A boy clear as ice, clean as jade lay in bed clutching at his huge quilt. All that could be seen was a bulge beneath the blanket, round white fingers holding a blanket in a death grip, a tuft of hair, and two large bottomless black eyes.
Knock knock.
The door slid open.
The boy on the bed had abruptly sat up. His face seemed to show he was calm and collected. Subconsciously clenched hands and eye avoidance revealed his nervousness. When the man at the door revealed himself to be non-threatening the boy relaxed a bit. With his guard dropped, he calmed down and watched the man.
A smiling gray-haired man came in. He looked to be in his 70s, and his body barely seemed to be able to stand on its own. There was a slight tremble present in every movement as if his bones were constantly on the verge of collapse. His body was frail and thin, and his actions jostling and clumsy. He carefully carried in a tray of food, which seemed ready to tilt and fall at any moment with his precarious holding. Amazingly, he'd made it to the bed before even a drop could spill from the tall glass of juice.
"Fourth young master," His voice was soft and gentle with a little rasp behind it, "Today's breakfast is western style with a muffin, egg, bacon, and a glass of orange juice." He didn't seem to expect any kind of response from the boy. It almost seemed as if he were speaking to himself. He chuckled a little as he continued, "I snatched a cinnamon apple muffin for you, your favorite."
The man pulled a rolling table away from the wall and slid it over the bed. The tray was set down on it. His movements were slow, and sometimes his arm randomly jerked. It took him a minute or two to cut the muffin in half and butter it. Then he slowly reached for the boy's hand and led it to the food.
"You eat, fourth young master." He patted the hand gently, "I will choose today's clothes. Mrs. Weathersby said today's temperature will be about 17 degrees. It's a new Mrs. Weathersby this month. Yesterday was still Mr. Weathersby. Handsome young man. Seems he's moved up. The young lady who took his place is about the age of my granddaughter. Time moves so quickly. How about wearing blue today? The Weathersby when my daughter was growing up didn't change so often…" The old man used the same name for all Weathermen and women.
The old man continued talking in the closet as he slowly pulled out an outfit.
The boy looked himself over. He was in pajamas. His hands were clean and smelled like soap, his fingernails were round and beautiful, and his stomach and throat were fine. Maybe a little hungry. He didn't have the weakness he had a while ago.
'System, are the two bodies separate?' He asked inwardly.
[This setting is separated by default. Would Host like to adjust?]
'No!' Wouldn't he be waking up with scratches and dirt on him if that happened? How would he be able to explain that? His fingernails were broken from digging up roots and grass to eat and he had scratches all over in Area Two. Now that he'd solved his food problem, he only needed some time. He could also find the gold poles and yoo-ha moths to go to another place. Maybe there would be a cabin next time.
He ate as he listened to the old man chatter on and on. The old man didn't seem to expect any kind of response. He was glad for that, but was there something more to it? He remembered how the old man had taken the time to butter the muffin and even led his hand to it. He remembered the flashback in the hospital. Did he need to act mentally retarded?
'System…' He wasn't sure what he was getting at, but the system seemed to have understood his state of mind.
[Host used to spend his time accumulating items and points in mini-games. Host rarely responded to outside influences.]
'Mini games?'
Another grid popped up in front of him. This one had names and a short description with the pictures. And instead of a hundred pictures a page, this one only had half a dozen options. Titles like 'Bubble Burst', 'Space Shooter', and 'Platform Jumper' accompanied a picture of a simple game. Beneath it was a list of obtainable items. Above all the options was 'Bonus Games for Reality' and a description.
[Bonus games can be played in reality for basic items. Games and new items can be opened by raising the Host's status or using points. Specific items can be chosen as a reward in 'rewards available' with points. Points gained depending on game progress.]
He read the description and then looked at the rewards for Space Shooter. He tapped on the list of rewards. It was so long it had been cut off. Each game only showed the first few rewards. Most of them had a garden trowel, mortar and pestle, jar, and a water bottle, as the first items.
When the list came up it was put into sections. The trowels, jars, and such were put into a section for 'Non-combat Areas'. Other sections Included Food, Weapons, Equipment, Etc. The items that weren't available were grayed out. He recognized many of the items he saw. Bai Gujing had probably gathered almost everything from these games.
'Why did he need to game so much? What does he need the items for?'
The system didn't respond right away. When he thought it wouldn't reply, a window finally popped up. When he read what it said, he started to think he really should act out a mental illness.