A disease?

Many derive hate and regret from it, while others derive what could only be described as hate itself.

At most, it hurts—not always physically, but mentally. Those who are afflicted with incurable ones suffer the worst.

A countdown looms over their calendars, marking their final moments. Confined to a room, they lose the probability of seeing their family, loved ones, or even the world they once hated.

These are the costs of having an incurable disease. Yet, a select few derive fleeting pleasure from this condition, no matter how slight.

Yuka, one such patient, lay on his hospital bed connected to life-support equipment—not overly intrusive, but just enough to keep him alive.

Unlike others with downcast expressions, Yuka wore a look of sheer joy as he tapped furiously at his phone, yelling aloud and disturbing the other patients. He was immersed in a game.

At that moment, he was facing the final boss, giving it his all. His guildmates, scattered across different locations, joined him in the battle, each contributing to the collective offence.

This was one of the best online RPGs, and completing it was one of Yuka's greatest wishes before his impending death.

With only days left to live, he had poured every ounce of effort into reaching the game's final level, determined not to die before accomplishing at least this goal.

That was why he screamed at the top of his voice, indifferent to the disturbance he caused.

His frequent outbursts had exhausted even the nurses and doctors. Though they initially entered the large, sterile room in protective gear to avoid physical contact with him, they eventually stopped interfering. They realized he was merely trying to find joy amidst his depression.

"Come on… Dodge… but hit! His attack patterns changed again!" Yuka bit his lip hard, his tension rising as he realized how quickly he was losing.

"Fuck! How many attack patterns does this bastard have?!" he screamed.

Through his earbuds, a teammate echoed his frustration.

"What the hell? I'm almost out of HP!"

Another yelled in panic.

Yuka glanced at the screen, his eyes darting to the bar displaying his team's life points. The numbers told a grim tale—several bars were already red, signifying the death of some teammates. The remaining few had their HP dangerously close to zero, including Yuka himself.

"We're down to three! Damn!" Yuka cried, shifting his gaze to the boss's life bar, which was teetering on the brink of depletion.

'If I calculate this properly, one scratch from him will end us, but a single special attack from one of us can finish him off.'

Dodging the demon's relentless attacks, Yuka weaved past red swipes of light aimed at his head and evaded the clawed strikes targeting him and his team.

While his teammates focused on dealing minor damage and defending against the attacks, Yuka had a different strategy in mind.

Among the many strikes he had delivered, he identified one critical hit that had exposed the demon's weakness. Using his teammates as decoys, he manoeuvred into position for a decisive blow.

But just as he reached the perfect spot, he noticed something alarming—the bars representing his remaining teammates had all turned red.

'Damn, they died without even inflicting much damage...' Yuka smirked in real life at the irony.

"Let the pro gamer show you how it's done."

Yuka held down the attack button, barely acknowledging the demon's onslaught as it targeted him exclusively.

Charging up his ultimate attack, he leapt into the air, his sword emanating golden light. He aimed directly at the demon, refusing to dodge as the beast launched its own fatal strike.

In that brief moment, he heard his teammates screaming through his earbuds, but his grin only widened.

His attack landed with devastating force, just as the demon's attack struck him. His avatar crumpled to the ground, lifeless—yet the demon fell alongside him.

Moments later, his teammates' voices erupted in his ears, their confusion and amazement palpable.

"What the heck? How did you do that?!"

Yuka's grin remained unshaken as he pointed to his screen. His avatar, against all odds, rose to his feet with 30 HP remaining.

"While you guys wasted your gold on emotes, I spent mine on scrolls to create the ultimate skill. After death from a fatal attack, I revive with a sliver of HP left!" Yuka explained, his smile radiant.

"Man, you're pro gamer material. Too bad there isn't a skill like that in real life. I'd love it if you didn't die."

At this, Yuka's breath hitched, and his smile faltered. He had been so engrossed in the game that he momentarily forgot his looming death.

He had believed that completing the game's story as its first victor would bring him peace and a sense of accomplishment. But achieving that goal only deepened his hunger to live.

"—Yuka! Yuka! You there, buddy?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, man. Just having a little trouble breathing," he lied.

A heavy silence followed as his teammates stared at the notification of their victory on their screens.

Yuka knew the silence was for his sake. Left unaddressed, it would linger awkwardly, so he forced himself to speak.

"This should go up on our Insta and other platforms—we're the first to beat the game. I've gotta go now, guys. Might not be online for a while; the Wi-Fi here sucks."

Without waiting for a reply, he exited the game, tossed his earbuds aside, and curled up on his bed.

Now that he was no longer immersed in the game, the harsh reality around him became unbearable. The air was thick with the despair of others, the inescapable sadness of being hospitalized.

It was a sadness he had tried so hard to forget but could no longer ignore.

'I wish I could leave this place… Why can't they find a cure for me before it's too late? I don't want to die… Please, anyone, help me.'

Author's note:

Read the thought of be consumed by The plot.