Kaiza froze, staring at the word EXPLAIN displayed boldly on the screen. His stern expression masked the turmoil brewing within. He had no words to offer, completely at a loss. Moments ago, he thought he could simply select an option as he had done before, but the system had thrown an unexpected twist this time.
He reflected on the situation and came to a realization: this was a new level, and new levels brought new challenges. Perhaps at this stage, he was required to explain his choices—to convince the system rather than merely picking what felt right.
As the thought settled in his mind, a faint metallic clink drew his attention. Ahead of him, a small section of the floor slid open, and a sleek stand rose from the opening. Once it locked into place, a floating screen materialized above it, glowing softly.
Kaiza's gaze locked onto the screen as the system conveyed its next directive: he was to use the laptop-like floating screen to input his answers. This time, there would be no mind-reading.
Kaiza stepped forward, his boots clicking softly against the metallic floor as he approached the floating screen. He placed his hand on the keypads, fingers hovering for a moment before he began to operate it. This device wasn't unfamiliar to him—floating screens were standard technology, found in various parts of the city, even in some of the more remote rural areas.
Standing before the screen, Kaiza took a deep breath, trying to push aside the storm brewing within him. He attempted to silence the voice of vengeance screaming in his mind, to suppress his relentless drive for power, and instead focus on the task at hand. He needed to channel his energy into obtaining the power he sought—or perhaps into being the hero the game demanded of him.
But it wasn't easy. The haunting memory of his father's final moments and the image of his half-conscious mother flashed vividly in his mind. The pain was raw, cutting through his resolve like a blade. The more he tried to concentrate, the harder it became.
Suddenly, a sharp headache struck him, searing through his skull like a bolt of lightning. Kaiza shut his eyes tightly, his free hand clutching his temple. He gritted his teeth, fighting to steady himself. He couldn't let this consume him—not now, not with the clock ticking. He forced himself to focus, trying to muster the clarity needed to answer the system's question before his time ran out.
Kaiza's thoughts raced as he considered the timer. He was certain a significant chunk—perhaps fifteen seconds—had already ticked away. His eyes darted to the large projected screen ahead, confirming his fears. The timer displayed 5/20 seconds remaining. Panic surged through him as he realized his time was nearly up.
Frustration mingled with the pounding ache in his head. He couldn't think clearly, couldn't muster the focus to type in an answer. Despite his best efforts, the pain and pressure were too much. With a heavy heart, Kaiza decided to give up—not just because of the dwindling time but because his throbbing headache made it impossible to think. Besides, he reassured himself, he had enough points to keep progressing.
As the timer hit zero, the question disappeared, replaced by a series of new messages flashing across the screen. Kaiza watched intently as his stats updated:
[Level 2 - Intermediate; 2Q]
[Number of questions - 5]
[Questions asked - 3]
[Questions answered correctly - 2]
[Questions answered incorrectly - 1]
[Incorrect answer - 2 marks deducted]
His eyes widened as the messages scrolled past. His brows knit in confusion and curiosity. The mention of deductions puzzled him, but the realization hit like a punch when he noticed the battery bar. Two bars were gone, dropping from seven to five.
Kaiza stared in disbelief. Missing a question didn't just mean losing the opportunity to gain points—it meant losing points he had already earned. The system was harsher than he had anticipated. He had assumed he could afford to get a question wrong and still have enough points to proceed, but now he understood the brutal mechanics of the game. Every mistake came at a cost.
"This game," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with frustration, "is nothing like anything I've experienced before."
Kaiza clenched his fists, making a silent vow to himself. He wouldn't let his anger or thirst for vengeance cloud his judgment anymore. Losing focus meant losing what he wanted—and possibly his life. And dying? That wasn't an option. Not now.
As the screen scrolled up, the next question was revealed:
[What is the greatest war looming that humanity is about to face?]
A smirk tugged at the corners of Kaiza's lips. This is too easy, he thought, scanning the question. Even a child could answer it. The answer was everywhere—on news broadcasts, in textbooks, even in casual conversations. Humanity was bracing itself for a second confrontation with its once-conquered foe: the Dowolf Beast.
However, as options began to materialize, Kaiza's confidence wavered. The question, which had seemed like a straightforward multiple-choice challenge, took a strange turn. The options displayed on the screen weren't what he expected—they were bizarre and confusing, far removed from the obvious answer.
Kaiza furrowed his brows, his earlier smugness fading into puzzlement. He had been so sure of himself, but now doubts crept in. He had thought this level required detailed explanations, yet here was a multiple-choice question. Still, that inconsistency was the least of his concerns as he read and reread the cryptic choices before him. Something about this didn't feel right.
Kaiza's eyes flicked between the two options displayed on the screen:
[The struggle to maintain humanity's compassion and empathy]
[War against the Dowolf Beast]
He felt a wave of confusion wash over him. The answers seemed so closely tied that separating them felt almost impossible. Both resonated as truths, each reflecting a critical aspect of humanity's current plight. During the war, humans had fought tirelessly against the Dowolf Beast, but in doing so, they faced another internal battle—resisting the temptation to become monsters themselves.
Kaiza frowned as he delved deeper into the question. He began to see what the system was trying to make him realize. This wasn't just about choosing the obvious answer; it was about understanding the larger implications of power and heroism.
In his mind, he replayed stories of great heroes who had succumbed to the corruption of power. Those who, in their quest to save others, had lost their humanity, making decisions that were cold, cruel, and inhumane. They didn't just fight monsters—they became monsters, consumed by the very power they wielded.
The thought struck a nerve. Kaiza knew why he sought power—his reasons had nothing to do with being a hero. Revenge fueled his every action. He wasn't trying to save humanity; he was trying to avenge his father and mother. Somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of his humanity, allowing his hatred to take root and cloud his judgment.
This realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. If he gained the power he craved, would he truly be the hero the world needed? Or would he become the villain no one saw coming?
Kaiza's hands trembled slightly as he hovered over the keypad. The screen wasn't just testing his knowledge—it was testing his soul. It forced him to confront the darkness lurking within, to ask himself the most important question of all: What kind of hero do you want to become?
To Kaiza, the question seemed rooted in a deeper, heroic experience. He assumed it was crafted from the perspective of a hero who had once wielded immense power but ultimately misused it, leading to their downfall.
"The struggle to maintain humanity, compassion, and empathy," Kaiza thought, his gaze locking onto the option. It glowed softly as a blue border highlighted it, signaling his selection.
Moments later, his stats updated:
[Correct Answer: +2 points]
Kaiza felt a small sense of relief wash over him. He had chosen correctly. But before he could bask in his success, the system introduced a new twist.
The screen flickered, and a new message appeared:
[Next question will be drawn from your future as a hero.]
[Dear player, place your palm on the palm print on the screen.]
As the words faded, the floating screen shifted. The keypad transformed seamlessly into a smooth, flat surface, revealing a large, glowing palm print etched into its center.
Kaiza's pulse quickened, but unlike before, he hesitated less. There was no time to second-guess. He extended his hand and carefully placed his palm over the glowing print. The surface was warm, almost alive, as if it were reading more than just his physical characteristics.
He stood still, muscles tense, waiting for what would come next. The system was unpredictable, and Kaiza knew better than to assume this would be straightforward. What could it possibly ask about my future? he wondered, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling in his mind.
As Kaiza's hand met the screen, the palm print resized, molding perfectly to his hand. A strange, tingling sensation spread from his palm, coursing through his arm and into his entire body. It wasn't painful, but it was unsettling—like the system was probing deeper than just his physical form.
Suddenly, questions began flashing across the screen at a blinding speed, changing every millisecond. The rapid flickering created an almost hypnotic effect, as though the system was scanning something far beyond his comprehension.
Kaiza's mind raced. What does it mean by the question will be from my future? he wondered. Is this screen actually looking into my future right now? The thought sent shivers down his spine. Could it really see what hasn't happened yet? Or is it just some elaborate trick?
More questions flooded his already unstable mind, his unease growing with each passing second. Then, instinct took over. Overwhelmed by fear and uncertainty, he pulled his hand away abruptly.
The moment he did, the flashing questions vanished, and an ominous red light bathed the room. A sharp, mechanical alarm blared, its dangerous tone echoing off the walls. Kaiza's heart raced as he stepped back, his breath quick and shallow.
Then, a message appeared on the screen, stark and bold:
[ERROR: Palmprint scan interrupted.]
[Player's future inaccessible.]
[Penalty will be issued.]
Kaiza froze, his eyes widening as he read the message. The room seemed to hum with tension, and his instincts screamed that something bad was about to happen. He had made a mistake, and now the system was about to make him pay for it.
The screen flared with a series of bold messages:
[Player palm not detected.]
[Player went against the rule.]
[One point deducted from player's total.]
[Dear player, place your hand on the screen. Last warning!]
Kaiza's jaw dropped as he stared in amazement. The screen is actually reading my future, he thought, a mix of disbelief and curiosity flooding his mind. What kind of advanced technology could achieve this? It felt like something out of a fictional world. Was this real, or was it some elaborate illusion?
He barely registered the point deduction; his focus was entirely on the surreal nature of the system. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he placed his hand back on the screen. Once again, the print resized, fitting perfectly to his hand. The tingling sensation returned, spreading through his body like an electric pulse.
The screen flickered alive, and just like before, questions began to generate rapidly, flashing in a dizzying sequence. This time, however, it didn't take long for the system to settle on a single question.
The screen displayed:
[Your wife is at the point of death. Simultaneously, a citizen is also at the brink of death! As a hero, who will you save first?]
Options:
[Wife]
[Citizen]
A timer appeared on the screen, its numbers ticking down.
[Player must answer within ten seconds. Time starts now.]
Kaiza's heart pounded as he stared at the question. It wasn't just a test of strategy or logic—it was a moral dilemma, one designed to probe the depths of his character. The clock was ticking, and Kaiza had mere seconds to decide.