They said, "Just finish the game."
They said, "Once you get into it, the romance is sooo worth it."
Liars. Every one of them.
I slammed the controller down beside me, my fingers twitching with secondhand rage. On-screen, a pixelated notification hovered in mockery:
"You have failed the route. Again."
"Of course I did," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. "Why wouldn't I? It's only the 12th heartbreak this week."
The title screen glitched back in:
Crimson Hearts: Reversed Fates
The worst-rated otome game I'd ever played—yet somehow the most addictively unfair mess of my life.
They called it a "challenging romantic experience." I called it "gaslighting in pastel graphics." Not only were the love interests emotionally unavailable, but the routes were bugged, the villainess was ridiculously overpowered, and the "true ending" required you to fail three times just to unlock a single extra scene. Who designs games like this?!
I slumped against my pillow, the blue light from my monitor reflecting off the empty bubble tea cup beside me. Maybe I should just uninstall it and touch some grass for once.
Or sleep.
Yeah, sleep sounded—
czzzzzt—
The screen flickered.
"…Huh?"
I blinked. The edges of the screen were warping—twisting into static.
Then, I heard it.
A sound. Soft. Feathery.
"Still quitting, Lyra?"
My heart stopped. I whipped my head toward the monitor.
Perched on top of it was a bird—a small, sleek raven with violet eyes, staring at me like it owned the room.
"…Okay," I said slowly, "great. I'm hallucinating now. That's it. No more midnight gaming marathons."
The bird tilted its head. Its beak curved into what I swore was a smirk.
"Correction."
It hopped once, feathers fluttering.
"You've been chosen."
Before I could scream, the screen behind it exploded into light. Neon pixels burst from the monitor, spiraling into the air, wrapping around my limbs like digital chains. My body froze. My room spun. My voice caught in my throat.
"Hey—wait! WAIT!"
But it was too late.
The last thing I saw was the raven's wings unfurling mid-air—
—and then everything went black.
[To Be Continued…]