Ethan stood in the bustling village square of Rebirth Online, surveying the colorful chaos of players going about their tasks. The cobblestone streets were alive with chatter, the clinking of tools, and the rustling of merchants’ carts. For a moment, he allowed himself to soak in the ambiance. This feels... oddly real, he thought, marveling at how immersive the game was.
His quest log was already brimming with tasks, most of which were standard beginner fare. He sighed, knowing these weren’t the sort of quests that tested skill or strategy. They were simple, repetitive tasks designed to ease new players into the game mechanics. Still, they were a necessary evil.
Ethan’s first quest was to help a local farmer plant and harvest crops. As he approached the designated field on the outskirts of the village, an elderly NPC named Old Man Jarvis greeted him with a toothless grin.
“Well, well, another young’un eager to work the soil,” Jarvis said, handing Ethan a sack of seeds. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to make something grow.”
The field was a patch of tilled soil bordered by a rickety fence. The instructions were straightforward: plant the seeds, water them, and wait for them to sprout. Ethan kneeled by the soil and got to work.
At first, the task seemed almost too easy. The game provided visual cues to guide his actions, and the mechanics were intuitive. He planted row after row, the seeds disappearing into the ground with a satisfying plop.
But then came the waiting.
Ethan tapped his foot impatiently as the game simulated the passage of time. He glanced at the countdown timer hovering above the field. Five minutes until the crops were ready.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, watching other players milling about the fields. Some were chatting with NPCs, while others had brought instruments and were playing cheerful tunes.
The timer finally hit zero, and Ethan wasted no time harvesting the crops. He bundled them up and delivered them back to Jarvis, who clapped his hands in approval.
“Well done, lad! You’ve got the makings of a fine farmer,” Jarvis said, handing over a pouch of coins and a modest amount of EXP.
Quest Completed: Farmer’s Friend
Reward: 15 gold, 30 EXP
Ethan sighed. Farming wasn’t exactly exhilarating, but at least it was over.
The next quest required him to collect rare herbs in a nearby forest. The NPC quest giver, a stern-looking herbalist named Martha, handed him a list of plants to find.
“These herbs grow deep in the woods,” she explained. “Be careful, some of them are hard to spot.”
Ethan followed the glowing trail that marked the quest path, entering the forest’s dense underbrush. The sunlight filtering through the canopy created dappled patterns on the ground, and the ambient sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds added to the immersive experience.
The first herb, Bluewort, was easy enough to find. Its bright blue petals stood out against the green foliage. Ethan crouched down and plucked it, adding it to his inventory.
The second herb, Nightshade Leaf, proved trickier. It was hidden under a cluster of rocks, and Ethan had to clear away debris before he could retrieve it.
The final herb, Moonflower, was the most elusive. It grew on the edge of a steep cliff, and Ethan had to carefully navigate a narrow path to reach it. His heart pounded as his avatar balanced precariously, but he managed to grab the flower without falling.
Quest Completed: Herbal Hunt
Reward: 20 gold, 50 EXP, Small Stamina Potion
“Not bad,” Ethan muttered, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. The gathering quest had required a bit more effort and precision, which made it slightly more satisfying.
The final beginner quest tasked Ethan with hunting Forest Rats. These small, quick creatures were considered pests by the villagers, and his job was to eliminate five of them.
Ethan equipped the basic sword he’d received during the tutorial and headed to the hunting grounds. The rats were fast, darting in and out of the tall grass, but their movements were predictable.
His first encounter was almost laughable. The rat charged at him, squeaking aggressively, but a single swipe of his sword took it down.
“Too easy,” Ethan said, smirking.
As he continued hunting, he experimented with different attack patterns, testing the game’s combat system. He found that chaining light and heavy attacks created combos, which added a layer of depth to the mechanics.
The final rat gave him a bit of a challenge, darting behind him and forcing him to adjust his positioning. But Ethan’s reflexes kicked in, and he dispatched it with a quick thrust of his sword.
Quest Completed: Beginner Hunter
Reward: 25 gold, 70 EXP, Basic Weapon Upgrade Token
Ethan returned to the village with his completed quests, his inventory slightly fuller and his EXP bar creeping upward. The rewards weren’t much, but they felt earned.
As he walked through the square, he couldn’t help but notice how vibrant the world was. NPCs carried out their routines, players traded items and gear, and the air buzzed with energy.
For the first time in a long while, Ethan felt a sense of progress. The quests had been simple, but they had given him a taste of the game’s potential.
“Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” he said to himself, already looking forward to the next challenge.
The basic quests had given him a foundation, and he was ready to build on it. Little did he know, the real challenges were just around the corner.
______
Ethan had faced countless challenges in his gaming career. From intense one-on-one matches against world-class players to leading teams through nail-biting tournaments, he had always risen to the occasion. But none of that could have prepared him for what stood before him now: a scrappy, clucking ball of feathers with bright, beady eyes and an attitude that screamed bring it on.
The Chicken Boss, an infamous staple of Rebirth Online’s tutorial phase, was nothing short of a meme within the community. It was designed to teach new players the mechanics of capturing mobs without defeating them. A straightforward task in theory, but its deceptively erratic movements and mocking clucks had frustrated many a novice—and now it was Ethan’s turn.
Ethan squared off with the bird in the enclosed tutorial pen. The other players around him were already making quick work of their own chickens. He saw one player deftly toss a glowing capture orb, landing it perfectly on their chicken boss, which dissolved into a flash of light and entered their inventory.
“Easy enough,” Ethan muttered, smirking to himself. He reached for his capture orb, his movements confident.
The chicken flapped its wings, staring at him as though daring him to make the first move.
“Alright, buddy,” Ethan said, aiming carefully. “Let’s end this quickly.”
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He threw the orb with precision honed from years of competitive gaming. The chicken sidestepped it effortlessly, clucking mockingly.
“What the—?” Ethan blinked, disbelieving.
He tried again. And again. Each time, the chicken evaded his attempts with almost preternatural agility. It didn’t just dodge—it anticipated.
Players around him began to notice. A few chuckled, and soon, the sound of laughter spread through the tutorial area.
“Dude, you having trouble with the chicken boss?” one player called out, grinning.
“Man, it’s not that hard!” another chimed in.
Ethan’s ears burned as he tried to tune them out. He gritted his teeth, gripping the orb tightly. “It’s just a stupid bird,” he muttered under his breath.
But the chicken wasn’t stupid. It zigzagged unpredictably, pausing just long enough to make Ethan think he had an opening before darting away. It was almost like it was toying with him.
The laughter and taunts from nearby players grew louder.
“Is this guy new or what?”
“Hey, don’t worry, buddy, practice makes perfect!”
Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. This wasn’t just embarrassing—it was infuriating. Here he was, a former professional gamer, struggling with what was supposed to be an easy tutorial task. The situation felt absurd, and the mocking clucks of the chicken only fueled his frustration.
The worst part was the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. This wasn’t just a random failure—it was a symptom of something deeper. Was he out of practice? Had his instincts dulled? The thought stung more than he cared to admit.
“Alright,” he muttered, his voice tight. “You want to play games? Fine. Let’s play.”
He adjusted his strategy, focusing on predicting the chicken’s movements. He slowed his breathing, calming his racing thoughts. But every time he thought he had it figured out, the chicken changed its pattern. It was infuriatingly clever—or maybe just lucky. Either way, it was winning.
Just as Ethan was about to throw his next capture orb, a shadow fell over him. He looked up to see a tall, wolf-like player standing nearby, arms crossed. The player’s avatar was lean and muscular, with sharp, lupine features and piercing golden eyes. His name floated above his head: Adolf.
“Need a hand?” Adolf asked, his voice deep and calm.
Ethan’s pride bristled. “No,” he snapped. “I’ve got this.”
Adolf chuckled, unbothered by Ethan’s tone. “Sure you do. But I’ve been watching you for a while, and it looks like this chicken’s giving you a run for your money.”
Ethan opened his mouth to retort but closed it again. Adolf wasn’t wrong. The chicken was giving him a run for his money.
Before Ethan could argue further, Adolf stepped into the pen. With fluid, practiced movements, he baited the chicken into a predictable pattern, then threw a capture orb with pinpoint accuracy. The orb struck the chicken, which let out a surprised squawk before dissolving into light.
“Done,” Adolf said, turning to Ethan with a grin. “You’re welcome.”
Ethan scowled. “I didn’t ask for help.”
“No, but you needed it,” Adolf replied, unfazed. He crossed his arms, his golden eyes studying Ethan intently. “You’re good—better than most of the newbies around here. But you’re playing like someone used to fighting tougher mobs. That chicken threw you off because you’re overcompensating for its simplicity.”
Ethan blinked. The observation was spot on, and it caught him off guard. He had been treating the chicken like a high-level opponent, expecting complex patterns and advanced tactics when none existed.
Adolf leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I know an alt account when I see one. You’ve got skills, but you’re clearly starting fresh.”
Ethan tensed, his heart skipping a beat. Did Adolf know who he really was?
Adolf straightened, his expression neutral. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Everyone’s got their reasons for playing on an alt.”
Ethan relaxed, realizing that Adolf only suspected he was an experienced player—not Phoenix. Still, the encounter left him uneasy.
As Adolf walked away, Ethan stood in the now-empty pen, staring at the spot where the chicken boss had been.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I’m not as sharp as I thought,” he muttered.
The chicken boss had been a humbling experience, to say the least. It wasn’t just the embarrassment of failing in front of other players—it was the reminder that he still had a lot to learn. Rebirth Online wasn’t like the games he was used to. It required a different mindset, one that he hadn’t fully adjusted to yet.
Still, the frustration was mixed with a spark of determination. If a chicken could outwit him, then he had a lot of room to grow. And if Adolf was right about him overcompensating, then maybe he needed to unlearn some of his old habits and start fresh.
He opened his inventory and stared at the chicken boss, now safely stored as a captured mob. It was a small victory, but it felt hard-earned.
“Guess I should thank that guy,” Ethan muttered, thinking of Adolf. Then he shook his head. “Nah. I’ll just make sure I don’t need help next time.”
With a renewed sense of focus, he stepped out of the pen and back into the bustling village square, ready to tackle whatever came next.
Ethan stood in the village square, staring at the chicken boss pen he had just vacated.
The laughter and chatter from nearby players were still ringing in his ears, though the other players had long since moved on to their next objectives. He clenched his fists, feeling an unfamiliar mix of embarrassment and frustration.
It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in years—since his earliest days in competitive gaming, before he became a household name.
Back then, failure had been a teacher, pushing him to refine his skills and sharpen his instincts. But this? Losing to a chicken in front of a crowd of casual players? It was downright humiliating.
Ethan watched as a new group of players stepped into the pen, each armed with a capture orb and the same look of determination he’d had earlier. They approached their respective chicken bosses with varying levels of skill, but most managed to capture their targets within a few tries.
“Why was it so easy for them?” he muttered under his breath.
The question gnawed at him as he made his way to a quieter corner of the square. He replayed the encounter in his mind, analyzing every movement, every failed throw. On paper, it should have been simple. The chicken boss wasn’t designed to be a real challenge; it was a beginner-level test meant to familiarize players with basic mechanics.
But that simplicity had been his undoing. Ethan wasn’t used to facing low-level mobs. His instincts were calibrated for high-stakes battles against unpredictable, intelligent opponents. The chicken’s erratic yet ultimately simple movements had thrown him off because he had been overthinking it, expecting complexity where there was none.
The realization was a bitter pill to swallow. For someone who had built his identity around being a gaming prodigy, failing at something so basic felt like a personal affront.
“Maybe I’m not as good as I thought,” he murmured, the words heavy on his tongue.
The thought hit harder than he expected. For years, Ethan had been at the top of his game—untouchable, unshakable. But now, in this new world, he felt like a beginner all over again.
Ethan glanced around the bustling square, watching players group up and chat as they prepared for their next adventures. Laughter and camaraderie filled the air, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him.
For most of his life, gaming had been his escape—a way to connect with others and prove his worth. But now, it felt like a double-edged sword. The same skills that had once made him a star were now a source of pressure and self-doubt.
He thought about the other players laughing at him earlier. None of them knew who he was, and yet their laughter stung just as much as any public criticism he’d faced during his professional career.
“Why do I even care?” he asked himself, but the answer was obvious. Deep down, he still wanted to be seen as the best. Even here, in a game where no one knew his identity, he couldn’t shake the need to prove himself.
Ethan’s thoughts drifted to his real life. School, with its monotony and loneliness, felt like a prison compared to the vibrant, dynamic world of Rebirth Online. In the game, he could be anyone, do anything. He could lose himself in quests, battles, and exploration, leaving behind the suffocating isolation of his everyday life.
At school, he was just Ethan—the quiet, unremarkable student who drifted through the halls unnoticed. No one cared about his opinions or his achievements. Even his classmates, who were so animated when discussing Phoenix, had no idea that the very person they idolized was sitting right next to them.
In Rebirth Online, though, he had a chance to start over. To build a new identity from the ground up—one that wasn’t tied to his past or his fame. But today’s failure had shaken his confidence. If he couldn’t even handle a chicken boss, what hope did he have of becoming a legend in this new world?
As he mulled over his frustration, Ethan thought back to Adolf’s words. They rang in his ear, making him feel frustrated
Adolf’s assessment had been annoyingly accurate. Ethan hadn’t failed because he lacked skill; he had failed because he was trying too hard. His years of experience had become a double-edged sword, making him overthink situations that required a simpler approach.
The memory of Adolf’s calm, assured demeanor brought a small smirk to Ethan’s face. Despite his initial irritation, he couldn’t deny that Adolf had helped him when he needed it most. And though Ethan hated accepting help, he realized that it was okay to struggle sometimes. Even the greatest players had to start somewhere.
“This game’s not going to beat me,” he muttered, a spark of determination reigniting in his chest.
Ethan opened his inventory and stared at the captured chicken boss, now a harmless entry in his collection. It wasn’t the glorious victory he’d envisioned, but it was a step forward.
He took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment of acceptance. Failure wasn’t the end—it was a part of the journey. And if Rebirth Online was going to throw more curveballs like this, he’d just have to adapt.
As he closed his inventory and prepared to move on, Ethan felt a renewed sense of purpose. The chicken boss had humbled him, but it had also taught him a valuable lesson: in this new world, he was starting from scratch. And that was okay.
He wasn’t Phoenix here. He was just Ethan—or Ashh, as his avatar was called. And while the road ahead might be rough, he was ready to face it head-on.
But first, he needed to get to sleep. School was about to start in four hours and Ethan had not gotten any sleep. At this rate, he would end up knocking himself out during his first period of the day.