The six remaining cards freeze in place on the table, locked in an eerie stillness like they're caught in some invisible trap. The air changes ,cooler now, brushing lightly against your fingers. You watch as the cards begin to fade, dissolving like mist in the early morning sun. A faint creak, like an old wooden floorboard, echoes softly as the last trace of them disappears.
You glance at Alex. He's watching you with those sharp, knowing eyes and a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he flips over the card you picked. It's a Joker , vivid colors, bold lines, and an unsettlingly lively expression, like the laughter on the card could leap right off the paper.
"Well, well," Alex says, his voice a playful mix of seriousness and teasing as he waves the card in front of you like it holds the answer to everything. "Looks like you've made your choice. You're sticking around to see how this story unfolds."
For a second, it feels like he's speaking directly to you—not as some character in a book, but as someone who knows you're fully invested now, someone who might even know more than you do. And just like that, a question worms its way into your mind: Am I in control here? Or is Alex the one calling the shots?
Alex leans back, still grinning, and adds, "Alright, you can head back to your world now. Just keep following along, you know the drill." He winks, a chuckle escaping his lips—light, casual, but with just enough edge to make you wonder if you're being played.
You take in the room again, suddenly noticing every detail with sharp clarity. The muted gray walls, rows of books stacked neatly on wooden shelves, the polished wooden table at the center littered with papers and a broken fountain pen lying beside an empty coffee cup. A small window behind Alex filters in faint light, casting everything in a calm yet ominous glow.
Then, with a dramatic clap, Alex breaks the stillness. The scene around you shifts, walls bending as if reality itself is a fragile construct. Time slows, stretching seconds into minutes, and you feel yourself being pulled away, untethered from this space.
Before you're fully swept away, Alex's voice slices through the distortion, sharper now, more serious. "Alright, let's pick up the pace. I've got my evaluation match coming up, going against one of the professors." He pauses, his tone dipping into something darker. "We'll see who it is soon enough. And hey, don't forget, you've got to back me up if things go south ...,in the future ." His eyes flash, daring and unyielding.
As the vortex around you tightens, a thought lodges itself in your mind: This won't be straightforward. Alex always has a bigger plan.
And then, everything collapses. The room, Alex, the entire world you'd stepped into, gone in an instant. You're back where you started, staring at the screen in front of you like nothing happened.
But something's different. Deep down, you know it. Something in you has changed.
___
Two days later...
___
Alex teetered on the edge of sleep, clutching onto those rare moments of calm that broke through the chaos of his daily grind. His room was a blanket of darkness, the faint hum of the world outside blending with his drifting dreams. But peace shattered in an instant when loud, relentless knocking echoed through the walls, ripping him from his fragile slumber.
What the hell now? he thought, groaning as he forced his eyes open. The noise hammered in his ears, each knock pounding like a sledgehammer against his tired brain. Rubbing his face, he tried to shake off the haze of sleep, but the pounding only got louder, more urgent, like whoever was on the other side of the door wasn't planning to stop until it came off its hinges.
"Alright, alright! I'm coming!" he yelled, his voice thick with irritation as he stumbled out of bed. His legs felt like lead, every step dragging against the pull of exhaustion.
When he opened the door, Simon stood there, looking like he was about to explode. His face was a mess of panic and fury, his chest heaving with every breath.
"You idiot!" Simon barked, his voice sharp enough to leave Alex's ears ringing. "What the hell are you doing? Your evaluation match is in thirty minutes! Thirty! Are you out of your mind?"
The words hit Alex like a slap, snapping him fully awake. Thirty minutes? Shit. His brain scrambled to recall how he'd managed to forget something so important, but all he found was a blank slate. No excuses. No answers. Just panic.
"Damn it," he muttered, rushing to his wardrobe. His hands fumbled as he grabbed the first clothes he could find—a shirt and a pair of pants—only to realize halfway through putting them on that the shirt was inside out. "Seriously?!" he hissed, yanking it off and flipping it around.
Simon stayed planted in the doorway, arms crossed, radiating pure frustration. "You're a mess," he muttered, but Alex was too busy tearing through his disaster of a morning to respond.
In a final desperate move, Alex grabbed a stale piece of bread off the table, stuffing it into his mouth as he bolted past Simon and out the door. "I'll figure it out!" he mumbled through bites, barely looking back.
"Alex! Wait!" Simon shouted, but it was useless. Alex was already halfway down the street, a blur of chaotic energy.
The city bustled around him, but Alex barely noticed. His mind was locked on one thing, getting to that damn match. Every step felt heavier, like the universe itself was dragging him down, mocking his already pitiful attempts to move faster.
Dodging through the crowd, he mumbled frantic apologies as he pushed past students and commuters. "Sorry… uh, coming through… need to—hey, watch it!" His foot caught on a stray book lying in the street, and he stumbled but managed to keep going, adrenaline surging as the clock in his head ticked louder.
By the time he reached the campus, his chest burned, and his breath came in short, painful bursts. The place was its usual hive of activity—students moving between buildings, laughing, chatting, living their normal lives. Meanwhile, Alex felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He sprinted toward the exam hall, ignoring the stares of a few students who glanced up at his disheveled state. Outside the door, he stopped just long enough to catch his breath, his lungs straining like they might give out any second. But there was no time .
With one final push, Alex swung the door open and stepped inside.
The hall was quiet. Too quiet. Papers rustled faintly, and the low murmur of conversation buzzed in the background, but none of it reached Alex. His eyes swept the room. Six other students were already seated, calm and composed, like this was just another test.
Meanwhile, Alex stood there, sweaty, breathless, and feeling like a goddamn train wreck.
"Sorry I'm late!" Alex blurted, the words spilling out in a tangled rush before he could rein them in. He barely caught his breath when a sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"You're late, Müller. Respect the schedule next time," the guide snapped, their tone cold and clipped.
Alex opened his mouth to respond, but the retort died in his throat. Heat crawled up his neck, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his head down. Apologies wouldn't fix this now. Without another word, he slid into an empty chair in the corner, trying his best to appear composed.
His eyes darted around the room, scanning the faces of the other students seated in quiet anticipation. Some looked calm, others fidgeted nervously, and a few wore expressions so blank they could've been carved from stone. Alex shifted uncomfortably, his thoughts already spiraling.
Who's going to be my opponent?
The possibilities raced through his mind, each one more daunting than the last.
What if it's Professor John? He's a Rank Four Hunter, and I don't even know what his abilities are. They say he's a master of advanced technology, but that's just rumor. What if he pulls out something I've never seen before?
His jaw tightened as the thought gave way to another. Or it could be Elizabeth. The idea made his stomach churn. Rank Six, ice ability, and ruthless if the stories are true. She hides it well under that warm, approachable exterior, but I've seen those kinds of people before. Ice cuts deeper than steel.
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the creeping paranoia, but his mind wasn't done with him yet. A stray thought brought a faint smirk to his lips. Maybe it's that old evaluator from last time? Nah, unlikely. She wasn't here to fight, just to assess."
His mental spiraling came to a halt as the guide's booming voice rang out, shattering the quiet tension of the hall.
"Alex Müller! Room number 7!"
The announcement hit like a thunderclap, and Alex shot out of his chair, his pulse spiking. Every eye in the room turned toward him, but he forced himself to keep moving, one shaky step at a time. His breathing was shallow, his heart pounding like a war drum, but he kept his head high, pretending he wasn't about to crack under the pressure.
The hallway was colder than he expected, the kind of chill that didn't just touch the skin but burrowed deep into his bones. Each step seemed louder than the last, the echo of his shoes reverberating against the polished floor like a countdown in his head.
When he reached the door to Room 7, his confidence wavered. He froze, staring at the small digital screen beside the door. Numbers glowed faintly, ticking down like the seconds of a bomb:
80… 79… 78…
Each second felt like an eternity, yet every flicker of the numbers brought him closer to the unknown. Alex wiped the sweat from his brow, his hand trembling as he tried to steady himself. Why does time move so slowly when you're terrified?
The storm in his head surged again. Who's waiting for me behind that door? His mind conjured a dozen scenarios, different opponents, harsh environments, impossible odds. Can I handle it? Can I adapt fast enough?
He clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe. Deep, steadying breaths. It didn't help much, but it was all he could do.
The countdown continued.
7... 6... 5… 4…
*No more time for doubts,* he thought, straightening his posture and forcing his legs to stop trembling. *The real battle isn't in my head—it's behind that door.*
3… 2…
And then, silence.
To be continued…