The grinding sound of digital battle filled my small room as my berserker cleaved through another wave of skeleton warriors. Level 67. Just another normal evening for someone who got ghosted by life.

  "Dude, you're still farming Bone King?" Rick's message popped up in Discord. "You've been at it for hours."

  "Nothing better to do." I typed back, watching my character circle the boss arena. The game wasn't even that good, but it was better than thinking about... everything else.

  My phone buzzed. Instagram notification. Emma's name.

  Something twisted in my chest as I opened the update. There she was, radiant as ever, her smile lighting up the photo. Brad Thompson's muscular arm draped casually over her shoulders. The caption read: "Perfect end to senior year! <3"

  Perfect. Right. My character died to a skeleton archer as I stared at the photo. Emma Chen – that's what I used to write in my notebook back in middle school. Back when we'd spend every afternoon in my parents' game room, her destroying me at Mario Kart while we tested Dad's new physics engine. "Better handling than Nintendo!" she'd laugh, drifting perfectly around corners. "Your dad's going to revolutionize gaming, Jason!"

  Dad never got the chance. The engine died with him and Mom, along with their dreams of changing how games were made. Now Emma was Emma Thompson-to-be, probably. We'd grown apart so gradually I barely noticed it happening. High school hit, and suddenly game testing sessions turned into her cheerleading practice. My gaming hours got longer as her social circle grew wider. Now we barely spoke, except for those awkward moments in AP Calc where she'd smile and wave, perfectly friendly, perfectly distant.

  "Jason?" Aunt Claire's voice carried through the door. "You've been in there all day. Come have dinner with me."

  I hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Just one more boss run...

  "I made your mom's curry."

  Low blow, Aunt Claire. "Coming!"

  The curry's aroma hit me as soon as I opened my door. Aunt Claire stood at the stove, her business casual attire covered by mom's old apron. The sight made my chest ache. Mom used to wear it while brainstorming UI designs, cooking and coding between feature discussions with Dad.

  "So," Aunt Claire said as I sat down, "how's the college wait going?"

  I pushed the rice around my plate. "Still waiting on Stanford."

  "Jason..." Her voice softened. "I know you want to follow their path. The engine they were building... it was brilliant. But there are other ways to get into game development. DigiTech Community College has an excellent programming track—"

  "I can still get into Stanford." The words came out sharper than intended. "Their Computer Science program is perfect for what I want to do. Dad always said if you're passionate about something—"

  "He also said knowing when to pivot is just as important as knowing when to push forward." She reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "I see you in there, playing games all day. I know it helps you feel close to them, but..."

  I pulled my hand back. "Like you felt closer to Mom by giving up your startup to work corporate?"

  The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Aunt Claire's face fell for just a second before her professional mask slipped back on. She'd given up everything to take care of me after the accident.

  "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "That was..."

  "It's fine." She stood, taking her half-eaten dinner to the sink. "Check your email tonight, okay? Stanford should be sending the final waitlist decisions."

  I retreated to my room, guilt and curry sitting heavy in my stomach. Rick had left several messages about the guild raid, but I ignored them. The Stanford portal was already open on my laptop, mocking me with its empty notifications.

  Refresh.

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  Refresh.

  Refresh.

  The Stanford logo appeared in my inbox. My heart stuttered.

  "Dear Mr. Jason Chen, We regret to inform you that after careful consideration of your waitlist status..."

  No. Please, no.

  "...while your passion for computer science and game development is evident..."

  I can't fail them. Not at this.

  "...we encourage you to pursue your academic goals at another institution..."

  I closed the laptop with shaking hands. So this is it. No Stanford Computer Science. No continuing what they started. No changing the gaming world like they wanted to.

  All those nights studying instead of raiding. All those practice essays about how games could change lives, about carrying forward my parents' vision of making games more than just entertainment.

  I needed air.

  The night was cooler than expected, my thin hoodie doing little against the spring chill. Street lights cast orange pools on the sidewalk as I wandered, each step taking me further from home but no closer to answers. What would you do, Dad? When your first three game engines failed, you kept going. But me? I couldn't even get past the first hurdle.

  "Life's a bitch, ain't it, kid?"

  I startled. A man in an expensive but rumpled suit sat on a park bench, flask in hand. His tie hung loose around his neck like a surrender flag.

  "You look like someone just crushed your dreams," he continued, taking a swig. "Let me guess – college rejection? Girl problems?"

  "Both, actually."

  He laughed, harsh and hollow. "Want some advice from someone who's been there? Dreams are for kids. Reality's about compromise. See this suit? Fifteen years at Morgan Stanley. Following my father's footsteps like a good son. You know what I wanted to be? A chef."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because that's not what Andersons do." He raised the flask in mock salute. "So here's to crushed dreams and settling for—"

  Children's laughter cut him off. A group of kids were playing some kind of tag game near the corner, their parents chatting nearby. One of them, a little boy no more than six, was bouncing a bright red ball that glowed faintly under the streetlights.

  "Look at them," the man muttered. "Still believing anything's possible. Give it time, kid. Reality hits everyone eventually."

  The ball slipped from the boy's hands, bouncing toward the street. He darted after it without hesitation.

  I saw the truck before he did.

  My body moved before my brain could process what was happening. Just like dodging Bone King's death spiral, was the absurd thought that flashed through my mind as I sprinted forward. The truck's horn blared, headlights painting the world in harsh white. The boy reached for his ball, oblivious.

  I managed to shove him clear. Achievement Unlocked: Actual Hero. Mom, Dad... at least I did one thing right.

  The impact felt like every gaming death I'd ever experienced, compressed into one searing moment of pain. Then darkness.

  "—technically dead for three minutes before we stabilized him."

  A woman's voice, rich and authoritative, pulled me from the void. My body felt strange, distant, like controlling a game character with serious lag.

  "Lady Evangeline, the nanite rejection should have killed him instantly. No one survives a complete systemic rejection, let alone after clinical death. The compatibility tests—"

  "Were irrelevant the moment his Core evolved." The first voice – Lady Evangeline – sounded fascinated. "Look at these readings. The Core didn't just survive, it adapted. It's absorbing the nanites, incorporating them into its own structure. In all my years of Cyber-Integration, I've never seen anything like it."

  I forced my eyes open. An elegant woman in her early forties stood at my bedside, her white coat adorned with glowing silver runes. Holographic displays flickered in the air around her, showing diagrams I couldn't begin to understand. This has to be some weird death dream. Maybe I'm still fighting the Bone King.

  "Ah, young lord Ortega awakens." She smiled, and the air itself seemed to warm. "You've given us quite the scare. Most bodies that reject Cyber-Integration nanites don't survive the first minute. The rejection cascades through the system, causing total organ failure. But you..."

  She gestured to one of the displays, where a pulsing blue core was surrounded by swirling patterns. "Your Core has developed its own mana circulation system. Instead of letting the nanites disperse through your bloodstream, it's... consuming them. Creating something entirely new. It's almost as if..."

  "Lady Evangeline!" A younger aide burst in. "The Core's resonance patterns – they're unlike anything in the database. It's developing new pathways by the second!"

  I tried to speak, but my throat felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. My arms weren't my arms. My chest wasn't my chest. Character model swap glitch? Ha-ha, very funny...

  "Rest now," Lady Evangeline advised, pressing a rune-carved crystal to my forehead. "You've already died once today. Let's not tempt fate further until we understand what you've become."

  As darkness claimed me again, one thought surfaced through the confusion:

  Why do I have a feeling this isn't a normal hospital? And who the hell is Ortega?

  [New Host Detected. Initiating synchronization...]