The Last Straw

James slumped in his chair, eyes glued to the glowing screen in front of him. His fingers tapped lazily on the keyboard, more out of habit than focus. Lines of code filled the screen, each one shaping the medieval world he was creating—a game that he hoped would one day make him rich enough to leave his miserable job behind.

Outside, the distant hum of the city barely reached his tiny apartment. The only sounds inside were the occasional creak of his chair and the low buzz of his overhead light. The air smelled of stale coffee, but James hardly noticed. He had spent weeks pouring his free time into this game, determined to make something that could change his life.

He glanced at the half-written script on his monitor. The game followed a prince—one destined for betrayal and death. A thème he felt familiar with, except his death wasn't physical… sometimes he would wish it was though.

Hearing all these, you would never guess that he was once a trained military officer. But an injury to his knee while in action meant that he could no longer serve his country, so he had to be honorably discharged.

He had decided to get a regular office job while quietly pursuing his passions. He was a history nerd who loved video games, but you would never be able to tell from his appearance.

He was tall, and well-built with a chiselled face and muscles. He looked like a rip-off of Arnold Schwarzenegger, although he wore glasses and had to use a walking stick.

He was very interested in games back when he was younger, so he decided to learn coding and create a game with all the knowledge he had about history, added to all he had learned from reading comics and Manhwa over the years.

The game would follow a prince who had barely managed to survive an assassination attempt and now had to lead his country at a very young age. He loved working on the game more than anything else. It was almost an obsession at this point.

He didn't want it to be too cliché, and at the same time, he didn't want it to be too difficult for potential players to stop halfway.

James smirked bitterly. "Wish I could respawn out of this mess too…"

His phone buzzed, snapping him from his thoughts. He grabbed it, his stomach twisting when he saw the name on the screen. Stephanie.

His heart sank a bit. He and Stephanie had been fighting a lot lately, mostly about how much time he spent on his game. She thought it was a waste of time, but James knew it was his only shot at something bigger.

Still, things had been tense, and deep down, he knew he was hanging onto their relationship by a thread. And quite frankly he had been mentally preparing for her to end the relationship.

He couldn't blame her though, because they were simply at different stages in life where they both wanted different things.

He took a breath and answered. "Hey, Steph. I was actually about to call you—"

"James, we need to talk." She answered, her tone a bit harsh.

"I'm at the coffee shop downstairs, I'm waiting for you." She said as she ended the call immediately.

His chest tightened. She was about to drop the bombshell any second now.

"Okay," he said, reaching for his walking stick and putting his glasses on.

A short while later, James was crossing the street to where Stephanie sat at a table outside the coffee shop, opposite his apartment.

"Well hello there miss, do you mind if I sit here?" He said jokingly, but Stephanie's expression remained as stern as ever.

She sighed, and that single sound hit harder than any insult. "I'm not here to play games, James. Look, I don't think this is working out."

His grip on his walking stick tightened a bit. He had thought he could talk his way out of this situation, but it seemed his race had been run.

"Sigh, yeah you're right Steph. I had a feeling this was coming, and I was working harder to make more progress. But I guess it wasn't enough." James said calmly, lifting his hand to get the attention of a passing waiter.

"What the hell!? That's all you're going to say?" She said eyes staring daggers at his seemingly nonchalant response.

"That's all I mean to you?" She said, sounding more annoyed than upset.

"Well yeah, your mind is already made up. And I won't try to change it because I don't know how long until I'm in a better place." He said, buttressing his point.

He was a man who had seen wars, killed people, and seen his friends killed. He wasn't about to lose his breath because a woman didn't want him anymore.

"You aren't even going to fight for our relationship? You're not even going to try and convince me, James!?" She continued.

The waiter at this point had brought a cup of coffee to James and handed it to him. He took a light sip before putting his cup down.

"I've said all I need to say Steph, like you said this isn't working out." He said with an air of finality.

Despite how his life has turned out, James was a realist and never expected too much from people, especially women.

When things were going well, they would stick around. But once there was uncertainty, then they could be gone in an instant. At least that's how all the women he had been with behaved.

There was silence for a moment, Stephanie the more stunned of the two that James had somehow made it seem like he was the one breaking up with her.

"I've met someone else." She suddenly blurted.

"I've been seeing him for the last 3 months even though we were together." She said quickly, obviously trying to hurt him and get a reaction out of him.

And it worked to an extent, as his chest tightened up and his stomach began to churn. But his expression remained neutral through it all.

He took another sip of his coffee.

"Wow, well it's good that you've found someone that suits you better." He said, again not losing his composure since that's what she wanted.

"I hope he treats you well, bye Stephanie." He said as he placed the payment for the coffee under the cup and began leaving the table where they were both sitting.

"JAMES DONT YOU DARE!" She screamed behind him as he carefully crossed the road.

When he got back to his apartment he patted himself on the back. He had to act cool to keep his pride in check. But he was hurt, and the talk about her cheating rattled him more than he'd like to admit.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Eventually, he made his way toward the kitchen, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting inside. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. It burned, but not enough to make him forget.

He drank again. And again.

By the time he staggered back to his desk, his mind was a haze of anger, heartbreak, and exhaustion. He collapsed into his chair, staring at the half-finished game script on his screen.

His game. The only thing he had left.

James clicked through the files, the alcohol making his movements sluggish. He had spent so much time building this world, crafting the characters, writing the stories. And yet, here he was—still stuck in the real world, still broke, still alone.

"Maybe I should've been born there instead." he muttered, laughing bitterly.

"At least I know how everything's gonna turn out." He said with a sad smile.

He reached for the whiskey bottle again, but his hand knocked into it.

SPLASH.

The liquid spilled onto the desk, spreading fast. James barely had time to react before the computer sparked violently. The screen flickered, the room flashing with blinding white light.

"Oh, shi—"

A surge of electricity shot through his body. His muscles locked up, his vision exploded into static, and the sound of crackling energy filled his ears.

Then—darkness.

James groaned as a dull ache pulsed through his skull. His body felt… off. Heavy, yet strangely different—like he wasn't quite himself.

The air smelled weird. Not the stale mix of coffee and electronics he was used to, but something… old. Like aged wood and burning candles.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open. Instead of his cluttered desk and computer, he saw a grand canopy bed draped in velvet. Tall stone walls surrounded him, their surfaces illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight.

Ornate furniture stood against the walls, and a massive window overlooked a sprawling medieval city bathed in the warm hues of sunrise.

His heart pounded.

Where the hell was he?

He sat up too fast, and a wave of dizziness hit him. His clothes—no, these weren't his clothes. He was wearing a silk tunic embroidered with golden patterns, and when he looked at his hands, they were smoother, softer. Different.

A chill ran down his spine.

Before he could process anything, the door creaked open, and a group of men stepped inside. Their outfits looked straight out of a historical drama, their gazes sharp and calculating. One of them, dressed in fine robes, stepped forward.

"Your Highness." he said, his voice laced with relief. "Thank the heavens, you've awakened."

James stared at him, his breath caught in his throat.

Your Highness?

His pulse raced as his mind scrambled for an explanation. This had to be a dream. Or a hallucination. Or—

A soft chime echoed in his ears. A translucent window blinked into view before him, its letters glowing faintly.

[New Quest: Survive the Assassination Attempt by Identifying the Culprit.]

James' blood ran cold. His hands trembled as he reached for the floating text, but it disappeared the moment his fingers brushed against it.

"Hey, you there." James said while looking at the man in the fine robes.

"What's my name?" He asked to the surprise of the men in the room.

"Well, your name is Julian Drazevon, prince of Drazenovia." He said with a deep bow.

His heart pounded harder.

This wasn't just a dream.

He was the main character in the game he was creating.

And if the quest was real… so was the danger.