Thump... Thump...

  Zi-Cheng’s heart hammered in his chest, and each desperate breath he drew burned his throat, warning him that his body was nearing its limit.

  (Damn it! This wasn’t what I signed up for!)

  He bit his lip and hurled his meager meal — today’s only food — toward the guards chasing him, but it didn’t slow them down for even a moment.

  “It’s just a damn piece of bread! You seriously have to chase me down like this?!”

  Zi-Cheng bolted down a muddy alley, his footsteps echoing through the narrow passage. If he didn’t lose the guards soon, escaping would only get harder. So, with a quick shove, he toppled a nearby stall and vaulted over a low wall.

  “Out of the way!”

  “Stop him! Stop that thief!”

  Hearing the guards’ relentless shouts from the other side of the wall, Zi-Cheng clicked his tongue, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. Who would have thought—a game designer, now reduced to a petty thief stealing bread. The irony was almost painful.

  (Is this really any better than what I had before?)

  Whenever this question crossed his mind, a sharp headache followed. Memories of the studio, of everything that had happened, were reduced to nothing but fragments—like a corrupted video stuck in a loop. No matter how hard he reached for those hazy images, the reality of them slipped further and further away.

  The only thing he could be sure of, was that he was now in an unfamiliar city… or rather, a completely foreign world.

  Bang!

  A wooden door nearby burst open, and a massive hand lunged toward his head.

  “Let’s see where you can run—”

  Before the guard could finish, Zi-Cheng ducked low and slid between the man’s legs, then scrambled further into the depths of the alleyway.

  (All those stories about people becoming heroes or sages in another world, and here I am...)

  His bitter thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sudden stench of blood.

  Turning the corner, he nearly stumbled over a corpse sprawled at his feet. The blood-soaked body blocked his path, and he barely stopped in time to avoid tripping over.

  “What the…?”

  The corpse lay staring up at the sky, an expression of terror and pain frozen on its face. Its throat, slashed open, seemed almost out of place, like some grotesque prop in a poorly orchestrated prank. Dark blood was still oozing from the wound, staining the garbage-littered alley a sickening shade of red.

  Zi-Cheng had seen his share of death scenes in VR games, but standing over a real murder scene was another experience entirely.

  A wave of dizziness surged over him, his mind buzzing, but before nausea could overtake him, his gaze caught on something in the pool of blood — a paper crane. Its wings, dyed a vivid red, stood out against the white folds of its body.

  “It’s the Crimson Plume!”

  The guard behind him cried out, stopping at the sight of the bloodstained crane.

  (Crimson Plume?)

  Before Zi-Cheng could react, his gaze locked with another — a pair of eyes, cold and emotionless, calm as the sky before a storm.

  He froze, and with the sharp “shing,” the blade of the Crimson Plume flashed out of its sheath.

  Perhaps crossing over to another world was just a modern fantasy trope. In those stories, the protagonist always leave behind some sort of heroic legacy. But for Yuan Zi-Cheng, he never had the chance, he didn’t even have the qualifications to be a “hero”.

  And this… this was never a story about becoming a hero.

  Two Weeks Earlier

  At the end of the endless darkness, a silver of light brought Zi-Cheng back to consciousness.

  A soft, warm light filtered through the branches above, casting a gentle glow across his face. It carried a sense of tranquility, almost like the opening of Dragon Quest he remembered from childhood—a quiet invitation for a hero to awaken and begin a grand adventure.

  (A grand adventure?)

  This thought hit Zi-Cheng, then just as quickly, he bolted upright.

  (What was I thinking? I lost everything including the studio and my project, this is no time for adventures!)

  Then he remembered swallowing that ruby-like pill before losing consciousness — a pill that brought a chilling, bone-deep sense of despair and weakness, convincing him that he had brushed the edge of death itself.

  (Wait… could I be… dead?)

  He reached out and touched the tree beside him, the roughness of the bark felt as real as anything he’d ever touched. A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, filling the air with a soothing whisper. This place certainly didn’t feel like the afterlife; it felt more like an isolated and untouched forest.

  (Is this some sort of elaborate prank? No, that’s not possible. We had a deal, didn’t we?)

  A deal.

  But with whom?

  The thought jolted him, and he tensed. Yes, he made a deal with that person on the phone, to do something in exchange for everything he had lost.

  (But who was I talking to? And what was my end of the bargain?)

  He froze again as his mind went blank.

  Frantically, he reached for his pockets. Perhaps if he could find his phone, he would at least get some clues.

  Yet, his pockets were empty.

  Then he remembered – the phone was left on the studio floor before he blacked out. So no phone, no call logs, no GPS, and certainly no way to contact anyone now.

  (Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…)

  “Of course I’m going to panic!” Zi-Cheng screamed at the sky in frustration.

  Thud!

  Just as Zi-Cheng let out his cry, something bumped into his calf. The impact was so light it barely registered, more like a soccer ball gently rolling against him.

  “Take a deep breath, stay calm... There’s no way I’d forget something this important…”

  Thud!

  “Come on! What was the deal about? Think... think… Urgh! I can’t even remember who I was talking to!”

  There used to be five of them working at Zi-Cheng’s indie game studio. Lam Kai-Wen, the team’s artist, was a sweet girl who had resigned some time ago due to family issues. Chan Sze-Ki, a middle-aged man who dealt with clients and brought them projects to keep them afloat. Then there was Shi Ming-Wei, his business partner, and Leung Pa-Tu, the lead programmer who was poached by Ming-Wei in the middle of a project, and left Zi-Cheng with an unfulfilled government contract.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  None of them had any reason to speak to Zi-Cheng after all that happened, let alone make a deal with him. Which meant someone beyond his team reached out, made a deal with him, and offered him the red pill.

  Thud!

  “I said, enough already!”

  Zi-Cheng growled, looking down to find… a mushroom, barely reaching his knees. Its oversized, glossy red cap gleamed under the sunlight, dotted with spots white as fresh snow. Below the cap, its soft, ivory body quivered like gelatin as it threw punches at his calf.

  “Wha—?!”

  He stumbled back, shocked at the sight of the creature. Its two stubby arms flailed wildly at his legs, while round, glossy eyes full of determination glared up at him.

  “Kikiki—”

  The mushroom monster took a few steps back, then lunged forward, charging straight at him.

  “Gah!... Huh?”

  The impact wasn’t much stronger than before and barely hurt at all...

  (Does this thing realize its squishy body doesn’t make for a good attack?)

  Infuriated by Zi-Cheng’s lack of reaction, the mushroom monster started beeping and shrieking, throwing punches at his leg like a tiny berserker.

  (It backs up, then charges… once it gets close, it attacks with its fists over and over. This is practically robotic...)

  “That’s… basic enemy programming?”

  Zi-Cheng’s heart skipped a beat. This absurdity, this cliché—could it really be happening?

  (I am in a video game?)

  He inhaled the fresh forest air, felt the rough texture of the tree bark under his fingers, and even tried to licked the wood.

  Smell, taste, and touch—the three sensory details that had always been the toughest things to present in a fully immersive game. Crafting such a VR world would take years of research, decades even, with unimaginable resources for production. And even with that, it wouldn’t even come close to how real everything he just felt.

  Zi-Cheng took his first step in this foreign land, and the mushroom monster kept up with him relentlessly, following and punching him wherever he went. Eventually, the two – man and mushroom – ended up side by side, standing at the edge of the forest.

  Beyond the trees, there was no Mushroom Kingdom, Zi-Cheng only found himself standing at a vast plain. Waves of green grass rolled under a bright blue sky, swaying like the waves of the ocean in the gentle breeze.

  Such wilderness, it was truly breath-taking.

  Then a flock of birds flew past him and disappeared into the horizon.

  (A perfect moment for the game’s title to appear….)

  Yet, as he looked up, there was no title, no rousing soundtrack.

  He sighed, this clearly wasn’t some triple-A blockbuster game, nor was the persistent mushroom monster any creature he had seen in a game before.

  (At least one thing is certain – this mushroom monster isn’t some experiment that escaped from a lab.)

  Off in the distance, dozens of mushroom monster wandered aimlessly, looking like a bunch of background NPCs.

  With a wicked grin and irritation bubbling over, Zi-Cheng lined up a shot and kicked the mushroom monster like a star striker in a soccer match.

  “Goal!!”

  “Beeeeeeep –– “

  The mushroom monster let out a pitiful wail as it flew through the air, landing with a soft thud and transforming into a small mushroom.

  “No way! This is… an item drop!?”

  There was no mistaking it; this had to be a game-world phenomenon. Yet, when Zi-Cheng picked up the mushroom, it felt as real as one fresh picked from a grocery store.

  (It’s like a game world… and yet, everything’s so real…like… an alternate reality in the multiverse….)

  Then, a line from an old superhero movie popped into his head: “Don’t apply the rules of your world to another.”

  In that movie, a doctor crossed the multiverse and found colors on the traffic lights had reversed meanings in another world.

  (Okay, so I’m in another world, like those isekai or lite-RPG novels?)

  Calming his mind, he remembering something he read from those novels, something he must try.

  “Properties!”

  He shouted at the sky, striking a dramatic pose.

  “Status! Menu!”

  Yet, nothing happened.

  “Great. This is just perfect. How can you put a guy in another world without giving him any super powers?”

  “So you thought you’d get superpowers by yelling at the forest?”

  Zi-Cheng yelped and jumped forward, startled by the voice behind him.

  “Holy –– someone’s here!” he called out, eyes wide.

  “Yeah, someone who doesn’t shout at trees,” the stranger retorted.

  Zi-Cheng took a step back and saw a burly, middle-aged man pushing a wooden cart loaded with mushrooms.

  “No no no, I don’t mean it like that!” Zi-Cheng said, relief flooding him as he quickly apologized. “I’m so glad to see someone in this godforsaken forest! Can you help me? I think I might’ve been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped, you say? You some noble or a merchant from the guild?” The man squinted, eyeing Zi-Cheng curiously.

  (Noble? Merchant from the guild?)

  “They probably mistook you for someone important. That’s why they ditched you out here,” the man said, scratching his chin.

  “No… I’m just….”

  “Hazelton’s only half a day’s walk from here. I’ll take you there, and you can ask the guards for help getting back to your family.”

  Only now did Zi-Cheng realize something odd –– he understood every word perfectly.

  (But how….?)

  Just as the mystery deepened, he decided to run a quick test.

  “Hey kid, you alright?” the man asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

  Acting preoccupied, Zi-Cheng turned around and casually asked, “Can I borrow your phone for a sec?”

  In an age where even seniors were familiar with smartphones, if this man tried to fake ignorance, Zi-Cheng would spot it right away.

  But the man looked genuinely puzzled, “a what?”

  If this was an act, it deserved an Oscar.

  “I mean, do you have any long-distance communication magic?” Zi-Cheng tried again, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice.

  Magic was a typical fantasy trope, so it was worth a shot.

  But reality hit hard, and things weren’t that simple.

  “Kid, did you bump your head? You’re old enough to know magic’s just a fairy tale!” the man laughed, giving Zi-Cheng a hearty pat on the back with his large hand. “Instead of silly fantasies, you should be working on your combat skills! Without them, you’ll never stand a chance in the arena or earn your blessings at the Sanctuary.”

  (Arena and Sanctuary? What is he even talking about?)

  Before Zi-Cheng could react, the man elbowed him playfully, almost sending him sprawling.

  “Whoa! Easy there!” Zi-Cheng gasped.

  “The name’s Chris Coleman,” the man said with a smirk. “I’m a silver-tier fighter at the Hazelton Arena. Well...ex-fighter, anyways. But back in the day, they called me the Silver Axe.”

  (Silver-tier? A mushroom gatherer has a fighting rank at the arena?)

  (What kind of twisted world is this?!)