The interface shimmered before his eyes, a magnificent blend of artistry and technology that defied reality. A soft orchestral melody played in the background, complementing the ethereal glow of the character creation screen. It was his first time in Black Desert Online, a game renowned for its unparalleled character customization, and he could already tell why. Every minute detail of a character's face—down to the faintest freckles and the subtlest curve of the lips—was within his control.
He hesitated for a moment. The default model was a stern-faced warrior with an angular jawline and piercing eyes, a far cry from what he had in mind. He had no intention of creating a rugged champion or a hulking brute; he wanted something delicate, something refined. A girl who embodied grace and innocence, someone who could step out of a dream and into the world of fantasy.
He scrolled through the class options, the sleek movements of the UI responding to his every command. The Maehwa class caught his eye—an elegant swordswoman with flowing robes and a combat style reminiscent of a waltz. Unlike the brutish warriors or the arcane sorceresses, Maehwa carried a sense of poetic refinement. It felt right. Without hesitation, he selected it.
The base model was already exquisite—sharp eyes, delicate lips, a face that could belong to a noblewoman from an ancient dynasty. But it wasn't quite her. He softened the jawline, narrowing it slightly to achieve a heart-shaped contour. The cheekbones were adjusted just enough to retain their definition while avoiding any sense of severity.
For the eyes, he went for something gentle yet lively—a slight upward tilt at the outer corners, giving her a natural curiosity while maintaining a hint of vulnerability. The iris colour shifted from a deep mahogany to a warm chestnut brown, glistening like amber under sunlight.
Her lips, naturally tinted with a soft pink hue, were neither too thin nor overly plump, instead resting in that perfect in-between: a gentle curve that suggested innocence rather than seduction. A beauty untouched by the weight of the world.
Long, silken hair cascaded past her shoulders, flowing like liquid midnight. He experimented with different styles—braids, buns, loose waves—before settling on a soft, straight cut with wispy bangs. It framed her face perfectly, accentuating her youthfulness without making her seem childish.
For makeup, he kept it minimal. A dusting of soft peach blush graced her cheeks, enhancing her natural glow. A hint of pink gloss on her lips added just enough colour to make them appear dewy, and the lightest touch of brown eyeliner defined her gaze without overburdening it.
She was a vision of purity—a girl that one might remember as their first love. Not too extravagant, not overly sultry, but the kind of beauty that made the heartache in the best way.
The body sculpting section was almost overwhelming with its sheer number of sliders. He took his time, carefully tweaking proportions to achieve the look he envisioned.
Height—slim but not frail. She had a lithe frame, delicate yet strong, with just enough definition to suggest an active lifestyle. Her limbs were long, her fingers slender, and her waist gently curved but not exaggerated. Everything about her spoke of natural elegance, untouched by vanity.
The most challenging part was posture. The default stance was too rigid, too neutral. He adjusted her shoulders to relax slightly, giving her a softer, more approachable presence. Her hands rested gracefully at her sides, fingers gently curled as if waiting for a breeze to pass through them. A slight tilt of the head added a sense of thoughtfulness, as if she were quietly observing the world with curiosity and wonder.
The game offered a variety of starting outfits, each inspired by traditional Eastern aesthetics. He browsed through them carefully, weighing their impact on her image.
One set had a high collar with intricate embroidery, exuding an air of noble sophistication. Another had flowing silk sleeves, designed for fluid movement in battle. In the end, he chose a white and soft lilac hanbok-inspired attire, the fabric light and airy, giving her the look of a wandering poet rather than a hardened warrior.
The way the material draped around her form, accentuating her grace with every subtle shift, was mesmerizing. She was not just a character—she was a painting come to life.
The final step. A name.
He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The act of naming felt intimate, almost sacred. This was not just any character; this was his creation, a reflection of an ideal, a fleeting dream given form.
A name flitted through his mind, something soft, poetic, timeless. He typed it in carefully, watching as the letters took shape on the screen.
And then, before he could even press confirm, a voice called from the other room.
"Are you still on that game? You have exams to study for!"
His heart sank. He sighed, reluctant but resigned. Without hesitation, he closed the game.
The name remained unfinished.
The dream left unrealized.
But it would return.
One day.
---
The house was silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards as his mother moved about in the kitchen. Their home was modest but well-kept, a cozy two-bedroom apartment tucked away in a quiet suburb. The scent of jasmine tea drifted through the air, mixing with the faint aroma of stir-fried vegetables from dinner.
His mother was a nurse, working long shifts at the hospital. Ever since his father had left when he was barely old enough to remember, she had taken on both parental roles, juggling work and household responsibilities without a single complaint. She was a strict but loving woman, always reminding him of the importance of discipline and hard work.
"Are you done with your revision?" she asked, glancing at him from across the dining table as she wiped down the surface.
"Yeah, almost," he replied, avoiding her gaze. He had spent the past hour staring at his textbooks, but his mind had been elsewhere—fixated on the unfinished creation he had abandoned earlier in the day.
His mother gave him a knowing look, her sharp instincts honed from years of single-handedly raising a child. "No late-night gaming, alright? You need rest for your exams."
He nodded, feigning obedience, but in truth, he had already planned his next move.
The moment the lights in his mother's room went out, he sprang into action. Moving with the precision of a trained thief, he slipped out of bed, carefully opening his laptop so that the screen's glow wouldn't flood the dim room. He plugged in his headphones, ensuring not a single sound would betray him.
With a deep breath, he launched Black Desert Online again, eager to complete what he had started.
But as the game loaded, his heart dropped.
The character slot was empty.
The face—the one he had painstakingly crafted earlier—was gone.
His fingers tightened around the mouse. He hadn't saved the appearance file. All that effort, all that time, wasted.
For a moment, he sat there, staring at the blank character model. Disappointment gnawed at him, but he refused to let it take hold. He would simply start again. This time, he would be more careful.
The next few nights became a ritual.
As soon as his mother went to bed, he would quietly slip out of his sheets and boot up the game. Each night, he refined his technique—learning the nuances of the character creation system, memorising the different sliders, and experimenting with skin tones and facial proportions.
The first few attempts were rough.
One night, he accidentally made the eyes too large, giving his character an almost doll-like appearance that felt unsettling. Another time, the face seemed too mature—losing the innocence he so desperately wanted to capture.
But with each failure, he learned.
He studied the way natural beauty was composed—how symmetry played a role, how the subtlest adjustments to the jawline or brow shape could change an entire expression. He paid attention to how light reflected off different skin textures, ensuring that his creation looked as lifelike as possible.
By the fourth night, his hands moved instinctively. He barely needed to think anymore. Every adjustment was deliberate, every detail a conscious choice.
And finally, on the fifth night, she was perfect.
Now, he only needed a name.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
Elysia.
A name that evoked elegance and grace, something almost ethereal. It rolled off the tongue like poetry, suited for a heroine in a timeless legend.
He stared at the name for a moment, admiring the way it fit his creation. Then, with a deep breath, he clicked Confirm.
The screen darkened, transitioning into the game's breathtaking opening sequence. The journey was about to begin.
But before he could take his first step into this new world—
The door burst open.
"Are you serious?!"
His mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression a mix of anger and exhaustion. The light from the screen illuminated her face, highlighting the undeniable disappointment in her eyes.
His stomach plummeted.
She stormed into the room, snatching the laptop from his desk before he could react.
"Mom, wait, I just—!"
"You think I don't notice when you're sneaking around at night?" she scolded, unplugging the charger with one swift motion. "Exams come first. Until they're over, this is mine."
With that, she walked out, laptop in hand, leaving him sitting in stunned silence.
The dream was created.
But now, it would have to wait.