Chapter 1: Play
"Life is boring."
Not in a dramatic way. Not in the "I hate my life" way. Just… empty.
That was the first thing Kaito thought almost every morning as he stared at the ceiling of his cramped apartment, wondering if today would feel any different than the last.
It never did.
He pulled the blanket off and sat up slowly, joints stiff like he was twice his age. His tiny room was dim, lit only by weak gray sunlight leaking through a dusty window. The walls were bare except for a few fading posters from games he didn't even enjoy anymore. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles, cheap soap, and something else he couldn't place—maybe just time.
His reflection in the mirror didn't help. Nineteen years old, pale skin, black hair sticking up in all directions, eyes ringed with shadows and indifference. His build was thin, not athletic but not frail either—just average. His face was the kind you'd forget five minutes after seeing it. Sometimes he looked at himself and wondered: If I disappeared, would anyone remember me a week from now? It wasn't self-pity. It was just the truth.
He had college. A job at a coffee shop. A quiet life. No real friends. No real ambition. He wasn't special. But what made it worse—what made it burn—was that he was a coward. Always had been. He never stood up for himself. Not when he was bullied. Not when people betrayed him. Not when fake friends used him until he had nothing left. He just smiled, made excuses for them, told himself, next time will be different. Because deep down, he still wanted to believe people could be good. That maybe someday, someone would look at him and not see a doormat.
The only people who ever did were his family. His mom texted every morning. His sister, Aiko, sent dumb videos just to make him laugh. His dad, whose words were rare but always mattered, still called once a week. They believed in him. Even when he didn't. And that was the cruelest part of all. Because deep down, Kaito didn't believe he deserved it.
---
That afternoon at the café was slow. Sunlight poured through the windows in soft gold. The smell of burnt espresso clung to the air, mixing with the hum of background music and clinking cups. Kaito moved like a machine—wipe table, pour drink, smile on cue.
Until he saw the man.
Across the street. Standing perfectly still. At first, he thought the guy was just waiting. Maybe a customer. Maybe lost. But he never moved. Minutes passed. Then an hour. Still there. Still staring. Kaito couldn't make out his face, but something about the way he stood—it wasn't normal. It was off. Like he didn't belong to the world around him.
By the end of Kaito's shift, his hands were shaking. He slipped out the back, walking fast, keeping his head low. But halfway home, he felt it again—that pressure behind him. A weight.
He turned. No one. Then a block later—he saw him again. Closer. Kaito's chest tightened. He crossed the street. Turned left. Right. Into a side alley. Still there. No footsteps. No noise. Just… appearing.
He broke into a jog. Then a run. Through winding streets, slipping past people, ignoring traffic. Panic clouded everything.
Until—
Dead end. A narrow alley. High walls. No escape. His stomach dropped.
He turned around slowly. The man was there. Ten feet away. Silent. Unmoving. Closer than ever before. Kaito's back pressed against the wall. His legs trembled. His mouth opened, but no words came out. His voice was gone—swallowed by the weight of whatever this thing was.
The air felt wrong. Too still. Too heavy. It pressed against his chest like a hand. He could hear his own pulse. Every beat was louder than the last. The man's face still didn't make sense. The shadows covered it, clung to it, like reality itself was refusing to reveal the truth.
But Kaito could feel it. A presence that didn't belong to this world. An instinct older than thought screamed from the back of his mind: This is not human.
Then the man tilted his head slightly—just a few degrees. And spoke.
"What a coward."
The words weren't loud. But they hit with the force of a gunshot. Kaito flinched like he'd been struck. The voice didn't echo. It went through him—sharp, cold, and final.
"I don't know why he chose you."
Before he could think another thought—the man's form began to change. His body twisted, bones snapping audibly. His coat peeled like it was part of his skin. Limbs bent in directions that made no anatomical sense. Flesh rippled and tore in complete silence.
What stood before Kaito now wasn't a man. It was something older than language. Something wrong. A creature of shadows and shapes that didn't belong together. It shifted constantly, like the world couldn't decide what it was supposed to be. Eyes blinked in places where there shouldn't be any. Its body pulsed like it was breathing through its skin.
Kaito couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. A high-pitched noise rang in his ears—like metal grinding inside his skull. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Then, mercifully—Darkness.
---
He woke up. Back behind the counter. Morning light. The smell of coffee. The clink of cups. Was it a dream?
His body felt real. The floor was solid. The sounds were familiar. He almost convinced himself it was just stress. Until he reached into his pocket. And felt something cold.
He pulled it out. A small, black USB stick. No brand. No label. Just two words engraved in silver: Oblivian's Gate.
---
That night, he couldn't sleep. He stared at the USB on his desk, lit by the pale glow of his laptop screen. It hadn't been there before. He knew it hadn't.
Hands trembling, he plugged it in. The screen flickered. No setup. No files. Just a single program: start.exe
He clicked. The screen flashed to black. Then white. Then a word: Enter. Kaito hovered for a moment, breath caught in his chest. Then clicked.
A world selection screen appeared. "Magic Kingdom." "Sword Realm." "Demon Apocalypse." All generic. Except for the last one: Custom World. He clicked it.
A massive creation screen unfolded. He could add anything—fantasy, horror, sci-fi, survival. Magic systems. Tech. Monsters. Spirits. Glitches. World resets. Gods and bugs and chaos.
He added everything. No rules. No logic. Just everything. He named it: Project Chaos. And pressed Play.
---
The rumble was real. Deep. Loud. Like the world itself growled. Lights flickered. Power surged. Then silence. And a low growl—just outside his front door.
Kaito ran to the window. And what he saw shattered him.
No city. No streets. Just trees. His entire house was perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking an endless forest. Mountains loomed in the distance. Mist drifted across the landscape like something alive.
He opened the door. Cold air hit him like a slap—raw, clean, wrong. The sky was overcast and silver. Alien birds cried in the distance, their sounds stretched and broken. Something howled far below. His legs trembled.
He stepped out slowly. His body told him to scream, to run, to do something. But his brain—his heart—froze. Where am I?
Then, one thought broke through the static: Mom. Dad. Aiko. His family. Were they here? Were they safe? Did they even exist in this world?
He shouted their names. Once. Twice. Louder each time. Nothing. Just the wind. Just the trees.
Tears burned the corners of his eyes, sharp and fast. He stumbled back inside, barely able to stand. Every breath was shallow, every muscle tight.
He grabbed his phone, his hands shaking violently. No signal. No Wi-Fi. No clock. No apps. Only one thing filled the screen:
[Welcome to Oblivian's Gate.]
Kaito stared at it, heart in his throat. His lips parted. And in the smallest, broken voice, he whispered: "Please… someone… help me."
But no one did. Only the wind moved. And the game had already begun.