"It's better to distract myself from Log Apofis and go for a normal run... in the normal world."
I thought, pulling up the headphones and accelerating my pace.
The asphalt under my feet was slightly wet after the morning rain, and in my ears, an old electronic melody from the time when VR was not yet considered "reality 2.0" was rhythmically beating out the pace.
I had been walking for over thirty minutes.Not running, just walking.
Fast walking seemed more honest to me than running: less ostentatious exertion, more control. Besides, the fitness tracker on my wrist confidently showed eight and a half thousand steps.
It was a little bit to pass over ten thousand symbolic figure, a small victory in the real, physical world.
Well, what? Walking is healthier than running, less stress, more stability. And the fat still goes away.
So I told doctors, and vloggers, and even friends in the game. In recent weeks, I have increasingly found myself in the fact that the VR world of Log Apofis became heavier for her than reality.
It didn't just drain energy, it took away the desire to move, eat, and think. After long sessions in the capsule, my body felt foreign, as if it wasn't me lying there, but someone else using my shell to enter the game.
It started raining again, and I wanted to hide under the ground. The air became cold, and the asphalt sent raindrops onto my feet.
The girl hurried into a warm, safe haven, a huge supermarket where people came not so much for shopping as for a break from the autumn rain and cold.
Inside, everything was different: the coolness, the air conditioning, the smell of coffee from the cafe at the entrance, and the quiet hum of people pushing carts.
I slowly walked past the rows of fruit and turned into a section where dozens of televisions were lined up against the walls, with different channels flickering in sync.
It was there, amidst the cold neon and indifferent light, that I stopped in my tracks.
On one of the large screens, a sports program was being broadcast.
The camera moved across the rows of players, tall men in uniforms, their movements precise and dynamic as they engaged in basketball. Suddenly, the correspondent held the microphone up to one of them.
Tall, athletic, and confident. And... green eyes, I recognized this guy, he was the one who saved me from falling at the Airport.
"Damn, his eyes look so much like Zikei's."
My breath caught for a moment.
I felt my heart beating a little faster, as if my body recognized him before my mind.
"It can't be..."
A silly, almost naive thought crossed my mind. But the longer I looked, the more I realized that it wasn't him.
This guy didn't have that cold, almost mocking shadow in his eyes. He smiled genuinely, calmly, as if he didn't know what inner pain was.
For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if it really was Zikei outside of the game, in the real world. What would he look like without his mask?
What would his voice sound like without the headset?
There was something strangely sad about thinking about a person I only knew as a set of digital emotions. But to feel something real and alive for him...
"My imagination got the better of me..."
I chuckled wearily and ran a hand across my face.
It turned out that the guy on the screen wasn't just any random athlete; the announcer introduced him in a cheerful voice as Vatari Tao, one of the top players on the Seoul basketball team, the Blue Shards, who had recently won an international tournament in Italy.
The screen flashed with images of their victory: medals, triumph, and the blinding flashes of cameras. The crowd of fans roared, chanting the team's name.
I couldn't help but smile, but then I blushed, as if I had caught myself doing something silly. I had hoped to see someone else in him.
My cheeks flushed, and my thoughts became jumbled.
— What's wrong with me... I'm confusing a real guy with a game character.
I was about to turn away and leave, just to escape the awkwardness, as if someone had read my thoughts.
But then the reporters, after thanking Vatari Tao, suddenly turned around and approached another person.
The camera zoomed in smoothly, and the screen changed its focus.
I froze. The world around me seemed to dim, and the noise of the store disappeared. On the TV now was someone I knew too well to confuse.
— …What is he doing there?!
It was my brother, Katzu. The one who usually spent hours in VR, helping me with advice, was now standing in front of the cameras, confident and composed, with a slight smile on his face.
Journalists were literally besieging him with questions, the flashes of cameras dazzlingly reflected in his glasses.
In the credits at the bottom of the screen appeared:
—Katsu Tricomi - the winner of the Tokyo Cyber Tournament. Interview with the champion
He was one of the best in the country, a man whose name was known to thousands of viewers. Correspondents congratulated him on his latest victory, and even the host next to Vatari Tao warmly shook his hand, saying into the microphone:
—Here is an example of how to combine sports and technology! Winning in the international arena and achieving success in cyberspace are what inspire the younger generation!
I froze, as if someone had pulled the ground out from under my feet. My heart was filled with pride, but it was also accompanied by a slight feeling of annoyance.
— Why didn't I know? Why didn't he tell me anything...
The screen changed, and the voice of the host said:
—Today, in the weekly program 'Generation of Tomorrow,' we feature young stars who are changing the way we think about sports, technology, and virtual worlds…
— "Generation of Tomorrow?"
I felt a strange mixture of pride, envy, and a little bit of regret. If I had known about this show before, I probably wouldn't have missed the episode featuring my brother.