While the thought of wanting to lose my virginity still lingered in my head, I couldn't help but curse under my breathe. As loud as I could ever imagine.
Like... who the fuck was going to disturb this desperate damsel disguising as a male protagonist in a quest of losing her own virginity here?
The so-called figure then showed up.
He seemed familiar with that attire.
Oh... it's him.
The door didn't just open; it appeared violent.
The vacuum we had occupied—a space of synthetic vanilla and ozone—was punctured by the arrival of The Divine Slayer, FullMetal.
He walked in with the nonchalance of a man who hadn't just shattered a masterpiece of tension. However, in this setting, he wasn't the faceless god of the gaming stage anymore; he was just an average Japanese man in the flesh, a cold reminder of the "real" world lurking outside the D-Drive Trial.
"Oh, Midnight-san is already awake?"
His voice was a flat, horizontal line that cut through my vertical desperation.
I stood there, hands trembling, the baritone of my avatar feeling like a poorly fitted suit. I wasn't a top-tier gamer in that moment. I was just a desperate virgin whose pride had been unwillingly saved by the very person I wanted to defeat.
I processed the sight of the man standing in the doorway.
This was FullMetal, the legendary Divine Slayer, stripped of the pixelated mask and the monitor-glitch distortion that usually defined his presence.
He stood there looking like any other salaryman you'd pass in Shibuya—an average Japanese man with an unremarkable face.
I only nodded, letting out a non-committal hum as I recalibrated my brain.
My skin was still prickling from the heat of the "libido" alert, and the sudden shift to a mundane greeting felt like a bucket of ice water to the face.
I couldn't help but wonder if this was a fake-out—another layer of high-tier deception in a game designed to crush your perception.
"Is that... your actual face?" I asked, my voice still carrying that jagged edge of recovery.
He didn't hesitate. He confirmed it with a simple nod, confirming that for this trial, he had opted for transparency over the "Divine" theatrics he usually favored.
VelvetVice, who was still standing entirely too close to me, didn't appreciate being relegated to the background. I could practically feel the irritation radiating off his avatar's porcelain skin. He cut into the conversation, his voice regaining that sharp, inquisitive lilt.
"Why would you even bother reconstructing your own face in a place like this?" VelvetVice prodded, his blue eyes narrowing at FullMetal.
"What if someone caught you red-handed? Knowing your real identity out here is a death sentence for a pro."
FullMetal just shrugged, a movement that felt terrifyingly human compared to the "unyielding" predator I had just been dealing with.
I watched the exchange, my internal monologue shifting back into its analytical gear. I normalized his response almost instantly—the suspicion, the tactical probing, the way he looked for a weakness in FullMetal's choice.
It made sense. That was just the detective instinct in him. In a world of survival and "mind-games," asking the dangerous questions was the only way to stay ahead of the "Death Drive".
I pulled my arm back from Velvet's grip, the silence between us now filled with the cold reality of the game's hierarchy. The "Mid Gamer" was awake, the Divine Slayer was unmasked, and the hunt was about to resume.
I shifted my gaze from the mess of my own hormones to the man standing in the doorway. FullMetal didn't even acknowledge Velvet's sharp questioning about his face or the risks of being "caught red-handed."
He just stood there, radiating a clinical, detached energy that made the previous sexual tension in the room feel like a fever dream.
"The game has been postponed," he stated, his voice as flat as his expression.
"There was an unlikely 'glitch' within the system—a technical issue that needs to be addressed before the next round begins".
I felt a surge of skepticism.
In a world where the disclaimer literally warned that the worst side of people comes out when winning means everything, a "technical delay" felt like a lie.
"Postponed?" I repeated, my brain already cataloging the inconsistencies.
After all that ruthless propaganda about survival, mind-games, and violence, the system suddenly felt... forgiving.
"Isn't that a bit too soft? You lure us into a survival game where we have to kill or manipulate each other to survive, and then you hit the pause button because of a glitch?"
I looked at him, searching for the "Divine Slayer" behind the average Japanese man's features. I wanted to know if the game was actually malfunctioning or if this was just another layer of the trial.
His answer was short, cryptic, and deeply unsatisfying.
"We cannot let people suffer by design," he said, the words falling like stones.
"But instead, on their own".
The implication stayed in the air, cold and heavy.
The system wouldn't kill us with a bug; it would wait until we were functional enough to destroy each other. It wasn't mercy; it was quality control for our suffering.
I leaned back, the [SYSTEM ALERT: LIBIDO STATUS] still flickering in the corner of my vision like a mocking reminder of how easily I could be manipulated, even without a "glitch" in the code.
I watched as the atmosphere in the room shifted from cold calculation to white-hot aggression. VelvetVice didn't just look annoyed anymore; he looked like he was ready to delete FullMetal's "average" face right off the server.
The "gentleman" facade he usually maintained was cracking, revealing the raw nerves of a player who had been pushed too far by the game's psychological manipulation.
"You're satanic," Velvet spat, his voice trembling with a mix of disgust and indignation. He stepped forward, his knuckles whitening as he prepared to throw a punch that would have definitely violated the 'peaceful' interval.
I moved before I could even think about the logic of it.
I stepped between them, my hands catching Velvet's chest to hold him back.
My pulse was still jackhammering from the libido alert, but the survival instinct—the "Mid Gamer" brain that prioritized long-term survival over short-term satisfaction—took the wheel.
I lunged forward, my fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve to anchor him.