They say a normal life is a blessing.
I used to have that.
Or at least, something close enough that I never questioned it.
"I used to be healthy," I remind myself sometimes, the words heavy with disbelief. "A normal teen living a normal life."
I was the kind of kid people resented for existing.
Good at sports not superstar level, but the reliable guy on every team.
Good at academics the type who could cram the night before and still ace exams.
Good at socializing enough to blend in, not enough to stand out.
In short: the ideal background character of a school drama.
Maybe that was the problem.
Maybe life found me too stable, too predictable — so it decided to spice things up.
One day my lungs simply… stopped cooperating.
No dramatic accident, no tragic backstory.
Just me, suddenly unable to breathe properly, collapsing during basketball practice like a wilted plant.
The hospital became my second home overnight.
Doctors flocked around me like curious tourists visiting a rare animal in a zoo, whispering as if I couldn't hear them.
"There's no existing case like this," one said, adjusting his glasses.
"His body rejects oxygen as if it were poison," another murmured, as though I were an exhibit behind glass.
"We may need to classify this as a new terminal condition," someone else concluded, with all the enthusiasm of a scientist discovering a new species.
Then came the kicker.
"We'll let the patient name the condition, since he's the first recorded case."
They really shouldn't have said that.
"What did I call it again?" I tap my chin in mock thought, even now. "Ah. Right."
"Ligma," I said back then, deadpan.
The room froze.
One doctor blinked rapidly.
My brother actually coughed out his coffee.
My mother whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
Hey — if I was going to die from something, it might as well have a stupid name.
Better to laugh at the reaper than cry in front of him.
But humor can't stop reality from sinking its claws in.
After the laughter faded, silence took its place.
A silence that felt too heavy for someone my age to carry.
And that was the beginning of the end of my "normal" life.
My life shrank into a single hospital room.
The beeping of machines and the scent of disinfectant became my daily soundtrack.
White walls, white sheets, white skies outside the window — I started to forget what the color blue looked like.
When it rained, I'd count droplets crawling down the glass.
"One… two… three… racing to the finish line," I'd murmur.
That was my entertainment.
People visited at first — classmates, teachers, even neighbors.
But pity has an expiration date.
Eventually, the visits slowed.
Then stopped.
Then disappeared entirely.
Even my parents became ghosts who dropped by once every few days. They always looked exhausted… and guilty. I hated making them feel that way.
The only one who never stopped coming was my older brother.
He wasn't very talkative. He'd just come, drop something on my bed — snacks, comics, random knick-knacks he probably bought on the way — and sit beside me.
"You look bored," he'd say, forcing a grin. "Here. I found this for you."
One day, he didn't bring snacks or books.
He brought a game.
E.F.O — Eternal Fate Online.
"You can't move around out there," he said, tapping my forehead. "So move around in here instead."
That was the day my life changed.
E.F.O wasn't just a game. It was the game.
A full-dive VR world with systems so complex they bordered on frightening.
Combat? Phenomenal.
Skill trees? Endless.
Graphics? Semi-realistic enough to make you question reality.
But the real star was the story.
A world where every choice leaves a scar.
Help someone? The world remembers.
Betray them? The world remembers.
Accidentally buy the last bread in the store?
Well—
"Someone might go hungry because of you," the NPC baker would say on your next visit.
It had 245 known endings.
All of them terrible.
Players called them Fate Lines — threads the world stubbornly clung to, dragging every route toward tragedy. No happy endings. No salvation. No mercy.
And yet… 345 million players kept logging in every day.
Because it was a world that remembered you.
It was the first world to feel more real than the real one.
Out of all the characters, I fell for her.
Clare Michigan — the Icebound Witch.
Half-elemental, half-human, wholly doomed.
A woman whose heart was colder than her magic, but warmer than anyone ever realized.
Most players avoided her because her route was the cruelest.
To me, she was the most human.
Maybe because I saw a bit of myself in her — someone destined for a bad ending, no matter how hard they fought.
I spent years trying to save her.
Hundreds of playthroughs.
Thousands of decisions.
Every flag, every hidden conversation, every pixel of her character model — I knew them by heart.
But every run ended the same way.
With Clare dying in my arms.
I thought I had more chances but as if Fate wanted to play with me he gave me his last parting gift
"E.F.O will be shutting down on December 3rd."
He stared at the notification on his screen, unable to breathe.
He read it again. And again.
"No…" His voice cracked. "No, no, no. Not this. Why—why that?"
The room felt colder.
His chest felt hollow.
Is it wrong to be happy?
Is it wrong to want something small?
Why can't I have just this much?
The world that had saved him was being deleted.
The one bond he cherished was being erased.
From that day, life spiraled.
His health declined—slowly, mercilessly.
Doctors listed symptoms.
He stopped listening.
One physician sighed, "Your condition is progressive. You'll need long-term monitoring."
Nam only nodded.
Inside, he whispered:
Figures. Even my body wants to shut down too.
But he didn't quit.
He lived each day clutching the lessons E.F.O had given him.
He built a worn, thick booklet—filled with lore analysis, combat theories, timeline branches, hidden flags. A decade of research. A lifetime of devotion.
He carried it everywhere.
It was his second heart.
Someday, he told himself, he might get another chance.
A sequel. A remake. A miracle.
He laughed at the idea.
But he kept hoping anyway.
Then one afternoon, as he lay resting with a dull headache, his phone vibrated.
Notification: 1 New Message
From: T.O.W.K. (E.F.O Development Team Lead)
Nam's heart skipped a beat. He tapped it open.
[Subject: E.F.O Re-Release
Greetings, Nam Gi Won,
Thank you for your continued interest in Eternal Fate Online. We are pleased to inform you that a new version has been released and is now available for play. All previous playthroughs have been preserved, and you may continue your journey with full access to your data.
We look forward to seeing the paths you choose.
— T.O.W.K., Lead Developer]
Nam didn't reply.
His hands shook as he whispered, "Finally… finally…"
His cursor trembled as he clicked the download link.
He opened the launcher and saw his username appear.
And then—
all his old save files.
Hundreds of them.
He exhaled, voice breaking.
"You waited for me… all of you…"
He clicked the New Game button.
The loading screen hummed softly.
The progress bar climbed.
60%
72%
89%
His head throbbed.
The room tilted.
"Not… now…" he hissed, grabbing the edge of his desk.
His pulse roared in his ears.
His vision tunneled.
"Damnit—"
The loading bar reached 100%.
A chime echoed.
Light swallowed him whole.
And Nam Gi Won fell into the world he had loved more than his own.
---
✦ End of Chapter.