The room reeked of mildew and despair. A flickering bulb cast jagged shadows over walls cluttered with relics of forgotten glory—golden trophies of pixelated knights, plaques labeled "Eternal Throne World Champion," and framed photos of a younger man, bright-eyed and grinning, surrounded by adoring fans.
Now, the fans were gone, replaced by towers of moldering pizza boxes and a sleek gaming pod humming like a dying insect.
Shing. Shing.
The pod's door hissed open. Out crawled Alex Winters, 34, his once-muscular frame now skeletal beneath a stained hoodie. His beard, thick and matted, hid gaunt cheeks, and his neon-blue hair—dyed for a charity stream years ago—hung in greasy clumps.
He glared at the frozen screen inside the pod: his avatar, slain again by the final boss of Eternal Throne.
"Dammit!" He slammed his fist against the pod, splitting his knuckles. "I've tried everything!"
Sixteen years earlier.
The same room, bathed in sunlight. Clean windows. Fresh air. Alex, clean-shaven and laughing, held a controller aloft. "Undefeated!" he shouted to a roaring livestream audience. "Who's the king?!"
The memory dissolved. Alex gulped stale water, his throat burning. "Every path… every glitch… it just ends." He stared at the dust-covered trophies. Legend of the Year. A hollow title now.
"Where's the damn notebook?"
He kicked aside a pizza box, sending a swarm of silverfish skittering away. Beneath fried motherboards and crumpled maps, he found it—a leather journal stamped with Eternal Throne's crest. Pages spilled out, crammed with frantic notes:
"Boss Phase 4: Counter only during leap attack."
"Blacksmith's daughter holds a hidden key???"
"What if the FIRST character matters? The one from the tutorial…"
Alex froze. His pulse quickened. He flipped to a page scrawled in red ink:
"All 142 scenarios failed because we abandoned the Tutorial Hero. Save him. Let him become the MC."
His hands trembled. A dried-out pen tumbled from the journal's spine. He grabbed another and scribbled:
Scenario #143
Theory: Tutorial Hero survives → Becomes True Protagonist.
A slow, disbelieving laugh bubbled from his throat, breaking into ragged coughs. Clutching the journal, he crawled back into the pod. The door sealed with a click.
Then—
Pain.
A vise crushed his chest. His left arm went numb.
"H-help!" He wheezed, slamming the emergency button. No response. The AI chirped:
"Alerting medical services."
"Open… please…" His vision tunneled. The trophies blurred.
Pathetic, he thought. All those wins… and I die alone.
---
Darkness.
Am I… dead?
No hospital beeps. No sterile lights. Only void.
Fragments surfaced—news of streamers vanishing. Dark web whispers. Organ traffickers. They drain your blood… sell your corneas… leave you in a ditch. His pulse (did ghosts have pulses?) quickened.
A colder thought: What if I'm stuck here?
Then—
Light. A pinprick in the distance.
Am I… moving?
The light expanded, swallowing the dark. Alex tried to scream, but he had no voice. No body. Only dread.
---
Light.
Blinding. All-consuming.
When it faded, Alex gasped—or tried to. His lungs burned. His limbs flailed, but something held him. Swaddled him.
A muffled voice cooed above.
Wait… why can't I see?
Shapes swam into focus: blurred faces, candlelight, a ceiling of rough-hewn wood. A woman's voice, soft and exhausted:
"Look at his eyes… so dazzling."
Panic surged. A baby? I'm a… baby?!
He tried to speak, but only a wail escaped. Tiny fists flailed.
Rebirth. A cycle. But… why?
The woman cradled him closer, her voice filled with warmth.
"Shh… my little Amon."
Amon.
The word echoed.
Alex's newborn eyes widened.