With his intense focus fixed on the screen, the sound of his mother calling him to eat cut through his concentration. He responded from his bedroom door in a low voice:
"I'll be a little late."
Then he turned his gaze back to the screen, waiting for the ending credits to finish. The moment they did, a new screen appeared with the message:
"Congratulations on Completing the Game!"
His eyes widened in shock. Trying to make sense of it, confusion evident on his face, he muttered to himself:
"Is this what that otaku insisted I finish the game for?"
His expression suddenly twisted into one of suppressed anger, as if something deep within him had been provoked. He kept pondering the reason behind that cryptic recommendation until another message appeared:
"To celebrate this achievement, we kindly ask you to fill out the following survey, which will be sent to you as a message."
Daren took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and said quietly:
"Maybe this is part of the secret content after finishing the game."
The first question appeared—somewhat strange:
"If you were in a magical world, which class would you choose?"
He was surprised by the three options displayed: Elemental Mage, Dark Mage, or Weapon Master. Staring at the screen, he whispered in astonishment:
"They must be tailoring the questions based on playstyle... What a terrifying game."
He chose the second option:
Dark Mage.
The next question followed:
"What kind of person would you be in this world?"
Several choices appeared, but he selected:
A righteous person willing to commit ruthless acts without remorse if they served his goals.
He continued answering the questions, which varied from appearance and attire to personality traits...
Finally, the last question appeared:
"What kind of goals and dreams would you want to achieve in this world?"
Daren silently contemplated the screen, deep in thought. Three minutes of charged silence passed before he finally wrote:
To eliminate any threat that endangers me or my loved ones and live a peaceful, joyful life.
He was about to write more, but something inside him abruptly stopped him—as if an unseen force resisted revealing what lay in his heart.
A faint hum and a barely perceptible flicker flashed across the screen.
Then, after a moment, the loading screen reappeared.
Daren sat patiently, watching it.
Meanwhile, at the bottom of the stairs leading to his room, a small girl with delicate features and smooth skin appeared. Her dark brown hair, streaked with faint hints of green, cascaded down to the small of her back.
Her wide, hazel eyes shimmered with a subdued glow as she ascended the steps slowly, hesitantly—her footsteps nearly silent, as though afraid of waking a dormant nightmare lurking in the shadows.
At that moment, Daren was lost in thought, his eyes hollow as if staring into an unfathomable abyss—until his gaze suddenly sharpened back into focus.
He saw the spinning loading screen and blurted out in shock:
"Wait… since when did this loading screen appear? I didn't even finish answering the last questions…"
He tried to calm himself, reasoning that the game must have reset while he was lost in thought. As the spiral continued spinning, his eyes swept over every corner of his room with wary alertness—until they abruptly froze on the clock hanging on the wall.
It read 12:20.
He stared at it in disbelief, as if it had suddenly morphed into a grotesque human face—features burned, partially melted, strands of hair scattered, teeth torn out, and a severed throat.
His voice trembled as he muttered:
"No… it can't be… Did time reset? Is this one of those days?"
A distorted laugh escaped his throat—devoid of meaning, caught between false joy and vague sorrow, repressed rage, and incomprehensible resentment. His expression mirrored an indescribable inner turmoil.
As his features twisted like a shattered mirror, the loading screen completed—just as a deafening chime exploded inside his skull like a hammer striking an anvil of ice. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he turned his head toward the computer, only to be stunned once more.
A clear message appeared on the screen:
"Congratulations on obtaining a unique character based on your previous answers. When you wish to use it, please log in to our new game using this account with the code: D.V 10049. Game Title: Cursed Fate."
His heart clenched, but his eyes remained fixed on the screen.
It displayed the image of a man clad in a pitch-black cloak that completely concealed him, his face obscured by a featureless metal mask—as if shadows had poured over him, erasing all detail.
His eyes were hidden beneath an abyss-like darkness, endless and unfathomable. In his hand was a long staff of dark wood, resembling a piece of haunted, rotting timber, exuding the scent of ancient death.
At its tip was a strange crystal, flickering between diamond-like brilliance and ruby radiance—yet its hue was dark, gloomy, like a fallen star stripped of its light. Within its core, living shadows pulsed, intertwining as though weaving an inescapable fate.
Daren kept staring, his face drained of color—nearly corpse-like—as if the blood had fled his veins under the weight of shock.
He whispered to himself, voice trembling with disbelief:
"I… answered the questions? When?! I'm sure I only touched the keyboard for the first one... Then..."
His words faltered, his throat dry. Frozen in place, he glanced back at the clock before slowly turning his gaze to the computer again. A distorted voice echoed mockingly in his mind:
"Did I really not answer? The time between the first question and this result… is too long. Or maybe… the game did it itself? No, that makes no sense... I must have answered at least one more. I remember… the second question, yes. But the rest? Nothing. Even the first answer… is completely hazy."
He leaned closer to the screen, scrutinizing the character before him like a detective analyzing a crime scene. He muttered in a heavy tone:
"Judging by his appearance… he's a Dark Mage. So my class was the second one. Though I would've picked the third with more thought..."
He inhaled slowly, continuing his internal monologue with analytical detachment:
"My second answer was about inclinations and personality… the nature of the mind. If we assume the time between starting and finishing the survey was enough, it's logical the game asked more questions… but focused on my inner self, not my appearance or clothes."
Silence filled the room as his eyes remained locked on the character staring back at him—with a gaze that held both eerie familiarity and aching nostalgia.
He exhaled wearily, then rose from his chair with heavy reluctance, his body trembling from the intensifying hum gnawing at his soul.
He turned slowly, as if the air itself had thickened, then trudged toward the mirror with labored steps—each movement chipping away at his awareness.
When he finally reached it, he stared at his exhausted reflection—a face worn down by repeated setbacks, sunken eyes brimming with fatigue and suspicion.
He whispered to himself, voice laden with quiet despair:
"What a disgusting day… A vile nightmare I can't recall, tangled with past dreams like delusional quilts masquerading as royal scarves... And that strange feeling—why do I only remember the second choice? A unique character… I don't know where it came from, yet… it feels like I've known it forever."
The room fell still, save for the relentless, drilling hum pounding his skull like an unyielding chisel striking metal.
He fixed his gaze on the floor, bracing his arm against a nearby cabinet for balance. That faint sound kept burrowing into his skull, each pulse stabbing his mind like a merciless drill.
With great effort, he lifted his head, barely able to face his reflection. Even under this crushing pressure, he could still see his face clearly—pale, distorted by confusion, eyes brimming with suffocating turmoil.
His lips quivered as he muttered, voice barely audible:
"What… am I looking at?"