3. Introduction
"Ahahaha!" I burst out laughing as I comboed her in Tekken 8. Like always, I just suddenly remembered how to pull off those moves.
It had been several hours—maybe even a whole day—since we started playing. I couldn't really tell, but I hadn't felt tired at all. We went through all kinds of games: racing, fighting, co-op, battle royale. At first, I stayed cautious, but after an hour passed and nothing strange happened, my wariness faded. When I realized I wasn't in immediate danger, something in me just... switched on.
The room lights were on. Between us sat a pile of soda cans and half-eaten bags of chips. I'd asked if we had any snacks, and without saying a word, she just made them appear out of nowhere. Bizarre as hell, but at this point, I'd stopped questioning the small stuff.
At some point, she even started munching on the chips too.
The atmosphere had completely changed. Before, the air felt heavy—like I was deep underwater, surrounded by pressure. Now it was light, almost homely. You'd think we were just a pair of regular gamers chilling on a weekend night.
And still, we played on. I didn't know what was going on in her head, but for me, it was like revenge—a release after being denied gaming since coming to this world. Even in my past life—what little I remembered—I probably couldn't indulge like this.
Time became a blur. It must've been over 24 hours, but my body showed no signs of fatigue. And just when I felt satisfied, like my cravings had finally been met, she stood up.
Without a word, she walked over to a nearby cupboard, opened a drawer, and pulled out a sleek, white bracelet.
The moment she turned back toward me, the bracelet lit up, shining with blinding intensity. I had to shut my eyes to avoid the harsh light.
My eyes flew open as a burning sensation tore through my wrist. I instinctively thrashed around, trying to fling the thing off, but it wouldn't budge. When the pain finally subsided, I looked down and saw it—the same bracelet she had just pulled out.
I tried to speak, to question her, but—
"Mmgh!"
My lips wouldn't move. I couldn't speak.
"That was quite fun," she said. Her voice—flat as ever—held just a faint trace of emotion this time. Curiosity? Amusement?
For the first time, her expression changed. She smiled.
And it was... wrong.
Her lips curled at an unnatural angle—too high, too wide. No normal person could smile like that. The kind of smile only something not human could make.
"Don't worry," she continued. "It's a gift."
And just like that—
My consciousness vanished.
"Haa! Haa!"
I jolted upright, half-sitting on my bed, gasping for air like I was drowning. My chest heaved. I felt no physical injury, but my heart pounded with pure dread. My whole body shook like I was about to have a panic attack.
After several long minutes, I finally managed to calm down enough to assess my surroundings. My back was drenched in sweat, like I'd just stepped out of the shower. Everything in my room was normal. No strange figures, no glowing lights.
Was it just a dream?
I couldn't recall all the details. Just fragments—a presence I couldn't comprehend. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe it really was just a nightmare.
But then—I saw it.
The bracelet. Still on my wrist.
No... it was real.
And right at that moment, the system's notification appeared:
'Meeting with a special being detected'
'Evaluation: 88'
I let out a slow, shaky breath. Outside my window, the sun had started to rise, casting golden light over a new day.
"Chris? You're up early again."
As I did light exercises in the front yard, I turned to see my father watching me from the terrace, coffee in hand, an amused look on his face.
"Told you," I replied, wiping off sweat. "Read in a paper once that morning workouts are great for your health."
"Didn't think you'd keep it up this long," he said, settling into his chair with the newspaper.
"Want to join me, Father?" I teased.
"I'm good with this." He lifted his cup of coffee proudly.
"Haha, figures," I grinned, then joined him to enjoy our morning routine together.
"This is Professor Smith," my father said a little later, introducing his friend.
As planned, we'd headed to the professor's place after our coffee time.
"And this is my son," he added.
"Hello, Professor Smith. I'm Chris Diffodil. It's an honor to meet someone as exceptional as you—my father always spoke highly of your work," I said, offering a handshake.
"Him?" Professor Smith looked at my father suspiciously. "As if he ever said something nice about me. Gold falling from the sky would be more believable. Anyway, I'm Smith Mitter. Known this guy for years." He shook my hand before smacking my father's back playfully. "Good kid you've got here. Almost makes me want one of my own."
"Then get married," Grandar replied flatly.
"What are you talking about? Don't you see I'm already married?"
"To machines?"
In a flash, Professor Smith's eyes lit up like stars. "Exactly! Look at these beautiful babies!"
He zipped across the room like a rabbit, showing off the strange machines displayed on glass shelves covering every wall.
The room was half-office, half-museum. A work desk dominated the center, flanked by chairs for visitors, but the rest of the space was filled with shelves showcasing machines in every shape and size.
Grandar sighed and smacked the professor's head. "We don't have all day."
"Don't act all serious in front of your kid. You're the same as me," Smith retorted.
"I-I'm not... Ahem." Grandar coughed awkwardly, glancing at me.
...Seriously, Father? You just admitted it by acting like that.
I kept that thought to myself.
"Let's go," Smith said, leading us down a corridor. "I already called her. She's talented, but her background doesn't give her much support."
"A girl? That's rare," Grandar commented.
Smith nodded. "Yeah. She's that remarkable." He glanced at me before continuing. "Every year, I offer a few exceptional students a chance to assist in my workshop. It's up to them whether they accept. But I can say confidently—those who do gain more than they can imagine."
Grandar didn't say anything, but his silence showed agreement.
"And even among the recent batches," Smith added, "she stood out the most."
Before long, we arrived at his workshop. The space was large, centered around a massive table cluttered with tools and machines. It looked chaotic to an outsider, but to someone familiar, every piece was exactly where it belonged.
At the table, a young girl leaned forward, fully immersed in her work, completely unaware of our arrival.
"Let me introduce you," Smith said with a grin.
"Melissa Moretti."
A thunderbolt struck me the moment I heard that name.