001 Prologue - A Weird Kind of Love - Mark’s POV

  Mom had always been weird.

  But I didn’t realize just how weird until she got hit by a truck.

  I was eight years old when I saw my mom die. Or at least, I thought I did.

  We were walking home from the grocery store, my tiny hands gripping a plastic bag stuffed with snacks. Then—

  HONK.

  The deafening blare of a truck’s horn. Tires screaming against asphalt. Mom’s body flying through the air like a ragdoll, her silver hair whipping around her face like some kind of ghostly veil.

  She hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

  It was what Mom would’ve called an "isekai experience."

  But this wasn’t that kind of story. No reincarnation. No fantasy world. Just cold, hard pavement and the sound of my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

  I don’t remember screaming. I don’t remember dropping the bag. I just remember running to her.

  She lay there, not moving. Blood pooled beneath her head, dark and creeping into the cracks of the road. Her eyes—those warm, gentle eyes—were closed.

  “M-Mom?” My voice barely came out.

  She didn’t move.

  I hit my knees and grabbed her shoulders. “Wake up… Wake up, Mom!”

  People started gathering. Blurry faces, frantic voices. Someone yelled for an ambulance. A man pulled out his phone. A woman tried to drag me away, but I fought her, clutching Mom’s lifeless form.

  “She’s not dead! She’s not dead!”

  The sirens came fast. Paramedics pushed me aside, checking her pulse, loading her onto a stretcher.

  “Is she gonna be okay?” I begged. No one answered me.

  She stayed in a coma for weeks. The doctors said it was a miracle she even survived. They didn’t know if she’d wake up—and if she did, they couldn’t promise she’d be the same.

  I didn’t care. I just wanted her back.

  So I sat by her bed every day. Talking to her. Holding her hand. Begging her to wake up.

  And one day, she did.

  Her eyes fluttered open. My breath caught. Slowly, her gaze settled on me. For a second, I thought—Maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s over.

  Then she grinned. A sharp, manic grin.

  “It’s the big bad wolf!”

  Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm with surprising strength.

  My heart skipped. “M-Mom?”

  Her eyes widened, practically glowing.

  She laughed. A sharp, breathless laugh. Something was… wrong.

  Mom had always been weird.

  But this?

  This was something else.

  I was expecting something—maybe a weak ‘hey, kiddo’ or even just my name. Not… this.

  "This world is an otome game," Mom said, her voice breathless and urgent. "And if you don’t make the heroine fall in love with you, you’re doomed."

  …Uh. What?

  I stared. My brain short-circuited. That was too much… wasn’t it?

  Mom’s grip on my arm tightened. Her red eyes locked onto mine, sharp and almost feverish.

  "Do you trust Mom?"

  I blinked. "W-what?"

  "Do you trust Mom?" she repeated, softer this time.

  I didn’t even hesitate. "Yeah. Of course."

  Her shoulders relaxed, and for the first time since waking up, she smiled—genuinely, warmly. The kind of smile I remembered from before the accident.

  "Good. You’re a good kid," she murmured, pulling me into a hug.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing her in. She smelled like hospital antiseptic and something faintly metallic—probably from yanking out her IV in her sleep one time—but I didn’t care. She was here. She was awake. That was all that mattered.

  For a while, we just stayed like that. I didn’t want to let go.

  Then she spoke again.

  "I wasn’t always… this Mom," she said, resting her chin on my head. "I mean, I’m still your mom, but I also have memories from another life. A life where I played a game. A very specific game."

  I hesitated. "A game?"

  "An otome game," she said dramatically, like that explained everything.

  (It did not.)

  I frowned. "What’s an otome game?"

  She pulled back, her face twisted in genuine horror. "Oh no. I’ve failed you as a mother."

  "Mom."

  She sighed. "It’s a dating sim, Mark. A romance game where you play as a heroine and choose between handsome love interests."

  I had no idea what to do with that information.

  She didn’t wait for me to figure it out.

  "And in this game, there’s always someone standing in the way of the heroine’s happiness. Someone who exists only to be crushed underfoot by the story’s heroes."

  Something about the way she said that made my stomach twist. "...And?"

  She smiled grimly. "That someone is you, sweetheart."

  I just stared at her. "...Huh?"

  She nodded. "You were born into the role of a villain. The arrogant young noble who bullies the heroine, makes enemies of the love interests, and—spoiler alert—gets destroyed in every single route."

  I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "What?"

  "I know," she said, shaking her head. "When I first realized it, I had the biggest existential crisis. I thought, ‘Oh no, my son is doomed to be a villainous little brat who gets wrecked by the plot.’ But then I thought—wait. What if we changed the story?"

  She leaned forward, her grip tightening on my shoulders.

  "Mark, you don’t have to be the villain. We can fix this. If you make the heroine fall for you, then the game can’t kill you off!"

  I didn’t get it. I really, really didn’t get it.

  But I missed my mom. I missed her warmth, her certainty—the way she always made everything seem possible, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

  So I just nodded.

  "Okay."

  She beamed. "That’s my boy!"

  And then, before I could even process what was happening, she ripped off the heart monitor, yanked out the IV tubes, and flung the hospital blanket aside like a dramatic cartoon character.

  "Now let’s go hunt cryptids, son!"

  I watched in mute horror as she stood up, wobbling slightly but looking absolutely determined.

  Maybe the coma had messed with her brain after all.

  That was the day my mom woke up, chose violence… and turned my life into a dating sim from hell.

  Actually, scratch that. It was more like an open-world crime sim five seconds later.

  I thought waking up from a coma had left her a little weird.

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  I was wrong.

  She was completely insane.

  The moment she stood up, alarms started blaring. Her little prison break had tripped the hospital’s monitoring system.

  Nurses burst into the room, shouting for her to calm down, but Mom just cracked her knuckles.

  "Mark, sweetie," she said, rolling her shoulders like a street thug about to throw down. "Stick close to me."

  And then she punched a security guard in the face.

  "What is happening?!" I shrieked.

  Mom spun around and kicked another guard in the gut. He crumpled instantly, wheezing. A third guy tried to pull out a stun baton, but Mom yanked the radio cord from his shoulder, wrapped it around his neck, and sent him face-first into the hospital bed.

  I pressed myself against the wall, trying to disappear into the drywall.

  Mom, breathing hard, flashed me a wild grin. "Survival, my dear son. It’s a lawless world out there. And we can’t have your daddy get you… or it’s a death flag for me."

  “What?”

  The remaining guards wisely backed off, probably questioning their career choices. A nurse screamed. Someone hit the emergency button.

  Mom ignored them. She grabbed a handful of syringes and pill bottles from the counter, shoving them into her hospital gown pockets like a raccoon on a crime spree.

  "Mom, you can’t just—"

  "Shh," she whispered, holding a finger to my lips. "We have no money."

  "That’s not how—"

  She suddenly pivoted, grabbed the nearest elderly patient—a sweet-looking old granny in a wheelchair—and yanked her up with unnatural strength.

  "ALRIGHT, EVERYONE STAND BACK! I HAVE A HOSTAGE!"

  "MOM!"

  The entire hospital froze. The poor old lady blinked in confusion, then scowled.

  "Young lady, what do you think you’re doing—"

  "Sorry, ma’am," Mom said, adjusting her grip. "This is an emergency acquisition of assets."

  And then… she hijacked a car.

  I sat in the backseat, still in shock, as Mom swerved wildly through the city streets. The stolen sedan narrowly avoided pedestrians and at least one fruit stand.

  The granny, now safely buckled into the passenger seat with a stolen juice box, seemed less terrified and more… mildly inconvenienced.

  Mom’s eyes were laser-focused on the road. "This is a lawless world," she muttered. "The corpos control everything. Money, medicine, power. And we have none of it."

  "You literally just stole medicine," I pointed out weakly.

  "Exactly! That’s called wealth redistribution."

  "You also kidnapped a grandma."

  The granny took a loud sip from her juice. "I was getting bored in there anyway."

  I buried my face in my hands.

  At some point, Mom must have realized that having a child and zero resources was not a winning strategy—because she suddenly changed course.

  When we finally pulled up to a familiar building, my stomach dropped.

  I knew this place.

  The orphanage.

  "Mom, no—"

  She parked the car, got out, opened the back door, and dragged me out by the collar like a stray cat.

  "Mom, PLEASE—"

  She marched up to the front door and knocked. Hard.

  A tired-looking nun opened it. The moment she saw Mom, her face paled. "You—"

  "Here," Mom said, shoving me forward. "Hold this for me."

  "I AM NOT A BAG OF GROCERIES."

  The nun sighed deeply. "Miss Evelyn, you can’t just—"

  "Shh." Mom put a finger to her lips. "I’ll be back."

  She turned to me, her expression oddly soft despite… everything. She knelt down, ruffling my hair.

  "I will be back, Mark. I promise."

  I stared at her, too stunned to process what was happening. Then she turned on her heel, hopped back into the stolen car (granny still in the passenger seat), and sped off into the night, hospital gown flapping in the wind.

  I watched her go, my fists clenched at my sides.

  Screw you, Mom.

  —

  And then, a few weeks later, she was back.

  Most people would consider breaking into an orphanage a crime.

  Most people would also consider stealing a child from said orphanage a crime.

  My mother was not most people.

  It had barely been a few weeks since she dumped me at that miserable place with a half-hearted promise to return. And now, in the dead of night, I found myself being yanked out of bed, slung over her shoulder like a sack of rice, and smuggled out the window.

  "Mom, what the hell?!" I whisper-shouted as she effortlessly scaled the orphanage wall, moving like some kind of rogue assassin.

  "Shh, keep your voice down. I’m in the middle of a stealth mission."

  "This is literally kidnapping!"

  "Relax, it’s only kidnapping if you take a kid away from their home. I’m bringing you back to our home."

  "We don’t even have a—"

  She vaulted over the last barrier, landing on the pavement with an almost supernatural grace. I, meanwhile, did not land gracefully.

  The next thing I knew, I was in the passenger seat of yet another stolen car, being whisked away from civilization at illegal speeds.

  "Where are we going?" I asked, rubbing my sore arm.

  Mom grinned. "Training arc time, baby."

  I had a very bad feeling about this.

  —

  A few hours later…

  "Okay, Mom, this is too much!"

  I was inside a dungeon.

  A real-ass dungeon.

  The kind you see in video games, full of glowing moss, eerie tunnels, and—most importantly—cryptids.

  Specifically, goblins.

  And I was holding a club.

  A literal club.

  A goblin screeched in the distance. I tensed, sweat pouring down my neck.

  "Mom, what am I supposed to—"

  "Swing!" she shouted from behind me.

  A goblin lunged. I swung wildly. The club connected with a sickening crack—and the goblin collapsed, twitching.

  My arms trembled. My heart hammered in my chest.

  I stared down at the goblin.

  It wasn’t dead.

  But it wasn’t moving either.

  "Good form!" Mom cheered. "Alright, time to farm some EXP!"

  "I don’t think this is legal!"

  "Relax." She patted my shoulder. "It's only illegal if you get caught."

  The goblin twitched. Another one peeked around the corner.

  My grip tightened on the club.

  I was going to die down here.

  Or worse—

  I was going to survive.

  Mom stood behind me, casually dual-wielding a stolen handgun and an energy knife.

  Every time a goblin so much as breathed in my direction, she put a bullet in its head like she was grinding EXP in an FPS game.

  "You need to awaken your ESP fast," she called out, reloading like this was just another Tuesday. "So we can begin your Spartan training and grind your stats."

  "This isn’t Spartan enough?!" I shouted, ducking as a goblin swung at my head.

  "You have no idea what Spartan means until you survive on your own for a week with nothing but a rusty knife and some ration bars."

  "WHAT?!"

  Mom casually shot a goblin that was about to ambush me from behind. "I did it in a few weeks after we escaped the hospital, you know?"

  I could only gape at her.

  Mom, what the actual hell have you been doing?!

  Then I saw it—the goblin coming.

  For once, I actually saw it. The way its muscles tensed before lunging, the crude dagger in its grip aimed right for my gut.

  I didn’t think. My body just moved.

  I twisted to the side, the blade whiffing past me, and swung my club with all the strength my tiny, noodle arms could muster.

  CRACK.

  The goblin’s skull caved in. It dropped like a sack of rotten meat.

  Another one screeched and charged at me. I didn’t wait. I stepped in, grabbed its head—

  —and twisted.

  A sickening snap rang out. The goblin went limp in my grasp.

  For a second, I just stood there, panting, my hands trembling slightly. My heart hammered in my chest.

  Then I turned to Mom.

  She clapped her hands together, looking way too pleased. "Bravo! So? Do you feel anything new? ESP much?"

  I checked.

  I still felt like me. My limbs were sore. My breath was ragged. My heart was still hammering from the sheer adrenaline of almost getting stabbed. But… nothing else.

  "No, Mom… I still feel like me…"

  Mom sighed dramatically, holstering her gun. "Tsk, I was hoping for an instant awakening. Oh well, guess we’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way."

  I had a very bad feeling about the old-fashioned way.

  She ruffled my hair, then slung an arm over my shoulder. "Listen, this world is filled with cryptids and ESPers. You? You’re just a normie. For now. But we have six to seven years to pad up your stats. And hopefully, awaken your ESP."

  "Pad up my stats? ESP?" I asked, still trying to process the fact that I had just killed two goblins with a club.

  "The ESPer Academy is a tough place," she continued, completely ignoring my horror. "And you will have even tougher competition. You can do it, my boy! This mommy of yours is rooting hard for you!"

  I barely had time to process that before another goblin nearly took my head off.

  "Not helping, Mom!" I shouted, scrambling away.

  Mom simply laughed as she shot the goblin in the face. "No worries, sweetie! Mom’s got your back!"

  This woman was insane.

  So I continued killing goblins with my trusty club until it broke into two.

  It took a lot of effort, but eventually, I got used to it.

  “Alright, sweetheart!” Mom said brightly, tripping a goblin and crushing its skull with her boot. “Now that you’ve gotten a taste of combat, it’s time for the next phase of training!”

  I wiped goblin blood off my face, still shaking from the adrenaline. "Next phase?"

  She grinned. The kind of grin that promised imminent psychological trauma.

  “Trial by FIRE!” she declared, throwing her arms out dramatically.

  “Mom, no—”

  A fireball shot past my head, singeing a chunk of my hair. I spun around to see a goblin shaman standing at the far end of the dungeon, staff glowing ominously.

  “Trial by fire,” Mom repeated smugly.

  “YOU LITERALLY MEANT FIRE?!”

  “Yup.”

  “AND YOU LET IT BURN MY HAIR?!”

  “You’ll survive.”

  The shaman chanted something in a language that sounded suspiciously like someone choking on gravel. I watched, horrified, as molten cracks formed beneath its feet.

  “Mom!” I screamed.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie,” Mom said, cocking her gun. “I’ll cover you.”

  “Thank—”

  “But I won’t interfere!”

  “WHAT?!”

  “You have to learn to handle it yourself.”

  “THAT IS LITERALLY THE OPPOSITE OF COVERING ME!”

  Mom holstered her gun and stepped back, hands on her hips. “You’ve got this! I believe in you!”

  “I DON’T BELIEVE IN ME!”

  “Fake it till you make it!”

  The goblin shaman finished its chant. The ground split open, magma bubbling through the cracks.

  Mom gave me a thumbs up.

  “Oh, screw you.”

  The goblin raised its staff—and I did the only thing my instincts screamed at me to do.

  I grabbed the nearest goblin corpse and threw it at the shaman.

  It let out a strangled yelp as the corpse knocked it over. The molten cracks flickered out.

  “Hah!” I gasped, heart racing. “See?! I handled it!”

  Mom's eyes narrowed. “Clever. But…”

  A guttural growl sounded behind me.

  “Oh, come on.”

  I turned. Another goblin stood there, bigger than the others. Bulkier. Its teeth were like jagged daggers. It was holding an axe the size of my torso.

  “Meet the miniboss,” Mom said, voice brimming with glee.

  “I hate you.”

  “I love you too.”

  The goblin charged. I screamed. My survival instincts kicked in. I lunged to the side, barely dodging the axe as it embedded itself into the floor.

  "Good dodge!" Mom called helpfully.

  The goblin wrenched the axe free and lunged again. I scrambled backward, looking wildly for a weapon.

  “Mom! Gun?! Knife?! Help?!”

  “Can’t!”

  “WHY?!”

  She smiled sweetly. “Because you’re still tutorial level, sweetie!”

  “WHAT KIND OF TUTORIAL LEVEL HAS A MINIBOSS?!”

  “Git gud!”

  I spotted a new club lying a few feet away. I dove for it just as the goblin’s axe came down, missing my head by inches.

  “Alright, Mark,” I muttered to myself. “You’ve got this. Just… think.”

  The goblin raised its axe.

  …And that’s when I saw it. A weak point. Right at the base of its thick, knotted neck where the muscle didn’t quite cover the spine.

  I breathed in.

  Feinted to my left.

  Rushed to my right.

  Jumped high.

  And I swung.

  CRACK.

  The club connected with a sickening snap. The goblin’s body seized up—and then it dropped, limp.

  I stood over the body, panting. My hands trembled. My whole body ached.

  For a second, I just stood there. Then I turned toward Mom.

  She was positively glowing with pride.

  "That’s my boy!” she cheered.

  I pointed at the goblin corpse. "I just killed a miniboss!"

  "Yup!"

  "And you left me to die!"

  "Only a little!"

  “I’m traumatized!”

  Mom ruffled my hair. “That’s the spirit!”

  I groaned, dropping to my knees.

  And then… something flickered. Deep inside me.

  My breath hitched. The world around me felt sharper. I could feel… energy? Pressure? Like the whole room was pulsing.

  My vision sharpened unnaturally. My heart thudded faster—not from fear, but from… something else.

  “Oh?” Mom’s eyes gleamed. “Feeling it?”

  I opened my mouth to say yes—

  —And promptly collapsed.

  I woke up to Mom sitting beside me, peeling a stolen orange.

  “Aw, sweetie,” she cooed. “You almost had it.”

  “Almost?”

  She nodded approvingly. “Yup. ESP awakening is tough. You’ve just gotta get pushed harder.”

  “HARDER?!”

  Mom popped a slice of orange into my mouth. “You’re doing great, honey.”

  I spat it out. “Mom, I literally almost died!”

  “Nonsense. You only ALMOST died.”

  “THAT IS NOT REASSURING.”

  Mom peeled another slice. "Ready for the next dungeon?"

  I stared at her, horror sinking into my soul. "...There’s more?"

  She beamed. “Oh, sweetie. This was the easy one.”