You're standing in an elegantly arranged room, feeling completely out of place. Everything is meticulously organized: bookshelves lined with neatly arranged volumes, small potted plants scattered with precise symmetry on polished tables. The air carries a light, calming scent—a blend of lavender and pine—meant to soothe the senses. But even with that, an unsettling thought gnaws at you: *Am I in the right place? Is this room even part of the story? Did I step into the wrong chapter?*
The sudden creak of a door interrupts your thoughts. The bathroom door swings open, releasing a wave of steam that swirls into the room. Out steps Alex, water still clinging to his reddish-brown hair, each droplet catching the light like tiny gems. His muscular frame is more defined than you remembered, and the intricate tattoo of a dagger along his arm seems to pulse subtly as if alive. But all that pales in comparison to the most immediate detail—the lone towel wrapped around his waist.
"What the—!" Alex's eyes widen as he takes you in. In a near-comic burst of panic, he grips the towel tighter, attempting to preserve what's left of his modesty.
"Ever heard of knocking? Didn't anyone teach you any damn manners?" His tone is caught between irritation and playful disbelief as he retreats into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. The room falls silent, leaving you to wonder if stepping into this scene was a terrible mistake.
Moments later, the door reopens, and Alex reappears, now dressed in dark pants and a plain gray shirt, looking far more composed. He strides to the small kitchen nook, yanks open a drawer, and pulls out a pan, placing it on the stove with a clatter. His voice drips with sarcasm as he begins to speak.
"Barging in without so much as a knock? Not even a polite 'Hey, you in there?' Nope. You just waltz in like you own the place," he says, giving the pan a sharp flick. "You're lucky I was just finishing up my shower. This could've been a hell of a surprise for both of us."
He cracks a couple of eggs with practiced ease and tosses bread into the toaster. Every now and then, he glances over at you, checking whether you're still standing there or if you've somehow evaporated.
"Did you eat already?" he asks, not bothering to meet your eyes as he flips the eggs. You nod silently, and he smirks without turning. "Good, because I wasn't planning on feeding you."
As he continues cooking, his posture loosens, and his tone softens a bit. "You know, I was training this morning. This tattoo?" He points at the dagger design tracing his arm. "It's not just for show. It's part of a system—gives me abilities, tasks, all that crap. Still learning to control it." He pauses, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "But why am I even telling you this? You already know, don't you?" He mutters something under his breath before adding with a smirk, "And of course, you had to show up at the most inconvenient time."
You remain silent, offering only slight nods. Alex's eyes narrow as he turns fully to face you, scanning your expression.
"What's up? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you're just wondering, 'Am I in the right place?'" His eyes glint with amusement. "You do look a bit lost."
There's a beat of silence before he runs a hand through his hair, pausing as if he just remembered something important. "Oh, right! Of course, you're lost. You're probably wondering what happened after the university board called me in for the results, aren't you?"
He slaps his forehead in exaggerated frustration and mutters under his breath, cursing the writer. "This damn writer—always making things more complicated than they need to be! Why am I always the one left cleaning up his mess?" He takes a deep breath and looks at you with a resigned expression. "You have no idea what happened after the last chapter, do you?"
Slowly, you shake your head. Alex's jaw tightens momentarily, but then he exhales and softens.
"Alright. No need to worry. I'll fill you in... brace yourself."
The room starts to tremble slightly, as though time itself were rewinding. The colors around you blur and fade, scenes racing backward like a film reel spinning in reverse, bringing you back to the exact moment where the last chapter left off...
_______
"Alex Müller!"
The voice booms through the packed room, loud enough to make his ears ring. Alex freezes, heart pounding like it's trying to break free from his chest. He mutters a curse under his breath. "Why does it always have to be me? Why's everything gotta be so damn complicated?" He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the anxiety, and heads toward a cold, metal door. It looks more like the entrance to a giant steel cage than anything else. The tension in the air is thick—you could practically cut it with a knife. Even breathing feels like a chore, the air heavy as if it's clogging up his lungs.
When he gets to the door, he hesitates. His hand's shaking, but he still manages a light knock, trying to keep his cool even though he feels like he's about to fall apart inside. A cold, emotionless voice answers back, "Enter."
What if I fail? The thought loops in his head like a broken record. Maybe they didn't like how I handled things… Were they watching the whole damn time? Did they spot the tattoo? Was I acting more suspicious than I thought?
Then another voice, harsher this time, snaps him out of it: "Come on, enter!" The words hit him like a slap to the face, jolting him out of his daze. He pulls himself together, takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open. It feels like the door weighs a ton, like the room itself is pushing back against him. He steps inside, keeping his stride steady, but the tension's making his whole body scream.
The place is nothing like any hall he's seen before. Bright white lights shine down on him, like a bunch of eyes staring him down, judging him. The room has this cold, sterile smell that makes it feel like a trap. In front of him, there's a big-ass desk, and behind it sit three professors. They look like statues—cold and stone-faced.
On the right, the first guy is tall and skinny with neat gray hair, like he just stepped out of a fancy barbershop. He's got these small, round glasses perched on his nose that catch the light. He's wearing a sharp black suit with a gray tie, looking like he's ready to challenge anyone who steps up.
In the middle is a tall, thin woman with her black hair pulled into a tight bun. She's got on a dark green suit, her lips painted bright red. Her eyes are sharp, watching every little move Alex makes. She's calm, but there's this silent warning in her gaze, like she's ready to pounce at any second.
The last guy is the youngest. He looks way more relaxed, slouched back in his seat with a bored expression. He's got on a casual brown jacket, tapping his fingers on the table like he's counting down the seconds until this whole thing is over.
Alex stops in front of the desk, trying not to show how nervous he is even though sweat is dripping down his back. He takes a deep breath and gives them a respectful bow. The guy with glasses doesn't even flinch, just adjusts his specs and asks, almost spitting the words out, "Are you Alex Müller?"
Alex nods quickly, but it's not enough. The man gives him a look like he's something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "Don't you know how to speak?" he says, voice dry as a desert.
Alex stumbles over his words, practically choking on his own nerves. "Y-Yeah, I do... sir," he manages to get out.
The three professors glance at each other, whispering in low voices. The woman with the black hair stands up slowly, moving her hands in a way that makes the air shimmer. Suddenly, this invisible barrier appears around Alex, glowing faintly. It's like the whole world just changed, leaving him cut off from everything.
Alex notices the shift. They've put up some kind of barrier, muting their voices so he can't hear a thing. He watches them talk, their lips moving, but it's like watching a silent film. They throw quick glances his way, then go back to their conversation, leaving him stranded in a pool of his own anxiety.
What are they saying? Are they planning to reject me? Do they know something I don't? Are they about to accuse me of something? His mind is racing. What if they figured out the secret behind the tattoo? Will they kick me out for screwing up in few things ? His hands shake as he nervously touches the tattoo on his arm, swallowing hard.
The youngest professor notices and smirks. It's not a friendly smile; it's the kind of grin that says he knows something Alex doesn't. He keeps tapping his fingers on the table, like he's playing some kind of twisted game. They're messing with me. They know everything.
Alex feels sweat trickle down his forehead, sliding along his face. His heart's pounding so hard it feels like it's gonna burst out of his chest. His breathing is heavy, like the air suddenly turned to molasses. He watches as the barrier starts to fade away, like a soap bubble popping in slow motion. With each bit that disappears, his heartbeat gets louder, the tension climbing higher.
He locks eyes with the professors, sitting behind a dark wooden table, their faces as unreadable as stone. He couldn't hear a thing they were saying behind that barrier, and their quiet whispering only made his anxiety worse. What were they talking about? Are they going over my mistakes? Did I pass or not? The questions slam into his mind like a raging storm.
Finally, the barrier is gone. The room falls into a heavy silence as the professors stare him down. The youngest one, the one with the curly hair and tiny glasses sitting low on his nose, clears his throat. He looks at Alex and starts talking, his voice calm but carrying this edge of judgment:
"So... mmmm..,Alex Müller," he says, his tone almost mocking. "The up-and-coming hunter. We've been keeping a close eye on your test."
Alex felt his throat go dry, as if he hadn't had a sip of water in days. He tried to swallow, but it felt like his entire throat was clenching. The professor's words did nothing to comfort him; they were just the warm-up, a prelude to the real interrogation. The professor paused, letting the tension in the room build to a suffocating peak.
"Your reactions to the traps were impressive," the professor began. "Quicker than we expected. Shows good instincts, quick thinking... especially under pressure."
For a moment, Alex felt a flicker of pride. He suppressed a smile creeping onto his lips. Alright... maybe it wasn't all bad, he thought.
But before he could bask in that tiny bit of praise, the older professor to the right cut in sharply, her voice like a blade slicing through the room's silence.
"BUT!!" she snapped. Alex's brief relief vanished, his tension flooding back. Her eyes were sharp and cold, scrutinizing him like a judge ready to pass a harsh sentence. "Your handling of the virtual characters was disturbingly cold. You abandoned your allies without a second thought. This behavior does not reflect the values we uphold. a real hunter must protect his allies , virtual or not."
Her criticism hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. His budding confidence shattered under the weight of her words. I was just trying to survive... What else could I do? But his thoughts felt weak, drowned out by the sting of her critique.
"And another thing," she continued, leaning forward slightly, her gaze piercing through him. "You failed to notice that the system's soul had inhabited the virtual child from the very beginning. How could you miss something so obvious? And then, when you charged headfirst into the second wave of ghouls without any kind of plan? That was reckless, downright foolish. You didn't consider anyone else's safety—you just rushed in like an impulsive child."
Alex felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. Reckless? I wasn't... I just needed to act...But even in his own head, his voice sounded feeble and defensive.
Before the harsh professor could continue her tirade, the third professor, who had remained silent until now, cleared his throat. The sound was gentle but authoritative, enough to make the woman hold back. He was middle-aged, with a face weathered by countless experiences, his expression calm and composed.
"Alex Müller, 18 years old, from the second department of Hunter University," he stated, each word deliberate, carrying an air of finality.
"Your score for this segment is... 77 out of 100."
For a second, it felt like time stopped. The number echoed in Alex's head as he tried to grasp its meaning. 77? Does that mean... I actually passed?
The professor nodded slowly, confirming Alex's silent question. "Yes, you passed this part of the test."
Relief washed over him like a wave, but he couldn't bring himself to breathe deeply just yet—his chest still felt tight with lingering anxiety. I passed? Really?
"However," the professor continued, his eyes locking onto Alex's, filled with a seriousness that was hard to ignore, "there is still one more phase to go." He let that sink in for a moment before adding, "In three days, you will face a final evaluation against one of the university professors."
Three days. Those words hit Alex like a truck. A fight against a professor? Shit... I almost forgot about this part. This is going to be rough.
Just as the professors prepared to leave, the middle-aged man glanced back, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost ominous tone. "Good luck, Müller."
And with that, they left him standing there, his heart pounding with a wild mix of relief and dread. I made it through this part... but what's coming next?
To be continued...