His hand was trembling.
He held the [Minor Health Potion] up to the filtered green light of the forest. The glass was cool and solid.
The crimson liquid inside wasn't just red; it was a synthetic arterial color. And it had weight.
This was the crossroads of his mind.
His gamer brain, conditioned by two decades of logic, had a simple command:
Execute Healing Protocol: Drink the potion.
His real brain, the one currently screaming in his skull, had a different one:
You are a 25-year-old man in your pajamas, bleeding in a magic forest, and you are about to ingest a ten-year-old digital asset given to you by a girl you invented to pick a lock.
It was objectively insane.
He looked at his other arm. The gash was deep. The blood was now a black congealing mess. The edges of the wound were an angry purple.
Infection. Shock. Status: Bleeding Out.
He was dying, just slower now.
The alternative to insanity was death. But yeah, he'd take insanity all day.
He fumbled with the cork. It came free with a small pop. The smell hit him. It smelled like iron and ozone, a sterile chemical sharpness.
He didn't hesitate as he drained the vial in one go.
Ugghhhhhh
The taste was awful.
It was metallic, sweet, and cold. Not just cold, but an invasive chemical coldness that didn't just slide down his throat but flooded his entire nervous system.
He dropped the vial, gasping, a full-body shudder racking him.
Then, he looked at his arm.
It wasn't a gentle golden glow like in a game.
It was grotesque and fast.
He watched, his stomach turning, as the ragged purple edges of the wound seemed to vibrate, then forcefully pull together. The flesh knitted itself, writhing, like a month's healing condensed into three seconds.
A second later, the pain was gone.
Where the gaping wound had been, there was only a pink new-looking scar. It was tight. And it itched.
"I'm healed."
[Minor Health Potion]. From Aethelgard Online.
"It worked!!!"
A sound tore from his throat; half a laugh, half a sob. Hysteria bubbled, hot and sharp. He had survived the first most ridiculous test!
Then the blue bar in his vision, which he had forgotten, asserted itself.
[Creator Mana: 4/10]
He turned to Shivvy. She was staring at his new scar, her awe palpable.
Yeah, she was his miracle. But also she was his death clock.
[Upkeep: 1 Mana/Hour].
He had, at absolute most, four hours of sustain.
What happens when the bar hits zero? Did she de-manifest? Did he die?
He couldn't risk finding out.
He needed more mana. The only stat that looked like it would increase his mana pool was…
[Creator Level: 1].
The only way to raise that was EXP. He checked his status again.
[Creator Level: 1]
[EXP: 1/100]
He froze. One?
He replayed the fight. The terror. The running. The rock.
'I had thrown a rock, and it had hit the Goblin!!! I pulled aggro, you know!!!'
He only gotten one experience point for engaging the mob.
His gamer logic clicked back into place, a familiar comfort.
Observation: Hitting a mob gives 1 EXP.
Hypothesis: Killing a mob yields the quest reward.
Requirement: He needed 99 more EXP. He needed a kill.
He looked at his hands. Soft, uncalloused, now covered in drying mud.
Then he looked at Shivvy. She had one tiny, cheap iron dagger.
This was a resource loop. A death spiral. He needed EXP to get mana. And he needed mana—to summon a real fighter—to get EXP.
He was trapped at Level 1, with a ticking clock.
Unless...
He looked at Shivvy again. She was his inventory. She was his healer. But she was a passive drain. He couldn't afford her.
His will opened the interface.
[Summon Slot: 1/1]
[Shivvy (Active)].
Next to it was a small, unassuming button:
[Dismiss].
The word felt like a punch to the gut. De-summon.
He looked from the cold logical text to her real, terrified, sentient face.
She trusted him. She had called him Creator. To dismiss her now felt like virtual murder.
"Creator...?" she whispered, sensing the shift in him. "Is... is something wrong?"
But he had to.
"Shivvy," he started, his voice a dry croak. "I have to... I need you to... go back."
Her face crumbled. The trust in her eyes fractured, replaced by a familiar, beaten-down fear.
"Go... back?" she whispered. "To the... the bank? Did I do something wrong, Creator? I-I can be quieter. I can carry more! I have a [Lumpy Mattress] (Common) and six [Cracked Leather Scraps]..."
She was listing her inventory to prove her worth as a character.
Dante's self-loathing was a physical, choking thing.
"No," he said, his voice rough. "You were perfect. You saved me. But your... your mana. The upkeep."
He pointed to the air, to the UI only he could see.
"You cost one mana. Every hour. I'm running out. I only have... four... left."
He had to simplify. "I'm running out of power. And if I run out, I can't... I can't protect us."
She just watched him for a moment, her tear-filled eyes tracing the invisible lines of his explanation.
And she did understand. The terror faded, replaced by a grim, heartbreaking comprehension.
"It's okay, Creator," she whispered, wiping her nose on her dirty sleeve. "I understand. I'm... I'm a resource."
She gave him a small, watery, utterly broken smile.
"I'll just wait. I'm... I'm good at waiting."
He felt like a monster. He turned his eyes to the UI. He willed the command.
Dismiss.
Shivvy didn't scream. She didn't explode. She just... faded.
The light that composed her seemed to leak out. Her solid form blurred, her face turning translucent. Her colors desaturated, resolving back into that glitched, bluish-white energy.
Her eyes, fixed on him with a look of absolute, terrified faith, were the last thing to go.
Then, silence.
The spot where she stood was empty forest floor.
The blue bar in his vision stopped ticking.
[Creator Mana: 4/10]
Stable.
Dante slumped against the tree.
"Not a person," he corrected himself, his voice a harsh whisper. "A creation. A character."
The distinction felt paper-thin.
Rationalize. Analyze. Survive.
He had 4 mana. Zero upkeep. 1 EXP. He still needed a kill.
He opened The List. Sort by Lowest Cost.
[Subject 9] (Level 2 Slime). [Cost: 3 Mana].
He could afford it. He'd have 1 Mana left. A suicide button. It was a waste.
He needed to wait. He couldn't risk his last 4 mana.
He crawled into a deep, hollow base of an ancient, ivy-covered tree. It was dark, cramped, and smelled of damp earth.
It was perfect.
He pulled the ivy curtain closed.
He waited.
An hour passed. The forest was quiet. And his stomach rumbled with hunger.
His mana bar remained unchanged.
[4/10].
Ugh, this wasn't a strategy. This was just dying slowly.
Then, a new sound. A soft, clean, digital chime. A new pane of text flashed in his vision.
[System: 'Survive' (Hourly) Quest Complete. 5 EXP Awarded.]
[EXP: 6/100]
He stared. Passive gain.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
Another chime.
[System: Survival milestone reached. 'Creator' skill [Mana Regeneration (Passive)] unlocked.]
[Mana will now regenerate at 1 MP per 10 minutes.]
Dante stopped breathing. He watched the mana bar.
[4/10].
He waited.
...And the bar changed.
[5/10].
He let out his breath in a shuddering, silent laugh. The relief was so profound it made him dizzy. It wasn't a survival horror game. It was a slow, brutal, idle-game RPG.
But he had regen.
Analyze. 6 MP per hour. He could get back to full in less than an hour.
He waited, his world compressed to that tiny, filling bar.
[6/10]... [7/10]... [8/10]... [9/10]... [10/10].
He was full. He had a enough mana now.
He crawled out of the hollow. He was still in pajamas. But he wasn't helpless.
He could summon Shivvy again. His regen (6/hour) would more than cover her upkeep (1/hour).
He'd be net-positive. He could have his inventory and still gain mana. It was the safe, smart choice.
...But he still needed to level up. He still needed kills. Shivvy couldn't help him kill.
He scrolled past her name. He scrolled past the Slime. He scrolled to the name he'd checked before. The 10-mana gacha pull.
[Rin-Rin] (3-Star Rarity / Lv.20)
Game Origin: Idol Stage Gacha Pop
[Summon Cost: 10 Mana]
[Upkeep: 3 Mana/Hour]
He did the math. Summoning her would cost all his mana.
[10/10] -> [0/10].
Her upkeep was 3 Mana/Hour. His regen was 6 Mana/Hour. Even from zero, he would be net-positive. He would gain 3 Mana per hour while she was active.
This was it. This was the build. He wasn't summoning a warrior. He gonna summoning a 3-Star J-Pop idol.
He didn't know what she could do. He had maxed her out for fun, because her songs were ridiculous. This was a ridiculous, desperate gamble.
But it was the only one he had.
He stood up, brushing dirt and leaves from his pants. He found a small, clear patch of ground.
"Okay," he muttered to the trees, his voice hoarse. "Let's see what the gacha logic bought me."
He took a deep breath. His will pushed the button.
Summon: Rin-Rin.