Prologue: The Day I Opened My Eyes

“Come quickly, Adrian, he’s opening his eyes!”

A soft, gentle voice reached me as I forced my eyes open for the first time in this world.

“Oh my God… I’m coming!”

That delicate voice was soon joined by a deeper, masculine one, sounding distant, as if several walls were standing between us and muffling his words.

My vision slowly began to clear. A blurry silhouette of a woman appeared in front of me, brown hair flowing down over her shoulders and back.

When will my sight focus so I can actually see her…?

She looks beautiful even like this.

Who is she?

My questions were cut off by the sound of hurried footsteps rushing toward me until the man stopped at my side.

Why is he running like that?

And why do they both look gigantic?

“Look at him. Doesn’t he look just like you?”

“He definitely inherited the beauty of your eyes, my dear.”

Are they… flirting with each other using me as a reference?

Who took what from whom exactly?!

“Hahaha, maybe so—but he has your hair and eye color.”

While they continued exchanging compliments and using me as a shared “specimen” for their flirting, my vision finally cleared up.

The woman in front of me was just as beautiful as I’d imagined, and beside her stood a man as handsome as those you only ever see in fantasy stories.

These features are nothing like the people from my old world and my old life.

But I’m definitely not dreaming… right?

Jet-black hair, soft brown eyes leaning toward a pure honey color, a body well-built and carefully trained.

Alright, let’s try to talk to them and ask who they are.

“Bah… bah… bo…”

What?.

“Ahhh, his first word. His first word. Did you hear that?”

“He’s trying to speak. Come on, try again; you can do it.”

“Haha, he’s still just a baby. How could he talk already?”

Baby? … Baby?.

I attempted to move my hand toward myself only to find a tiny, chubby little arm.

Oh God. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“I was worried when he didn’t wake up at all since he was born yesterday… I’m so happy right now.”

The woman started crying, looking down at me with a gentle, warm smile.

It appears that I really did get transported into the game world, just like that message told me.

And these two… are apparently my parents in this world.

How I hate this…

This world…

Will be destroyed...

No matter what.

******

(Three days earlier)

“Ugh… my head. This job is killing me.”

My name is Park Kim. I’m twenty-seven years old, and I work as a marketer in a marketing company.

From the outside, that might sound decent.

Inside? It’s pure hell.

Working for more than five clients a day, each with a different field, different system, and different demands…

Oh God, do they think they bought a slave, and now they want to squeeze every last coin’s worth out of him?

I walked toward the convenience store next to my apartment, bought two bags of chips and a bottle of soda, then went back upstairs and changed my clothes.

Some might ask, “What makes you put up with this hell of a job?”

If I had to sum it up in a single word, it would be: “Azorith.”

A game I’ve been playing for a long time, and I still haven’t finished in a way that satisfies me.

The thrill of trying to clear it “properly,” and the way every run leads to different events and routes, makes me dive into it and forget my personal hell for a while.

The game is famous for one thing above all:

The story changes based on your choices, your actions during events, and key moments.

You don’t have full freedom, of course—certain major events cannot be changed—but the ability to make your own path, whether noble or cruel, is what made the game explode in popularity and turn everyone obsessed.

Despite all of that, it has one of the worst endings I’ve ever seen.

If not, the worst.

The world ends in ruin and corruption, completely beyond repair.

The people who could have saved it die one after another, no matter how hard you try or what choices you make.

Because of that, many players got fed up with its misery and gave up, quitting before even trying other approaches—even though the game technically lets you re-choose and search for alternatives.

In spite of all the complaints, the company never apologized or patched the ending.

They stayed silent.

Why wouldn’t they?

Even though many left, just as many new players joined to replace them, and the profits they made were enough to fund a dozen new games.

Yet somehow, they never released anything else.

Five years have passed since Azorith came out, and they haven’t announced a single new project.

People have been speculating about it on social media for years now.

Sigh… whatever.

What matters is that I have to save the world this time.

I’ve tried over and over to get a good ending where the world survives, but it never works out.

There’s always a point where I can’t protect the heroes anymore, and I can’t save the world either.

I’ve played so much that I’ve lost count of all the nights I sacrificed sleep before work just to give it “one last try” and break that tragic ending.

Some people would probably laugh—or cry—if they knew I used my official days off just to stay home and grind this death-obsessed game, more than I use them to actually rest.

My manager scolded me more than once for these “mysterious” vacations, and I kept insisting I just needed rest.

Well… I wasn’t exactly lying.

The job itself sucks the life right out of you day after day, and if I don’t escape into something, I’ll lose my mind.

Clients making impossible demands, asking for absurd revisions, expecting miracles in no time—as if I owned a magic wand that grants wishes on command.

Today will be my first attempt—again.

I’ve lost track of which number this try is.

No matter what it costs me, I have to succeed today.

I turned on my PC, placed my bags of chips and my beloved soda within reach, and logged into the game.

“Hm… looks like new players are trying to break the game’s curse again.”

So it’s still going strong even after all these years, huh.

“Hm?”

Someone is trying to talk to me.

Alright, let’s see what they want.

“Hey, Hell-Returner, how are you doing?”

Yeah, that’s my in-game name.

Maybe it sounds weird, but a guy like me, working in a living nightmare of a company and playing a game with a tragic, hopeless ending—what else should I call myself? “Lucky Angel”? Seriously?

“Hello. I’m fine.”

Best not to waste too many words until I know what they’re after.

“I wanted your help with the quest ‘Gaining Emilia’s Trust.’”

Hahaha, that quest? People still struggle with it?

If he knew she was destined to die in the end, no matter what, he’d probably smash his screen, quit the game, and go into an existential crisis.

She’s one of the strongest and most beloved characters—beauty from her mother, strength from her warrior father.

Even her personality, as far as I remember, stole the hearts of players everywhere.

Alright, alright, no need to dump that truth on him. Let him enjoy the game while he can.

“I’ll just tell you this: do not leave her when she asks you to.”

“Won’t that be bad?”

Normally, I’d agree.

But at that time, she needs someone to stand beside her, someone who tells her he won’t leave until she regains her confidence.

Most people don’t know this, but Emilia’s self-confidence is actually pretty fragile despite her strength.

It’s something only players who spent way too many hours on this game would notice.

“Don’t worry. Try it.”

He stayed silent for a moment, then replied again.

“Alright. I’ll trust the famous ‘Treasure of Information’… see you.”

“Haah…”

A deep sigh escaped me.

So he knew who I was—that’s why he came asking for help even though his level was higher than mine.

Some time ago, I became kind of famous on the forums as “The Treasure of Information,” since I always helped other players stuck on certain quests or events get the “proper” outcomes.

I never expected those posts to blow up like that or that I’d become “treasure” to anyone.

Still, no matter how much I help them, it doesn’t change the fact that the story ends in tragedy.

I just hope I can break that ending this time…

Please.

**********

(Two days later)

Mercy… someone show some mercy to my miserable life.

After spending two whole days trying to finally get a satisfying ending—losing hero after hero, scrambling around to awaken others, only to fail again at the end… I’m furious.

I feel like screaming.

“Damn this game and that cursed company. I hate you.”

I shouted with everything I had, but the burning anger in my veins refused to calm down.

“I’ll send them a message and teach them how to write a story with a logical plot, not this trash.”

I force-quit the game, stormed onto their official website, grabbed their contact email, and started pouring my rage into words, hoping the letters would crawl out of their monitors and choke them one by one.

I wrote that the game’s plot had so many holes that if you piled them all together, you’d probably plug the ozone layer.

Okay, so I still have a sense of humor even when I’m mad.

Anyway, I finished the message by expressing my absolute refusal of such a miserable ending, especially when it could’ve been avoided if we were allowed to properly protect certain heroes and change certain events.

I began listing those events one by one, explaining how each one could logically go differently instead of forcing the same doomed scenario, no matter what choices you made.

God, I was really pissed.

I ended my email telling them they needed, just this once, to listen to the players who had poured so much time into trying to find any hidden ending besides this one.

“Haah…”

I let out another long sigh as I hit “Send,” hoping this message would be the one to finally break their arrogance and force them to change something in this cursed story.

“It’s a bit late to say this, but I really should sleep. I’ve got work tomorrow.”

I headed to my beloved bed to get some rest.

I didn’t notice that my message had already received a reply.

**********

“Waaaah…”

I yawned at my desk at work, eyes heavy. I hadn’t slept well at all.

This game and that damned company… I hate them.

Who’s going to compensate me for all the precious time I’ve lost?

To be fair, it’s not entirely their fault.

I’m the one who keeps deciding to try again and again when so many people gave up long before me.

“You didn’t sleep again, did you?”

John, the guy in the cubicle next to me, broke my train of thought.

He’s one of the few people I genuinely respect—someone who keeps grinding despite family troubles and debts hanging over his head.

He never lets those things poison his attitude.

“Yeah… I lost track of time again and ended up sleeping late.”

His expression shifted into a look of mild disapproval, which irritated me.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He seemed surprised by my defensive tone, as if he hadn’t meant anything bad by his reaction in the first place.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I was just surprised you still perform so well despite such a hectic schedule that you can’t even sleep early.”

If only you knew what keeps me up every night…

You’d probably laugh and curse me at the same time.

“That’s nothing to be impressed about. There are plenty of people like me. I’m not special.”

“Yeah, you’re not.”

“Huh?!”

What is this idiot saying?

I just said I’m not special, but you’re not supposed to agree that quickly!

Does he not know how to sugarcoat things to keep the mood light?

God… have mercy.

“You’re not special because of that. You’re special because you keep trying even when you fail.”

…What?

“I don’t get what you mean.”

He scratched his head, searching for a simpler way to explain, then looked at me more seriously.

“What I mean is, you’re different from others because you didn’t quit during training. So many people quit within the first month because of the pressure, but you powered through, insisted on finishing it, and didn’t just survive—you did well. They even praised your work. That surprised me at first, but it made me respect you a lot.”

Damn, man…

Now I’m embarrassed.

I didn’t know I looked that impressive to anyone.

Well, I guess I should thank that game for training my patience and persistence.

“Thanks for seeing me that way. I respect your work too.”

Working next to this guy is the one good thing about this job.

He always treated me like a younger brother and never hesitated to help me at the beginning, explaining as many concepts as he could, even with his own problems and workload.

Seriously… thank you.

“Alright, let’s get back to work so we can escape this place.”

“Yeah.”

Time passed, I finished my tasks, and I bolted out of that cursed office as fast as I could.

Once I got home, I turned on my PC to see if anything new had happened since last night.

“Oh… I forgot to shut it down. Hm? What’s this?”

I noticed a notification in my inbox and opened it, only to see that the company had replied to my email.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

The company everyone calls “the Fortress of Narcissism” actually replied?

Are they going to show off their arrogance to me directly now?

I opened the message to see what they had to say about my long rant.

(We thank you for your detailed message and your criticism of the story we presented to you.)

(We understand that you’re dissatisfied with the ending and that no one with a shred of feeling for this world and its inhabitants would favor such a fate. However, we tried many times and could not find a way for it to be saved.)

(You suggested several possible solutions, and we would be delighted to discuss them with you. Therefore, when you read this message, please contact us again, and we will reply without delay. Thank you for your understanding.)

That was the text.

Formal, polite, and strangely soothing—like they’d taken all my anger and tossed it straight into the trash.

I still couldn’t believe they had answered me, especially when so many others had tried and never gotten a single response.

Fine. I’ll respect that and reply.

I sent them a message saying I was available if they wanted to discuss things, then went to prepare lunch.

No way they’d answer that fast… right?

Message notification sound

“They replied?!”

It had only been a few minutes.

Did they really answer that quickly?

I turned off the stove under my food, which would have to wait yet again, and went back to my PC.

“Let’s see what this company is up to first.”

(To our esteemed Hell-Returner, greetings…)

They knew my in-game name.

Looks like they really are taking this seriously.

(Greetings.)

(We read your message very carefully, and we can see you’re not someone who babbles nonsense. It seems you’ve spent a great deal of time playing, and you know how to correct its flawed course.)

So that’s why they never replied to anyone else?

Hmm… but what’s with that “babbles nonsense” part?

Does that kind of wording match their polite tone?

(That’s why we wanted to talk to you and ask you one question, and we hope you’ll answer honestly without hesitation.)

Are they going to test me now or something?

(What’s the question?)

I waited.

This time, they took a bit longer than usual to respond, which was odd given how fast they’d been before.

Were they… thinking up the question?

Ah, they’re typing.

(Are you willing to change that world’s future yourself from this moment on?)

Huh?

It sounded exactly like the cliché question given to a protagonist right before his journey to save a world from some lurking evil villain.

Is this supposed to be a serious question, or are they just a bunch of game-obsessed weirdos who can’t separate fiction from reality?

Fine. I’ll play along.

(Um… yeah. I want to change it.)

(^_^)

(??)

What’s with that face?

(Good. Then you will be transferred to that world, chosen hero. We knew you were exceptional, and that the prophecy must have meant you. Please, protect it. Please, save Azorith, Park.)

What?!!

How do they know my real name?

And what prophecy?!

(Wait, what are yo—)

Before I could finish typing my reply, the screen flared with blinding light.

Something yanked me forward with staggering force, dragging me into the monitor despite my frantic attempts to resist.

I was pulled into a strange place, like the wormholes I’d seen in space documentaries.

No matter where I looked, there was only darkness around me, crisscrossed by glowing streams of light rushing past in the opposite direction faster than my eyes could follow.

I looked at my hands—at my body—and they were shining.

“What’s happening to me? Am I… dreaming?”

I didn’t understand what was happening, but I realized one thing:

Whatever they said at the end of that conversation…

It was real.

He might not have been lying. He might—

“Ghhhhh—AAAAAAAGH!”

Pain.

Agonizing, unbearable pain.

My body felt like it was being torn apart, shredded from the inside out.

“Someone… h-help… AAAAAAAAGH!”

The pain didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down.

It just kept increasing, and the more it did, the further I felt my body drifting away from me, like I was being skinned alive.

Tears streamed from my eyes. Drool spilled from my mouth.

I couldn’t control any part of myself anymore.

All I wanted was for this torment to end.

The pain went on and on until, finally…

…I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes again—

I was no longer Park Kim.

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