People usually have a couple of reasons for diving into a whole different world, like gaming—either they're trying to escape the tough parts of life or they're just attracted to the idea of living in a more thrilling, imaginative space.
For two brothers who lost their parents in a tragic accident at a young age, this kind of escape became essential.
Sure, their aunt and uncle took them in and tried to help them move on, but that emptiness inside them was something that nobody could fill.
That hollow feeling pushed them into gaming—a temporary getaway, a fragile shield against reality.
The younger brother looked up to his older sibling, who was ten years his senior. He saw him as this rock of strength to admire. But for the older brother, gaming was his lifeline.
The younger one was often in his brother's shadow, not realizing that the "wall" he leaned on was actually propped up by something pretty delicate on the other side.
Then one day, it all changed.
The game that his older brother had been hanging onto, that thin thread keeping him sane, pulled him away.
Just like that, his brother was gone, leaving him with nothing—except that very same game his brother had relied on.
Almost without thinking, he started to lean on it, too.
As time passed, gaming turned into more than just a pastime.
It became part of him—another identity of himself.
People would sometimes ask if he held any resentment toward life or the game that, in a way, took his brother from him. His response was always defensive, a bit angry.
No way, he would say.
Deep down, he thought his brother would bounce back. Things would get back to normal.
They had to.
"No, no, no, sob! Honey, our Raven!"
But now, sitting there with his back against the cold wall of the funeral hall, dressed in a black suit and gripping his knees, he realized how naïve he'd been.
His eyes, hollow and unblinking, focused on the woman on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Her cries echoed through the silent hall, where the only other sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Her tears fell like shattered glass on the sterile floor, mixing with the scent of incense and the faint bitterness of wilting flowers.
"Waaah...sob...sniff...R-Raven, honey, our Raven!?" Sophia wailed, crying as her one hand clenched the arm of her husband, who was also kneeling with a hint of defeat and guilt under his glasses, as his other hand lay on her shoulder to calm her down.
'Why?' Seated there without a hint of tears, as if he was far too dried from within, Joseph just blinked, turning his pupil towards a photo frame resting amidst the white flowers with an incense stick burning nearby.
Somehow, instead of grief, he felt blank—it was inexplicable, but his mind was empty. There was no confusion, no overwhelming sadness. Just clarity, cold and sharp like the air around him.
"J-Joseph, I-I am sorry."
'Uncle?' Joseph stared at him, the words rattling in his ears but not sparking a reaction. His lips parted, then closed. A silence hung between them, stretching longer with every second.
He should've said something, anything, but all he could think about was how his uncle had always done this—begged for forgiveness for things that weren't his fault.
It was a technical malfunction.
Indeed, it was.
"I should have stopped Raven that day from entering the capsule."
Joseph felt an emptiness inside, his mind replaying his uncle's words while his lips remained sealed—perhaps from intense gaming and the sight of so much blood, numbing him to the pain of others, or maybe he simply didn't know how to respond.
It was ironic how the man who saw the end of several worlds and had the fastest reflexes and decision-making skills in the gaming industry was presently not even aware of how to react to his own brother's death.
"He just kept saying how he wanted to go for a last time and—"
"But wasn't it you who forced my brother to come?" Joseph finally let out the words stuck in his throat as he heard the contradicting words from his uncle; that day, his brother had talked to him on the phone, telling him how he needed to visit the gaming center as per being called by his uncle.
It was understandable that maybe his uncle had forgotten and mentioned it by mistake, so he corrected it; after all, he always felt guilty for that accident.
However, because he struggled to convey his feelings, his words came across more as accusations than mere reminders.
"....!?" Suddenly, Nathan's face flinched, his pupils instinctively glancing behind toward his wife, the first person he needed to be wary of, and as he did, he found her still wailing while taking out her agony over the loss of Raven, prompting him to focus his eyes on Joseph before adding, "Y-yes, I may have forgotten it; I am sorry for that..."
'Why is he lying?' Joseph's eyes visibly noticed the sudden change in his expression and then that sidelong glance as if trying not to let this word be heard by his aunt; steady from exterior, yet his mind, somehow empty of useless thoughts, seemed to process those behaviors and body language patterns.
"You need some rest, Joseph. I will help your aunt first; please take care of yourself; there is only you left for us."
'....left?' Joseph just saw him placing one hand on his shoulder to console him while giving a defeated look, standing and moving towards his aunt and other relatives while he sat there not knowing why he found himself in a state where he couldn't pull off his gaze from his uncle.
Naturally, the only person he interacted with most of the time was his aunt. However, since they lived far away, it was just on weekends—not regularly—and he rarely met his uncle on a monthly basis.
Every time, his guilt over that accident prohibited Joseph from inquiring anything about the event, let alone condemning anyone. He knew that the only person who ever cared for him other than his parents was his aunt, and he didn't want her to feel sad by blaming her husband.
So, he maintained a distance from his uncle—enough so that he wouldn't inadvertently ask him something he shouldn't.
But now?
'He is lying; he doesn't want aunt to hear it; why?' He narrowed his gaze, looking at him for a fleeting moment before closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall.
"Phew," he exhaled, knowing the answer: 'He just fears she will hate him more.'
He could guess that he had hidden this truth due to fear of repercussion from his aunt, who might hate him even more than she already does.
'Doodle, show me the overdrive functions?' As if with no one to have a conversation, he just talked with the analytical engine within his mind about the overdrive error, which occurred at the time of the failure of the gaming capsule due to his last-minute self-destruct.
The AI chip had come online just yesterday, but with his focus consumed by Raven's death ceremony and last rites, he chose to set it aside.
The last time it informed him about an error that had removed the safety features on the chip—a restriction placed by his parents to hide the chip's capabilities from the government.
After all, after his parents' death, it took him seven years to be chosen as the test subject for this chip, even though his grandfather is one of the influential people in the country.
Not only that but his parents had clearly mentioned in their inheritance document that it should be given to him, but the government, pulling the strings, transplanted it into several individuals before him.
But always it failed—in the end, it was meant to be for him from the start.
They even did reverse engineering, causing them to develop several variants of this chip.
But all of them were too weak and outdated—failed investments.
And finally, the government accepted defeat after a whole seven years due to pressure from Enthropia Corporations—if he were to be some random person, forgetting ever seeing the chip; he would have become a guinea pig himself—and let go of the chip, thinking it was just a simple supercomputer assistant for the brain, finding it a hassle to be under constant pressure for a decade-old technology.
[Neural Override Enabled]
[Sensory Recalibration Enabled]
[Muscle Command Override Enabled]
[Heartbeat Regulation Enabled]
[Memory Partitioning Enabled]
[Consciousness Fragmentation Enabled]
[Hormonal Output Control Enabled]
[Cellular Repair Mode Enabled]
[Internal Time Perception Enabled]
[Immersive Feedback Loop Disabled]
[Autonomic Function Override Enabled]
'Why am I not feeling surprised?' Joseph genuinely felt something was wrong with him; he knew that right now he should be shocked seeing such functions enabled—which could be a threat and, at the same time, surprisingly hard to believe as the chip in his brain could achieve all this.
Wasn't it just a neural network analytical engine?
'Are you maintaining my body's composure?' Joseph, feeling how in the absence of any useless thoughts, the clarity of his mind gave him a clear direction to reach the conclusion that the abnormal state he was in—like feeling emotionless and unreactive to any agony around him expressively—was due to the neural chip balancing everything.
[Affirmative]
'Sto... leave it.' Joseph was about to stop the neural chip from playing with his mind but realized that right now he needed this; otherwise, he would break down.
Though he knew the chip was not increasing his intelligence level, but just suppressing his emotions and distractions to give his mind clarity, still he felt how easily he was able to differentiate the body language and expression of each of the people here, deciphering what exactly they felt.
And among them all, his eyes finally rested on his aunt, whose eyes had tears since the time news of his brother's death came, causing him to exhale as he looked towards his uncle, who presently, on a call, was exiting the room, prompting him to decide to clarify things to him.
Not that he felt he should console him or anything, but he felt he should do it for his aunt—as she was already broken, and if his uncle were to say something, things would become more problematic.
So, he stood before leaving the room, following behind him, while not forgetting to inquire.
'Hey, Doodle, are you able to transfer certain professional skills directly to my brain as well?'