I used to think my life was fine.
Not good. Not thrilling. Just… tolerable.
I had a job. A tiny apartment. Internet that worked—most days. Food that came in microwavable trays with cheery instructions like "Stir halfway through for best experience!" And I had video games. Lots of them.
That was my favorite part.
The rest? Blur it out
My name was Yuuji Kanzaki. Twenty-four. Mildly employed. Terminally awkward. Anxiety with a full skill tree. I worked customer service for a third-party delivery company. You know the kind. We didn't ship things—we made excuses for why they hadn't arrived.
"Sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. Your fish tank heater was lost in transit. Would you like a refund, store credit, or maybe not call here ever again?"
I never said that last part out loud. But I thought it.
I hated calls. Hated dealing with people. Hated the awkward silences, the passive-aggressive sighs, the constant pressure to act like I wasn't one coffee-stain away from a breakdown.
So every night, I escaped.
Into games.
Into Enternavia: Bonds Of Fate.
—
It wasn't just a game. It was the game. Action, romance, stunning visuals, brilliant worldbuilding. You played as Eiden Rowenheart, an orphan swordsman who enters Valorheart Academy and discovers he's the reincarnation of a celestial warlord.
You trained. You bonded with heroines. You faced ancient enemies, corrupt nobility, and literal gods. You earned power, purpose, people.
Things I didn't have.
I played through all the routes. Unlocked all the endings. Even the bad ones. I knew who lived, who died, who fell in love with whom. I knew the side quests, the secret skills, the emotional payoffs that made the final arc hit harder than a truckload of bricks and regrets.
In other words, I was obsessed.
So of course, the day it all changed was the day I was playing it again.
Midnight. Rain tapping the window. Instant ramen on the desk, forgotten and soggy. I'd just beaten a tough optional boss—Sylvia Nocturne's solo dungeon—and sat back, watching the after-battle cutscene like I'd seen it a hundred times.
And then…
Brief flashes of lighting, followed by the thundering boom of thunder outside.
My screen flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then it went black.
No crash. No error message. Just—
Darkness.
Then pain.
Like something cracked inside my chest. Like I was being pulled through a straw, like my thoughts were scattering like marbles on tile.
I tried to move. To scream. To breathe.
And then—
I opened my eyes.
The first thing I saw was stone. Smooth brickwork above me, painted with warm lantern light. I smelled fresh parchment, burning incense, and something that oddly reminded me of a dorm room.
Then I noticed my bed was not a futon.
The ceiling was too high. The mattress too firm. The air too… magical.
I bolted upright—and nearly knocked heads with a guy leaning over me.
"Whoa! Hey! You okay, Kael?" the stranger said.
I blinked.
He was maybe seventeen or eighteen. Red jacket, silver insignia on the sleeve, wild golden hair and a wide grin. Definitely not anyone I remembered from work. He looked like someone out of—
Out of—
No…
"Kael?" he repeated, laughing. "Geez, don't tell me you hit your head again sparring with that meathead from Class B. You looked totally out of it."
I stared at him.
Not just at him.
At my hands.
They weren't mine.
Bigger. Paler. Veins running like lightning under the skin. Calloused. Scarred. I scrambled to the side of the bed and caught a glimpse of myself in the dorm room's mirror.
Sharp jaw. Storm-gray eyes. Tousled black hair falling just over one eye.
And behind me—
Two axes mounted on the wall.
Kael Virell.
No. That couldn't be right.
He was a nobody. A third-rate NPC. The guy who dies in Chapter 2—
Why did I look like him?
Why was this guy calling me his roommate?
Why did this place look exactly like Valorheart Academy?
I turned back to him, heart slamming in my chest.
"What… did you just call me?"
He blinked. "Kael. Duh. You forget your own name now?"
Something had gone very, very wrong.