Kenji's screen froze just as the boss raised its arm.
The raid voice chat lit up with panic.
"Move, move, move—!"
"Kenji, dodge!"
Too late.
By the time the frame stuttered back, his avatar was already dead, lying sprawled on the dungeon floor. The raid boss roared, swinging its weapon again. Within seconds, half the group followed him into the dirt.
Discord erupted.
"Goddammit," Dante growled. "GrayWolf crashed. Again."
Kenji winced, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the wheezing fan inside his tower rattled like a dying car engine.
"Classic GrayWolf.exe has stopped working," Ryo laughed.
"Stop it," Mika's voice was soft, but she couldn't hide the concern.
"It's his fossil of a PC," Hana sighed, voice sharp. "Same result every time."
Samir, the newest member, cut in cold. "Seriously, why do we still bring him? He drags us down."
That one pierced deeper than he wanted to admit.
"Enough," Dante snapped. "We'll reschedule tomorrow. Good work, everyone else. Log off."
One by one, icons vanished. Soon Kenji sat alone, staring at the corpse of his character on the screen.
The machine groaned as he shut it down, as if relieved to rest. The apartment was small, cluttered with old gear and empty coffee cups. He leaned back in his chair, the faint smell of oil and grease still clinging to him from the auto shop.
This was his life. Invisible during the day, covered in stains that never quite scrubbed off. At night, the only place he felt alive was online.
But even here, he was failing.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling mindlessly, until the headline stopped him cold:
"Revelation Online Surpasses 5 Million Wishlists in Record Time."
He stared.
Another article.
"The Most Anticipated MMO in History?"
Another.
"Revelation Online: One World. One History. No Resets."
Kenji had seen the cinematic trailer like everyone else. What made this different was the secrecy.
No previews.No guides.No classes, builds, or skills revealed.
Nothing but mystery.
For the first time in gaming history, the world would enter blind, side by side.
And already five million players had staked their claim.
Discord pinged. Guild chat flooded the screen.
Ryo: "5M wishlists already lmao this is nuts."
Mika: "I preordered the deluxe edition. Comes with a pet crystal."
Dante: "Built my new tower already. Day one, we're going hard."
Samir: "If you don't upgrade now, don't even bother. Nobody wants laggers."
Kenji didn't type. Just watched the scroll of excitement, envy twisting in his chest.
He opened a tab he'd bookmarked months ago: a new gaming tower, sleek and monstrous, every part glowing like a promise.
The price made his throat tighten. If he bought it, his savings would vanish. Rent, food, emergencies — gone.
His ex-wife's words echoed in his head: "You're too old to waste money on games."
He shut the tab and set the phone down.
The next day at the shop, he was elbow-deep in an old Corolla. Sweat ran down his temple, grease under his nails. The customer didn't even glance at him when paying the bill.
By lunch, his phone buzzed with another headline:
"Revelation Online Hits 20 Million Wishlists."
He refreshed. Numbers climbed in real time: 20,003,421 → 20,004,019 → 20,006,577.
The world was rushing toward something. And he was standing still.
That night, Kenji sat in the glow of his ancient monitor. His bank account stared back at him, the number small but stable.
The parts list opened with a click. Each photo of gleaming hardware mocked him. He hovered over the Buy Now button.
If he pressed it, everything was gone.
He closed the window.
Days passed. Headlines grew louder.
"Revelation Online Surpasses 50 Million Wishlists."
"The MMO Nobody Has Seen — and Everyone Wants."
"Could Revelation Online Be Humanity's First Shared World?"
Streamers screamed into cameras. Forums overflowed. Even non-gamers were talking about it.
Kenji found himself checking the numbers at every break, every night.
His guildmates were already planning builds — blind builds, theories spun out of nothing. That was the thrill. Nobody knew anything.
Except Kenji. He knew he was going to miss it if he didn't move.
He opened the order page again. Hovered. Closed it.
Opened it again. Closed it.
Sleep came late, heavy, restless.
Then it happened.
The milestone flashed across every screen in the world:
"Revelation Online Passes 126 Million Wishlists."
More than the population of Japan. More than watched the World Cup Final.
Kenji whispered the number aloud.
126 million.
He opened the order page.
Bank account. Total cost. Confirmation screen.
His finger trembled.
"Five million made me hesitate," he muttered. "But a hundred and twenty-six million can't all be wrong."
Click.
Payment confirmed. Savings gone.
Email chimed.
[Order Confirmed: High-End Gaming Tower][Estimated Delivery: 1 Day Before Revelation Online Global Launch]
Kenji leaned back. The chair creaked.
No grin. No bravado. Just a quiet, tired smile. The kind a man makes when he finally chooses for himself.
The next morning at the shop, he filled out a leave form. His boss frowned.
"Three weeks? All at once?"
"Yes."
"You serious?"
Kenji nodded.
The boss sighed. "Fine. But don't expect another vacation anytime soon."
"That's fine," Kenji said.
And he meant it.
That night, another email blinked in his inbox.
[Vacation Approved][Delivery: 1 Day Before Launch]
The words glowed like a promise.
His old PC fan rattled beside him, one last tired wheeze.
For the first time in years, the future felt close enough to touch.
"I'll be ready this time," he whispered.