The days after my mother's funeral were a blur. My aunt stayed with me for a while, but eventually, she had to return to her own family. I was left alone in a house that felt unbearably empty. The silence was suffocating.
I found myself retreating to my room more and more, shutting out the world. My textbooks and graduation gifts lay untouched in a corner. I couldn't bring myself to care about anything. The only thing that kept me going was my computer.
I stumbled upon an online game called "Nation's Dawn," a complex strategy game where players could build and manage their own virtual nations. It seemed like a good distraction, something to occupy my mind and drown out the grief.
At first, I played casually, trying to figure out the mechanics and exploring the virtual world. But soon, I was hooked. The game was incredibly detailed, allowing me to create a nation from scratch, manage resources, form alliances, and wage wars. It was a world where I had control, a stark contrast to the chaos of my real life.
Days turned into weeks as I immersed myself in the game. I spent hours strategizing, building, and expanding my nation. I made allies with other players, forming a tight-knit community within the game. We communicated through chat, discussing strategies and planning our next moves. It was a world where I felt needed, where I had a purpose.
I stopped going outside. My aunt called and texted, but I rarely responded. I barely noticed the passage of time, only emerging from my room for the occasional meal or bathroom break. The virtual world became my reality, a place where I could escape from the pain and loneliness.
One night, as I was deep into a late-night gaming session, I received a message from one of my in-game allies, a player named "Phoenix." She was one of the top players and had helped me a lot when I was starting out.
"Hey Ji-Seok, are you okay? You haven't been very active on chat lately," she wrote.
I stared at the message for a moment, then typed back, "I'm fine. Just busy with real-life stuff."
"Well, if you ever need to talk, I'm here," she replied.
I appreciated her offer, but I wasn't ready to open up about my life. The game was my escape, not a place for my real-world problems. I thanked her and returned to my virtual empire, losing myself in the strategy and management tasks.
As the weeks turned into months, the game became my entire world. I avoided thinking about my mother's death, my father's mysterious assassination, and the future that seemed so uncertain. "Nation's Dawn" was my sanctuary, a place where I could pretend that everything was okay.
But deep down, I knew that I couldn't hide forever. The real world was still out there, waiting for me to face it.
My nation in "Nation's Dawn" was thriving. I had built a strong economy, a powerful army, and strategic alliances with other players. Among these allies, Phoenix stood out. She was a brilliant strategist, and together, we dominated our part of the virtual world.
"Nice work on the latest conquest," Phoenix messaged me after we successfully captured a rival's territory.
"Couldn't have done it without you," I replied, genuinely appreciating her support.
Our partnership grew stronger, and I began to open up to Phoenix more. We talked about our lives outside the game, though I kept the details of my personal struggles vague. She shared stories of her job, her hobbies, and her dreams, and I found comfort in our conversations.
The game provided a structure and a sense of accomplishment that I desperately needed. I spent hours planning my next moves, coordinating with allies, and managing my nation's resources. It was a welcome distraction from the emptiness that haunted my real life.
One evening, as I was immersed in the game, Phoenix sent me a private message.
"Ji-Seok, I've been thinking. We should meet up in real life."
The idea took me by surprise. I hesitated, unsure how to respond.
"Why?" I typed back.
"Because I think we could be good friends outside the game too. Plus, I have something important to tell you."
I was curious, but also wary. Meeting someone from the game in real life was a big step, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.
"Okay, let's do it," I finally agreed, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety.
We made plans to meet at a nearby café the following weekend. As the day approached, I found myself looking forward to it, hoping that this might be a step towards reconnecting with the real world.
The weekend came faster than I expected. I felt a mixture of nerves and excitement as I made my way to the café where Phoenix and I had agreed to meet. I wondered what she looked like and what she wanted to tell me. For the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of something resembling hope.
When I arrived, the café was bustling with people. I scanned the room, searching for anyone who might be waiting for me. Then I saw her. She was sitting at a corner table, a coffee in hand, looking exactly like the profile picture she had once shared – a friendly face with a warm smile.
"Phoenix?" I asked, approaching her table.
"Ji-Seok," she replied, standing up to greet me. "It's so good to finally meet you in person."
We shook hands awkwardly before sitting down. The conversation started off with the usual small talk, but it quickly turned to the game and our shared experiences. It felt surprisingly natural, and I began to relax.
After a while, Phoenix leaned forward, her expression serious. "Ji-Seok, I have something for you. It's a special item from the game."
Curious, I leaned in. "What is it?"
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, intricately carved box. "Open it," she said with a smile.
I opened the box, revealing a strange-looking device. It was sleek and metallic, with glowing blue lights.
"What is this?" I asked, feeling a bit uneasy.
"It's a prototype VR headset," she explained. "It's supposed to give you a more immersive experience in the game. Try it on."
I hesitated but eventually decided to trust her. I put on the headset and felt a sudden, intense jolt. My vision went dark, and I felt a strange, tingling sensation all over my body.
"Phoenix, what's happening?" I tried to take off the headset, but I couldn't move.
"Goodbye, Ji-Seok," I heard her voice, cold and distant. "You should have stayed away."
Everything went black.