The train hummed quietly as it sped along the tracks, the overhead lights casting a soft yellow glow on Rony's relaxed figure. He was leaning back, head slightly tilted, the cool air from the AC whispering against his cheek. His new bag still rested in his lap, one arm casually draped over it like he was hugging a precious treasure.
Then it hit him—like a jolt.
"Oh… right!" he muttered, blinking rapidly as if snapping out of a trance.
He quickly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his second phone—the one he barely checked unless something important came up.
Today was payday.
Not from his mall job. Not from his court position either.
But from that place.
He logged into his alternate bank account, half expecting a modest notification. Instead, what greeted him was a number that made his eyes go wide and his heart skip a beat.
"W-what the…?"
His lips parted in disbelief, the breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled just slightly as the digits on the screen confirmed what he was seeing—this month's payment was more than the combined salary of both his jobs for an entire year. And this was just one month.
He stared at the screen, mouth still ajar, eyes darting around as if looking for someone to confirm this wasn't a glitch.
"Is this real?" he murmured under his breath, his heart pounding so loudly it felt like it echoed in the empty train car. He leaned back in the seat, laughing quietly to himself.
This… this was insane.
He scrolled down to check the total balance, and a wave of joy and nervous excitement surged through him. The number was big. Too big.
His chest felt tight, but not in a bad way. The kind of tightness that came when your dreams suddenly looked… possible.
He turned to us, or maybe just himself, and whispered, "You know… I didn't even expect this. I just wanted to share something I love."
And that was the truth.
Rony never made those videos expecting fame or fortune. In fact, when he'd first started posting gameplay videos of Chronicles of Life: The Game, he'd done it as a way to hold onto something. Something that reminded him of peace, wonder… and maybe even hope.
"I loved the story," he admitted with a nostalgic smile, "and I loved the game even more. It felt like magic… like a world I could lose myself in."
At first, the uploads were simple—just walkthroughs, some tips, maybe a hidden quest or two. He didn't even narrate them properly in the beginning. It was just the gameplay, crisp visuals, and occasional subtitles.
But the game was mysterious. Strange. And unlike anything else out there.
No bugs. No credits. No developer name. No studio logo. It was like it had just… appeared.
That mystery pulled people in. But it was his videos that gave it life.
He became the guy. The one everyone turned to for guidance, updates, hidden locations, and unknown mechanics.
His videos went viral.
Then came the subscribers. Then the fans. Then the money.
"When I got my first payment," he said with a distant look, "I thought it was a mistake. But then it happened again. And again. And it just… kept growing."
He smiled, warm and wistful.
"But no one knows it's me."
And that was how he liked it.
Rony had created a completely hidden online persona. He never showed his face. No voiceovers. Every video was edited carefully, posted anonymously under a stylized avatar. Even interviews and community panels were conducted via text.
There were rumors, of course. Conspiracy theories. Some said he was actually a developer in disguise. Others believed he was just a myth—an AI made to market the game.
He chuckled at the thought.
"No one knows I'm just… some guy on a train," he said, looking around the quiet cabin.
The AC hummed. The wheels clattered softly. It was peaceful.
But then, as the joy settled, something else crept in—a shadow of the past. A memory he couldn't quite let go of.
He looked down at the screen again, at the money that now seemed to glow with more meaning than ever before.
"I… I need to save this," he whispered. "I need to keep it safe. For her."
Because even if today he could afford anything—back then, he couldn't.
Not when her health began to fail.
Not when the doctors said they needed to go abroad for treatment.
Not when the bills piled up, and his part-time jobs weren't enough.
"I was there," he said softly, his voice barely above a breath. "I saw her cry. I saw her hide her pain just to not make me worry."( he wa s talking about his dead mother)
His chest tightened again—but this time it wasn't excitement.
It was grief. Regret. The kind that settles in the bones.
They didn't have enough money then. And she knew it. So she smiled through her pain, always saying "I'm fine," even when she wasn't.
"That… that memory taught me something," he said, his hand clenching the strap of the bag. "Money… it's not everything. But when you need it… it means everything."
That's why, even now, he worked the court job. And the mall job.
Even now, when his online income could buy them a house in the city.
Because it had become a habit.
A defense mechanism.
"I need to be ready," he told himself. "In case anything goes wrong again. In case… she ever needs me."
But today… for the first time… he allowed himself to dream.
"A new house, huh?" he smiled. "Maybe she can choose her own room. Maybe I can finally tell her to go to any college she wants…"
The thought made him emotional.
He looked out the train window, eyes reflecting the warm orange of the sunset.
Hope. That's what this felt like.
Hope that things might finally be okay.
That maybe, just maybe… he'd done enough.