I slowly approached the guitar-playing musician. When I got within a certain distance, he called out to me.
"Heyyyy, song requests go to the waiters, man," he said.
I pressed on:
"How about a bet with me?" I asked.
The musician eyed me suspiciously at first, then asked, "Alright, what's the wager?"
"We'll compete on guitar. Whoever plays better covers the other's beer tab until morning," I said.
He made a strange gesture to the bass-playing girl and then grinned. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
The crowd went wild—beers flew through the air, everyone holding their breath, watching us. The bass girl's voice echoed off the bar's dingy walls as I felt the weight of the Les Paul-like guitar in my hands—its glossy black body, thick strings, and slightly worn neck screamed classic. The musician stood across from me, eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at his lips, lightly tapping the strings of his own guitar as if sizing me up.
The bass girl shouted:
"READY AND STAAAAART!!!"
The crowd erupted, cheers ringing out. I made the first move. My fingers slid along the fretboard, launching into an opening riff with a quick hammer-on in the E minor pentatonic scale—strings vibrating, sustain long and gritty. Then a pull-off sped up the rhythm, and high bends cranked up the energy, hyping the crowd. The sound cut through the bar's cheap speakers, sharp and powerful. "YEAAAAH!" someone yelled from the back.
The musician grinned and fired back without missing a beat. His fingers flew—a sweep picking run through an A major arpeggio so clean it left jaws dropped. Then he dropped a tapping solo, fast and precise enough to make Eddie Van Halen jealous. The thin, punchy tone electrified the room. The crowd groaned, "OOOOH!" as a few dropped their beers.
My turn again. I pressed the guitar to my chest, cranking the gain all the way—some distortion, some soul. Starting low with a slide, I bent the note with a whammy bar twist; the sound soared like the bar's roof might lift off. Then I eased into a blues shuffle rhythm, slowing the tempo and reeling the crowd in—my fingers danced on the neck as heads bobbed along. The bass girl shouted, "THIS GUY KNOWS WHAT'S UP, LADIES AND GENTS!"
The musician wouldn't back down. Gripping his guitar like a weapon, he launched into a shredding assault—16th notes tearing through a G minor scale so fast his fingers blurred. He threw in a pinch harmonic, that squealing tone pushing the crowd to the edge. Someone banged a table; another yelled, "FASTER!" Victory flashed across his face, but I wasn't giving up that easy.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and poured everything into the strings. A double-stop kicked it off, then vibrato added the emotion—the strings practically wept. I cranked the tempo with an alternate picking sprint up the D major scale, making the crowd leap. For the finale, a dive bomb—I yanked the whammy bar, plunging the sound into an abyss before easing it back. The bar went silent for a split second, then exploded: "WOOOOOOW!"
The musician made his last stand. Slinging his guitar over his shoulder, he unleashed a two-hand tapping show—both hands flying across the strings like he was playing a piano. A legato transition softened the rhythm, mesmerizing the crowd. He capped it with a long feedback howl, raising his guitar as the speakers' drone shook the bar. The crowd screamed, "IS THAT IT?!"
The bass girl jumped onstage, snagging the mic:
"YES, FOLKS! THAT WAS A GUITAR WAR! NOW, DECISION TIME—WHO WON?!"
The crowd split instantly. Some chanted my name—"NEW KID! NEW KID!"—others pointed at the musician—"GUITAR KING!" Out of breath, I leaned on my guitar, waiting. The musician glanced over and winked, "Not bad, man."
The bass girl grinned and added:
"WE'RE WAITING FOR YOUR VOTES, BUT I THINK TONIGHT'S BEERS ARE ON ALL OF US!" The crowd roared with laughter, and I couldn't help but join in. Guitar in hand, drenched in sweat, this moment… it was FUN!
As names echoed, I walked over to shake his hand with a strange confidence. He looked genuinely impressed and said that no matter who won, the beers were on him. When the bets settled, I came out on top, even pocketing some cash.
[30 Silver Coins Obtained]
We strolled to the bar table, chatting along the way. I must've met a dozen people—this move was a goldmine for both my reputation and info network.
[Hidden Mission COMPLETED!]
Quest Mission:BAM BAM BAM
Details:
In Starting Village #47's rundown bar, you went toe-to-toe with the legendary guitarist of Mayhem in da'Hell in a solo showdown. With fiery strings, crowd-pumping riffs, and fingers blazing through solos, you completed this hidden challenge without even knowing it! No one expected this from a rookie, but you, Haoyu Chen, owned the stage and etched your name into the bar's history.
Rewards:
Musician Class Pass VoucherDescription: This voucher unlocks the Musician class! No more basic warriors or explorers—fight with strings, enchant with rhythm, and maybe even headline the galaxy's biggest stages.
In a master's hands, a musician's guitar is a weapon. This class generates soundwaves in combat, stunning foes and dealing physical damage. Let the universe tremble to your music!
Note: To switch classes, read the voucher 12 times and say "I approve."
Recognition Points +3: The bar's wild crowd won't forget you! Recognition boosts your fame among NPCs and players, unlocking extra dialogue options or discounts in quests.
Extra Effect: +3 is low-tier fame, but it's enough to earn you the "Guy Who Beat Mayhem" tag in the village bar. It'll up your odds of stumbling into hidden quests and tweak your karma effects. Plus, don't overlook the boost to reward payouts!
The quest notifications dazzle me, but I'm not sold on the Musician class—it seems limited to physical damage, judging by the details. Could get strong later, though. "I'll stash it and sell it," I decide, tucking it into a corner of my inventory.
Mayhem's guitarist, Keanu, strolls over with a massive barrel of beer.
"You earned this, buddy," he says, plopping down beside me. We chat about guitars, my training, his gigs—random stuff. Eventually, the bartender joins in, and I get what I came for.
"Hey, king," I say, "where do I find those wolves? I took a quest but can't finish it." My words flatter him, show respect, and hint at innocent curiosity.
The bartender laughs:
"HAHA, everyone knows that, kid! The village is swarming with wolf attacks right now. All these newbies are drawing hungry packs in, and we're too weak to fight back properly, so we're not paying much attention."
I thank him and step outside. The beer's left my stomach bloated, but I'm happy. The info paints a picture: players aren't exactly neutral in NPC eyes—one behaves, another pulls weird stunts. Harassment cases have spiked lately, and folks are fed up. This backwater village is too remote for the Royal Robot Police Department to keep up, especially with billions of players keeping them busy.
I've got some cash in my pocket. "Guess I'll wait till tomorrow for the quest," I think, and mentally say, Exit.
[To Exit, Say "I Approve" 8 Times]
What's with this repetition crap? The Musician class made sense—it's a big choice—but who'd think exit out of nowhere? I mentally repeat "I approve" eight times, and that soul-leaving-body sensation hits again.
When I pull off the headset, my body feels bizarrely heavy. Standing up, I stumble a bit—no sound, just a thud in my head.
"Damn it," I mutter. "How real can this game get?" The gravity shift—my nervous system must've adjusted to that world, so I shrug it off and give myself a minute. Slowly, I stand and reach for my phone.
Let's see if there's any messages.
Yuan and 9+ others: 99+ messages.
"Holy crap, that's a lot," I think, wondering if they started a group. I open DuTalkos. Yuan's made a bunch of ridiculous groups. Ignoring them, I call him—straight to voicemail.
"Hey, hi, it's Yuan. If you're calling, I'm busy, obviously. Don't try again after the beep."
Probably still in-game. I check the group names:
12-H Galactic Games Online Gold Farming GroupYuan, Tin, you, and 2 othersStarting Village #31 Goons
Scrolling through, everyone's sharing their adventures. Tin, the quiet kid from the back row, is a gaming beast and one of us—great guy. He's rambled about how realistic the women's chests are. I tease him with a half-joking scold and move on.
Feng messaged me privately about the game:
"Hey, Haoyu, saw a guy who looked like you in Starting Village #238. If it's you, wanna team up?"
Still mad about the quiz copy thing, I shoot back a curt, "Nope, not me, you got the wrong guy."
Yuan texted:
"Dude, this game's insane! Check the forums—I spawned in Starting Village #2, right by the empire's edge. Joined a badass guild and I'm grinding training quests. Probably skipping school tomorrow, bro. Good luck, happy gaming!"
I type out a long recap of my day—double gray ticks, but he's in-game, so no worries.
Stepping out of my room, I peek around. Yuki's asleep. Dad's watching his usual dramas. I head to our shared living room PC to check the Galactic Games Online forums.
Dad shuffles out of the kitchen with a faded plate, mumbling, "Hey, want a mandarin?" His voice is tired, half-hearted. He holds it out, barely looking at me—like it's just routine. I grab a few; the peels are wrinkled, some half-rotten. He doesn't care. Shoulders slumped, face lined, he sinks into the couch. The TV blares—same dumb news, same noise. Soon, his snoring will kick in. I'd be lying if I said I didn't care, but what can I do? Those damn office hours have drained him dry. The guy who used to joke with me, kick a ball around on weekends—he's gone, replaced by a gray, exhausted shell.
I sit at the computer, that familiar weight settling in. The white case isn't white anymore—yellowed by years of dust and damp, edges blackened with grime. This machine was my escape once—games, homework, dreams… Now? Just a heap of junk I can't ignore. My fingers brush the keyboard, each clack duller, more lifeless. It's tired, like me, ready to give up.
Yuki pops into my mind—that cheerful, blonde-haired dreamer. She wants to study computer science, says it all the time, eyes sparkling. "Bro, I'll code someday, do big things!" But reality slaps me hard—will she end up like us? Her dreams fading at this yellowed wreck? The thought gnaws at me.
I glance out the window—gray sky, flickering streetlights. Dad's snores rise behind me, mandarin peels scattered on the table. I can't help but think: maybe this house, this life, is a swamp swallowing us whole—Yuki's bright eyes, Dad's worn-out body, my faded hopes, all trapped in this dirty, broken case. And here I am, doing nothing, staring at dusty keys.
Finally, I shake it off and jump to the forums.
It's flooded with posts.
[TOP LIVE THREADS]
China's VR Team SPR Star Nice Obtain Hidden Galactic Soldier Class!
"Whoa," I think, diving into the post.
Nice's Rise:
SPR Team's 19-year-old star Nice was already a name in China's VR scene. Known for quick reflexes, sharp strategy, and a charismatic playstyle, this win catapulted him globally. Team captain Lin Wei boasted, "Nice unlocking this class proves SPR's discipline and skill. He's our pride." Nice, though, played it cool: "Just luck and timing. But yeah, this class rocks!"
Nice's triumph makes him a favorite. With Galactic Soldier's perks, he's set to dominate rivals. But others aren't slacking—Europe's Team Vortex and the US's Nebula Squad are grinding for their own edges. China's VR community celebrates, eyes on Nice's next move. Will he rule the galaxy, or is this just the start? The world's watching!
Typical media hype. They're milking it for clout. No real class details, but you can guess the gist. I don't care much—the forums are drowning in stuff like this. Some players posted about dying in hidden dungeons like idiots. Others are in wild realms—one guy, MisterFLover, even started an "NPC Hottie Guide."
The marketplace is either empty or stuffed with stolen or overpriced gear—mostly stolen, at insane rates.
No Musician class vouchers yet, which excites me—but it's a trap waiting to happen.
There's a big risk here. If I sell early and cash in on ignorance, I could score big. But if these vouchers are truly rare? That changes everything. So I decide to wait, logging off the forums before they sway me more. School's tomorrow—I hit the bed, drifting off into dreams…