"It's not about what I think," Marcus said at last. "This is about what you truly want."
Jayden stared at the snow-covered ground. "What I truly want, huh?"
The answer lived inside him. It had been there for years, buried under scars and disappointments, twisted by time and betrayal. He knew what he wanted. But every time he reached for it, something inside pulled him back.
Marcus watched him in silence, then spoke again, this time more gently. "When we came here, I had one goal for you. Not strength. Not survival. Healing. You trained hard. You stayed away from the noise of the Mega-City. Physically, you've grown. But healing isn't about muscle. The mind takes longer, and it's harder to fix."
Jayden said nothing.
Marcus stepped closer. "I want you to be happy. I want you to use your talent instead of wasting it. You've got something rare, and you're old enough now to decide what to do with it. Just don't live a life you'll regret."
Jayden looked up, caught off guard by the directness in his grandfather's voice. Their relationship had always been complicated. There were no hugs, no comforting words. Marcus raised him through harsh training, strict discipline, and few smiles. But now, for the first time, Jayden could feel something deeper under that rugged exterior.
A weight lifted from his chest.
"Thank you, old man," he said, and a faint smile spread across his face.
Marcus blinked, taken aback. It wasn't the words that stunned him—it was the smile. Jayden never smiled like that. Normally he wore a look that screamed exhaustion or disinterest. But this was different.
This was purpose.
"Y-yeah, sure," Marcus said, clearing his throat. "Take some time. Think things through. I'll stop by tomorrow morning."
Jayden nodded and turned to leave. Snow had already begun to fall harder, but the cold didn't bother him. His mind was somewhere else.
By the time he reached the main road, his boots were buried past the ankle. He glanced at the long stretch of white ahead and sighed.
"Pointless to even shovel this stuff. It's back in place in minutes."
There was no one else around. Just him and the wind.
And that's when the memories returned.
---
"Boss, these guys from Colossus Guild insulted me—and all of us," someone had said.
Jayden's younger voice answered from somewhere deeper in his mind. "Isn't that because you mocked them first?"
"Y-yeah, but still! You saying we're not taking revenge?" The speaker's tone was indignant. "Also, call me Varyn. In-game name, remember?"
More voices chimed in. "Boss Nova, we can't just let that slide, right?"
---
"Barely beat them," Patrick said, breathing hard. "We lost a ton of gear."
Jayden remembered standing at the edge of a mountain pass, the bodies of their opponents scattered in the snow. Ravenor, one of the more arrogant guild members, stepped up next.
"Boss Nova, you're gonna help us recover our items, right?"
A sweet voice followed—Lily.
"Aw, come on, it's not even a question," she said playfully. "My handsome guild leader's gonna help me get that armor I've wanted for weeks."
She lunged forward and threw her arms around him, pressing her chest against him with practiced ease. Everyone laughed. Jayden hadn't. But he'd gone along with it.
---
Jayden's fists clenched as the memories kept coming.
'So stupid. I was so goddamn stupid…'
---
"It's twelve of us against four hundred of them," Lily said, her voice shaky. "We can't win this."
"Boss, you've got something up your sleeve, right?" Ravenor asked, not even hiding the expectation in his voice.
"I think it's time for a tactical retreat," he added with a smug grin. "Cover us, okay?"
One by one, they vanished. Jayden watched as every single member of his guild—except one—abandoned the fight.
Only Jasmine stayed.
She was new. Young. Not part of their original core team. But she stood her ground.
"Leave, Jasmine," he said.
She looked at him, eyes clear and unwavering. "With respect, I won't."
"Don't be stupid," he snapped. "You'll die for nothing."
"Then let me," she said, drawing her blade. "Better to die standing next to someone I admire than run like the rest."
Jayden had stared at her for a long moment. Then he'd smiled.
"Not everything's lost," he muttered.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing. Let's kill them all. You fight well, I'll buy you dinner."
They charged in together.
She died two minutes later.
Jayden fought on alone.
The victory that followed wasn't glorious. It was brutal, painful, and laced with grief. Jayden unleashed every last item, trump card, and ability he had hoarded over years of careful planning. He cut through the Pandemonium Guild—over four hundred members—with nothing but rage and desperation keeping him upright. Jasmine was gone before the real fight even began.
He remembered how his view blurred with blood splatter and system messages. Critical hit. Buff expired. Debuff removed. Enemy down. Again and again until the silence settled over a virtual battlefield soaked in digital gore.
They were all dead.
He had won.
But it hadn't felt like a win.
Not even close.
---
Reporters swarmed the aftermath.
"Wow! Twelve versus four hundred—how did you do it?" one asked, microphone shoved in his face.
Varyn stepped in front of Jayden before he could speak. "Those idiots didn't know who they were messing with."
Lily jumped into the spotlight, her voice syrupy sweet. "No one can beat us with our guild leader around. He's the strongest player in the game. Isn't that right, darling?"
She wrapped herself around Jayden like nothing had happened, like Jasmine hadn't just been erased from the world minutes earlier.
Ravenor puffed out his chest. "Yeah, yeah, our leader's strong—but don't forget our part. We all fought hard."
Jayden stood there, fists trembling at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. None of them had fought. None of them stayed. None of them bled for that victory. Jasmine had, and she died for it.
He didn't say a word during the interview.
He never did again.
---
Jayden shoved the front door open and stormed inside. He dropped his gear on the floor and collapsed on the couch like a corpse returning to its grave.
His mind wouldn't shut off.
Those memories were just a sliver of everything he had buried deep inside. That entire life—his fame, his reputation, the idol worship, the betrayal—it had all been a mask over something uglier. Something real.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling in silence.
"Young. Stupid. Worthless," he muttered to himself. "A puppet strung up by fame. A scared little kid being fed to wolves."
His fingers curled tightly into the couch cushions as anger surged up again.
"I'll take everything from them. Their pride. Their fame. Their following. One by one, they'll beg for mercy, and when they do... I'll end it. I'll end all of them."
He sat up slowly, his body tense but his expression calm. That same fire that once made him the most feared player in the world had returned.
Only now, it wasn't about being the best.
It was about making them pay.
The snow continued falling outside, silent and indifferent. But inside the small wooden house, something had changed.