Storm After

Day 7 – Floor One: Begi

Four days had passed.

Four long, silent days since Michael watched Micha die.

The laughter, the bond, the plan to climb all 100 floors together… gone—deleted in red code. Since then, everything felt blank. Numb. Empty. The world kept moving—Floor Two was cleared. Then Floor Three.

But Michael never left Floor One.

To him, what was the point?

At times, the thoughts crept in—dark, bitter thoughts. Maybe I should just end it too. But every time, he remembered Micha's final smile. The way he'd stood in front of that blade. The way he'd said: "I'm sorry… this is where I stop."

Michael clenched his fists.

He sat atop the same grassy hill outside Begi where they once watched the sunset—where they'd made their promise. The town lay quiet beneath him, bathed in morning light. But the warmth didn't reach him.

In front of him sat a flat stone, hand-carved with trembling fingers. Rough, jagged letters had been chiseled into its face:

"Micha"

Two plucked Polly flowers rested beside it—soft petals quivering in the breeze.

Michael knelt down and opened his menu with a sluggish motion. From his inventory, he selected a pair of daggers. Micha's daggers.

The same ones that danced through battle with reckless grace.

He placed them gently beside the grave. And then he cried.

Tears fell without restraint—waterfalls pouring down his cheeks, soaking the grass. His body shook as he hunched forward.

He pounded the earth with both fists. Dirt scattered.

"Why, Micha?!" he shouted, voice raw. "Why did it have to be you?"

He collapsed onto his knees. "We were supposed to clear the game together…"

His voice cracked.

"It should have been me…"

Silence stretched around him. Only the wind replied.

Nobody else knew what happened in that cave.

Nobody knew Micha had died.

Michael had never told a soul. After he awakened the Origin Protocol, after he obliterated four member from the Reaper Squad, he vanished. Logged out from the world. Left the party. Unfriended Flash. Ignored every whisper and message.

He couldn't speak.

He just needed time.

2025 – Real World

The playground was nearly empty, overcast skies hanging heavy overhead. The metal of the swing set creaked with each lazy sway. Michael sat alone, hands gripping the rusted chains, scuffed shoes dragging through the gravel.

His hoodie was too big for him. His backpack had been thrown in the dirt again. The usual.

Two boys leaned on the monkey bars, watching him.

"Look who it is," one of them jeered.

"Shit brain," the other snorted.

"He's so weird."

Michael didn't respond. He never did. He'd learned silence was better. Easier.

The gravel crunching under feet didn't catch his attention at first—until a new voice cut through the noise.

"Hey, you good?"

Michael blinked and looked up.

It wasn't one of the bullies. It was someone new.

A boy, maybe his age—dark skin, bright eyes, and the weirdest haircut Michael had ever seen. A bowl cut, uneven and too short on one side. He had a grin like he didn't care how dumb he looked.

The boy held out his hand.

"My name's Micha," he said, smiling wide. "You wanna be my friend?"

Michael stared at the hand like it wasn't real.

Nobody… nobody had ever asked him that before. Not seriously. Not kindly.

And for a second, he thought it was some kind of trap. Another setup.

But Micha just stood there, patient, hand still out. Like he meant it.

"…I'm Michael," he finally mumbled, hesitantly reaching out.

Their hands touched. Just a handshake. But to Michael, it felt like the start of something he didn't know he'd been missing.

⸻

Present – Floor One: Begi

The memory crashed into him like a wave, and his tears returned fresh.

Micha was the first real person who ever saw him.

The first person who stood up for him, laughed with him, believed in him.

They weren't just friends. Micha was his world.

Michael stared at the daggers beside the grave, hand trembling. His chest ached.

"Even back then," he whispered. "You saved me…"

He sat there until the sun dipped behind the trees, casting long shadows across the hill. Alone. But not really.

Not when the memory was still alive.

The sun hovered low over Begi's rooftops, casting long shadows down the quiet streets. For the first time in days, Michael walked through town. His cloak hung heavy over his shoulders, and his footsteps barely made a sound against the cobblestones.

Players bustled around—trading, laughing, preparing to move on to Floor Four—but Michael drifted past them like a ghost. He hadn't spoken since Day 3. He hadn't opened his party menu. He hadn't touched a dungeon. He only carried two things: his sword and Micha's daggers.

Then—

"Michael?"

He froze.

That voice…

He turned slowly.

Flash stood at the edge of the square, eyes wide beneath his wind-swept silver hair. The lanky swordsman with the katana jogged over, relief washing over his face.

"Dude! Where have you been? I've been stuck on Floor One looking everywhere! After we beat the Goblin Lord, you and Micha vanished."

Michael looked at him silently.

Flash's grin faded. "Wait. Where's Micha?"

A long silence stretched between them.

Michael lowered his eyes.

"…He's dead."

Flash staggered back a step. "What…?"

Michael's voice was low, ragged. "We went on a dungeon run with someone named Cole. But it was a trap. A fake quest. His real name was Ivan. He was part of a criminal guild—Reaper Squad. There were five of them."

Flash's eyes trembled. "And Micha…?"

Michael nodded slowly. "They were going to kill me. He stepped in the way."

Flash's hands clenched into fists. His HUD glitched faintly, the weight of the news hitting harder than any damage tick.

"I… I remember Day 2…" he murmured. "I was broke. No money for food. I was gonna go without eating and Micha just… just bought me a sandwich like it was no big deal."

Michael stared, tears welling again.

"He was the first player I actually laughed with ever since we got to this shit hole.'"

Flash looked up, eyes red. "He was the kindest guy I ever met in this place."

Michael nodded, jaw tight.

"I should've been there," Flash whispered. "I should've…"

"No," Michael interrupted. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine."

Flash stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No. It was the Reaper Squad. And we're gonna make them pay. I'll tell the guild and we will se what we can do."

"No need for that I'm a solo player."

"Mi-" Flash was interrupted.

"And it's going to stay like that."

Flash hugged Michael.

For the first time in four days, Michael didn't feel completely alone. The pain didn't leave—but something stirred beneath it. A flicker of purpose. A thread of fire in the ashes.

"I don't want you to be next," he said softly. "I love you bro."

"Th- thanks."

"Come back and fight with, it's what Micha would've wanted." He said gazing into Michael's eyes "Fight don't forget the promise."