The silence after Clara's departure was deafening.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door she had walked through just moments ago. My mind churned, replaying our conversation over and over, as if I could somehow extract some deeper meaning from her look.
Clara.
In the game, she had always been there—a quiet presence lingering in the background whenever Nathen appeared. A nameless maid, barely more than an extra. But now, after meeting her in person, I realized something.
She wasn't just any maid.
And she wasn't just anyone to Nathen.
Their connection ran deeper than I had ever imagined. The way she looked at me—no, the way she looked at Nathen—with a mixture of pain and something else, something I couldn't quite place, had left an unsettling feeling in my chest.
But there was one thing I couldn't wrap my head around.
Why had Clara never fought back?
She was a prodigy. Not just talented, but recognized by the kingdom itself, handpicked by Brielle—a renowned mage, Nathen's mother. Someone with that level of skill wasn't helpless. She could have escaped. She could have fought back.
She could have killed him.
So why?
The more I tried to make sense of it, the more the answer eluded me. And then, realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.
I inhaled sharply, my body tensing.
"No way…"
What if Clara had loved Nathen?
A cold shiver ran down my spine. It made sense now—the way she endured, the way she stayed, the way she never lashed out. She wasn't just loyal. She was devoted.
She had every reason to leave… yet she didn't.
She had every reason to hate him… yet she didn't.
Even after everything he had done, she still looked at me—at him—with that pained softness in her eyes.
I felt something heavy settle in my chest. Not guilt. Not pity. Just… something.
"It doesn't matter." I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "I don't have time for this."
I pushed the thoughts away, burying them before they could take root. Right now, I had more pressing concerns.
Power.
This world, Estroma, was an action-fantasy game where strength dictated everything. Status, survival, success—it all boiled down to power. Connections were useful, but without the strength to back them up, they meant nothing.
Even the protagonist had to claw his way to the top, fighting tooth and nail to achieve his destiny. Sure, he had a system guiding him, but in the end, it was his effort that got him there.
Wait.
A thought surfaced in my mind.
That translucent screen.
The one I saw when I first arrived in this body. It mentioned something about synchronization.
My heart pounded.
"Does that mean I have a system?"
If I did…
If I had my own cheat…
Then maybe—just maybe—this wouldn't be so hopeless after all.
I straightened up, taking a steadying breath. Then, with absolute confidence, I called out—
"System!"
…....
Nothing.
My brows furrowed.
"System?"
…....
Silence.
A bead of sweat trickled down my temple.
"SYSTEM!"
…....
Still nothing.
My stomach twisted.
"Screen? Menu? At least give me a ding! sound?"
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
My hands clenched into fists. A terrible feeling clawed at the edges of my mind.
And then, a horrifying thought struck me.
"...What if I don't have a system?"
A terrible feeling clawed at my stomach.
The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, the weight of reality pressing down on me like an iron shackle.
No. That couldn't be right.
I saw the screen when I first woke up. There had to be a way to trigger it. Maybe a hidden command? A special condition? Some kind of requirement I hadn't met yet?
There had to be something.
There had to be.
But then…
Another, darker possibility crept into my thoughts.
What if that wasn't a system at all?
What if it was just one-time notification, a meaningless prompt before I was thrown into this world with nothing?
What if I really was on my own?
My hands trembled slightly. I gripped the bedsheets, my nails digging into the fabric.
Run.
A deep rooted instinct surged through me, primal and unforgiving—a deep-rooted survival instinct screaming at me with everything it had. Run. Get away while you still can.
Every fiber of my being begged me to listen. If I had no cheats, no powers, then what was the point? I was nothing in this world. A nobody. A third-rate villain doomed to die. If I Disappeared into some distant corner of the world where no one would know my name. No power, just survival.
And yet…
Where would I even go?
This world was vast, filled with places I had never even heard of, let alone navigated. But no matter how far I ran, no matter how deeply I buried myself in the shadows, it wouldn't change the inevitable.
He would find me.
Whether it took weeks, months, or years, the protagonist would eventually track me down. It was written into the very foundation of the game. His destiny. My fate.
And when he did—when he finally stood before me—there would be no mercy.
Only death.
I gritted my teeth.
Slap!
I smacked both cheeks, hard enough to sting.
"No."
Running wouldn't solve anything.
If I ran now, I'd just end up like before—working myself to death only to end up with despair. Scraping by. Surviving instead of living.
Did I really want to repeat that.
No. Not this time.
This time, I wouldn't let fate dictate my path.
If there was no way forward, I would carve one myself. If I had no power to rely on, I would create my own. I'd rather fight for my life than live it.
Even if I had no system, no destiny that guiding me—I would survive.
No.
I would rise.
I would take control of my life.
Clenching my fists, I pushed myself off the bed, my mind clearer than it had been since waking up in this world.
It was time to act.
I would find a way to rise.
No matter what.
As I stepped out of the room, the first plan was already forming in my mind.
Let the real game begin.