If Reiji Sato had known that day would be the last time he felt real, he might've held on a little tighter.
It was a Tuesday in late spring. The kind of day that smells like fresh-cut grass and dying ambitions. Class 2-A was half-asleep, drowning in the warmth of the sun and the slow suffocation of Meiji-era politics.
Reiji sat by the window, the so-called "Prince of East Shōwa High." Perfect grades. Perfect smile. The kind of student teachers bragged about and classmates secretly resented.
But he wasn't paying attention.
Not to the lecture. Not to the fluttering sakura petals outside. His eyes were on the girl across the room—trying, and failing, to stay awake.
Miyuki Tachibana. Class rep. Archery team captain. Walking embodiment of righteous fury and caffeine dependency.
When she caught him staring, she didn't blush or look away.
She smirked.
Then flicked a folded sticky note at his face like a throwing knife.
> "Hey, Your Highness. Less brooding, more learning. You're slacking."
Reiji chuckled. Quiet. Genuine.
He didn't laugh like that much anymore.
---
They walked home together that afternoon, as usual. Miyuki did most of the talking—ranting about test schedules, idiotic club politics, and how she nearly punched a teacher who called her "intense."
Reiji just listened. It was easy with her.
Somewhere along the riverbank, as the sky dipped into gold, she slowed her steps.
> "You know, you don't have to keep being the guy everyone expects. It's okay to fall apart. Just... don't do it when no one's looking."
Reiji froze.
That was Miyuki. Honest. Sharp. A little too good at seeing past his armor.
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
> "Thanks," he said.
What he meant was I wish I knew how.
---
That night, Reiji made two portions of dinner, like always.
One for him.
One for a memory.
His mother had been gone for months. His father was buried in some overseas office job. The apartment was silent.
He ate alone. In the glow of the television. Chopsticks in one hand. Game controller in the other.
---
He was scrolling late into the night when he found it.
A thread buried in a niche forum, buried in a corner of the internet that smelled like old myths and malware.
> "Elysia: Fatebound – The Game That Doesn't Want to Be Beaten"
Curious, he clicked.
The post was insane. Ramblings, screenshots, half-lucid confessions. Players described bosses that learned from your tactics. Quests that rewrote themselves. Achievements you didn't remember earning.
Some claimed the game watched you. Others swore it talked back.
The most upvoted comment chilled him:
> "You don't beat Elysia. You survive it. The game doesn't have a difficulty curve. It has a grudge."
Reiji stared at the screen for a long time.
He didn't believe in ghosts. But he believed in challenges.
---
He ordered a copy the next morning.
He didn't know it was out of stock everywhere.
Didn't know what it would cost him.
Didn't know he was already being watched.
All he knew was that he wanted to feel something again.
And the game was waiting.
Quiet.
Patient.
Smiling.