a simplified version of the story into the chat.
[Ash_]: Zane only knows Phoenix’s age because he once tried to send him alcohol and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Phoenix had to show him proof. That’s it.
For a moment, the chat was quiet. Ethan thought he might have successfully diffused the situation, but then the replies came in.
[FireLord]: Lol, sure. Sounds like someone’s bitter they weren’t part of the inner circle.
[MagicFury]: Jealous much? Let Zane have his moment.
[DarkWolf_98]: Yeah, Ash. If you’re not Phoenix’s bestie, why do you care so much?
Ethan’s frustration boiled over. He wanted to scream at them, to tell them he was Phoenix, but he knew it would only make things worse. Instead, he closed the chat window and focused on the dungeon entrance.
Before he could enter, a group of players standing nearby whispered to each other, pointing at him. He could feel their judgment like a physical weight.
“Forget this,” Ethan muttered, turning on his heel. He left the area, deciding to find somewhere quieter to grind.
Even as he wandered through less populated zones, Ethan couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d been alienated in an online game, but this felt personal. For years, he had been the one everyone admired, the one who set the bar for excellence. Now, he was the outsider, pushed away by people who didn’t even know him.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had stepped away from his old life to avoid the scrutiny and pressure, but somehow it had found him anyway.
“Maybe I should’ve just stayed anonymous,” Ethan muttered to himself as he dispatched a low-level mob.
Yet deep down, he knew the truth. It wasn’t just the game that was frustrating him—it was the isolation. The very thing he had sought out to escape had followed him into his new life, and for the first time in a long time, Ethan felt truly alone.
Feeling increasingly frustrated by the isolation and the relentless Phoenix gossip, Ethan decided he wasn’t going to wait around for someone to join him. He would handle things on his own, just as he always had.
He made his way to the nearest quest board in the bustling main hub of Rebirth Online. The quest master, an animated NPC with a gruff voice and a massive mustache, greeted him as Ethan approached.
“Ah, a brave adventurer! What brings you here today? Looking for a new challenge, I presume?”
Ethan nodded, scanning the available quests. Most were labeled as “party recommended,” and the few solo quests were either dull or geared toward players even newer than him.
“I’ll take the Forest Grump quest,” Ethan said, pointing at the parchment pinned to the board.
The quest master stroked his mustache, his pixelated eyebrows furrowing. “That’s a tricky one, lad. You’ll be helping a cantankerous old farmer fend off pests and manage his crops. It’s designed for a small group. Got a party with you?”
Ethan frowned, his annoyance bubbling to the surface. “No. I tried getting a party, but no one wanted to join me.”
The quest master’s eyes widened awkwardly, his mustache twitching as if struggling to decide whether to offer sympathy or pretend he hadn’t heard. After an uncomfortable pause, he sighed. “Well, I can’t stop you from trying, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. That old farmer’s temper is tougher to handle than the pests.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan muttered, accepting the quest. “Let’s get this over with.”
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Ethan teleported to the outskirts of a quaint, overgrown farmstead. The area was surrounded by thick woods, the atmosphere oddly serene for what he assumed would be a chaotic quest. Standing near a decrepit barn was the quest’s namesake—a hunched old man with a grizzled beard and an expression so sour it could curdle milk.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“You’re late,” the old man barked as Ethan approached. “Do you adventurers have clocks, or do you just wander in whenever you feel like it?”
Ethan blinked, caught off guard. “I got here as soon as I accepted the quest.”
“Hmph.” The old man crossed his arms, glaring at Ethan. “Well, I guess you’ll have to do. Here’s the deal: my farm’s overrun with pests, my crops are wilting, and my livestock are causing chaos. You’re gonna fix it.”
“Sure,” Ethan replied flatly. “What do you need first?”
“All of it,” the old man snapped. “At the same time. Start with the chickens—they’ve been acting up.”
Ethan sighed and made his way toward the chicken coop, where a flock of unruly, feathered troublemakers was squawking and flapping around like tiny tornadoes.
“Of course it’s chickens,” Ethan muttered. Memories of his disastrous tutorial chicken boss fight flashed through his mind. He steeled himself, determined not to let a few farm animals get the better of him this time.
Using his healer skills creatively, Ethan cast a soothing spell over the chickens. They calmed down almost immediately, their clucking softening into contented coos.
“Huh,” Ethan said to himself, feeling a small spark of pride. “That actually worked.”
He returned to the old man, expecting some acknowledgment of his success. Instead, the farmer scowled at him.
“Took you long enough! Now the crops are wilting. Get to it!”
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Ethan trudged over to the fields. The plants were drooping and dull, clearly in need of water. He used his healing spells again, this time infusing the soil with vitality. Within moments, the crops perked up, their leaves shimmering with newfound life.
Ethan turned back to the farmer, hoping for at least a grudging nod of approval. Instead, the man waved him off. “The pigs are stuck in the mud now. Go on, don’t dawdle!”
“This guy is impossible,” Ethan grumbled as he stomped toward the pigpen.
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The rest of the quest continued in much the same way. Every time Ethan completed a task, the old farmer found something else for him to do, never once showing any sign of gratitude. By the time Ethan had herded the sheep, repaired the fence, and cleared the barn of giant rats, his patience was wearing thin.
As he returned to the farmer for what he prayed was the final time, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “Do you ever say thank you, or is grumpiness just your default setting?”
The old man raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into what might have been the faintest hint of a smile. “Thank you? Bah! You young adventurers don’t know the meaning of hard work. But I’ll say this—you’ve done better than most. Here’s your reward.”
Ethan accepted the quest reward—a modest sum of gold and some farming supplies he’d likely never use—and teleported back to the hub city.
As frustrating as the quest had been, Ethan felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He’d managed to tackle it alone, proving once again that he didn’t need anyone’s help. Still, he couldn’t help but think about how much easier it would have been with a real party.
“Maybe next time,” he muttered to himself.
For now, he had earned a break—and maybe, just maybe, a chance to finally escape the relentless chatter about Phoenix.
With the grueling Forest Grump quest finally behind him, Ethan teleported back to the starting village. His legs felt like jelly, and he could practically hear his avatar groaning in protest. All he wanted was to sell off some loot, restock on potions, and maybe log out for a break.
But as soon as he materialized in the bustling village square, a commotion swept through the crowd. Players were gathered around a large announcement board that hadn’t been there earlier, their voices rising in a cacophony of excitement and concern.
“What’s going on now?” Ethan muttered, trudging toward the crowd.
He pushed his way through, his curiosity piqued. The board displayed a vibrant banner in gold and green:
“Farming Frenzy Event!”
“Defend the Village from the Beastly Ravagers and Harvest Glorious Rewards!”
A group of players wearing the telltale gear of high-level raiders stood at the forefront of the crowd. Their shoulders were slumped, and their expressions ranged from frustration to outright defeat. The leader, a burly swordsman named Varrik, raised his hand for silence.
“Listen up, everyone!” Varrik called out, his voice grim. “We just came back from the Farming Frenzy event, and let me tell you—it’s impossible!”
The crowd gasped.
“What do you mean, impossible?” someone shouted. “You’re the top raiding guild in the game!”
Varrik shook his head, his armor clinking as he crossed his arms. “The event monster is a Ravager Beast with an obscene amount of stamina and health. We threw everything we had at it—tanks, DPS, crowd control—but it just kept regenerating and wearing us down.”
“Sounds like you need to git gud!” a cocky archer yelled from the back, eliciting nervous laughter.
Varrik’s glare silenced the jeering. “This isn’t about skill. We were holding our ground until our tanks couldn’t sustain the damage anymore. We were forced to retreat.”
“Then get better tanks!” another player argued.
“It’s not the tanks’ fault!” Varrik snapped. “We need a healer. A real one. That’s the only way to beat this thing.”
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The words hung in the air like a storm cloud. A healer? The crowd exchanged uneasy glances.
“Are you serious?” someone muttered. “Healers are almost extinct in this game.”
“Yeah, good luck finding one. There’s, what, a handful in the entire player base?”
“And they’re all already in high-level parties,” another added.
The murmurs turned into a buzz of anxiety. Players who had initially been excited about the event were now scrambling to rethink their strategies. The thought of needing a healer—a role so few had chosen—was sending ripples of panic through the village.
Ethan stood at the edge of the crowd, listening intently. His brow furrowed as he pieced together the situation.
This event is basically a healer’s paradise, he realized. No wonder the game’s been hyping it up. But they didn’t bother to balance it for the lack of healers. Typical devs.
He glanced around, noticing how quickly the excitement had turned into despair. Players were already shouting at each other, blaming the game design, and accusing the devs of trying to force people into unpopular classes.
“Where the hell are we supposed to find a healer?” someone groaned.
“You know what? Screw this event. I’m not wasting my time,” another player huffed before storming off.
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Ethan lingered at the edge of the square, his mind racing. He’d only just unlocked his healer class, and while he was far from proficient, he understood what the event needed. Healers weren’t just a convenience for this boss—they were the only viable solution.
But did he really want to put himself in the spotlight? He could already imagine the questions, the expectations, and the comparisons to his former life as Phoenix.
As the crowd thinned, Varrik and his group began packing up to regroup. Ethan caught sight of the frustration etched into their faces.
Maybe I could help. I mean, I’ve handled tougher situations before.
Then again, the thought of stepping into the fray and exposing himself as a low-level, inexperienced healer was daunting. And if he failed? The ridicule would be unbearable.
Ethan looked down at his avatar’s staff, his grip tightening. The farming event was a rare chance to prove himself as a healer—not just to others, but to himself.
But do I really want to get involved in this chaos? he wondered, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on him.
As Ethan stood at the edge of the crowd, weighing his options, someone’s sharp eyes locked onto the staff in his hand. A young, enthusiastic mage—his avatar decked out in mismatched beginner gear—pointed at him with unrestrained excitement.
“Hey! You’re a healer, aren’t you?” the mage shouted, their voice cutting through the clamor.
Ethan froze, caught off guard.
The mage pushed through the crowd, a spark of hope lighting up their expression. “We need a healer for this event. Can you join us? Please?”
All eyes turned toward Ethan. The buzz of anxious chatter ceased as players craned their necks to get a look at the unexpected savior. The weight of their collective gaze made Ethan’s stomach twist.
“I—uh—” Ethan stammered, taking a step back.
“Come on!” the mage pressed, practically bouncing in place. “If we had a healer, we could finally stand a chance!”
A larger player—a burly axe-wielder—clapped the mage on the shoulder and grinned at Ethan. “Yeah, don’t be shy, buddy! We’ve got the DPS. You just keep us alive, and we’ll handle the rest.”
“I don’t even know these people,” Ethan muttered under his breath, feeling cornered.
The attention was suffocating. He didn’t recognize any of these players, but their desperation was palpable. They were banking on him, a total stranger, to be the miracle that salvaged their chances in the event.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
The declaration landed like a lead weight. For a moment, there was stunned silence.
“You’re kidding, right?” the mage asked, their hopeful expression crumbling.
Ethan shook his head again, trying to back away. “I’m not ready for something like this. Find someone else.”
“Find someone else?” the axe-wielder repeated, his tone incredulous. “You’re literally the only healer here!”
“I just—” Ethan struggled for words. “I can’t help you right now.”
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, turning into a tide of resentment.
“Are you serious?” someone hissed.
“What kind of healer refuses to heal?”
“Why even pick that class if you’re not going to play your role?”
The accusations and glares started to build, each one like a jab to Ethan’s chest. The crowd’s frustration boiled over, and Ethan could feel the hostility radiating toward him.
“You’re selfish,” the mage said, their voice trembling with anger. “You could’ve made a difference, but you’re just wasting the class.”
Ethan clenched his fists, his heart pounding. The situation was spiraling out of control, and the mob mentality was closing in fast.
Before things could escalate further, Ethan opened his menu and quickly navigated to the log-out option. His fingers fumbled, but he pressed the button just as the mage took a step forward, their mouth opening to deliver another accusation.
The village and the angry faces of the players disappeared in an instant, replaced by the familiar login screen.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, letting out a shaky breath. His hands were trembling, and his chest felt tight.
“That was close,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Logging out was the only way to escape the pressure, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint anyone, but the way they had turned on him so quickly stung more than he cared to admit.
“Maybe I wasn’t ready for this after all,” he said softly, staring at the blank screen in front of him.