Zedric stood a bit longer.
Althea had already disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by strangers, bright shop windows, and the slow flow of people who had somewhere to go. Still, he kept staring at the path she had taken, as if she might turn around if he waited hard enough.
She did not.
His hand lifted slightly, then fell back to his side.
He regretted it now.
Not the silence exactly—but how long he had stayed inside it. The answer should have come faster. Even if it had been ugly. Even if it had been incomplete. Anything would have been better than standing there like a broken loading screen while Althea decided for both of them.
He clicked his tongue and rubbed his face.
"What an iron-pot-headed idiot I am."
A passing woman glanced at him.
Zedric gave her a tired smile. "Not you, ate. I'm just having a moment here."
She walked faster.
He lowered his hand and exhaled.
It's fine.
The lie arrived easily.
I'll just wait until she cools off, then I'll talk to her again.
It wasn't the first time they had argued. Five years together had given them plenty of practice. They had argued about dates, money, his streaming, her schedule, his habit of answering serious questions with jokes, and her habit of remembering every joke he used to avoid serious questions.
They always fixed it.
Eventually.
Usually.
Zedric turned and walked out of the mall.
The cold air vanished the moment he stepped outside. Afternoon heat slammed into him with the weight of wet cloth. The pavement shimmered. Jeepneys groaned past the road. Vendors called from shaded corners. The smell of exhaust, fried snacks, and dust mixed into one familiar ugliness.
He should have taken a tricycle.
He walked instead.
Not because he wanted to save money—though his mother would have applauded that part. Not because he needed exercise—his legs were still half-dead from Neuro-Dive recovery.
He walked because moving felt easier than thinking.
The sun burned the back of his neck. Sweat gathered under his shirt and slid down his spine. His slippers slapped against the ground with dull rhythm, one step after another. People passed him, laughing, carrying groceries, complaining into phones, dragging children away from vendors.
Zedric barely noticed.
By the time he reached their neighborhood thirty minutes later, the heat had become less of a feeling and more of a fact. He accepted it the way he accepted traffic, mosquitoes, and his mother's ability to hear insults whispered beneath one's breath.
The narrow street was alive as usual.
Children played near a puddle that had no right to exist under such sunlight. A shirtless man repaired a motorcycle while swearing lovingly at its engine. Smoke drifted from someone's grill and clung to the road. Somewhere nearby, a karaoke machine fought for dominance against a barking dog.
Zedric entered the house quietly.
Too quietly.
That was his mistake.
Janet noticed at once.
She was in the kitchen, wiping the table impatiently. She looked up and frowned.
"You're early."
Zedric slipped off his slippers near the door. "Good observation."
"Don't 'good observation' me." Her eyes narrowed. "Where is Althea?"
"Somewhere."
"Somewhere?" Janet repeated, voice rising by one careful level. "Is that a city? A mall? A hospital? A planet?"
Zedric avoided her gaze and looked toward the living area. The sofa was empty.
"Where's Mark?"
"At work," she said. "It's past one. Unlike some people, your brother knows how to earn money."
"Good for him."
"Zedric."
He lifted both hands. "I'm going upstairs."
"Stop."
He stopped at the first step.
Janet turned fully now, cloth still in hand. Her face looked ready for war, but her eyes searched him too closely.
"How was the date?"
Zedric kept his expression loose. Carefree. Uselessly normal.
"Althea had an emergency."
Janet stared.
"What emergency?"
"Girl emergency."
"That is not an answer."
"It was private."
"That is still not an answer."
"It was privately private."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew.
Of course she knew.
His mother could smell lies the way she smelled burnt garlic from the other room. Money, food, and emotional damage—Janet Alpiya detected all three with frightening accuracy.
But this time, she did not press.
She only looked at him for another long moment before stepping aside.
"Go."
Zedric nodded once and climbed.
Each wooden step squeaked beneath him. Normally, he would have mocked the sound. Today, even the stairs seemed too talkative.
Behind him, Janet stood in the kitchen doorway, watching until he disappeared.
Then she looked toward the small dining table, where Tomas sat with a cup of coffee, silent as carved wood.
"Do something," Janet said.
Tomas looked up slowly.
His face did not change.
"Let him deal with it."
Janet's brows rose. "That's your fatherly wisdom?"
"Yes."
"That's all?"
Tomas took a sip of coffee.
"He knows."
Janet opened her mouth, found no immediate attack that could break through such a short wall, and clicked her tongue.
"You and sons. Same factory defect."
Tomas only nodded, as if accepting quality inspection.
Upstairs, Zedric shut his door and leaned against it for a moment.
The room was hotter than before.
His Neuro-Dive sat beside the bed like an animal pretending to sleep. His chair, buried under a pile of clothes, waited by the old computer. He crossed the room, pulled two shirts and a towel from the seat, dropped them onto the bed, then sat.
The computer took its time waking.
The monitor flickered once, twice, then displayed his inventory spreadsheet—ugly, practical, and more painful than any boss fight. Zedric cracked his knuckles and opened the recording program he used after every stream.
Not to watch the Ascension Circuit.
Not to check Team Horde or KLD.
Not even to see if the two viewers had clipped his humiliating defeat.
He had to record losses.
Numbers were safer than feelings.
He opened Jupiter01's synced inventory log and began typing.
Dropped Items:
Emberwolf Pelts — 18 pieces
Moonvine Sap — 34 vials
Basilisk Scale Fragments — 11 pieces
Ironbark Resin — 7 jars
The list goes on.
He stared at the list.
Then added one more line.
Pride — severe damage, no market value.
He almost smiled.
Almost.
The calculator window sat open beside the spreadsheet. He entered the current market values from the trade board, converted the in-game prices to real-money estimates, and watched the number climb.
Fifty dollars.
Ninety.
One hundred thirty.
One hundred seventy-six.
By the time he finished adjusting values for demand, rarity, and repair costs, the total settled near a number that made his soul attempt to leave his body.
Estimated Loss Value: $203.74
Zedric stared at it.
Then leaned back.
The chair creaked.
"Two hundred dollars," he whispered. "For a stream that ended with two viewers. Pangil might be laughing now."
He rubbed both eyes.
Nothing changed.
The number remained.
"Investment," he said firmly.
The word sounded noble.
Fake, but noble.
"This is investment. Successful people lose money first. Probably. Maybe. I don't know, I don't watch financial advice."
He saved the file.
Then saved it again, because pain deserved backup.
Time slipped while he sat there. He reorganized item categories. Added notes. Checked average herb prices. Compared crafting material trends. Pretended he was being responsible. Pretended his chest did not tighten whenever his eyes drifted toward his phone.
No message from Althea.
He picked it up once.
Opened their chat.
Typed: Are you home?
Deleted it.
Typed: I'm sorry.
Deleted that too.
Typed: Can we talk?
His thumb hovered.
Then he locked the phone and placed it face down on the desk.
"Let her cool off," he muttered.
The computer gave a soft notification chime.
At first, he thought it was a trade alert.
Then the official Jupiter01 system window appeared in the corner of his monitor.
Hello, Adventurer.
Your Death Penalty has ended.
You may now log in.
Zedric stared.
The room seemed to grow quieter around him.
From outside came the same noises—the children, the vehicles, the distant shouting—but they felt far away now, pressed behind glass.
He glanced at his phone.
Still no message.
He looked at the Neuro-Dive.
Then back at the system notification.
"Perfect," he said dryly. "When real life fails, the digital world opens its arms. Toxic, but punctual."
He stood.
Then stopped.
A smell reached him.
His own.
Sweat, dust, heat, road, mall, and emotional defeat.
Zedric sniffed his shirt and recoiled.
"Okay. Even Jupiter01 doesn't deserve this version of me."
He grabbed a towel and went downstairs.
Janet was still in the kitchen, now sorting coins on the table in neat little piles. One pile for rice. One for debt. One for fare. One mysterious pile that probably represented his future disappointment.
She looked up as he passed.
"Bathing?"
Zedric nodded. "Unless this is already my final form."
Janet watched him for a moment, then her voice softened—not much, but enough.
"Take it slow."
He paused near the bathroom door.
She did not look at him directly. Her fingers kept arranging coins.
"She'll forgive you if you don't make it worse."
Zedric's hand tightened around the towel.
He knew exactly who she meant.
"We're fine, Ma," he said. "Nothing to worry about."
Janet gave a small, humorless laugh.
"You say that when there is plenty to worry about."
He forced a smile. "Then worry quietly. I'm not dressed for another lecture."
"I lectured you before you learned to walk. I don't need your permission."
Tomas, from the dining table, said without looking up, "Bath first."
Zedric pointed toward him. "Thank you, referee."
Janet shot Tomas a look. "You always protect him."
Tomas sipped coffee. "He smells."
Zedric lowered his hand slowly.
"…Betrayal from all sides."
He took a bath.
The water was cold from the drum, shocking at first, then good. It washed off the heat and dust, but not the tightness sitting under his ribs. He scrubbed his hair harder than necessary. Soap stung his eyes. He cursed quietly, because even bathing had chosen violence.
When he returned upstairs, cleaner and wearing fresh clothes, the room felt slightly less hostile.
He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the Neuro-Dive.
For a moment, he did not put it on.
His thumb traced the worn edge of the helmet.
Zealth.
The name waited inside.
Not just a random username.
He and Althea had made it together years ago, laughing over bad combinations while sitting in a cheap milk tea shop. Zedric plus Althea. Zealth. It had sounded cool back then. A little dramatic. A little embarrassing. Perfect for a game.
A bitter smile touched his mouth.
"Great."
He placed the Neuro-Dive over his head and lay flat on the mattress. The device locked with a soft click. The inner display bloomed open, blue light spreading across his vision.
WELCOME BACK, ZEALTH.
The words stayed there.
Warm and cruel.
Zedric remembered an old interview with Wilhelm Narrit, Jupiter01's creator. The host had asked why characters were almost permanent—why players could not freely change their names, classes, gender, or appearance after creation.
Wilhelm had smiled like a man who enjoyed being hated by future customers.
People already have a list of regrets in life, he had said. Why not add another?
Back then, Zedric had laughed.
Now, lying in a hot room with his girlfriend's half-goodbye sitting in his chest, it did not feel as funny.
"Regret?" he muttered.
The visor reflected his own eyes faintly.
Tired.
Stubborn.
Avoiding things, as usual.
Then he shook his head.
"No. I see nothing to regret."
The words came out too fast, too defensive, but he held onto them anyway.
"I'll win her back. We'll be together again, same as this name."
The system waited.
Zedric exhaled.
Then spoke clearly.
"Neuro-Dive, initiate dive: Jupiter01."
The command registered.
INITIATING DIVE.
A countdown appeared.
3
His fingers relaxed.
2
The room noise dulled.
1
A faint tingling touched his temples, then spread inward, soft and electric. His body grew heavy, but his mind felt strangely light, as if sinking and floating at the same time.
0
DIVING…
Drowsiness folded over him.
Calm.
Dark.
Complete.
Zedric closed his eyes, and the real world disappeared.