Ding.
Ivan froze. His heart skipped a beat.
"W-what was that?" he whispered.
But before he could move, a glowing blue screen suddenly appeared in from of his eyes. It hovered in the air, bright and unusual.
[Welcome, Ivan Odinson.]
[System Initialization Complete.]
[Activating The Janitor System...]
"What the hell is this…?" Ivan's jaw dropped. He stumbled back, falling over a rack of equipment as he banged his head over a rack of weights, falling unconscious.
By the time he woke up, it was already dark outside.
Ivan slowly opened his eyes, the world spinning for a moment as he lay there on the cold gym floor.
His head throbbed where it had struck the metal rack, and his vision seemed hazy.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was. Then it all came back, the glowing screen, the strange words, the impossible "System."
He sat up quickly, scanning the room. But there was nothing there.
No light, no screen, no strange message floating in the air. Just the same dusty storage room, filled with deflated balls and rusted dumbbells.
His lips twisted into a bitter smile.
"Figures…I must be losing it." Although their world had progressed a lot and VR Games were a common thing, it was almost impossible to replicate such a thing in the real world for them even in the modern day and age.
The boy pressed a hand against his forehead, feeling the faint bump forming from where he hit his head.
"Overwork, stress, no sleep…Yeah. That's all it was. Just my brain frying itself."
Ivan grabbed his broom again and forced himself to stand. The school was silent now, eerily empty after sunset.
He knew his mother would already be waiting for him at home.
And waiting meant worrying. Worrying always turned into scolding.
He tightened his grip on the broom, tucked it back in the corner, and rushed out of the school, his footsteps echoing through the deserted halls.
By the time he reached the small, run-down building apartment he called home, it was well past dinner time.
The lights from the single window spilled faintly onto the cracked street, and Ivan's chest tightened with guilt as he pushed the door open.
Inside, the familiar smell of warm stew greeted him. His mother stood in the narrow kitchen, her tired face turning sharply toward him the moment he stepped in.
"You're late again, Ivan!" she snapped, worry lacing her voice more than anger.
She wiped her hands on her apron, frowning at him. "Do you want to kill me with stress? I thought something happened to you!"
"I… I was just finishing up," Ivan muttered, kicking off his shoes. His voice was quiet, almost apologetic.
His mother sighed, rubbing her temples. She was a thin woman, her beauty faded by years of hardship, but her black eyes were full of warmth despite the frustration in her tone.
"Honestly, Ivan…you're only seventeen. You shouldn't be working yourself to death like this."
"I'm fine, Mom."
"No, you're not," she said firmly, narrowing her eyes. Then her expression softened. "Anyways…your sister hasn't come home yet either. That girl…she's always running around. We'll have dinner first. She'll just have to eat later."
Ivan sat down at the small wooden table, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. The steaming bowl of stew in front of him smelled delicious, but he found himself staring blankly into it, his mind elsewhere.
The blue screen. The words. The strange feeling in his chest when he saw it.
It hadn't felt like a dream. It had felt real.
Too real.
"…Ivan?" His mother's voice broke through his daze. She had taken a seat across from him, her eyes full of concern. "Are you alright? You're zoning out again."
He blinked, forcing a faint smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
She studied him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but didn't push further. Instead, she reached across the table and patted his hand. "You need to rest more. Promise me you'll take care of yourself."
Ivan nodded slowly, but inside his chest, unease gnawed at him.
Because no matter how much he told himself that the occurrence earlier was an illusion, he could still imagine that glowing screen in his mind. He could replicate still hear the voice he heard back then.
[Welcome, Ivan Odinson.]
[Activating The Janitor System...]
The boy clenched his spoon, staring at the stew as though searching for answers.
And then, quietly, almost to himself, he muttered a single line.
"…What if it wasn't just a dream?"
***