Denver Blu sat slouched at the back of the classroom, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor in front of him. Rows of students typed rapidly, filling the room with the rhythmic clicking of keyboards. The hum of the air conditioner overhead was the only constant in the chaos. His fingers, however, remained idle.
He wasn't lazy—far from it. Denver had a sharp mind that his professors often praised, but he carried himself with a disinterested air that frustrated them just as much. To Denver, most things felt like distractions from the real business of life: finishing school, landing a stable job, and never sticking his head too far above the crowd.
Today was supposed to be a routine lecture on artificial intelligence architecture. Yet Professor Garrison, a sharp-eyed man in his late forties with a reputation for unpredictability, had other plans.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the professor said, clapping his hands to gather attention, "forget the lesson plan. Today we talk about the frontier of interactive AI."
Denver raised an eyebrow. Whenever the professor veered off-script, it usually meant trouble for someone.
"You've all seen the headlines," Garrison continued, pacing at the front. "River.Inc's Guardian Online. The first fully adaptive VR environment, where every monster, every Guardian, learns from you. Not scripted, not pre-programmed. Alive."
The room erupted in chatter. Students leaned toward each other, excitement buzzing like electricity. Everyone had seen the teasers: towering monsters, glowing forests, biomes that looked more real than reality. And, of course, the Guardians—creatures that could be tamed, befriended, and evolved. Some looked cute and harmless, others terrifying and godlike. The internet had exploded with speculation about what was possible.
Everyone, that is, except Denver.
He sat with his arms folded, unimpressed. Games had never appealed to him, least of all VR. He had tried once, years ago, when his friends had insisted on playing a popular title. The dizziness, the loss of balance, the odd disconnect between his real body and the virtual one—it had been unbearable.
Denver had sworn never to touch a headset again.
Professor Garrison's gaze swept the room, sharp enough to make students sit straighter. "Which of you plans to play when the servers open tomorrow?"
Nearly every hand shot up.
The professor smiled knowingly. "Good. Now here's the challenge. Anyone who can reach Level 10 in Guardian Online before the end of next week gets five bonus points added to their grade."
Excitement broke into outright chaos. Students cheered, already planning strategies.
But then, Garrison's eyes fell squarely on Denver.
"And you, Mister Blu?"
Denver blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you." The professor crossed his arms. "I've read your essays. Brilliant work. But brilliance without practical experience is hollow. You've avoided VR like it's a plague. Tell me, are you so afraid of failure that you won't even try?"
The room went still. Dozens of eyes turned to him.
Denver's jaw tightened. He hated the attention, hated being singled out. "I just don't see the point of wasting hours on a game."
"A game?" The professor smirked. "Guardian Online is not just a game. It is the future of immersive AI. Entire fields of study—neuroscience, computing, even psychology—are watching. If you dismiss it, you dismiss progress itself."
Denver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew when the professor was baiting him.
"Fine," Denver said flatly. "I'll play. But only because you're dangling marks over my head."
The class erupted in laughter.
Professor Garrison smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "Excellent. Then we'll all look forward to seeing whether our so-called genius can tame even the smallest Guardian."
Denver felt heat rise in his cheeks. He sank lower in his chair, already regretting the words.
The rest of the day dragged by. Everywhere he went on campus, students buzzed about Guardian Online. Some planned to form guilds on day one, others debated which Guardians they wanted most. Denver tuned it all out.
When he got home, he tossed his bag onto the couch and slumped into his chair. His small apartment was cluttered but functional—books stacked on shelves, half-finished coding projects open on his desktop, and a lonely instant ramen cup sitting by the sink.
His eyes drifted to the unopened box on his desk. A sleek VR headset, delivered the previous evening by River.Inc themselves as part of a "student access program." Garrison must have signed up the whole class.
Denver scowled.
He pulled the headset out reluctantly. The glossy black surface reflected his face—messy hair, tired eyes, a young man who would rather be anywhere else.
"You're really doing this," he muttered to himself. "All for a stupid grade."
Still, his fingers hovered over the power button. Curiosity gnawed at him despite himself. The trailers had looked…beautiful, he had to admit. And if the rumors about adaptive Guardians were true, it would be unlike any AI he had studied.
"Just get to Level 10," he told himself. "One week. Then you're done."
The night before launch was restless. Denver lay awake, listening to the hum of the city outside his window. His mind wandered—not to excitement, but to unease.
What if the professor was right? What if Guardian Online really was the future? What if avoiding VR wasn't just stubbornness, but fear?
Sleep finally claimed him near dawn.
The next morning, the world was alive.
Social media exploded as servers prepared to go live. Streams of players lined up in VR cafés, influencers shouted into cameras, countdowns ticked across screens worldwide. Guardian Online wasn't just a game—it was an event.
Denver sat at his desk, headset in hand, watching the numbers tick down. 7:00 A.M. sharp.
He sighed. "Here we go."
Sliding the headset over his eyes, he felt the device hum. A soft warmth spread across his temples. His vision went black.
Then, light.
A voice, smooth and melodic, filled the void.
"Welcome to Guardian Online, Denver Blu. Initializing neural sync…"
He stiffened. "Wait—how do you know my name?"
"Your registration was completed through River.Inc's academic program. All student accounts have been verified."
Denver muttered a curse under his breath. Of course Garrison had already set everything up.
"Please relax," the voice continued. "Your sync rate is above average. You are compatible."
Before he could question what that meant, the darkness shattered.
A sky of endless blue stretched overhead. Fields of shimmering grass rolled to the horizon. Strange creatures—foxes with tails of flame, birds with crystal wings—darted through the air.
It was breathtaking.
Even Denver, ever the skeptic, found himself speechless.
"This…looks real," he whispered.
"Welcome to the Beginner's Plain," the voice said. "Would you like to customize your avatar?"
Denver hesitated. Around him, other players were materializing—flashy warriors, armored knights, cloaked mages. Everyone tinkered with their appearances, sculpting themselves into idealized versions.
Denver shrugged. "Skip customization. Keep it default."
The system chimed. "Confirmed. Proceeding with original likeness."
His reflection appeared briefly in the air—just him, plain and unremarkable. Black hair, sharp but tired eyes, simple clothing. Compared to the heroes around him, he looked painfully ordinary.
"Figures," he muttered.
A system message blinked before him:
[Notice: Welcome, Players! To log out, please access the Main Menu and select EXIT.]
Denver smirked. "Good. At least I can quit whenever I want."
But then, as the words faded, another notification appeared—blood red, unlike the cheerful blue.
[System Error: Log Out Function Temporarily Disabled.]
Denver froze.
Around him, other players were beginning to panic. Shouts rang out. "What's going on?" "Why can't I log out?" "This must be a bug!"
A cold sensation ran down Denver's spine.
The melodic voice returned, but this time, it carried a chilling edge.
"Attention, players. The path to freedom lies only through challenge. Clear Floor 50, and you may return to the world beyond. Fail, and your journey ends here…forever."
Denver's breath caught. His heart pounded.
He had agreed to this for a grade. For a laugh. For something meaningless.
Now, staring at the sprawling plain, surrounded by terrified strangers, Denver realized with dawning horror—
This was no longer just a game.