Chapter 1: Respawn

"Loneliness can feel like the deepest darkness, but even in the shadows, we can discover the strength to rise again and seek the light of connection." — Anonymous

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"Ever feel like the world is moving forward, but you're stuck? Like some glitched NPC that no one bothers to fix?"

Belial let out a slow breath, watching the vapor curl and dissolve into the frigid night air. The alley stretched before him, dark and uninviting, its cracked pavement littered with discarded wrappers, shattered glass, and the remnants of dreams long abandoned.

He shifted against the freezing concrete, his body curled beneath a tattered hoodie that barely kept out the cold. A sickly yellow glow from a dying street lamp flickered above him, its dim light failing to chase away the shadows that clung to the alley walls. The scent of rot and piss lingered, sinking into his clothes, his skin—his very existence.

He was just another ghost in the underbelly of Shibuya. Another nameless, forgotten piece of trash swept into the corners of a city too busy to care.

His stomach growled, twisting painfully in protest. He ignored it. Hunger was an old companion now. Annoying, but familiar. He glanced at the half-eaten energy bar in his palm, its crumpled wrapper torn at the edges. Should he save it? Make it last?

No.

He shoved the rest into his mouth and chewed slowly, letting the faint sweetness fool his body into believing it was enough. It never was.

He leaned his head back against the cold brick wall, staring at the towering skyline beyond the alley's mouth. Neon signs blinked in the distance, painting the night in fleeting shades of blue and red. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, eating, living.

He used to be one of them.

Not anymore.

Two years ago.

Fourteen years old. A roof over his head. A family.

Then gone. Just like that.

His parents' voices still echoed in his head, sharp and suffocating.

"You're wasting your life."

"Gaming will never make you successful."

"Why can't you be like your cousin? He's already studying medicine."

Disappointment. Disgust. The weight of their expectations crushed him, suffocated him until there was nothing left. Until he stopped trying. Until his father finally threw him out like last week's garbage.

Now, he was here.

Now, he was nothing.

But in the digital world…

In the digital world, he was

A legend. A strategist. A player feared and respected. His hands knew the keyboard like a second heartbeat, every keystroke precise, every move calculated. When he played, the world blurred into numbers, patterns, and victory. 'In there, he mattered.'

Out here?

He exhaled through his nose. 'Out here, I'm just another failure.'

He curled his fingers, rubbing them together for warmth. His phone sat heavy in his pocket, the screen cracked, the battery long dead. But sometimes, he still pulled it out, stared at the dark display, and pretended he could log in again.

Pretended he could escape.

A metallic clang echoed through the alley as something—or someone—knocked over a trash can nearby.

Belial tensed, his fingers curling into instinctive fists. A shadow moved across the dim light, rummaging through discarded scraps. Another ghost in this forgotten part of the city.

He looked away.

He didn't need trouble. He just needed to last another night. And then another. And another.

Survive. That's all I have to do.

The wind picked up, rattling the dumpster lids and carrying the distant sound of traffic. The city never stopped moving, never stopped devouring people like him and spitting them out into the cracks.

"Another day, another dead end," he muttered, his voice a raspy whisper. "What's the point, anyway?"

He dreamt of a world where he could break free from the chains of his reality, a world where he could soar through virtual landscapes, his skills honed, his spirit unburdened.

He had never felt like he belonged in their world, their expectations a suffocating weight on his shoulders.

"I'm a failure," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm nothing."

He slumped against the dumpster, his back aching from the cold concrete. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the harsh reality of his life. He pictured himself sitting before his monitor, his fingers flying across the keyboard, the roar of the crowd filling his ears as he scored the winning goal.

It was a world where he could be someone, where he could be accepted, where his passion wasn't dismissed as a childish distraction but celebrated as a talent worth pursuing.

But if there was one thing he had learned from gaming, it was this—

You don't quit just because you're losing.

You find a way to respawn.