Lucien's eyes went wide.
Not the normal kind of wide—this was the kind of stare reserved for lottery winners, miracle witnesses, or streamers who had just received a sudden one-hundred-dollar donation out of nowhere.
He leaned so close to his monitor that the blue glow washed over his face, his pupils trembling slightly.
On the screen, a familiar interface shimmered.
The Deity Simulator.
A world-famous sandbox game released in 2029. A masterpiece praised for its absurd depth, near-limitless freedom, and the terrifying realism of its life simulation system.
The premise was simple.
Create a planet.
Design its laws.
Seed life.
And then… watch.
Watch civilizations rise. Watch them worship. Watch them burn themselves into extinction if you made one tiny mistake.
Most players never made it past their third world.
Lucien was not most players.
He was one of the top-ranked players on the global leaderboards.
Not because he spent money(he was broke).
Not because he played casually(he played like his life depended on it).
And certainly not because he followed tutorials.
Lucien had a strategy.
A disgusting, broken, borderline unfair strategy.
One that let him simulate complex life forms using such a simple foundation that other players would cry if they knew.
He never told anyone.
He gatekept it with his life.
Within five months of playing, he had gone from beginner to expert. While others debated philosophy on the forums, Lucien was already bending entire civilizations to his will.
If he lost a world, he didn't sigh.
He panicked.
Like someone whose oxygen supply had just been cut off.
Right now, however, Lucien wasn't panicking.
He was staring.
Because hovering in the middle of his screen was something that should not exist.
A floating window.
Not part of the normal UI.
Not part of any known update.
Not datamined.
Not leaked.
Just… there.
[You Have Unlocked a Secret Quest!]
Reward: ???
"A quest?" Lucien muttered.
His excitement flickered–then immediately collided with reality.
"But I need to clean my room," he groaned. "Mom said we have guests coming today."
He leaned back in his chair and glanced behind him.
Instant regret.
His room looked like it had survived three apocalypses and lost all of them.
A pile of trash sat proudly in one corner like a modern art installation titled 'Procrastination.' Unwashed clothes were scattered everywhere–on the floor, on the chair, on the edge of the bed, and somehow even on the door handle.
The bed itself was white.
Or at least it used to be.
Now it was a sad grayish color, with wrinkles so deep they could probably qualify as geographical features.
Against the wall stood a cabinet that had long since given up on life. One drawer was missing entirely. Another was permanently stuck halfway open like it was trying to escape.
The walls were dull, covered in random graffiti—half-finished sketches, symbols from the game, and motivational quotes that had failed their purpose.
Above it all, a flickering light bulb buzzed ominously.
It had been flickering for three weeks.
Lucien still hadn't fixed it.
A smell crept into his nose.
Slowly.
Menacingly.
The unmistakable stench of unwashed clothes.
"Oh fugk," Lucien muttered, pinching his nose. "I forgot to wash my clothes again."
He looked down at himself.
The same hoodie he'd been wearing for… an amount of time best left unspecified.
"Sigh. I guess I need to start cleaning now."
He stood up, fumbling through his desk for his motorbike key and his wallet.
The wallet was broken.
Not metaphorically.
Actually broken.
It opened slightly, spilled nothing, and closed again like it was mocking him.
"Tch."
With no proper laundry bag—because he was broke—Lucien grabbed a large black trash bag from under his desk.
He stuffed every dirty piece of clothing into it without discrimination.
Shirts.
Socks.
Things that should not be described.
The bag grew heavier and heavier until it looked like it might achieve sentience and fight back.
Just as Lucien reached for the doorknob—
Knock knock.
"Lucien, are you there?"
His entire body froze.
"Yes, Mom!" he called out, voice cracking just a little.
"Our guests are coming soon," his mother continued from the other side. "Did you already clean your room?"
Lucien paused.
Sweat formed on his forehead.
His eyes darted around the room—half-cleaned, half-destroyed, absolutely not ready for human visitors.
"Y-yeah!" he replied. "I-I already cleaned my room, hahaha!"
Somehow, he even managed to put a smug tone into it.
"Oh, okay," his mother said kindly. "If you're ready, come downstairs and meet our guests."
Footsteps faded away.
Lucien didn't answer.
He just nodded to himself like she could see him through the wall.
"…I'm dead."
Panic mode activated.
He grabbed a broom and dustpan and immediately went to work.
Trash everywhere.
Snack wrappers.
Empty cups.
Paper notes filled with game formulas.
It felt like cleaning a dungeon.
Even though he hadn't cleaned for just three days, the mess made it feel like three years.
His mom knew how messy he was.
Thankfully, she was the kindest mom in existence.
If she weren't, Lucien would have been homeless long ago.
Time passed in a blur of sweeping, stuffing, and aggressive organization.
---Twelve minutes later---
Lucien stood in the middle of his room.
Clean.
Relatively.
The trash was gone.
The bed was… acceptable.
The smell was reduced from toxic to questionable.
Without hesitation, he spun around and sat back down in his gaming chair.
Completely forgetting about the guests.
His monitor lit up.
The floating window was still there.
[Secret Quest: Would you like to accept it?]
[YES] [NO]
Lucien didn't even blink.
Within a millisecond, he clicked YES.
…
Nothing happened.
He blinked.
Clicked again.
Nothing.
He clicked repeatedly.
Still nothing.
"…Is this some kind of joke?" he muttered.
"I didn't pay enough for this shit?"
He leaned closer to the screen.
"What a scam. My nights are wasted for this? It's not even worki—"
Everything went black.
Lucien collapsed onto the floor.
Completely unaware.
Silence filled the room.
The flickering light bulb buzzed one last time.
And the monitor… smiled.