“Oh, nothing,” Ethan said with an easy smile. “I was just going to ask if you wanted to go back to the hospital for another checkup.”
He’d made his decision.
He wanted the authorities to know about the game—about players—and to have a plan. But he didn’t want to be a piece on their board.
In his last life, he’d worked under official command until the day he died. It hadn’t been meaningless. But in this life, he suddenly wanted to live differently.
“Please. I’m totally fine,” Yanyan said, bright and energetic. “I’m really, seriously fine.”
The sun slid west as they chatted about nothing in particular. Ethan didn’t mention the game again.
He stayed for dinner and only headed home after he’d eaten.
On the way back, he stopped at a hardware store that was still open and bought a sheet of steel. Before he went upstairs, he checked the building cameras to make sure nobody had been poking around.
After a quick shower, he went into his study and pulled the coral cards from his inner pocket.
He still didn’t know what the deck was. What it did. What it demanded.
And because the System wouldn’t accept it into his inventory, he had only one option—lock it away. He placed the cards into his safe, shut the door, and took a few deep breaths until his pulse stopped trying to climb out of his throat.
He sat at his desk and took out the Burnsteel Engraving Knife.
No matter what the world was doing, upgrading Flint came first.
He laid the steel sheet on the desk and ran his fingers along the knife’s black surface. A pattern like scorched veins flared to life across the metal, as if heat lived just under the skin.
He set the tip to the steel, ready to practice the inscription pattern again—
—and froze.
His unread count in the player chat was exploding.
That hadn’t happened since the day everyone chose factions.
Something’s going on.
[CHAT]
Player (Anonymous): “Everyone—official people reached out to me today. Our world… isn’t what we thought.”
Player (Anonymous): “Official? Like… government?”
Player (Anonymous): “Okay that woke me up. Details. Now.”
Player (Anonymous): “They already know the game exists. They know players exist. We’re not alone.”
Player (Anonymous): “How? The System warns us not to reveal anything.”
Player (Anonymous): “Yeah, if we can’t expose the game or our identities, how could they possibly know?”
Player (Anonymous): “Are you sure an Abyss player didn’t bait you into talking?”
Player (Anonymous): “No. Think about it: we can’t tell non-players. But what if the ‘official’ people are players too?”
Player (Anonymous): “…Wait.”
Player (Anonymous): “That… actually makes sense.”
Player (Anonymous): “Still doesn’t explain how they built an organization. Players are random.”
Player (Anonymous): “And what happens if we break the warning? Has anyone tried?”
Player (Anonymous): “You go insane. If you reveal the game to a non-player, your mind breaks. You end up a shell.”
Player (Anonymous): “What the hell?!”
Player (Anonymous): “So how did the authorities learn anything at all?”
Player (Anonymous): “Because earlier players paid that price. A lot of them. They forced the truth through so our world wouldn’t stay blind.”
Player (Anonymous): “Records say the first batch of players appeared fifty years ago. Back then, it spread through serialized fiction—newspaper leaflets and cheap pamphlets.”
Player (Anonymous): “Second batch: thirty years ago.”
Player (Anonymous): “Then the third batch came only ten years after that.”
Player (Anonymous): “So the interval kept shrinking…”
Player (Anonymous): “Because the two worlds are merging. If we fail the System’s progress task, the merge speeds up. New batches come faster.”
Player (Anonymous): “The ‘merge’ isn’t everyone becoming players. It’s the Endless Sea’s supernatural force leaking into our world—disasters, anomalies, mass casualties.”
Player (Anonymous): “And yes—there’s a progress task. Before the end of Cycle 4, if no one reaches Tier 2, the task fails. A disaster hits. And a new batch gets pulled in immediately.”
Player (Anonymous): “Tier 2?! We’ve barely been in the game a month!”
Player (Anonymous): “That’s impossible!”
Player (Anonymous): “Don’t talk real strength in chat. The Abyss is listening. If you’re close to Tier 2, call this number. The authorities can provide resources to help you break through and complete the task.”
Ethan stared at the scroll of messages, the Burnsteel knife forgotten in his hand.
So Yanyan hadn’t been guessing. The official side really did know.
And the way they’d learned was ugly: players sacrificing their sanity to pass information forward.
He set his phone down and rubbed his forehead.
Two worlds merging.
Supernatural disasters as punishment.
And a System task that could doom millions if players failed.
He almost typed a message—anonymous, simple: I’m already Tier 2. Task’s done.
But then the player in chat warned them again not to reveal anything, and posted the official hotline.
Ethan stopped.
If even the official side said ‘don’t talk power here,’ he wasn’t going to be the idiot who proved them right.
Besides, he’d already met the requirement. This time, the disaster wouldn’t fall.
The only question was the next time.
Tier 2 for Cycle 4…
Would Cycle 5 and 6 demand Tier 3?
How long would the System give?
Who could possibly keep up?
There wasn’t time to spiral.
He closed the chat and returned to his desk.
If the world was going to get more dangerous, then Flint had to get stronger first.
Under the lamplight, the Burnsteel patterns pulsed. Ethan carved the inscription again and again into the steel, hands steady, breathing even.
Outside, the night deepened.
Elsewhere, in a quiet bedroom, the player who had posted that hotline lay awake—Huang Yanyan.
She was the one with inside knowledge. She was the one from the official side.
People thought her mother had died in an accident.
In truth, it had been a disaster triggered by the worlds’ merging.
People thought her father had died of a sudden heart failure in his sleep.
In truth, he’d been a player—and he’d died in the Endless Sea.
Life only happened once.
If you died in the game world, you died here too—quietly, inexplicably, like a bad line in a medical report.
Yanyan learned the truth as an adult, after the Institute—the organization dedicated to studying and responding to the game—found her.
She joined without hesitation.
And when the Endless Sea’s recruitment ad finally surfaced on her phone, she signed up just as quickly.
Now she couldn’t sleep. Not after getting sick at the worst possible time. Not after realizing she might fail the progress task that decided whether her city burned.
Back in his study, Ethan didn’t sleep either.
He lifted Flint and watched the inscribed patterns on the revolver’s body fade into the metal, as if they were sinking beneath a surface.
He felt it settle, lock, become something cleaner and sharper.
[PANEL]
Flint (Revolver): Tier-3 Hunter-aspect relic.
He let out a slow breath.
Flint was Tier 3 now.
Whatever the next progress task demanded… he’d just taken the first step toward Tier 3 himself.