[Welcome, and thanks for giving this a shot.
Before you dive in, just a quick heads-up for newcomers:
"The Prologue offers a glimpse of Giri's old life—his bonds, burdens, and what he stood to lose. If you'd rather dive straight into the reincarnation, you can begin at Chapter 2. But the Prologue adds context and emotional weight that will echo through the story."
Either way, I hope you enjoy the journey. :) ]
Wind howled through the trees. A thunderclap lit the dark forest, revealing a child's body stumbling through the downpour rain.
He forced his short legs uphill toward the old oak—his safest spot, his favorite place to see everything.
Branch by branch, he climbed higher. In the distance, the village wall flickered in the darkness, the shaman's fire still burning despite the rain. Maybe they could see him too.
A howl rose from the forest—low, guttural, hungry. Another answered from the opposite direction. The creatures that had nearly killed him were still hunting, closing in.
What's happening?
Lightning split the sky—too many strikes, too fast to count. Each jagged line stabbing down in rapid succession. Each boom rattled through his bones.
He clutched his ears, trembling.
Then a flash—blinding white, so close it lit the rain into silver needles around him.
The branch snapped. He watched the canopy blur past as his body slowly descended—
>>Error. Line 472. NullPointerException.
Giri jerked awake, the error message flaring accusingly at him. He'd dozed off waiting for the compile to finish. Again.
He rubbed his face and reached for his coffee cup. Empty. Of course.
He should be in bed, wrapped in comfortable sleep like any normal person at this hour. But the Awakened update for Aeonalus Primordials had a deadline breathing down his neck. Ever since SolarTech took over, he no longer had the freedom to work whenever he wanted. Their timeline was everything now.
Giri grabbed the empty cup and stood up, stretching muscles stiff from hunching over his keyboard. He shuffled toward the kitchen for a refill.
As he waited for the coffee maker to brew, his mind wandered to yesterday's conversation at that izakaya, the weight of Moriya's words still fresh...
---
"You're late," Giri said under the amber light of the izakaya booth.
Moriya slid into the seat across from him, signaling the waitress for his usual. "Thanks for noticing. Client meeting ran over."
He loosened his tie with a tired grin. "Though it can't be worse than whatever's eating at you. You look like you've been debugging the same function for three days straight."
Giri let out a bitter laugh. "Try three weeks. The VR integration is driving me insane. And don't get me started on the suits. If I hear 'synergistic market integration' one more time, I might start talking in ones and zeroes."
Moriya chuckled as his beer arrived. "Still pushing those buzzwords, huh?"
"You have no idea. Everything has to address" —he made air quotes with his fingers— "'pain points' and 'support revenue goals' now. They shot down my dynamic weather system because it wouldn't help monetization." Giri's frustration bubbled over. "They don't want a game, they want a machine that prints money."
Moriya leaned back in his chair, spinning his glass between his palms. "Man, that's rough. Nothing like the old days, huh? Remember when our biggest worry was Shizuka's dragon textures going haywire?"
"All their heads twisted backward while they moved." Giri chuckled, the memory briefly lightening his mood. "Simpler times."
"Before corporate buzzwords," Moriya nodded, taking a long drink.
The conversation flowed easily between them. Giri vented about technical challenges and corporate pressure while Moriya listened with the understanding of someone who'd once lived the same dream. Before financial reality forced him to leave their perfect trio—Moriya the sound engineer, Shizuka the artist, and Giri the programmer.
"Remember when we were planning the Earth Primordial?" Giri asked, a smile tugging at his lips. "You insisted on recording actual earthquake sounds."
"Hey, authenticity matters!" Moriya laughed. "Though maybe breaking that flower pot was a bit much."
The warmth of shared memories filled the space between them, but Giri could see something in his friend's eyes—a distance that hadn't been there before. He set down his glass, considering his words carefully.
"Hey Moriya, are you sure you won't consider coming back to the project? I know it's a lot different compared to the past, but what we're working on is really big. I could put in a few words—"
Moriya shook his head with a gentle smile, the rejection clear before he even spoke.
"Thanks, Giri. I really appreciate that you'd even ask. But... what I have now, it's working for me, you know? If I'm strapped for cash, I can take on more clients. If I need a break, I just... take one. That kind of freedom... I can't give that up again."
"Corporate work has consistency, sure, but it doesn't really give me time to spend on what I'm making. Now I can actually care about each project."
"I know it's not the dream we used to share, but I'm okay with where I am."
The rejection stung, but it held truth. Moriya had found his balance—the freedom to choose his projects, the money he needed, the time to actually care about what he was making. Why would he come back to this corporate nightmare?
But Moriya wasn't him. Giri couldn't just walk away from what he'd spent five years building, every single day pouring his vision into code. This was his life's work, even if SolarTech now controlled how that work got shaped.
Giri forced a smile and nodded. "You're right, I get it. I miss that kind of freedom too."
"Hey, what's with that face?" Moriya leaned forward, his voice gentle but firm. "It's not that what you're doing isn't important."
"I've read the news. You and SolarTech are slowly pushing technology forward in this world. Our game has grown bigger than we ever dreamed—though the purpose might be shifted, it's still changing lives whether you believe it or not."
"Do you know how proud I felt when I drove through the central market and saw three banners for the game?"
Giri's expression softened slightly. "Yeah, sorry. The grass is always greener on the other side."
They finished their drinks in companionable silence, both knowing something fundamental had shifted between them. The easy camaraderie of their shared dream had been replaced by the professional distance of separate careers.
As they parted ways outside the izakaya, Moriya's final words echoed in the night air: "Don't let them stress you out too much, okay? You've done more for that project than anyone else."
---
The coffee maker beeped, pulling Giri back to his apartment. He poured the fresh brew into his cup, steam rising in the quiet darkness.
Moriya's words had been reassuring, even motivational. Their game was changing lives, making an impact beyond anything they'd originally imagined. But Giri couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong within SolarTech. There had been more behind-closed-door meetings lately, discussions he hadn't been part of, whispered conversations that stopped when he walked by.
He took a sip of the hot coffee and stared at the error message still glowing on his screen. The compile would have to wait a little longer.
His phone screen flared up in the darkness, casting blue light across his cluttered desk.
A message. He grabbed the phone as he settled back into his computer chair.
Contact name: Hanna.
"Hey Giri, can't make it this month. Leading a lecture on the same day and no one to watch Tiny. I'll send money for the visit and a gift. Tell Mom I said hi. I'll try next month, promise."
Giri stared at the message, the familiar weight settling in his chest. Same excuse he couldn't blame her for. His sister struggled between her job and the newborn. Yet it always came down to him.
Another message popped up.
"I know you've been busy too, but I promise, when things settle down, I'll come with you more often."
The message came with a short video. His niece, barely a year old, sat in her high chair making babbling sounds that almost resembled "Gi-Gi"—his name. Her tiny hands reached toward the camera as Hanna's voice cooed in the background, "Say Uncle Gi-Gi!"
Despite everything, Giri smiled.
He set the phone aside and turned back to his monitor. The error message still waited, patient and accusing. Time to get back to work.
---
Golden sunlight striped his cluttered desk. Giri's head drooped, his breath shallow with fatigue. He mumbled, "Just... five more minutes," before collapsing onto the keyboard.
His phone's ring jerked him awake. Dazed, with keyboard marks on his cheek, he grabbed the phone.
He answered, his voice still thick with sleep. "Hello?"
"Giri, finally. It's Kenji." The younger programmer sounded breathless. "Did you check your email?"
Giri rubbed the marks the keyboard had left on his cheek. "No. I'm supposed to work from home today. I was going to read them when I woke up properly."
There was a pause, then Kenji lowered his voice. "Yeah, about that... someone important's coming in this morning. I think you'll need to be here for it."
"More details are in the email, but long story short—it's regarding the project and new developments. Something to do with new gen VR."
Giri sat up straight, instantly awake. "New gen? What do you mean?" A knot formed in his stomach. "Didn't they tell us we're working with the latest one?"
He'd been struggling with VR integration for weeks, thinking he was working with their latest tech. Apparently not. Or maybe they'd deliberately kept him out of the loop.
"I'll be there soon. Need to clean up first."