From Alessio Leone's Perspective
The dorm room reeked of accumulated dust, mixed with the cheap scent of disinfectant the janitor had used days earlier. The walls, plastered with worn-out posters of bands and e-sports tournaments, revealed the haste and disorder of an ordinary student—law books stacked haphazardly on the desk, a monitor blinking on standby, and clothes thrown over a wooden chair that looked ready to collapse at any moment. A bottle of cold coffee rested beside a bundle of scribbled notes, as if its owner had fallen asleep mid-battle against time itself.
The bed, narrow and unkempt, seemed far too small for the presence that was now stirring awake upon it.
Alessio Leone's eyes snapped open like a cornered predator. His chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead despite the cold of the early dawn. His expression was not the sleepy calm of someone just waking—it carried the fury of a man who had just fought an invisible war.
With a sudden movement, he pressed his right hand against his chest, fingers gripping tightly over his heart as if to cage something that threatened to break free. The muscles of his arm flexed, veins standing out, while his short breaths echoed like thunder held back.
For a few seconds, he remained that way—his gaze fixed on the stained ceiling, his jaw locked, every fiber of his body drawn taut like a bowstring. Then, slowly, he inhaled deeply, his abdomen expanding beneath his unbuttoned shirt, and released the air in a heavy, grave sigh.
"Damn them…" The voice came out raw, as if dragged from his very depths. "They must pay…"
He still didn't see his surroundings. His honey-colored eyes, hardened like amber, didn't recognize the familiar dorm. He didn't look at the scattered books, nor at the computer still casting a faint blue glow, nor at the clothes strewn across the floor. None of it mattered. It was as if the room didn't exist at all.
Instinct guided him. Without hesitation, he swung his legs out of bed and strode barefoot toward the door. His steps echoed in the silence like drumbeats. The cold handle yielded easily to his grip, and he crossed the threshold.
But on the other side… there was no living room.
What greeted him was a narrow, suffocating corridor, lit only by a row of flickering yellow bulbs overhead. The hallway seemed endless. To his left and right, identical doors lined up like soldiers in formation, each unmarked, numberless—mere blank surfaces sealing away unfathomable mysteries. The air was thick, stagnant, as though it had been trapped there for decades.
Alessio stopped, muscles still coiled tight. For an instant, the unshakable confidence he always carried seemed to falter. His eyes swept the corridor, searching for something familiar, but nothing answered his sense of reality.
What's happening…? His mind spun, gears grinding in confusion.
The silence was absolute, broken only by his breathing—until a voice struck him.
A voice he hadn't heard in a long time.
"Alessio… let me through."
Time froze. He turned his head slowly, each second dragging like an eternity. His gaze locked onto the figure before him.
A young woman, her beauty unmistakable, as though time itself had halted around her. Her long, lightly wavy brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting with the softness of her fair skin. Her almond-shaped eyes, a deep and warm brown, shone with intensity, though now half-narrowed in irritation. There was something magnetic in her gaze—a perfect balance of tenderness and firmness.
She wore a dark blouse, snug enough to highlight her delicate figure, and at her neck hung a golden pendant that glimmered faintly in the corridor's weak light. That small detail seemed to carry weight, as if inseparable from her very being.
Alessio froze, paralyzed. His heart, which moments ago thundered with rage, now pounded with memory. How long had it been since he last saw her? An eternity… and yet there she was, unchanged. Not a single strand of hair different, as if untouched by time.
"Alessio, move." Her voice cut through the silence like a fine blade, tinged with the impatience he remembered so well. "Just because you've graduated doesn't mean everyone else has. I've got exams today. If I'm late, how exactly are you going to make it up to me for blocking my way?"
The words echoed in his ears, as though from far away, belonging to another world. Alessio didn't fully grasp what she was saying. The strange corridor, the suffocating air, his furious heart—none of it fit together. But there was something in her expression—that firm look, laced with genuine annoyance—that made him step back instinctively.
He moved aside. She huffed impatiently, turned her head with a flick of her hair, and walked past him without hesitation. Her soft perfume lingered in the air for a few moments, carrying with it a wave of memories Alessio didn't want, but couldn't avoid.
Her footsteps echoed down the corridor until she reached a discreet exit—a heavy door leading to a stairwell. Without looking back, she vanished through it, as if it were nothing more than another routine morning.
Only then did Alessio's mind begin working again. He blinked, his body still tense, and slowly turned back toward the room he had left. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and scanned every detail as if seeing it for the first time.
The same messy dorm room… but now, nothing felt the same.
His first thought was a brutal denial:
No… this isn't possible, right?
The words echoed in his mind as his eyes combed the room. Every detail stabbed at his memory: the narrow bed with its sagging mattress, the cheap lamp that creaked when switched on, the wall calendar yellowed with age, displaying dates from a semester he swore was long past.
He knew this place better than anyone.
This was his dorm room. The very same one he had left behind ten years ago, just months after the launch of The Awakening of the Black Tower—the game that not only changed the world, but had changed his life forever. This was where it all began. This was where Alessio Leone, the bored law student and passionate gamer, had finally found a way to turn skill into power, influence, and real money.
But now… he was here again.
The freshest memory burning in his mind was terrible: his own teammates, the ones who had sworn to fight at his side until the end, driving blades and spells into his back without mercy—all for a single legacy item. The bitter taste of betrayal was still in his mouth, as vivid as the blood he'd felt spill in his final battle.
No… this isn't possible. It can't be possible…
But the room was there. The dust in the air, the poorly varnished desk, even the old ceiling fan creaking faintly with each turn. Everything, absolutely everything, was too real.
Alessio wasted no time. His heart raced, but his mind worked with the cold precision of a strategist. With long strides, he crossed to the desk where an old computer rested, its gray casing yellowed with age, its flat screen sluggish to respond. His trembling hands slid over the mouse and keyboard, as though it had been years since he last touched something so outdated.
He powered it on. The familiar hum of the fan and the crackle of the old hard drive filled the room—a sound almost like destiny laughing at him.
With short breaths, he opened the browser. His fingers typed quickly, guided by instinct:
The Awakening of the Black Tower.
The page loaded slowly, as if the universe itself wanted to stretch out the tension of the moment. When it finally appeared, Alessio felt his legs weaken.
At the center of the screen, in bold letters, was the announcement. Exactly as he remembered, as though time had frozen in that era:
"Prepare for the Revolution of Gaming: The Awakening of the Black Tower."
Beneath the title, a massive countdown glowed red:
6 months until launch.
Alessio stood frozen, staring at the screen in disbelief. His throat dry, his eyes fixed, his heart hammering. For a few seconds, only the hum of the old computer filled the silence.
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
A rough, hysterical laugh burst from his lips, shattering the morning quiet. He laughed with his head thrown back, shoulders trembling, uncaring of the thin dorm walls or the strict rules of silence. What did it matter? Who could possibly understand what was happening to him?
There was no more room for denial. As absurd as it seemed, as impossible as it was, the truth was written into every detail around him.
Alessio had gone back in time.
Ten years.
Ten impossible years.