Chapter 1: The Duke of Doom Wakes Up to Emotes
I opened my eyes to velvet curtains, a crystal chandelier, and the vague scent of vender and impending doom.
For a second, I thought I’d overslept and was having one of those weird lucid dreams where I wasn’t broke, socially bankrupt, and living off microwave curry. But then I sat up—and really took in my surroundings.
A four-poster bed big enough to host a royal banquet. Polished marble floors. Gold trim on everything, including my pajamas. And when I looked into the full-length mirror across the room?
I saw him.
Lucien Arclight. The final boss of Hearts of Fantasia.
You know the type—elegant vilin, tragic backstory, way too attractive for someone who commits casual genocide in Chapter 9. The guy the game’s protagonist defeats after an emotional speech and an ultimate sword move powered by love.
And now he was me.
“…What the actual hell.”
Let’s back up.
I’m Hikaru. Former NEET, current... Lucien? I was bingeing my favorite dating sim game when I passed out at like 3 a.m. The st thing I remember was voting in chat whether the protagonist should kiss Princess Aera or punch a cow for XP.
(The cow was winning.)
Now here I am, trapped inside the game—as the dude guaranteed to die no matter which route gets picked.
And it gets worse.
Across the room, a floating, glowing orb buzzed in mid-air. It pulsed gently with light, and inside it I could see flickering text—bright and colorful like a live chat overy.
“Bro, is this a cutscene?”“Lucien face reveal LET’S GOOO”“Spam F if you think he’s gonna die in Chapter 10 again”“MAKE HIM DAB”
My jaw dropped.
I wasn’t alone. The game was still being pyed—live. And the viewers were still there. Watching. Typing. Voting.
The protagonist hadn’t even entered my room yet, but I already felt like I was standing center stage, pantsless, during a school py.
"Okay, okay," I muttered, pacing. "Don't panic. Just... process."
First, I needed to confirm what I was dealing with. I rushed to the window, yanked open the curtains—and winced at the blindingly beautiful fantasy ndscape outside. Towering castles. Floating isnds. Dragons flying in formation like synchronized swimmers.
Yep. Definitely not Tokyo.
I turned back to the glowing orb.
“HE MOVED! OMG IS HE SENTIENT?”“Mod check: Is Lucien supposed to be self-aware???”“TwitchChat.exe has achieved godhood.”
"I’m not supposed to be self-aware," I muttered, then paused. "Wait. Can you hear me?"
“YES”“HELLO KING”“Now bark”“Pet the mirror to assert dominance”
I blinked. This wasn’t just a fourth-wall break. The chat had become a character in the game. I was Lucien, and “Twitch Chat” was the divine entity the game’s protagonist talked to for guidance.
And they had power. Real power.
Which meant I was living in a game world where millions of random strangers had control over the story, the dialogue choices, and possibly the physics engine.
I suddenly felt very, very unsafe.
A knock came at the door.
“My lord Lucien?” came a voice—smooth, calm, infinitely doomed. “The oracle has requested an audience in the garden.”
Oh no.
The oracle. That oracle.
In the game, the protagonist hears the voice of the "Celestial Oracle"—which is literally just Twitch Chat choosing his actions.
Meaning the hero was awake. And the first route event had begun.
If memory served, this was the tutorial scene where the hero met Lucien in the rose garden and called him a pompous jerk.
Which would normally lead to a minor insult, then a duel, then a minor stabbing, then major stabbing, then my death seven chapters ter.
I took a breath.
Okay. I had an advantage. I knew this game. I knew how the routes pyed out. And I really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a “Love-Fueled Ultima Ssh.”
I just needed to get through the scene without pissing off the protagonist—or chat.
I grabbed a long coat from the wardrobe (bck velvet, naturally), tossed it dramatically over my shoulders, and headed out.
The garden looked exactly like I remembered. Roses. Topiaries. Doves. A full harp orchestra in the corner for no reason.
And there he stood.
Ren Alder. The protagonist. Tall. Blonde. Gleaming armor. Absolutely empty eyes.
“Lucien Arclight,” he said, striking a pose.
Then he paused, as if listening to something.
“SAY HE SMELLS LIKE GRAPES”“ASK FOR HIS SHOES”“DANCE BATTLE???”“CONFESS LOVE. DO IT COWARDS.”
Ren’s posture shifted. A dreamy smile spread across his face.
“I must say,” he said, “you smell… like grapes.”
I stared.
He bowed.
“Tell me your shoe size, noble duke.”
I stared harder.
Then, out of nowhere, Ren started moonwalking.
“YOOOOOOOO”“PERFECTION”“This is GOTY material”
Okay. So chat was fully in control. And also fully insane.
I cleared my throat. “Protagonist. Are you… well?”
He paused, tilting his head. “The Oracle bids me show my loyalty… via interpretive dance.”
And then he breakdanced.
So this was my life now. I was the elegant vilin in a dating sim being sabotaged in real-time by chaotic humans on Earth.
But here's the thing.
Lucien dies because he’s supposed to. He follows his script, pys the tragic role, and gets betrayed every time.
But I’m not Lucien. Not really. I’m Hikaru.
And if I’m going down?
I’m going down with style. Maybe even with plot armor.
As Ren finished his dance (and fell into a rose bush), I cpped politely.
“Well done,” I said dryly. “I shall prepare your trophy.”
“HE’S PLAYING ALONG???”“Lucien W RIZZ”“This man’s trying to speedrun survival”
The chat was noticing.
And that gave me an idea.
If Twitch Chat liked me, maybe they'd protect me. Maybe they'd vote for Ren to do less stabbing, more hugging. Maybe I could turn this thing around.
All I had to do... was win over the most chaotic hive-mind in existence.
Simple, right?
As the sun set over the Arclight Estate, I stood on the balcony, arms crossed, cape fluttering like a discount Dracu.
I had one goal: survive the plot.
And to do that, I’d have to out-charm the heroines, outwit the scriptwriters, and—most of all—out-meme Twitch Chat.
Game on.
To be continued…
