Liam woke up slow. Not cinematic. Not epic. Just... dazed.
Sunlight streamed through a cracked wooden window, illuminating specks of dust that floated lazily in the beam. The air smelled like pine, old books, and the unmistakable scent of reality—a far cry from the stale CPU fan heat and crusty hoodie musk he was used to.
Suspicious already.
Liam (hoarse):
"…Why do my eyelids feel HD?"
His voice sounded like it had crawled out from under a pizza box. He blinked again. The light wasn't screen-glow. It was daylight. Honest and unfiltered, pouring into a room that somehow felt... familiar.
The bed creaked as he sat up. Woven cotton blanket. No static cling. No crumbs. No nacho dust.
Red flag.
Huge red flag.
Liam:
"…I don't own anything this breathable."
His feet met wood flooring. Real wood. Not laminate. Not "wood-inspired plastic." Just old, groaning boards. He winced.
Then he saw it: a faint brown-red smear under the bed. Scratched into the grain like someone had either tried to clean it—or gave up halfway through.
Blood.
Maybe.
His eyes moved around the room. Battered chair. Books stacked high like medieval Jenga. A warped mirror on the wall reflected a face that looked like him... but with better skin and less eye-baggage.
And somehow, he knew this place.
The layout. The smell. The sunlight hitting that dusty stack just right—
Edgewood Hut.
A scrapped test zone from an early build of Mythos Eternal. Cut in the first patch for being "narratively disruptive." The only reason he recognized it was because of a YouTube deep dive titled:
"Secret Dev Rooms You Weren't Supposed to Find (And Why They're Haunted)."
His stomach did a quiet somersault.
Liam (muttering):
"This is real. This is Mythos Eternal."
A flicker crossed his vision.
----------------------------------------------------
SYSTEM ONLINE
Welcome, Sugyvals.
Character Profile: Loaded.
Difficulty: [Unintended Isekai Variant]
Goon Arc: Completed.
Please select a tutorial mode to begin.
----------------------------------------------------
He blinked it away and walked slowly to the mirror.
The face staring back? Definitely his. Just slightly... modded. Sharper jawline. Healthier eyes. Less like "terminally online gremlin" and more "introverted swordsmith."
The shirt he wore had a stitched name tag:
Liam (reading):
"…Sugyvals."
A beat.
He squinted.
Liam:
"…Soggy Balls. Jesus."
Then everything clicked.
The glitch hut. The passive HUD. The face. The stupid name.
He wasn't just in a fantasy world. He was in the game known for being unreasonably cruel to players like him.
Mythos Eternal wasn't just brutal — it was passive-aggressive.
If you died, it wasn't because the game was unfair.
It was because you didn't read the six-paragraph flavor text on page three of a burned diary hidden behind a pixel tree in an optional sewer zone.
And the game would absolutely make sure you felt stupid for it.
He collapsed into the chair. The wood groaned like it hadn't forgiven anyone in decades.
He opened his skill menu.
Skills:
Sarcastic Remark (Passive): Uncontrollable. Socially ambiguous.
Frozen Poker Face (Passive): Stress causes blank expression. Mistaken for composure.
Social Avoidance (Passive): Proximity to people triggers retreat.
Fear of Human Contact (Passive – bugged): Physical contact causes nausea.
Unintended Deadpan (Passive): Flat tone. Misread as calculated coldness.
Lorehoarder (Passive): Perfect recall of mechanics, quest paths, and world history. Cannot forget useless trivia.
Liam (quiet):
"I'm not strong. I'm not fast. I'm not charming."
His eyes drifted to the smear near the bed again.
Then he remembered:
The Wanderer Kill Priority.
"Players tagged as 'Vagrant' or 'Unknown Origin' get flagged more often by roaming purgers. The AI reacts based on perceived threat or anomaly. If your responses seem too normal, it increases hostility triggers."
Too normal.That meant acting confused, friendly, or just… human.
Which explains why so many low-level players got wiped out seconds after meeting an NPC.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
Liam:
"If I tell anyone the truth, I'm dead."
Another memory surfaced.
Old forum threads. Offhand dev quotes.
"The quiet ones? Leave them be.
If they don't talk, they're probably Awoken. Or cursed. Or both."
If he acted clueless, he'd die. If he acted weirdly competent, they might just… avoid him.
Liam (flat):
"…I have to bluff."
He hated it. But the logic was solid.
Act strange. Stay quiet. Let them fill in the blanks.
They'd assume he was powerful. Or cursed. Or both.
Fine by him.
He stood up—right as the door creaked.
$PASSIVE TRIGGERED: Frozen Poker Face$
Liam froze mid-step, expression blank.
An old man stepped inside.
Threadbare cloak. Grizzled beard. Tired eyes that lit up with alarm the moment they landed on Liam. His hand twitched toward the hilt of a worn knife.
Old Man (thinking):
Too still. Too calm. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't speak.
His brain scrambled.
That face... it's the kind that watches people burn without blinking.
Old Man (nervous chuckle):
"…Didn't think anyone was still alive in here."
Liam said nothing. Not because he was dramatic—he was just buffering.
But to the old man?
He looked like a warlock about to summon a soul tax collector.
The silence stretched. Liam stared, brain still running Windows 98.
Old Man (tense):
"…You one of the quiet types?"
Liam had no idea what that meant. But considering the only other locals in this area were cannibal monks and eldritch cultists…
He slowly tilted his head.
Liam:
"…Does it matter?"
The old man paled.
Old Man (internally):
It matters to my pants, that's for sure.
He raised both hands slightly, palms open.
Old Man (careful):
"Right, right. Doesn't matter. Just bein' neighborly is all."
His fingers twitched again. Liam didn't blink.
Old Man (mumbling):
"Market's down the path. Guards might ask questions. Don't answer riddles. And if the crows fly backward—get underground. Immediately."
Without waiting for a reply, he backed out, gently closed the door, then speed-walked into the woods like someone who had definitely seen too much.
Liam sat back down. Chest tight. Heart racing. Hands ice-cold.
But face?
Still blank.
He opened the tutorial prompt.
Tutorial Options:
→ Combat – Error: Class incompatible
→ Politics – Risk: High Manipulation Required
→ Lore-Based Survival – Recommended
→ Mystery Box (???) – ????
He selected Lore-Based Survival.
Liam (to himself):
"I don't need to be strong. I just need to sound like I know something terrifying."
He looked at his hands. They were trembling.
But if they thought he was dangerous, they'd leave him alone.
And if they left him alone—
He'd have time.
To map safe zones.
To check flags.
To fake it till he escaped this glorified murder sim.
Chapter End.