Life did not begin cruel to Neon.
It began gently—wrapped in warmth, patience, and quiet love.
Neon was born into a simple family, one that never had much money but never lacked care. His mother's voice was always soft, always reassuring, and his father's presence felt like a wall that could shield him from the world. They weren't strict. They weren't demanding. They only ever asked one thing.
"Do your best."
And for a long time, Neon did.
He wasn't special. He wasn't a genius child praised by teachers or admired by relatives. He was average—just another face in a classroom full of expectations. But at home, that never mattered. When his grades dipped, his parents didn't scold him.
"Marks don't decide your worth," his mother would say with a smile.
"You'll find your own path," his father reassured him.
Those words became Neon's comfort.
Until the academy took it away.
The academy was different from home.
It was cold, competitive, and unforgiving.
At first, Neon tried to adapt. He studied late into the night, rewrote notes again and again, and forced himself to focus even when his mind felt heavy. But no matter how hard he tried, his grades stayed low. Not low enough to fail immediately—but low enough to be ignored.
Teachers never called his name when discussing "talent."
Classmates stopped inviting him to sit with them.
Friends he once laughed with slowly disappeared.
No insults were thrown.
No fists were raised.
Yet Neon felt more wounded than if they had.
Because being ignored hurts deeper than being hated.
Days passed in silence.
Neon started eating alone. He stared at his phone during breaks, pretending to scroll, pretending he had somewhere else to be. Group discussions became nightmares, and presentations felt like public executions.
At home, he lied.
"I'm fine," he said.
And his parents believed him.
They always believed him.
That trust felt heavy on his chest.
Loneliness crept in quietly.
It didn't arrive like a storm. It came like a slow fog, wrapping around Neon's thoughts, blurring everything. The first cigarette appeared one afternoon after class.
"Helps clear your head," a classmate said casually, holding it out.
Neon hesitated.
Then took it.
The smoke burned his lungs, made him cough, but the dizziness that followed felt… calming. For the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest loosened.
One cigarette became a routine.
Routine became dependence.
And then came the games.
At first, gaming was just a break—an hour or two after studying. A way to forget the academy. But the more Neon played, the more alive he felt. Inside the game, effort mattered. Grinding led to growth. Failure wasn't permanent.
Inside the game, Neon wasn't "below average."
He was a swordsman.
A mage.
A hero.
Hours blurred together.
Ten hours.
Twelve hours.
Fifteen hours.
The sun rose and set without Neon noticing. Meals were skipped. Assignments were ignored. His room grew darker, messier, quieter. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air like a silent witness.
The academy noticed.
Warnings came.
Then official notices.
Then the result that shattered everything.
Failure.
Neon stood frozen when he saw the notice.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He felt empty.
At home, he confessed everything.
He expected anger.
He expected disappointment.
Instead, his mother cried quietly, wiping her tears before he could see. His father placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice steady but strained.
"It's okay," he said. "You can try again."
Those words should have saved Neon.
But they didn't.
Because the world outside their home was cruel.
Relatives began visiting.
Uninvited.
Their words were wrapped in fake concern, their smiles sharp like knives.
"He was talented, wasn't he?"
"What a shame."
"Must be bad guidance."
"You spoiled him too much."
They didn't blame Neon.
They blamed his father.
Neon heard everything from his room, every word echoing in his head. Each sentence felt like a punch—not to him, but to the man who had always stood beside him.
That night, Neon sat alone in the dark.
A cigarette burned between his fingers. His computer screen glowed, displaying the familiar title screen of his favorite game—a world of magic and swords, of second chances and rebirths.
His hands shook.
"I ruined everything," he whispered.
His parents had told him not to be depressed. That academy grades didn't define life. That he could start over.
But Neon couldn't believe it.
I'm the reason they're suffering.
The thought dug deep into his mind and refused to leave.
Neon stood up.
He opened the window.
Cold wind brushed his face as city lights shimmered below like distant stars. For the first time in a long while, his mind felt quiet.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
To his parents.
To himself.
To the life he failed to live.
And then—
He stepped forward.
Darkness swallowed him.
There was no pain.
No fear.
Only falling.
And then—
Light.
Neon opened his eyes.
A sky bluer than anything he'd ever seen stretched endlessly above him. The air felt alive, filled with a strange energy that made his heart race. Beneath him was soft grass, glowing faintly with magic.
Magic.
He sat up sharply, breathing hard.
Mountains rose in the distance, veins of mana pulsing through them. Forests whispered with unseen danger. A massive city stood far away, protected by shimmering barriers.
A translucent screen appeared before his eyes.
[Welcome, Player Neon.]
[World Initialization Complete.]
Neon's breath caught.
"This… this is…"
The world of his favorite game.
The world of swords and magic.
Tears streamed down his face—not from despair this time, but disbelief and hope.
"Did I… get another chance?"
The screen flickered.
[Reincarnation Successful.]
[Difficulty: Unknown.]
[Your life begins now.]
Neon clenched his fists.
This time—
He would not waste it.