Chapter 3 — A Nightmareful Night, 3
The game shut down with a click. The monitors bled into black, their glow fading until only Jin Soowhi's reflection stared back — a man breathing hard, his jaw clenched, sweat streaking down his temple, veins bulging in his neck. His curses still trembled in the empty air of the mansion, echoing faintly in the wide modern space like ghosts unwilling to die.
Jin dragged a hand across his face. His palm came away damp.
The silence roared in his ears. The mansion, with all its glass and marble and clean lines, seemed to mock him now — pristine, cold, hollow. A cage made of luxury.
"Pathetic," he muttered. He wasn't sure if he meant the game, the FMC, or himself.
He pushed himself off the chair and stalked toward the kitchen. The soles of his boots clicked against polished wood floors, the sound sharp, too loud, too alone. The fridge door opened with a hiss, spilling pale light across stainless steel counters. He reached inside, pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and poured it into a glass.
The amber liquid caught the light as it swirled, glowing faintly like fire trapped in crystal. Jin downed half of it in one gulp. It burned, hard and clean, sliding down his throat and pooling heat in his chest. He wanted it to erase everything.
It didn't.
The memories pressed harder — the battlefield, the mud, the stench of blood, the betrayal etched in his bones, and now the game mocking him with smiling faces and discarded women.
He gritted his teeth. "Curse this game… curse this fucking life…"
The second half of the glass followed. The burn didn't help either.
He set the glass down too hard. It cracked faintly against the counter, the sound splintering into the silence.
Jin walked into the bathroom. The lights flicked on automatically, flooding the room in sterile white. His reflection glared at him from the mirror above the sink — dark eyes, sharp cheekbones, hair damp with sweat. He looked like a man who had just fought a war inside his own home.
He turned the shower on. Steam filled the glass stall, curling against the mirror until his reflection blurred. He stripped, stepped in, let the water scald his skin.
It hissed as it cascaded down his back, beating against the knots in his shoulders, washing sweat into the drain. He braced his hands against the wall, lowering his head under the spray.
The memories wouldn't leave. Clara Valen crying into the night while fireworks bloomed behind her. Elias's ex left in the rain, a shadow of herself. His own girlfriend moaning under another man while he clawed through mud to stay alive.
The water pounded him like a punishment.
Jin's lips moved, whispering curses into the steam.
"Ungrateful bitch. Slut. Hoe. Curse you. Curse this life. Curse that game. Curse it all."
The shower did not cleanse him. When he stepped out, towel slung across his shoulders, his body was clean but his soul still filthy with rage.
He dressed again in dark clothes: a fitted black shirt, jeans, boots. His hand closed around his car keys with more force than necessary.
"I need air," he muttered. "I'll drive until the city drowns."
The garage lights flicked on as he stepped inside. His Porsche gleamed like a predator crouched in the dark, its curves catching the light, raindrops still clinging to the surface from his last drive.
He pressed the unlock button. The car chirped softly, headlights flashing like eyes opening. Jin slid inside, leather creaking beneath him. The dashboard lit in soft blue glow, humming with restrained power.
For a moment, he just sat there. His hands rested on the wheel, his eyes staring through the rain-streaked windshield at the garage door ahead. The silence was heavy, suffocating.
Then—
A soft tap.
On the glass beside him.
Jin's heart jolted. He whipped his head toward the driver's side window.
Nothing. Just rain trickling down the glass.
But then—another sound. Behind him. Inside the car.
Slowly, cautiously, he turned.
And froze.
There, in the back seat, sat a figure.
The man wore a plague doctor mask — but not the grotesque leather kind of history. This one was sleek, stylized, dark. The long beak curved with unnatural elegance, metal edges glinting faintly in the dim light. His cloak was fitted, not ragged, with crimson lining that shimmered like blood in the half-dark.
Recognition slammed into Jin's chest like a hammer.
"Kayden…?" he whispered. His eyes widened. His throat tightened. He knew that design — he'd seen it in Guardian Tales. The Plague Doctor skin. He'd worn it himself, grinded missions for hours just to unlock it.
The figure tilted his head, the mask's empty eyes glinting. When he spoke, his voice was muffled, distorted, like whispers echoing through bone.
"You hate that reverse harem dating sim, don't you?"
The question slithered into the air like smoke.
Jin's shock broke instantly into rage. His fist slammed the steering wheel.
"Of course I hate it!" he barked. His voice thundered inside the car. "It's trash. Too trash to even call a game. Nothing but lies, pain, and humiliation dressed up in roses!"
The masked man's head tilted further, as though studying him.
"I see," the plague doctor murmured. "Your hatred runs deep. But hatred often attracts fate."
He leaned forward slightly, his mask catching the dashboard glow.
"You will die. Be careful."
The words sent a chill down Jin's spine, cold and heavy, like ice water poured over his skull. But he shoved it away instantly, baring his teeth.
"Yeah, yeah," he spat. "If I die today, who cares? You should mind your own damn business. You're lucky I didn't kill you the second you showed up. I just want fresh air, not corpses in my car."
The plague doctor's voice was calm, almost amused.
"Well, see. But you should heed my warning, mortal."
And then—he was gone.
No sound. No movement. One moment he sat there, mask gleaming in the back seat. The next, the seat was empty. Only rain whispered against the glass.
Jin's breath heaved. His fingers dug into the leather of the steering wheel. Sweat pricked his temples.
"Hallucination," he muttered, forcing the words out. "Too much whiskey. Too much rage. That's all."
But his hands trembled as he started the engine.
The Porsche growled to life, headlights spilling across the garage. The mansion lights flickered briefly in the rearview mirror, pale and cold.
Jin clenched his jaw. "Curse this game. Curse this life. Curse everything."
And with a sharp twist of the wheel, he drove out into the rain-drenched night.