In a desolate street, where dilapidated buildings stood in silent rows, faint streetlights dangled over the cracked pavement.
In the midst of rain pouring like a waterfall, a man ran, dressed in a long-sleeved white apron, stained with mud and filth.
He sprinted with all his might, stumbling over the cracks as if an earthquake had struck the place. He fell into muddy puddles, then quickly rose again, glancing behind him as cold sweat mixed with rain and dirt on his face.
He glimpsed a shadowy figure chasing him, holding a long knife—longer than an ordinary dagger—wearing a pitch-black cloak darker than a moonless night. It covered him from head to toe, his face hidden behind a mask etched with a mad grin, lined with red scars like clotted blood.
He was short in stature, small in size, running with eerie persistence, deftly avoiding pits and puddles, which slowed him slightly and created distance between him and his pursuer.
The man looked left and right, searching for an escape. Amid his panting and the relentless rain, he spotted an empty alley, devoid of life, and dashed toward it, betting on it as his last hope.
He ran through scattered trash, ignoring it, and when a faint beam of light fell on him, he felt a glimmer of hope for escape.
But soon, he crashed into a bitter truth—a wall blocking his path. His hopes shattered, and something inside him broke.
He turned slowly, only to see the masked pursuer raising the knife high, swinging it down like a sharp guillotine.
A stab to his back, carving a deep wound in his left side, nearly killing him. He collapsed among the garbage and waste, silently writhing in pain.
With great effort, as if crushed by an iron weight, he lifted his head—just in time to see the masked figure preparing to strike again.
Two stabs, four, seven… then the ninth plunged into his right chest. After that, the pursuer stood still, certain of his death, then turned and walked away without leaving a trace.
In his final moments, the man muttered faint words, weakly raising his hand toward the masked figure, who didn't even glance back. He simply walked on as if nothing had happened.
As the man drew his last breath, drowning in his own blood amid the trash, a radiant smile spread across his face—like a pearl gleaming in a filthy swamp.
Then, suddenly, everything froze. The rain stopped. The masked figure halted mid-step. The darkness began to crack with a faint light…
Then, his eyes snapped open.
He was drenched in sweat, jolting awake from sheer terror. A seventeen-year-old boy with messy dark hair, sharp gray eyes, fair skin tinged with tan, and sharp, harsh features.
He sat up in bed, screaming in horror:
"What was that? The end of a long dream?"
He looked around, trying to confirm his reality, as if something inside him refused to believe it was just a dream.
As he focused on the details of his room, he heard footsteps approaching, followed by a soft knock on the door and a woman's worried voice:
"Daren, are you okay? Did something happen?"
He quickly got out of bed and headed to the door, opening it quietly.
Before him stood a middle-aged woman, her eyes filled with fear—but she soon relaxed when she saw he was unharmed.
Daren spoke softly, avoiding her gaze:
"Ah, it's nothing… just a nightmare that made me scream."
The woman sighed in relief, then looked up with a smile and said:
"You've gotten taller! You're 188 cm now, and you're not even seventeen yet."
Daren brushed off the awkwardness and replied with a small smile:
"Of course I seem tall to you—you're short, Mom."
She pretended to be playfully angry, then turned to leave—but suddenly glanced back at him with a strange, suspicious look. He stared back for a moment but couldn't decipher its meaning.
Leaning against the wall, he drifted into thought.
'What was she thinking, staring at me like that? Could it be… she discovered something dangerous… about me?'
Exhausted by his own speculation, he silently returned to his room.
After closing the door, making sure no one was nearby, he collapsed to his knees—his strength gone, his legs unable to hold him.
He struggled to breathe, his heart pounding with fear, sweat dripping from his forehead, all pretenses of composure shattered.
In a trembling, terror-laced whisper, he muttered:
"That… was different from the other dreams I've had. It felt like the tragic ending of a movie. The stabbing felt terrifyingly real… Who was that faceless creature? Why did it chase me to death? Who is it? And does it have any connection to me in this dream?"
He steadied his breathing, wiped the sweat from his face, and carefully scanned his room as if searching for proof of reality.
The bed in the corner, a small wardrobe with a plain mirror, a desk divided between study materials and a desktop PC, a carpet covering the entire floor.
Everything was in its place—neat and clean, no dust or mess in sight.
He took a deep inhale, then exhaled as if expelling the last of his tension, and murmured:
"Hah… Everything's where it should be. That means it wasn't another dream."
In that moment of relief, he remembered something. He rushed to his computer and turned it on.
He opened a game he'd been eagerly waiting to play.
As it loaded, he stretched and muttered excitedly:
"Finally! I can finish this game after a month of nonstop playing. A perfect start to a great summer—one that'll make me forget this morning's nightmare."
He started playing at 9 AM. Time flew, and after three relentless hours, he completed the game at exactly 12:04 PM.
At that moment, he felt the thrill of victory, as if everything around him had vanished—even the haunting nightmare faded from his mind.
He leaned back, exhausted from gaming, his mind drifting.
As the credits rolled, he refocused on the screen, anticipation gleaming in his eyes. Then, he remembered who had recommended this game to him.
Weeks ago, he'd asked a schoolmate—a guy known for his love of video games—for a recommendation to keep him entertained over summer.
At first, he'd hesitated—the game's story didn't appeal to him. But his friend had said one thing that changed his mind:
"There's something special that appears if you beat the game on Hard Mode."
Daren snapped back to reality. The ending credits were nearing their conclusion… and he stared intently, as if waiting for something to appear.