Ren knew World Liberator was going to be different. He just didn't expect it to come with his own personal King Arthur embedded in this skull.
It had been on his wishlist for two Christmases running and ran through his brain like a feedback loop: a VRMMO with a dynamic map the size of a continent, borderline illegal realism, and the chance for him to become the overpowered hero he definitely wasn't in real life – hell yeah.
What did he get instead? Weirdly phrased insults (at least that's what he thought they were), unsolicited lectures on honour, and a permanent headache.
"Left! Left, you dolt! That was a strike, not an invitation!"
He tumbled to the ground face-first, eating a generous helping of cave dirt as his sword clattered uselessly beside him – the echo bouncing off the stone walls like it was laughing at him. Honestly? He probably would've laughed too.
"Who even sold you this sword if you are unable to wield it?"
"Then you do it!" Ren shouted, rolling away from the massive cleaver that slammed down where his chest used to be.
Asshole.
"If I could move, do you not think I would?"
Right. That part.
Ren was controlling his body. Kind of.
It was hard to tell where his reflexes ended and the shouted orders began.
You tend to do something when someone shouts it into your ear loud enough, and he couldn't get much closer than inside his literal cranium.
Or maybe it was his prefrontal cortex?
He'd ask Aki later – assuming she didn't laugh in his face and call him schizophrenic.
"And you do know that I can hear your thoughts?"
Yikes. Sorry about that. Totally my fault.
A guttural roar bellowed behind him. Ren gripped his sword, turned to face the ten-foot slab of muscle now barreling toward him.
This was the last time he'd skip the tutorial.
***
TOKYO, JAPAN
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"Just… five more minutes"
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Ren cracked one eye open. The sun pierced through the cracks in the blinds, his owl-shaped gift of an alarm clock stared into his soul which read.
Monday, April 7th, 2031 – 8:07 AM
Shit.
No. No no no no–
He jolted up, flinging the covers off – clipping the shelf above him, which promptly triggered an avalanche of light novels to crash down onto his head.
"Ow! What the hell?"
Grimacing through the pain, one leg still tangled in the blanket, he lurched off his bed – only to trip over a minefield of empty plastic bottles and faceplant into the floor.
...what a perfect start to the day.
He lay there for a moment, sprawled flat, staring at the floor in defeat.
CLICK.
The door creaked open, revealing a girl, around the same age as Ren. She was in a long oversized T-Shirt which had some bad physics joke that he didn't understand printed onto it. Her long black hair was tied up into a messy ponytail, long bangs framing her curious face as she tilted her head sideways.
An inquisitive look was etched across her face as her dark amber eyes silently judged him – though, they weren't silent for long.
"Woah, weirdo alert. What happened here? I was eating breakfast and heard a massive thump come from upstairs – thought someone might have actually been hurt."
Ren cracked a small grin.
At least someone cared.
"... and it was just you, so no big deal."
The grin vanished.
"Just because you're smart doesn't mean you have to be such an asshole, Aki. I could've, like, died or something!" Ren groaned.
"Bwahahaha! That would've been hilarious as hell! Imagine your gravestone:
August 2014 - April 2031: Here lies Ren Tsukihara – VRMMO connoisseur, woman avoider, cup noodle enjoyer. Cause of death: Blanket."
She looked off into the corner of the wall – probably for dramatic effect – and put her hand on her chin.
"Hmm, would it even be worth getting a gravestone for that? Maybe you'd be a useful compost instead," she muttered.
"Real caring of you sis, appreciate that," Ren mumbled amidst Aki's chuckles.
"I know I am, I'm so caring in fact, I even made you breakfast!"
Ren sniffed the air – then he smelt it. The freshly steamed rice mixed with a hint of soy sauce.
Was that…
"I already know what you're thinking – and yup! It's your genius twin sister Aki's super awesome, ultra-signature: tamago kake gohan!"
Gohan… Gohan… Gohan… It echoed in his head like a holy chant.
Aki beamed, tossing up a dramatic thumbs up.
Ren salivated at the thought.
He could already taste it – soft, steaming rice, each grain kissed by the silky raw egg and that perfect dash of soy sauce. Absolute comfort in a bowl. Warm, salty, simple… the kind of food that made the world suck just a little less.
"Although…" Aki chimed in with a faux-innocent smile, "you are running super late, so I guess you'll just have to wait till next time."
Heartbreak.
"I'm not the villain here," she added, already turning away.
"Wake up on time. Maybe if your alarm clock was embedded into your skull or something, then you'd actually hear it."
Ren lay there in silence, heart shattered.
…
He glanced at the clock again.
Monday, April 7th, 2031 – 8:13 AM
Oh yeah – school.
Shit! School!
Ren shot up like his life depended on it – because frankly, it kind of did.
He yanked a blazer off the back of his chair. One sock already on, the other – where? Under the bed? In the trash? Stuck to the wall with static electricity? He didn't have time to find out. He would just jam his bare foot into a sneaker and hope no one noticed the difference.
Ren scanned his room.
Bag. Bagbagbaggg–
There!
Half zipped and weirdly sticky on one side – probably from yesterday's banana.
He fished his tablet out from under a mountain of empty cup noodles, fumbled, and caught it against his chest like a ball.
Victory.
Small and pathetic, but victory nonetheless.
FWOOSH
"Good morning sunshine." Ren declared to his tablet whilst blowing the dust off of it – a clear indicator of his academic activity during the break.
Toothbrush? No time. Mouthwash it is. Rinse – Spit – Accidentally swallow some. Good enough.
Hair? A black hole of a bird's nest. Don't even mention it.
"Fixable on the way," he muttered.
He hopped down the stairs two at a time, floorboards creaking with every other step. The TV was on in the background:
"ProdiCare's latest advancement harnesses a new, groundbreaking proprietary compound – developed in house and available exclusively through Prodigal affiliated care networks – able to treat conditions once thought–"
Ren might've cared some other morning: not this one. He was already halfway to the front door.
He reached for the doorknob–
THUNK!
Something heavy landed at the front of the house.
"Yo! Bus service is suspended again!" Aki's voice called from the garage, far too chipper. She took enjoyment in his suffering. "Looks like you're on Princess Glitterdoom duty!"
Ren turned slowly.
"No…"
"Oh yes," Aki sing-songed, peeking her head through the door. "She's waiting for you. Basket and all."
Outside, gleaming in the morning April sun, stood Princess Glitterdoom: a bubblegum-pink bicycle – rainbow streamers, one training wheel long gone, the other holding on for dear life, and a little unicorn horn duct-taped to the front.
A shaky, fed up exhale left his lips.
"... I hate my life."
***
8:19 AM
His head still stung, but that was the least of his worries. He could find out if he had a concussion after getting to school.
Ren pedaled like Satan himself was chasing him. Which, in a way, he was – except in this case, Satan looked like truancy notices, detention, and the devilish glare of Class Rep Saionji when someone disrupted her roll call.
His knees stuck out awkwardly, every bump in the road made the unicorn horn jiggle with deranged enthusiasm. The streamers? Flapping like victory flags of shame.
The little pink bike wobbled beneath like it had a personal vendetta against him.
Look I'm sorry I called you stupid. Just please, please get me to school in time. Truce?
No reply.
Of course you won't reply, you're just some dumb little kiddie bike.
As fate would have it, just as the heretical thought left his mind, the handlebar stiffened at the next corner, and he almost took out an old man walking his dog. Swerved. Apologised. Kept pedalling.
Alright, alright! I'm sorry, Princess Glitterdoom. You aren't stupid.
"And in other news, Prodigal Systems' highly anticipated VRMMO game World Liberator, will be dropping online, and all across Japan in shops countrywide at 17:00 today! We have beta tester–"
The words spilled from a storefront TV as he zoomed past, the anchors' plastic smiles warbling with Doppler effect.
"... it's perhaps the most realistic full-dive VRMMO I've ever played! And there are no NPCs at all – the players do everything! However it does take some getting used to – the pain absorber is pretty low compared to industry standard, and enemies don't have a health bar, so you gotta keep hacking away at them–"
But Ren had already passed it, weaving between delivery drones and a guy in a full-body mecha cosplay suit who looked way too committed for a Monday morning – shameless: but he did kind of have to respect it.
"Nice cosplay, dude." Ren shouted back whilst passing him. Sincerity? Some. Sarcasm? A lot.
Was he late? Probably.
Was this humiliating? Extremely.
Was the pink basket full of Aki's glittery stickers? Absolutely.
Ren gave a defeated sigh.
At least I don't have a reputation to kill.
***
8:26 AM
Ren practically launched Princess Glitterdoom into a bush and sprinted the last stretch, blazer flapping, his only sock sliding halfway off his foot.
The school gates loomed ahead – blessedly still open.
Thank god, I'm going to make it. Victory number 2, here I–
"Yo."
Ren let out a shrill shriek.
Just out of view, standing at the entrance like he owned it – sunlight hitting him like a stage spotlight – was Haruki Minazuki.
Uniform crisp. Tie perfect. Messy light brown middle-part that was just long enough to fall over his forehead in lazy waves, like he'd rolled out of bed looking model ready. Artfully tousled. Undeniably intentional.
Haruki strolled towards the gates like he'd just stepped out of a Vogue magazine, and onto a Paris Fashion Week runway – bag slung just-right over one shoulder, baseball bat over the other.
And of course, the smile. That Haruki-certified brand of effortless, that screamed "I've already aced midterms you haven't taken yet."
Hell, even Ren felt his soul leave his body a little.
And… right on cue, they trailed behind – the 'Haruki Fan Club' – not officially organised, but definitely real. Five girls – maybe six – hovering at a reverent distance, clutching their chests in adoration.
"Kyaa~ he's so mature-looking now – did he get taller again?"
"The way he slings that bat over his shoulder is soooo hot. Like hit me puh-lease."
Ren wheezed, "Dude. Please tell me you didn't camp outside the gate just to roast me."
Haruki smiled and showed his phone screen. "I got a slow-mo shot of you launching Princess Glitterdoom. It's awesome."
"I hate you."
"You love me. But, that's not the only reason I'm here. Guess what I've got?"
Ren nodded in acknowledgement.
Something changed in Haruki's appearance, a previously absent sparkle in his hazel eyes emerged.
He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his blazer pocket. "An unreleased map of where all the best grind spots are in World Liberator!"
The 'Haruki Fan Club' watched in the distance.
"Wowww, look at his eyes! He must be talking about the geopolitical status of Japan or something!" One of the girls chimed up.
"Maybe new education reforms! That sparkle in his eyes – he really cares!" Another chirped.
"And…" A devious grin formed on Haruki's face. "You know the Taro in Class 2C?"
"Yeah, the pitcher, right?"
"He told me he found a leak saying there might be fully animated chest mechanics – if you know what I mean." Haruki added with a nudge and a sly wink.
"You're lowkey such a creep Har–"
"There isn't."
The voice was flat. Neutral. So neutral it looped back around to unsettling.
Ren flinched and turned.
There stood a girl – Futaba Kurose.
Is everyone trying to jumpscare me today?
Expression unreadable. Messy black wolf cut. Oversized glasses framed her dead eyes – not tired, just unbothered.
A school bag hung off one shoulder, and a half-eaten melon bread sat in one hand like it was a perfectly acceptable breakfast substitute.
No one had seen her arrive. Not even Haruki, who was notoriously alert, like a hawk. A smug, overachieving, attractive hawk.
"...What?" Haruki blinked.
"The chest physics," Futaba said, simply chewing. "They're fake. Low-res cloth sim. I checked."
…
"How the hell do you know?" Haruki grieved, falling to his knees, clawing at Futaba's blazer. "Please tell me this isn't true!"
Futaba didn't reply. Another bite.
How did she know…?
Then, it all came back to Ren – albeit a little slower this morning.
"No way I forgot! You were one of the beta testers, weren't you Futaba?" Ren commented. "One of the pros of being a big shot streamer, huh?" He teased.
Yet again no reply. And yet again, another bite.
Composing himself, Haruki got back up. "That's right! So… how was it? Are the mechanics super awesome? The objective? How's the magic system? Combos? Is there PKing? Map size? Best starting class? Any problems with the game?..."
Haruki continued to harass Futaba, firing question after question. Futaba continued to give a blank, expressionless look, while finishing her melon bread.
"Alright, you're done with the melon bread now – share the news, partner." Haruki pleaded.
Without breaking eye contact, Futaba reached behind her… and pulled out a second melon bread.
Haruki moaned exasperatedly.
***
8:33 AM
They made it just before the bell. Ren collapsed into his seat like he'd survived a war. Backpack exploded across the desk. Tie nowhere near regulation. His left sock? Still M.I.A.
Haruki sat one row over, already reclining like a king, spinning his pen between his long, annoyingly perfectly sculpted fingers. How did he not look out of breath?
Futaba? Front row, by the window. No one had seen her walk in. Again.
The classroom was filled with that peculiar first-day energy – students buzzing with low-grade tension, excited whispers, nervous glances, someone pretending they hadn't forgotten their break homework.
Amateur.
Ren chuckled – though he wasn't in much of a position to judge. He'd speedran all his homework on the first day of the break like they were some side quest, and the results? They showed.
KIIN-KOON-KAAN-KOON.
Students shuffled into seats, bags rustled, tablets cracked open.
At the front, the homeroom teacher cleared his throat.
"Before we begin, I'd like to introduce a new student," he declared, gesturing towards a light-haired girl.
Ren couldn't tell what colour her hair was: white at some angles, blonde at others – it depended on the light. Her eyes a rich, vibrant green – not like Ren's constantly jaded green eyes.
"Transferring all the way from…"
Haruki interrupted, leaning over. "Yo, what's our homeroom teacher's name again?"
Ren let out a pained groan. "Don't ask me, man. I barely remembered how to put pants on this morning."
Haruki snapped his finger. "No wait – it's something weird, like… Nishikawa? Nishi-something? The one with the dramatic eyebrows?"
"Sensei Eyebrows," Ren nodded solemnly.
"I think he won a teaching award once," Haruki mused. "Or… maybe that was the guy that got arrested."
A voice from right in front of them cut in.
"Makabe Hiroshi. Age 38. Teaches European History and Ethics. Voted 'Most Encouraging Smile' in 2029. He's allergic to sesame oil."
Both boys looked up.
It was Futaba.
"I ran out of melon bread." She blinked.
That sparkle returned to Haruki's eyes.
"Does that mean…"
"Yes. The mechanics are 'super awesome'. The objective of the game is to defeat enemies which have occupied the native kingdom of Miloria. A secondary objective is to collect magic crystals. Magic system is adequate, 7.8% below industry standard with features – negligible. Yes there are combos. Yes there is PKing. AGI-based classes dominate the current meta, but you don't get to choose your class type–"
"Wait what. What do you mean you don't get to choose your class type?"
"You don't get to choose your class type."
"Thanks for the elaboration Shakespeare," Ren chimed in.
Futaba gave out a flat sigh. "The game scans your brain, then according to the data they collect, they assign you a character complete with a backstory, signature abilities and all. Though, the signature ability feature appears to be broken. I was assigned a mage-character, but was unable to use my signature ability."
"Wait, does that mean I might have to play as a character with a face that isn't mine?" Haruki shrieked.
"No. The backstory of your character is predetermined, but they use your face as a model for in-game."
Haruki let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God."
Okay, Captain Vain.
"But you can still change your character's appearance a bit, right? Like hair?" Ren questioned.
"Yes. My character has neon green hair."
"Whattttt?" Both boys exclaimed in synchrony.
"That was a joke." Futaba retorted, still unflinching in tone.
Ren remarked. "Oh right, Futaba you really oughta–"
DING!
A notification lit up Futaba's phone on the desk:
MELON BREAD LOCATOR V5 HAS LOCATED MELON BREAD 1.3KM FROM YOUR LOCATION.
Futaba silently turned around, grabbed her bag, and left for the door.
"Ms. Kurose, where are you going?" Mr. Hiroshi asked.
Futaba deadpanned, then walked straight out the door.
***
4:11 PM
Ren stood beside the bike rack, staring at the pink menace. Its unicorn horn gleamed in the sun – mockingly.
I think she missed me.
"I hate that I'm starting to believe she's sentient."
Haruki tossed his bag over his shoulder and slung the bat across his back with practiced ease.
"You actually survived the first day. I'm proud. Didn't even fall asleep during Ethics."
"I was asleep the entire time." Ren remarked.
"Exactly."
They started walking together down the slope behind the school, a familiar after-school path bathed in late-afternoon light.
"So," Haruki said, cracking his knuckles. "World Liberator. You picking it up today?"
Ren perked up. "Hell yeah. 5PM launch, right? I've already cleared space, charged my headset, and sacrificed my dignity. I'm ready."
Haruki winced. "About that… I've got practice."
Ren stopped walking. "Baseball?"
"Coach moved our game forward. Whole team's hyped. Says this one might get scouts watching."
Ren let out a dramatic groan. "Why must you be talented at things?"
"Sorry, man. Gotta wait 'till tomorrow. Don't go full tryhard mode without me."
"No promises."
Haruki grinned, giving a lazy salute as he peeled off toward the sports wing.
Ren lingered at the gate, eyes drifting toward the sky, a dull buzz of anticipation prickling his skin.
A thought flickered.
Wait. Where the hell did Futaba go?
Did she go home? Was she already logged into the game?
…
Ren furrowed his brows.
That sneaky bastard.
He turned, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and gave the pink bike a resigned sigh.
"Alright, Unicorn. Let's ride."