The faint blue glow of the monitor was the only proof that something inside the room was still alive.
The space was barely fit to be called a home. Stale air clung to the walls, thick with old cigarette smoke that never fully dispersed.
On the desk, an ashtray had long since surrendered its purpose—buried beneath countless butts, their ashes spilling over instant noodle wrappers that carpeted the floor.
On the screen, four words burned brightly.
[WORLD RANK #1: LEO_ZERO]
They stared back at him, proud and merciless.
Leo exhaled slowly. The smoke left his lips in a thin, tired stream, as if his lungs were scraping themselves empty. He had just broken a world record, something millions
of players chased but never reached.
Yet his body felt like a machine kept running long after its parts had failed.
[TING!]
His phone vibrated on the desk. The cracked screen lit up.
"Insane! You hit Legend in three days?
Sent the rest of the payment. Thanks, bro!"
[Transfer Received: $150.00]
Leo glanced at the number without interest.
"One hundred and fifty dollars," he muttered. His voice was dry, worn thin. "A month's worth of nicotine and caffeine."
No excitement. No pride.
Just calculation.
He pushed himself out of the chair. The faux leather peeled audibly as he stood. Pain throbbed behind his eyes, seventy-two hours without sleep collecting its debt all at once. The room swayed slightly beneath his feet.
Coffee.
A cigarette.
He needed both.
Leo pulled on a faded black hoodie and stepped outside.
The afternoon sun stabbed into his vision, sharp and unforgiving. He squinted, head lowered, moving through the crowd like a shadow stitched onto the pavement. People passed him—laughing, talking, living.
To them, Leo was just another piece of urban waste.
To Leo, they were NPCs. Background data with no relevance.
At the convenience store, he spent the money without hesitation. Back outside, his hands shook as he tore open a fresh pack. A cigarette slipped between his cracked lips as he stepped off the curb, one hand already searching his pocket for a lighter.
His thoughts had drifted—back to cooldown timers, optimal routes, perfect inputs.
BEEEEEEEEEP—!
The sound ripped through the air.
Leo turned.
There was no time to think.
CRASH.
The world inverted.
There was no pain. Only a strange, hollow quiet. His body hit the ground, weightless for a fleeting moment. The plastic bag tore apart midair. Coffee spilled cold across his face. Money scattered, carried away by an uncaring breeze.
His vision blurred.
Through the ringing silence, Leo noticed something roll to a stop beside his face.
A cigarette.
Clean. Untouched.
He watched as the white filter slowly darkened, soaking up the red beneath him. The tip remained dry. Perfect.
Unlit.
"…Damn it," he whispered.
"I didn't even… get one puff."