Back to the present.

Artham stepped through the front door, the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders. He kicked off his shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor barely registering in his mind. The familiar scent of home—the warmth, the comfort—should have been soothing, but it only deepened the emptiness inside him.

He walked into the kitchen, where his mother stood waiting for him, her face lighting up with a radiant smile the moment she saw him.

"Welcome back, honey!" she chirped, her voice filled with warmth and love. "How was your first day of your last grade at the new school?" Her eyes glimmered with nervous anticipation, as if hoping to hear some spark of excitement in his voice, something that would assure her he was doing well.

But Artham only shrugged, his gaze drifting to the floor. "It was nothing special. The classroom’s bigger than I thought."

He didn’t tell her about the confrontation with Julia, the fight that had left him feeling more detached than ever. He didn’t want her to worry—not about him, not about his temper that seemed to flare unpredictably, even though he couldn’t feel it himself. His curse had left him hollow, numb to emotions that used to be second nature. All that remained was a void—a void that slowly eroded everything inside him, leaving behind only the fragments of who he used to be.

His mother, oblivious to the storm raging inside him, beamed. "That's great! I'm so glad your uncle managed to get you into that school. We should celebrate tomorrow, my genius son!" She clapped her hands together, her delight infectious. She pulled him into a hug, the warmth of her embrace wrapping around him like a blanket.

But Artham stiffened, unable to return her affection. He couldn’t feel the love she poured into that hug, the pride she had in him. He stared over her shoulder, his eyes distant as he tried to will himself to feel something—anything at all. He searched her face for a connection, for a flicker of emotion that might stir something inside him. But the curse blocked it all out, leaving him trapped in the void, numb and disconnected.

I wish I could tell you the truth, Mom, he thought, his heart heavy with the lies he carried. That I’m cursed. That I’ve killed people. That I’m a monster hiding behind the mask of your son.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t break her heart with the weight of his reality. His curse, his emptiness—it would shatter everything she believed in, everything she loved about him. So, instead, he did the only thing he knew how to do. He lied.

He forced a smile, one he had practiced a thousand times in the mirror, and gently returned her embrace. "I love you, Mom. You’re the best mom in the world."

The words tasted like ash in his mouth, hollow and meaningless, but she didn’t notice. To her, Artham was still her prodigy child—the son she loved and cherished. She couldn’t see the monster lurking beneath the surface, the hollow soul that had once been her bright, promising boy.

Even his own family didn’t know. They saw him as the genius, the shining star, not the broken person inside. It was easier that way—to let them believe in the lie. They were his anchor, the ones who had always pulled him through when he felt like he was drowning. If he told them the truth, it would ruin everything.

"Are you hungry?" his mother asked, still holding him close. Her voice was full of affection, of genuine care. "Would you like me to make your favorite dish?"

Artham hesitated, the weight of his deceit pressing down on him. His fake smile wavered, but he nodded slowly. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

She beamed at him, her joy radiating through the room like sunlight. "Great! Let’s head to the kitchen. I’ll whip up something special for you!"

As she bustled away, Artham lingered behind, staring at the space where her warmth had been. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as the familiar ache gnawed at his chest. He wanted to feel something. He wanted to be the son she deserved, the one she believed he was.

But all he could do was follow, his smile still plastered on his face, as hollow as the boy who wore it.

Artham watched silently as his mom moved around the kitchen, preparing his favorite dish. The familiar aroma of spices filled the air, but instead of comfort, it only stirred a sense of guilt in him. He didn’t deserve her kindness—he knew that much. But like always, he forced a smile, forcing himself to chew and swallow, pretending to enjoy the food as if everything was normal. As if he wasn’t slowly being hollowed out from within.

After finishing the meal, he gathered the plates, loading them into the dishwasher with practiced ease. The motions were mechanical, robotic, a routine he could perform without thinking. He changed out of his school uniform and headed for the shower, hoping the warm water might wash away the remnants of the day, might cleanse the lingering bitterness he felt.

"Remember to do your homework!" his mom called from the kitchen, her voice bright.

"Yaa, I will," Artham responded, though he had no intention of doing it. He grabbed a towel, wiping the steam from his face, then paused at the bathroom door. "And Mom, tell Anora not to bother me when she gets back. I need some quiet."

With snacks in hand, he bolted up the stairs to his room, locking the door behind him. The faint click of the lock was a familiar comfort, a barrier between him and the world he couldn’t stand.

His room was a sanctuary—dark, quiet, and still. The curtains were always drawn, heavy fabric blocking out any shred of light. He preferred it that way. It was easier to be alone in the darkness, where no one could see him, where he could hide from the emotions he couldn’t control. His bed, though neatly made, felt distant, like a relic of a life he could barely remember. Blankets folded with care sat at the edges, offering softness, but the cold within him never truly left.

Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with books, games, and comics. Trophies sat behind glass, reminders of his academic achievements—things that once brought him pride, now collecting dust like forgotten memories. His computer desk and old TV sat abandoned in the corner, untouched. Games no longer held the same thrill they once did.

He played them to stave off the boredom that gnawed at him, but it was futile. Nothing could distract him from that day.

The day he took a life.

He was only twelve when it happened, but the memory aged him a hundred years. He could still feel the weight of the knife in his hand, cold and heavy. He could still hear the deafening crack of the gunshots. He could still see the blood, splattered across the ground like a nightmarish painting.

Why can’t I forget? Artham thought bitterly as he collapsed into his desk chair. Why do I have to live with this memory?

He sighed and picked up a comic book—one of his favorites. He hoped, even for a moment, to lose himself in its colorful pages, to find some fleeting escape from the shadows that clung to him. But it was no use. The past was like a ghost, always lurking just behind him, whispering in his ear.

He couldn’t forget.

He couldn’t forgive.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape.

But deep inside, Artham had made a decision. He would break free from the chains of his past. No matter how impossible it seemed, he would chase his dreams, his passions—his happiness. Even if it meant risking everything. He would live, even if his ending was already written, even if he felt that fate had already sealed his destiny in a book he wasn’t allowed to read.

He immersed himself in his hobbies, but none of them could fill the void inside him. Games, comics, novels—they were all distractions, nothing more. He longed for something real, something that could stir life into his empty heart. He longed for adventure, for danger, for something that would test him. Something that would either break him apart completely or make him whole again.

His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as the words tumbled from his lips in a desperate whisper.

"I don’t want more than this. I just want to feel alive."

Without thinking, he shot up from his chair, the restless energy inside him boiling over. He unlocked his door and strode out onto the balcony, the cool night air washing over him in a wave. The breeze felt like freedom, brushing against his skin, refreshing him. He gazed up at the night sky, the stars twinkling like distant diamonds scattered across an endless black canvas.

The wind carried the scent of grass and distant trees, but more than that, it carried a question—a question that had haunted him since the moment he read it in the pages of that fantasy novel from the school library.

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Are you satisfied with your life?

The words echoed in his mind, as haunting now as they had been the first time he’d seen them. His grip tightened on the railing, his jaw clenched.

Am I satisfied?

The stars above offered no answer. They shimmered, indifferent to the turmoil inside him. But deep down, he knew the truth. He knew that satisfaction wasn’t what he sought.

No. I’m not satisfied. Not with this hollow existence. Not with the weight of the past dragging him down. He wanted more. He wanted something that would give his life meaning, something that would remind him that he was still alive.

He just didn’t know what that something was yet.

Artham stood on his balcony, the cool night air brushing against his face, lost in a sea of tangled thoughts. His mind replayed the events of the day on an endless loop—the fight with Julia, the crushing emptiness that lingered behind every smile, and the haunting question from the book: Are you satisfied with your life?

A sudden vibration in his pocket snapped him out of his reverie. His phone screen lit up with a cryptic message from an unknown number:

[Hello, Artham. Or should I call you the [Genius Boy]? I know who you are and what you can do. I have an offer for you. An offer that will change your life forever (¬‿¬).]

His heart skipped a beat as he stared at the message. Genius Boy. The name connected to the life he’d tried to bury, along with all the painful memories of what he had done. He frowned, a swirl of curiosity and suspicion rising within him. Who was this person? How did they know about him—about that?

And how the hell did they get his number?

He typed a response, his fingers hovering over the screen, trying to keep his voice steady:

[Who are you? And how did you get my number?]

The reply came almost instantly, as if the sender had anticipated his question:

[I am someone who knows the truth about you and your gift. I am someone who can help you find your purpose and your happiness. I am someone who can take you to a world beyond your imagination <(@)_(@)>.]

A shiver ran down Artham’s spine. A world beyond imagination? The words sent a surge of adrenaline through him, but something about them felt off, almost surreal. And the strange emoticons? Was this a joke? Some kind of twisted prank?

He swallowed hard, his nerves on edge, and typed back:

[Is this a prank? Who are you really?]

His phone buzzed again almost immediately:

[No, it's not a prank or scam, trust me (~_^).]

Artham’s pulse quickened. He glanced around the balcony, suddenly feeling watched. The street below was empty, the houses quiet, their lights dim. But the sensation of being observed clung to him like a second skin. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed his next message:

[Can you hear my thoughts through this device?]

He waited, tense, wondering if this was some kind of advanced hacking, or worse—someone he’d crossed in a game or a competition. His mind raced through every possible scenario, cursing himself for not being more cautious.

But the reply came in a tone that felt almost mocking:

[Hahaha! Rest assured, I'm not what you're imagining. All will be revealed in due time. Imagine a world where you can fully utilize your talents. A world filled with challenges and dangers that will push you to your limits. A world brimming with secrets and mysteries that will shed light on your existence ٩(˘◡˘)۶.]

Artham stared at the screen, his breath catching in his throat. His thoughts swirled like a storm, yet the message’s promise intrigued him. A world where I can use my talents... challenges... But the feeling of being watched refused to fade, and his gut told him to be wary.

[What kind of world is that?] he typed, trying to fish out more information, to understand who—or what—was behind this.

[It’s a world that is hidden from most people. A world governed by different rules and laws. A world connected to yours, but also separate from it (っ◕‿◕)っ.]

A sense of unease settled over him. A parallel world? The idea was absurd, but there was something about the way this conversation flowed that made him question the boundaries of reality. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the person—or entity—messaging him wasn’t human.

Before he could form a response, another message appeared:

[Something like that ^( '-' )^. But it’s more than you can imagine.]

Artham’s blood ran cold. Who are you really? What are you?

[Why me? Why are you telling me this?] he typed, his hands shaking slightly now.

[Because I need you. Because you are special. You have a gift, and I have a mission. A role for you to play <('o'<)~.]

[What kind of mission? What kind of role?] His fingers moved faster now, desperation creeping in. He needed to understand what was happening.

[The kind of mission that will save both worlds from a terrible threat. The kind of role that will make you either a hero or a villain. But I don’t think you’ll care much about that. What I know is that you’re searching for something more, something beyond this life. And I will give you that life—a life that feels real (^◡^ ).]

Artham’s heart thudded in his chest as he read the message. A life that feels real. It struck him in a way he hadn’t expected. For so long, he had been searching for something to fill the emptiness inside him, something to give him purpose. He had never found it—not in school, not in games, not in anything. But now, this... this felt like something different.

But how do I know I can trust you? he thought, his mind spinning with questions.

Before he could type, the screen flashed again:

[You will find out soon enough. If you accept my offer (>‿◠)✌.]

Artham stared at the screen, his fingers frozen above the keys. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown. The words swirled in his mind—a world filled with danger, a mission, a role. It sounded absurd, insane even, but something deep inside him stirred.

What do I have to lose?

Artham stared at the message on his phone, his mind racing. He didn’t know if he could trust this stranger. It could be a trap, a scam, a trick—something to mock his desperation for a new life. But the truth was, he didn’t care anymore. The monotony of his existence had grown unbearable, and this mysterious offer felt like the only escape, the only chance for something different. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

The next message appeared on his screen:

[But there’s a catch. To enter this world, you have to accept my offer. And once you do, there’s no turning back. You’ll have to leave everything behind—your family, your friends, your home, your life in this world. Are you willing to do that (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌?]

The words sent a chill down his spine. Artham froze, his gaze shifting from the screen to the night sky above him. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of an abyss, staring into a darkness that promised both danger and freedom. His family, his home, everything he’d ever known—it would all be gone if he accepted.

A wave of guilt swirled within him, making him hesitate. His family loved him. He had friends, a stable life. But no matter how much they tried to reach him, he remained detached, unable to feel the warmth of their emotions. He was numb—trapped in his own mind, cursed to live without feeling.

And yet... this offer. It was a way out. A chance to feel something, anything.

He took a deep breath, his fingers hovering over the keys. His heart raced as he typed the message that would change his life forever.

[Yes. What’s your offer?]

A response came almost instantly, and the words on the screen sent his pulse racing:

[Great! In ten seconds, a star will fall from the sky. I want you to close your eyes and wish for something you truly want! I'll see you on the other side ^_^.]

Artham stared at the screen, disbelief swirling in his chest. It was absurd—ridiculous even. A part of him knew this was crazy, that it couldn’t be real. But still, he found himself counting down in his head, holding on to the sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, it was true.

1…2…3...

Each second felt heavier than the last, dragging with uncertainty.

8…9...10...11.

Nothing.

Artham blinked, staring at the empty sky. His heart sank as he realized nothing had happened. The message had disappeared from his phone, as though it had never existed.

"Haha… what an idiot I am," he muttered, shaking his head. "I can’t believe I fell for this." He turned to head back into his room, feeling foolish for letting himself get swept up in the fantasy.

But then, something caught his eye.

A flicker of light.

He froze.

Turning slowly, his breath caught in his throat as he looked back up at the sky. A brilliant streak of light cut across the dark canvas, glowing brighter than any star he had ever seen. His heart pounded as the shooting star blazed a trail through the heavens, its light reflecting off the glass door in front of him.

It’s real.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave. He wasn’t imagining it. The star was real.

And so was the choice.

Without thinking, Artham closed his eyes, the weight of the decision crashing down on him. He didn’t hesitate.

I wish... I wish there was something that could make me feel satisfied with my life. No... I just want to feel... alive.

The words echoed in his mind, and as soon as the wish left his lips, he felt a strange, twisting sensation deep in his chest. It was as though something was pulling him, drawing him toward an unseen force. His eyes snapped open, and the world around him spun into chaos.

His familiar surroundings—the balcony, the house, the neighborhood—everything dissolved into a swirl of light and darkness. He could barely catch his breath as the air around him shifted, pulling him into something unknown.

The next thing he knew, he was no longer standing on his balcony.

He was somewhere else.

The ground beneath him felt solid, but the landscape around him was alien, bathed in pale light from unfamiliar stars. He stood in a barren, desolate place, the air thick with tension. His heart raced as he tried to comprehend what had just happened, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Before he could fully grasp his surroundings, a voice echoed in the stillness—a deep, mysterious voice that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

"Ah, finally. I have been waiting for you."

Artham’s breath hitched as he looked around, searching for the source of the voice. It was close, yet distant, impossible to pinpoint. His body tensed as the voice continued, its tone both enticing and unnerving.

"Welcome to where every choice matters, and every mistake can be fatal. Where you can be a hero or a villain, a savior or a destroyer. Where you can find your true self, or lose it forever."

The voice chuckled softly, the sound carrying a weight that made Artham’s skin crawl.

"Welcome to the game of life and death, Artham Lanis."